I closed my eyes and could see through hers. Her vision was pretty blurry. I lifted my arm, and she lifted hers. I could sense her somewhere, as if she were locked in a small box and buried some distance away. I could sense her rage and her fear and her determination to make me suffer, but I had taken control. She’d inserted a demon called Lugal into my mind. I’d inserted myself into hers. I was stringing Lurida, and I had full control—for how long, I wasn’t sure.
I could feel her spells, see them clearly, and began cutting them loose, one by one, as if I’d cast them myself. Ending a spell that hadn’t been made permanent didn’t take any gas. You just severed the connection. I didn’t have to bleed any of her poor mopes to undo her chaos. I couldn’t see outside, but as I worked, I knew what was happening: Corpses were falling over, unanimated, as arad were pulled from them and sent back to their native plane. People were screaming, looking around in terror as after a nightmare. Elsa fell to the ground, irritated, perhaps afraid—though she didn’t seem the type.
Footsteps outside the door, urgent, loud.
I opened my eyes again as Fallon entered, trailed by a fat Bleeder in a decent green suit, out of breath, three deep cuts on his head leaking into his eyes. As my vision shifted from Lurida’s back to my own, Fallon looked around, then was kneeling next to me.
“Mr. Mageshkumar!” he shouted. “Come help with your friend.”
THE CHAOS OUTSIDE was more or less as I’d expected. The grass was littered with bodies: Bleeders and the former Stringers. Most of the Archmages had fled, but three—including, I was surprised to see, Elsa—had remained, along with Hiram, meekly following Fallon’s orders. A few confused, horrified people staggered about calling out for help, people who’d just spent days or weeks trapped under the power of an alien intelligence, forced to do horrible things. If I’d had any more energy, I might have felt badly for them.
I was wrapped in three coarse gray blankets, sipping some of Lurida’s warm tea, shaking more or less uncontrollably. Mags fished out his blade and cut a modest wound in his arm, and before I could stop him, he’d recited a crude, simple spell and I felt a little better—my shaking died down to a tremble, and keeping my eyes open didn’t feel like torture.
“You have done well, Mr. Vonnegan,” Fallon said, suddenly behind us. The old man moved light. “You can release your hold on Lurida now. We have secured her.”
I nodded and, with a sigh, let the connection dissolve. I was glad to say goodbye to that sense of hatred aimed at me. I realized Fallon was standing over me, and I summoned my waning energy and looked up at him. He had his hands in his pockets and looked like he’d just stepped out of a fantastic restaurant, an elegant, rich old man used to getting his way. He gazed down at me, his lined face sober.
“You have great potential, Mr. Vonnegan,” he said, producing a business card and handing it to me. I took it in numb fingers; it was blank.
“You are wasted as urtuku to Mr. Bosch. Even were he to resume teaching you, you have already surpassed him in most ways. But as I said, you must choose, Mr. Vonnegan. To either remain idimustari, a Trickster, and live like”—he waved his hand at us—“this. Or to fulfill your destiny as a mage. Believe me, it doesn’t have to be Bosch’s way or Elsa’s. It can be better, and I would show you.” He sighed. “Bosch will cause no problems. Make your choice, Mr. Vonnegan, and when you do, dispel the Glamour on that card—if you can—and come see me.”
We stared at each other for a moment, and then he nodded, turned, and walked away. As he receded into the darkness, I could see him pulling something from his pocket, and then he was gone.
“Lem?” Mags asked in his Tiny Voice. “You okay, Lem?”
I patted his knee. In that moment I wanted nothing more than to buy Mags a bag of candy, just to see the delight on his face.
“Yup.” I sighed and stirred myself. “Come on,” I said, pushing Fallon’s card into my pocket. “Let’s see if there’s anything in the house we can steal.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
WHEN MY EDITOR, ADAM Wilson, first suggested I write some novellas set in the Ustari universe, I demanded a huge sum of money and sent him a contract rider that was forty-seven pages long, and he wished me luck in finding another publisher. When I called him at three a.m. crying and begging him to take me back, he did so, and for that I am grateful.
When I called my agent, Janet Reid, and told her of my plans to write a sixteen-volume paranormal romance about a race of superintelligent cats, she had me put on a forty-eight-hour psychiatric hold and suggested I work on this instead, and for that, I thank her.
While writing these stories, whenever I had doubts or fears, I would tell my beautiful wife, Danette, about them and she would suggest we adopt another cat. This is how she shows love.
To all the people who read We Are Not Good People and who reacted with enthusiasm and excitement when these novellas were announced, you have my sincere appreciation and gratitude. I hope these stories live up to your expectations. And that all your checks clear.
Keep reading for a sneak peek of the adventures of Lem and Mags in
WE ARE NOT GOOD PEOPLE
Where the main action of the Ustari Cycle happens!
(Note: Part One of We Are Not Good People was previously published separately as Trickster)