Lightbreaker

The Prince of Swords was the sign that he knew my history, knew what had happened between Antoine and me. He is coming. That was the message of the card.

My stomach took on some of the tension in my lower intestine, the Chorus clawing its way up through my torso. So close. She's so close.

'All right,' Nicols said, jarring my internal confusion. 'Let's hear it.'

'Which?' Why was the Chorus nipping at me like this? They could be persistent, but never as overt as this. It had first started at the barn, and I tried to recall the sensation I had felt there. Hidden layers. The false reality of the surface, like the glassy mirror of a still lake. The sense of awareness underneath.

Could they hide something from me?

'Why you're running from Pender. What that card means. The whole story.'

'Why?' Why were they pushing me?

'Because you're getting ready to bail on me. I step away to use the restroom, and you'll be gone when I get back. Just like that card. You keep looking out the window like you're expecting someone, like you're waiting for a signal to run.'

'What if I am?'

'Where does that leave me?'

I exhaled, trying to remember the pranayama technique from yesterday morning. 'Did I ever give you the impression that I needed a side-kick?'

'No, goddamnit,' Nicols growled, 'that's not what I'm talking about. Pender. What am I going to do about him?'

'Ignore him,' I sighed painfully. 'He's only interested in me.'

His response was aborted by the arrival of the waitress with a pot of coffee. She managed to pour coffee and take our order with one eye closed as if she had woken up moments ago.

'I can't ignore him,' Nicols said after she left. 'He works for someone else. It took me a while, but it finally dawned on me that a guy like him-a guy in charge of making problems disappear-wouldn't do it because he's a generous spirit. He does magickal clean-up because that's his job, which means he's got a different chain of command.' Nicols smacked the table with his thumb. 'His interests aren't mine, aren't SPD's. He'd fuck us all in order to serve his real boss, wouldn't he?'

I shrugged, a 'Wouldn't we all?' dismissal of his question.

'You can run and hide. I don't give a shit really. But I don't think it's Pender you're worried about. He's not the one who has the hooks in you. There's something else going on. But hey-' he spread his hands '-not my problem. I'll be quiet. Just sit here until my eyesight clears up, and everything goes back to normal.'

I stared at him until he put his hands back on the table. 'It's Pender's boss that has you spooked,' he said. 'And he's coming here, isn't he?'

I tried to repeat my earlier shrug of dismissal, but couldn't pull it off. The gesture turned into an involuntary shiver.

'Pender is a member of an organization known as the La Societe Lumineuse,' I started. 'They're based in Paris, and their job is to watch. Watch and protect. Magick is supposed to remain. . hidden. Outside of Paris, we call them 'Watchers,' and they've got agents everywhere. Their allegiances are to the organization, regardless of their local affiliations. Yeah, Pender would drive a car over you if it served his larger purpose. The Watchers are. . both myopic and zealous.' To put it generously.

'What about you? What are your allegiances?'

'Pender called me a veneficus during my interrogation. Latin, and it means both 'poisonous' and 'sorcerer,' depending on your need. Though, in my case, I think he meant both meanings. I'm. . without a master.'

'What does that mean? You're a rogue?'

I nodded. 'I belong to no one-no coven, no order, no society. I've never met one of the Secret Chiefs, and I don't know the special handshake of the Mormon Church. I am a wild card-a child of chaos-and the Watchers don't like the unpredictability of adepts like me. . especially when they used to belong to the family.'

'They're after you just because you haven't paid your dues?'

'It's more complicated than that.'

'I'm sure it is completely byzantine,' he said, raising an eyebrow as he sipped from his cup. 'So boil it down for me into something resembling a simple explanation.'

I looked out the window. It had started raining again. A thin mist streaked the window, and the pools of water in the street were filled with yellow and green reflections. Minnie's was warm, and the smell of grease and burned meat was neatly hidden under an effluvium of gardenia and peppermint. Other than a quartet of young students on the other side of the triangular-shaped room, we were the only customers.

It was nearly 3:00 a.m. on a weeknight. If Antoine was on a flight from Paris already-even if he had gone straight to de Gaulle after hearing from Pender and caught the very next flight to Seattle-it would be midmorning before he arrived. At least.

Getting out of town was easy. One Suggestion to anyone driving north, and I could be across the Canadian border by the time Antoine arrived. Vancouver was large enough to confuse my trail. I could extend my head start there.

That wouldn't deter Antoine though. Not now, not when he knew my death had been faked. Hiding in Vancouver-or anywhere, for that matter-would just delay the inevitable. He'd never stop looking for me. Did I want to run for the rest of my life?

What other choices did I have?

Kill him, the Chorus insisted. Finish what he started. Cut a deal with the Watchers. Face them instead of showing your back. They twitched, sending a ripple of energy up my spine. Stop running.

And behind that suggestion lay the ever present lure of finding Kat, of returning the favor done to me a decade ago.

This isn't about revenge?

I tried to shake off Nicols' question from the car, but it was stuck in my head. Revenge? Was that all that drove me?

And Antoine? What do you think drives him? Is it any different?

It was like a whole section of the past had been overwritten. We had been seekers of knowledge, students of the arts who only sought to comprehend the luminous divinity of creation. Instead, we had become creatures driven by something as primitive as revenge. Had we drifted so far?

'A few years ago, I was in Paris. Studying to be a Watcher,' I told Nicols, choking down these questions as if they were a glob of poisonous bile. 'I had made the second rank-Journeyman-and fell in with one of the 'rising stars'-one of the golden children who was slated to ascend far in the ranks. Antoine Briande. He's from a long line of occultists-his father's father and that man's grandfather were both Watchers. Heresy and alchemy are an inextricable part of his heritage, the sort of pedigree that opens all manner of doors to an eager student. Me? I was just a mutt from the streets who showed promise and passion. We had nothing in common but, well, we discovered a common fascination.'

'A woman,' Nicols offered.

'No,' I started, thinking of the philosophical curiosity we had both shared. But that wasn't the truth. Not entirely. 'Yes,' I corrected. 'A woman. Her name was-is-Marielle.'

Summoned by my confession, the memory of that last morning in Paris flooded my brain. An act of re-creation brought about by the power of her name. The magick of names, and the power they hold. Over their owners, and over those who believe in them.

Marielle. Standing on the apartment balcony-the stolen hideaway we had tumbled into the night before- blowing soap bubbles toward the morning sun. The dawn of my last day in Paris, the last hour before my relationship with Paris had been severed. All ties cut, with one stroke. Her. My friendship with Antoine. My future with the Watchers. Everything.

I struggled to find my voice, lost as I was in the past. 'Antoine invoked an old Law of the organization, and challenged my right to membership. Ritus concursus. Trial by combat; I had to prove my