photomancy of a Daypath, nor the destructive and mind-controlling powers of an Inquisitor, placing him outside the traditional NIGHT magic education. My lenses had picked up no information on him whatsoever in their local database, not even a name or base personal record. Nothing. He might as well have been a ghost.
More importantly, I didn’t know what was his stake in my death or for whom he was working. If it was indeed an inside operation by the NIGHT leadership, there were only a few people who could hold that sway, rigging an entire elite mission and hiring an unknown assassin when it went haywire. Karthax was the easy answer, but the Inquisitor General’s potential motive was impenetrable to me. The man had been in charge of the Pacific South NIGHT headquarters for over a decade, with jurisdiction over Pacific North and Central Mountain as well. I couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d want me dead, and a building full of ragers with me.
“The hell?” Tribe’s voice came floating back from the cab, waking me from my reverie. I had dozed off despite myself, lulled by the long ride. I opened my eyes, blinking against the weak sunlight coming through the thief’s open window.
“I’m off the network,” he said, holding his digitab outside of the window, as though that would solve his problem. “I can’t get back on.”
“We’re getting close to Gloric’s neighborhood,” Alina explained distantly, still staring out her window. “He only lets in who he wants.”
“Weren’t you supposed to text him or something?” Tribe complained.
“He’ll know we’re coming.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because he knows almost everything that happens within a fifty mile radius,” the Pitcher said, giving Tribe a sidelong glance. She rolled her shoulders, stretching. “And because we have nowhere else to go.”
I peered outside the SUV’s long side window, noticing the large track houses and apartment buildings with simple printed signs and electric street lamps, still on at this early hour. Unlike San Francisco or its South Bay cousin, San Jose, Santa Clara looked much like it would have a hundred years ago, with only a few augmented reality digads popping up here and there at small local shops.
Tribe pulled us into a nondescript driveway adjacent to a squat suburban house, ancient by modern standards. It was painted a pleasant color of peach, with a little garden in the front and a small picket fence bordering the sidewalk. It looked to me less like a technomancer’s unbreachable fortress and more like a quaint bed and breakfast, but I suppose my small city apartment wasn’t much to look at, either.
I stretched as I got out of the SUV, feeling the past twenty-four hours weighing heavily on my body and mind. I was used to being in mortal danger, but not usually several times in one night.
I stopped Tribe as he walked past me, reaching out to snatch the tracer from his neck with my thumb and index finger. He jumped at my touch, grabbing at his collar and looking at me accusingly.
“Neurotoxin!” he protested.
“Not really,” I said evenly, disabling the little gadget and dropping it into a pocket. “Would you have stayed put if I told you otherwise?”
The thief stared at me for a moment, his eyes narrowing suspiciously, then shrugged and harrumphed in acquiescence.
Alina led us down the side of the house and through a wooden fence into the building’s backyard, which held a larger version of the front garden. All manner of fruits and vegetables were being grown in neat rows, alongside a number of different decorative flowers. The heady fragrance was a nice contrast to the interior of the SUV, which had smelled mostly like wet dog. I breathed deeply, invigorated by the garden’s motley bouquet.
The Pitcher walked briskly over to a small stairwell leading under the back wall of the house, stopping in front of a large metal door that was
More importantly, I didn’t know what was his stake in my death or for whom he was working. If it was indeed an inside operation by the NIGHT leadership, there were only a few people who could hold that sway, rigging an entire elite mission and hiring an unknown assassin when it went haywire. Karthax was the easy answer, but the Inquisitor General’s potential motive was impenetrable to me. The man had been in charge of the Pacific South NIGHT headquarters for over a decade, with jurisdiction over Pacific North and Central Mountain as well. I couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d want me dead, and a building full of ragers with me.
“The hell?” Tribe’s voice came floating back from the cab, waking me from my reverie. I had dozed off despite myself, lulled by the long ride. I opened my eyes, blinking against the weak sunlight coming through the thief’s open window.
“I’m off the network,” he said, holding his digitab outside of the window, as though that would solve his problem. “I can’t get back on.”
“We’re getting close to Gloric’s neighborhood,” Alina explained distantly, still staring out her window. “He only lets in who he wants.”
“Weren’t you supposed to text him or something?” Tribe complained.
“He’ll know we’re coming.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because he knows almost everything that happens within a fifty mile radius,” the Pitcher said, giving Tribe a sidelong glance. She rolled her shoulders, stretching. “And because we have nowhere else to go.”
I peered outside the SUV’s long side window, noticing the large track houses and apartment buildings with simple printed signs and electric street lamps, still on at this early hour. Unlike San Francisco or its South Bay cousin, San Jose, Santa Clara looked much like it would have a hundred years ago, with only a few augmented reality digads popping up here and there at small local shops.
Tribe pulled us into a nondescript driveway adjacent to a squat suburban house, ancient by modern standards. It was painted a pleasant color of peach, with a little garden in the front and a small picket fence bordering the sidewalk. It looked to me less like a technomancer’s unbreachable fortress and more like a quaint bed and breakfast, but I suppose my small city apartment wasn’t much to look at, either.
I stretched as I got out of the SUV, feeling the past twenty-four hours weighing heavily on my body and mind. I was used to being in mortal danger, but not usually several times in one night.
I stopped Tribe as he walked past me, reaching out to snatch the tracer from his neck with my thumb and index finger. He jumped at my touch, grabbing at his collar and looking at me accusingly.
“Neurotoxin!” he protested.
“Not really,” I said evenly, disabling the little gadget and dropping it into a pocket. “Would you have stayed put if I told you otherwise?”
The thief stared at me for a moment, his eyes narrowing suspiciously, then shrugged and harrumphed in acquiescence.
Alina led us down the side of the house and through a wooden fence into the building’s backyard, which held a larger version of the front garden. All manner of fruits and vegetables were being grown in neat rows, alongside a number of different decorative flowers. The heady fragrance was a nice contrast to the interior of the SUV, which had smelled mostly like wet dog. I breathed deeply, invigorated by the garden’s motley bouquet.
The Pitcher walked briskly over to a small stairwell leading under the back wall of the house, stopping in front of a large metal door that was
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