In theory, they couldn’t pin the fires on me, but I was already accused of one crime I didn’t commit, and everyone had warned me juries simply didn’t understand magic. So I needed my freedom of action, at least a little while longer, until I could either figure out how to cut off the graffiti’s power source, or find the prick who was orchestrating it, or both. And to do that I needed a place to crash, snag some Internet, and make some phone calls.
But who to call? I really wanted to leave mundanes out of it. Half my friends had nearly gotten killed trying to take on Valentine, and I didn’t want the karate club getting burned alive by Zipperface, or Michael Bell arrested for aiding a fugitive.
The Edgeworld was also cut off from me. After the werehouse fire, I had tried and failed to contact Lord Buckhead, the werehouse itself was gone of course, the werekin now hated me, my contacts at the Oakdale Clan were dead… including Calaphase. Damnit.
Thinking more broadly, there was the Underground, the network of tunnels under the city. But it was werekin territory, and Philip had mapped all of the Underground that I knew, so he could find me, if he was forced to. Being a fugitive sucked: like walking a minefield, there were many places to step, few of them safe, and no way to tell which from which.
Finally, I swallowed my pride and called the Vampire Consulate. After all, it was a Consulate; who knows what that really meant, but maybe Saffron could offer me some temporary protection until the police sorted out I was innocent.
“Junior Van Helsing Detective Agency,” a sweet voice answered. “This is Nagli.”
“Hello, Nagli,” I said. “This is-”
“I know,” Nagli said quickly. She sounded strained. “Caller ID.”
“Ah,” I said. “Actually, I was calling on Consulate business.”
“I know,” she repeated. “Each number has its own line.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. This was damn peculiar. “That’s good to know.”
“Your discretion is appreciated,” Nagli said, voice suddenly hushed. “Don’t-”
And then there was commotion in the background, a new voice talking. Nagli started to respond, but there was a sudden racket, as if the phone had been ripped from her grasp.
“Who is this?” said the new voice-Saffron. I didn’t respond, and she said, “Frost.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Darkrose is gone,” Saffron said, voice acid. “Went hunting for three other vampires gone missing-and never came back. You were too busy with your new friend apparently.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, but I couldn’t leave it at that. “Calaphase is… gone too.”
“I know,” Saffron said, some of the acid leaching away. “I’m sorry
… Dakota. And I heard you were arrested.” She paused, then asked, “How are you holding up?”
“Fine,” I managed, “until I was attacked again.”
“When?” Saffron said.
“Just now,” I said, and told her. “I left the Candlesticks on fire. It happened less than twenty four hours after I got out of jail. And a fire started when I went back to Calaphase’s to pick up my car. I think the police are looking for me.”
“Almost certainly,” Saffron said. “Since you got out, fires have broken out all over the city. Dozens of people have been killed. The media’s talking about a plague of arson, which is bad enough… but I’m just waiting for someone to break out the t -word.”
“Terrorism,” I said. “Oh, flying fuck me. Saffron… I may need some help here.”
“Damnit,” Saffron said. “I can’t take you in. You’re not wearing the collar.”
“Can’t you-” I said, and then let the words hang there. “Forget it.”
“I… I took you off the roster,” she said, embarrassed. “The police can’t search the Consulate without a warrant, but if someone saw you, if they get even a whiff, they can get one. If you were a vampire, I could actually give you asylum, but for human ser-uh, don’t take this the wrong way, Dakota, but for human servants, there’s negotiation involved. If the police come knocking, unless you’re already on the roster, I’d have to give you up.”
“And they will come knocking,” I said-I knew how this worked. “You’re my ex.”
Saffron was quiet a moment. “Look, Dakota. I can’t aid you. I’m a public official. I have to follow the law. It will raise a stink if it even sounds like I told someone to help a fugitive. And I think you should expect the police will be watching all of your friends too.”
“Damnit,” I said. I needed to go completely off the radar. “All right. Look… I should go.”
“All right, Dakota,” Saffron said. “Well, then… good luck.”
She hung up.
Quantum Magic
There was one more person to calclass="underline" Jinx. I didn’t immediately get an answer, but then I realized I knew one person who was technically a mundane, but was as deeply involved in the Edgeworld as I was, if not more-and through him, I’d get access to Jinx for free.
“Doctor Zetetic!” Doug said happily into the phone. “ Guten morgen to you! Thanks for calling so early, I know it’s the crack ass of dawn in Berlin-”
“Doug?” I said slowly. Doctor Zetetic? It took me a moment, but then I got it: Zetetic was the original name of the Skeptical Inquirer . Doug was covering my identity. Of course the police would talk to him. One of my known associates. Great. “You know who this is?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said breezily. “Anyway, I did talk to Finkelstein about your problem, and it’s tied to the Bekenstein bound. Care to talk some loop quantum gravity?”
“Sure,” I said, even more slowly, “if you’re free to talk.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah,” he said. “What you’re dealing with is a quantitized bijection between disjoint manifolds-I’m sorry, am I bothering you guys? Sorry. Hold on a minute, Doc.”
“Sure,” I said, hearing voices, then some bumping around. The line got a little more quiet, and I asked, “Doug? You still there?”
“Yeah, Doc,” he said, voice tense-and he was still coding the conversation. “I’m going to take a walk outside. I was over at my fiancee’s, but the police are questioning her.”
Oh shit. They’d already gotten to my friends and family. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”
The line was silent for a moment. “I’m afraid it is,” he said grimly. “Remember she was attacked last year? Well, the police have reopened that case. It may be related to a rash of arsons that’s hitting the city. The last was a warehouse fire, easily killed twenty-five squatters.”
“God have mercy,” I said. “All those warehouses, with only one exit.”
“Yeah, it was pretty fucking horrific,” Doug said, his voice a bit shaken. “They’re making a huge deal of it. I expect they’ll interview anyone even remotely involved.”
Damnit, damnit, damnit! “Well, Doug… thanks for the heads up.”
“No problem,” Doug said. He sighed with relief. “OK, I think it’s safe to talk.”
“Thank God.” I filled him in on the details of last night’s attack, and Calaphase’s death-how we fell through the graffiti, how Calaphase fell into it-and how his blood was sucked out by what should have been marks on the pavement. “Please tell me you found answers.”
“Oddly enough, I cracked it helping Cinnamon with her homework, though the answer ultimately involved loop quantum gravity,” he said. “But it’s easier to think of it like… like a magic door that shows distorted images of both its source and target.”
“Doug, don’t patronize me,” I said. “I know what it’s like, but I need to know how this thing works to fight it. I dug into the literature, and there’s no such thing as a magic door outside of a fairy tale. We’re dealing with deeply hidden magic that’s never surfaced in the Edgeworld.”
“And I think I know why,” Doug said. “Have you heard of the Bekenstein bound?”
“Doug, I read Scientific American more than you do,” I said. “It’s something to do with the holographic universe, right? Somehow, deep down, we’re really two-dimensional?”