Divinity Circuit (Senyaza Series Book 5) Page 8

  “All right,” said Penny, resigned, and sat on the couch. “Where are you going?”

  Branwyn waved her phone. “First I’m going to go talk to Tarn. Then, hopefully, I’m going to find Corbin.”

  The Extraworlder Conference hadn’t even officially begun yet, but the cluster of hotels where it was scheduled already thronged with guests and attendees and tourists and photographers. Finding parking without murdering somebody required the patience of a monk. Branwyn occupied the time planning how she’d solve the parking problem using her artificing. But short of creating a flying car she didn’t have any good ideas. Some problems, she supposed, would be eternal.

  As she finished parking, her phone buzzed with a message. But instead of an update from Penny on Marley, it was something else.

  Come talk to me again. I want to show you what I can do.

  Branwyn stared at her phone. The text came from the general Senyaza number, which made absolutely no sense at all. It only took her a moment before she typed in, Titanone, who taught you to use a phone?

  :) :) :) I taught myself. When are you coming to visit again?

  We’ll both show off at the gala. I’m in the middle of something right now though. If you can use a phone, you can find some TV. Go watch some cartoons. It had worked—sometimes—with her younger siblings.

  No response. Hopefully that meant the entity was off down a cartoon channel rabbit hole. He was developing so quickly. She felt a flicker of pride and, deep down, nervousness. She really needed to think about that development more. It seemed like every artificing project she did taught her something new or introduced new complexities and Titanone’s surprises just kept coming.

  But she did have other things to do at the moment. The main hotel of the Extraworlder Conference loomed before her.

  Tarn, the faerie Duke of Underlight, was both one of the guests at the conference and one of its organizers. Branwyn didn’t know exactly where he was staying in the hotel, but he was there somewhere. Nearly every photograph and article about the event mentioned it. So she went to the front desk, where she smiled at the harried young man and asked him if he’d call up to Duke Tarn’s suite and let him know she was there to see him.

  Then she went to lounge by the elevators. Less than ten minutes later, someone she recognized emerged He was dressed in a well-tailored suit, but nobody had managed to comb his hair, so it stood up in its usual pale tufts.

  “Hello, William.” Branwyn straightened in the corner where she’d been lurking.

  Tarn’s favorite changeling inspected her impassively and then one corner of his mouth twitched. A sneer or a smile, Branwyn couldn’t tell.

  “What do you want?”

  “Oh, come on. You and I both know Tarn said, ‘William, bring her up,’ not ‘Find out what she wants.’ ”

  William sniffed. “He’s very busy. You represent complications. I don’t like complications.”

  Branwyn paced past him into an elevator just unloading. “What floor, William?”

  He growled to himself and followed her into the elevator, reaching past her to punch in the floor.

  Branwyn grinned at him. “How’s Underlight?”

  “Recovering,” said William shortly. “Still recovering. It will take decades to recover from what you wrought there.”

  Branwyn’s grin faded. “Does everybody feel that way? ‘What I wrought there?’”

  William refused to look at her, instead glaring at somebody who wanted to get in on the 5th floor. “How else ought we feel about it? How do you think of it?”

  Branwyn put her hands behind her back and leaned on them. “Tarn made a choice.”

  “Between saving your skin and preserving the duchy that had existed for millennia.” William scowled. He’d actually died twice during Branwyn’s collaboration with Tarn. Unlike with humans, that was just an inconvenience for changelings.

  “Even you’ve said Underlight will recover,” said Branwyn softly. “If you think I don’t appreciate the choice he made, you’re wrong.”

  He didn’t say anything else for the remainder of the elevator ride. When the doors opened at the top of the building, he bowed her out before escorting her to one of the corner suites.

  “Of course,” muttered Branwyn. “Of course he’d be in the nicest suite here.”

  “Yes, of course,” agreed William, without sarcasm. He opened the door onto a crowd.

  It was a party. A working party. Half of the crowd sat cross-legged on the floor in front of giant baskets of paper. Others rushed around having earnest, worried conversations about bag capacity. The suite smelled of jasmine and patchouli, just like Tarn’s court of Underlight had.

  “They’re stuffing ‘goodie bags’,” said William distastefully. “My lord volunteered his rooms for this, because it amused him. He comes now to greet you.”

  The faerie Duke wove his way through the people sitting on the floor. He was very tall, with flowing black hair held back from his brow by a bright circlet. He wore a soft white tunic over skin-tight blue pants that showed off his muscular legs. He really was astonishingly handsome, even knowing he’d built himself that way. Branwyn could appreciate the fact, appreciate a job well done, as long as she didn’t let herself get too close.

  As he approached, he grinned at her and held out his hand. “Hello, Branwyn.”

  “What, no dagger on your belt?” said Branwyn by way of greeting. “You’ll never get a role in a Lord of the Rings remake like that.” She let him take her hand, but knew better than to let him kiss it. She found him very attractive, which was one reason why she’d limited their get-togethers after their collaboration had concluded. There were complications that came with getting romantically involved with anybody of celestial origin, and until Branwyn understood all of them, she was going to be careful.

  “People have certain expectations,” admitted Tarn. “I thought I’d indulge them.”

  Branwyn pursed her lips. “I don’t know. William here looks spectacular in a modern suit. You should try it.”

  “Yes, doesn’t he?” said Tarn, inspecting his minion with pleasure. William shifted position, leaning away from Branwyn as if he found her compliment oppressive. Tarn ruffled his hair like he was a child and then looked back to Branwyn. His eyes were pied: one eye green, the other one brown. The combination was arresting, especially when he turned the full intensity of his attention on her. “Why have you come?”

  “Oh, a couple of reasons.” Branwyn glanced down at a teenage girl crawling past her feet. “Is there somewhere less crowded we can talk?”

  “My bedroom,” he suggested, arching one eyebrow and pausing deliberately. “It’s quite nice. I’ve redecorated some, though.”

  “No,” said Branwyn decisively. “Come into the hall instead.”

  “Oh, very well,” he said. “You’re in charge, William.” He opened the door to let Branwyn precede him.

  “There’s actually a lounge down the hall,” confided Tarn. “Where the butler has his desk.”

  “That’s fine,” said Branwyn. The lounge occupied the space between two of the corner suites, commanding full height windows that provided an amazing view of the city smog. It had leather couches, a fireplace, a chessboard, and a small fountain: clearly the perfect place to have a cocktail party if your own lavish suite wasn’t quite big enough. The butler sat at an elegant wooden desk with no visible computer. When Tarn appeared, he stopped writing something and looked attentive until Tarn shook his head. Then he pulled a tablet from a drawer and swiveled his chair so his back was to them, clearly giving them at least a semblance of privacy.

  Tarn threw himself onto the leather chaise longue, almost sliding off it. Branwyn snickered and remained standing. After he recomposed himself, she said, “Okay. First, I have information you may be interested in. Apparently Severin is back in town. Since he was so hot to murder you last year, I thought you might appreciate a warning.”

  Gravely, he said, “Thank you. As it happens, I had
an encounter with the one you call Severin a month ago.”

  Branwyn’s lips tightened. Even trashed, Simon had enough consideration to warn her. Apparently Tarn didn’t think it was worth a phone call. “You seem healthy, and I hear he is too. What happened?”

  “Oh, he made some threats and then told me I’d earned a stay of execution, but he’d most likely be along to kill me another year.” Tarn stretched out on the chaise, never taking his attention off Branwyn. He’d always looked at her like that. Like she was the most interesting person he’d seen in a thousand years. But he hadn’t called her. She couldn’t trust him.

  “How very Princess Bride,” Branwyn observed dryly. “Did he mention how you’d earned your reprieve?”

  Tarn’s mouth twisted. “No.”

  “But you think there was something. You’re bothered.”

  He looked away, out the floor-to-ceiling window. “I should like very much to simply dismiss him as beyond reason, or to believe that I was just a convenient target. Or even to declare that he’s blustering, intimidated by my power.” He glanced at her briefly. “To others, trust that I would. But… you’ve spent time with him.”

  “I wouldn’t phrase it quite like that,” Branwyn said acidly.

  Tarn lifted one long-fingered hand and inspected it. “He remembers something I do not. I am… yes, bothered by that. I was somebody else once and I don’t remember who. Not even my name.” He smiled sadly at his hand and looked out the window again.

  Branwyn’s irritation sapped away. The celestials who called themselves angels had attempted a very particular form of genocide on the faeries: stripping their celestial names from them. Few of the faeries Branwyn had met seemed to care. Tarn was different; Tarn mourned who he had been before. Though Branwyn’s cynical side wondered if he’d had regrets before a monster had tried to execute him for a crime he didn’t remember.

  “You didn’t come here just to warn me about Severin, though,” said Tarn gently, his full attention back on Branwyn again. “What else is the matter?”

  Branwyn paced to the window, pushing her hands through her hair. “Would any of your kin be interested in a device that circumvents the Hush?”

  He gave her a quizzical look. “I shouldn’t think so. The Hush isn’t what binds us, not in any real way. Why? Are you looking for a buyer?”

  “No, I’m trying to catch a thief.”

  “Ah,” he said. He was quiet a moment. “I don’t think it was any of my kin. It wasn’t me, either, which I will add because I know how your mind works.”

  “I don’t really suspect you,” Branwyn admitted. “If only because you keep sending minions to pester Penny. She’s got what you really want.”

  “Excuse me,” said Tarn, injured. “I have sent no minions to Penny.”

  “Your kind,” clarified Branwyn, waving her hand in a way that was probably offensive. “And you’d send a minion if you didn’t know that I’d be angry. I know you would, because you recruited me originally.”

  “She’s well-equipped to take care of herself, though. Very admirable.”

  Branwyn snorted. “Equipped, at least. But she’d rather not have to do it.”

  “I shall be sure to pass that on,” he said seriously. “But that’s not what you’re here for either.”

  Her irritation came surging back. “Fine. I need you to do me the favor of locating Corbin Adair for me.”

  He quirked a smile. “Do I owe you a favor? I’m not at all sure I do. You rather left me… holding the bag, is that the modern phrase?”

  Disgruntled, Branwyn said, “I’d hoped you would, after I told you about Severin.”

  Laughing, he said, “Honest child. Accept the next party invitation I send you and I will search for your Corbin Adair.”

  Branwyn scowled. “I don’t like going on dates as a favor.”

  “Purely business,” he assured her, standing up. “It will do my reputation good for all to see that you still associate with me.”

  “Fine,” said Branwyn, sighing. “Can you find him?”

  “This is the young man who invaded Underlight and made a mess? If he walks upon the earth, I can find him. If he’s on a plane, you’re out of luck, though.” He positioned himself in front of the window and closed his eyes.

  Branwyn knew better than to expect special effects. So little of magic was photogenic. It was disappointing.

  After a moment, Tarn opened his eyes and said, “Mr. Anders, may I have a local atlas of some sort?”

  “I can print some maps, sir,” said the butler, smoothly putting his book away as he swiveled his chair.

  “Very good.” The faerie Duke moved over to the butler’s desk and they conferred for a few moments. Then Tarn tapped his fingernail on a sheet. “He’s trying to hide. Perhaps I ought to ask for a bigger favor. But I remain a fool. Here you are. ” He folded the piece of paper in rough quarters and handed it to Branwyn. “He’s clever. I suspect this will only work once, so don’t lose him again.”

  “Thanks.” Branwyn took one last look at the view before turning to leave.

  “Branwyn—” Tarn said thoughtfully.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do have any other leads on that stolen device you mentioned?”

  “Maybe,” she hedged. “Why?”

  “I am hoping very much we don’t see it here this weekend, in the hands of somebody who would rather the conference not occur.”

  Branwyn stared at him. “Ah.”

  “That would be bad,” said Tarn seriously.

  “Yeah,” agreed Branwyn. “Bad. Oh, hell.”

  “Oh well,” said Tarn lightly. “I’m sure I can trust you to do your best to reclaim it. Good luck!” He moved past her back to his rooms, turning at the door to give her a little wave.

  Scowling, she went back to the elevator.

  As she returned to her car, Titanone messaged her again.

  Most buildings don’t have as many basements as I do. It’s weird.

  Branwyn responded, Most buildings aren’t as smart as you are either.

  And most basements are just garages. The rooms below me are strange. Cut off. Locked away. One of them is a cage. One of them has books. The ones made out of wood and paper. Aren’t those supposed to be on shelves in offices?

  Rare books are underground sometimes. Books nobody wants to lose. What do you mean when you say ‘cut off?’

  Many circles. I can only see the edges and the camera views but the circles keep me from thinking my way in. I don’t like it.

  Special books, then. Branwyn recognized the description. Titanone meant the floors that didn’t have the divinity circuit. One day she’d find out what they did have.

  Leonard says Nakotus has already read them, but he won’t tell me which ones they are.

  Probably for the best. You’re learning a lot very quickly already.

  Yes I am! :^) I think I’ll go ask Leonard again, so I can learn more.

  Branwyn pressed her lips together. Then she shook her head and turned her attention to the paper Tarn had given her.

  He’d identified a cluster of vacation cabins in the San Bernardino mountains an hour’s drive away. An hour ’s drive was about how far Branwyn would go without reconsidering her plan or her information source, so after giving Penny a quick call and stopping at her studio for a few minutes, off she went.

  Once Branwyn got to the Arrowhead Squirrel Hollow Resort, she peered at the map, trying to decide if Tarn had identified one of the buildings in particular. Then she gave up, parked in the guest parking at the main building and got out. She pulled out her hammer and her backpack and then strode purposefully toward the front entrance.

  As she pulled open the door, a voice from across the parking lot called, “Branwyn.”

  Branwyn turned. Corbin stood on the curb, watching her. She grinned at him and changed course to approach him. “I’m delighted you decided to come out. I had no idea how to find you.”

  He didn’t smile back. “You got this fa
r. You would have found something, and made life difficult for me in the process. Why are you here?”

  Branwyn inspected him critically. He hadn’t been eating enough, he needed a haircut, and there was something off about the way he stood. “You want to have this conversation here in the parking lot?”

  Corbin’s mouth tightened. “I don’t want to have a conversation at all.” But he turned away and walked into the trees along a small path. Branwyn followed him until they came to a small dwelling mostly screened from the rest of the complex.

  He walked in the door and left it open behind him, so Branwyn followed him in. She conscientiously leaning her hammer beside the door. The small living room was luxuriously furnished and looked completely uninhabited until Branwyn spotted a large laptop computer on the coffee table.

  “Huh. Have you been here long?”

  “A few days,” said Corbin. He sat in the office chair in front of the desk and swiveled back and forth, staring at her.

  “So. You took away one of Marley’s charms,” began Branwyn, crossing her arms.

  “Yes. So she couldn’t come looking for me,” said Corbin, with deliberate emphasis on each word.

  Branwyn smirked. “That worked so well. I thought you were smarter than that.”

  He looked away, out the window. “She’s doing well.”

  “Possibly. For some interpretation of ‘well’. We can talk about her in a minute.”

  “Yes, why did you come, Branwyn? I’m not providing charms or giving advice at the moment.”

  “You’re hiding from Senyaza.”

  He snorted and didn’t answer what admittedly wasn’t a question, instead continuing to look out the window at the trees.

  She pressed on. “Is it because you, I dunno, stole a certain device from the federal government?”

  He looked back at her, a broad, atypical grin on his face. It was gone in a heartbeat, there so briefly that Branwyn wondered if it had been a trick of the light. When he answered, he didn’t sound the least bit amused. “Why would I steal ‘a certain device’ from the federal government?”

  It was probably a trick of the light.