He laughed and the sound rolled like thunder, shaking the Grey version of the room. “Perhaps I’ll show you the window I was thrown from, if the building still exists.”
“Was this—”
“My death? No. I’ve always been very hard to kill, though several have tried.” He raised his chin and touched a patch of skin on his neck where his whiskers grew thin. “That was my mortal wound. Remember this: If you mean to kill a mage, first you silence him and bind his hands behind his back. Better yet, cut them off. Very few can cast by thought alone without killing themselves.”
I shuddered and turned my gaze away. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. If things go badly in Portugal, you’ll need every trick you can conjure at your disposal. Luckily, you are also very hard to kill.”
“Oh, no. I seem to die all too easily. I just don’t stay down. Usually.”
I felt his silence as much as heard it.
“There’s a limit to everything,” I said. “Someday I won’t get up again. Maybe soon. Maybe not.” I was prevaricating, since I was convinced the next death would be my last. Another Greywalker had told me I would know, but it was like knowing that the earth spun as it orbited the sun, even when you couldn’t see or feel it—I just had the feeling that it was true.
Carlos made a low growling sound and closed the distance between us. “Perhaps we shouldn’t do this. There is a risk. . . .”
“Living is risky. Driving a car is risky. I’d guess from the setup that we’re going to be playing dead—or at least I will—which is only crazy. And you and I, we’re pretty good with crazy, by now. So let’s just get this over with. I assume whatever transportation you’ve arranged will be arriving soon.”
“Within an hour. Tovah will manage the paperwork and so on.” Carlos gestured toward the woman in the corner.
She stepped forward and offered me a handshake, and I could see a tiny dazzle of Grey on her wrist, not much larger than a grain of rice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve already filed all the necessary papers with the consulate and completed those that will be traveling with you. All should continue smoothly.” She noticed my frown and glanced at her wrist when I didn’t reply or shake her hand.
I’m often suspicious of unexplained Grey marks—they’re rarely a good sign—and as I knew Purlis’s project was aimed at gaining some kind of control of paranormal creatures to use them as spies and engines of terror, it gave me pause. I hated to question it—especially in front of Carlos—but I did. “What is that?”
Tovah shifted her glance to Carlos without turning her head, not at all affronted by my rude behavior.
“Nothing sinister,” he said. “All of those who assist us bear a mark, inconspicuous but visible.”
I peered at it, giving it a look through the Grey to better see the actual shape. “It looks like a dagger.”
“It is mine,” he said, as if I should have guessed. Maybe I should have—Carlos has a particular attachment to a knife that once nearly killed him and, being a necromancer, he has an affinity for instruments of death, anyway.
I nodded. “All right. Why haven’t I noticed these marks before?”
“You’ve seen them, but you had no reason to question them. Now you have every reason.”
I made a noise of dissatisfaction and turned my attention back to Tovah rather than to the tiny mark on her skin.
“Do you do this often?” I asked.
“Yes,” she answered, as if the conversation had never been interrupted. “But not with someone who’s still alive. You may find it a bit unsettling—the Portuguese officials require a rather old-fashioned container, which is not as comfortable as a proper casket.” She indicated two long wooden boxes that had been arranged on the farthest table.
I had to admit, I’d never considered whether a casket could be called “comfortable.” I walked toward them and looked the boxes over. They were built of something like wood chipboard and lined with a dusty-looking metal. Nylon mesh straps formed three loop handles on each long side of the slightly protruding bottom plank and a rubber gasket ran all the way around the open top. Both boxes were the same size and I thought I’d probably be less cramped than Carlos would be, since the box was long enough to accommodate either of us—with a few inches to spare over my five feet ten inches—but rather narrow for the width of his shoulders. Matching lids leaned against the wall nearby, and an electric screw gun and a box of impressively long wood screws stood on the end of the counter.
“They look . . . cozy,” I said.
“They’re lined with zinc and hermetically sealed,” Tovah said. “I hope you have no metal allergies.”
“No.” I frowned. “So, they’re airtight?”
“Usually. Yours is . . . not quite to spec. The consulate does not require an inspection at the arrival destination and the anomaly will be undetectable on X-rays because of the metal lining. All the paperwork is in order, so there should be no reason for anyone to open the boxes anywhere en route. You’ll be picked up as soon as customs releases the cases and the Lisbon mortuary will deliver you to your destination. It’s all arranged.”
“It sounds . . . um . . . fine. Thank you.”
She gave me a small smile and stepped back, finished with her recitation and reassurance. She looked at Carlos and he nodded. She left the room through another door that I suspected led to a loading dock or storage area.
“Now what?” I asked him once her door was closed.
“Now . . . I put you to sleep.”
“That sounds like the euphemism veterinarians use.”
“I assure you, it’s not the same. But there is, as I said, a risk.”
“And I already said it’s acceptable.”
“No, you did not. But now you have. Come sit on the table here and remove your boots.”
“Why?” I asked even as I moved to do as he directed.
“Because you will be more comfortable without them. And I don’t wish to stoop.”
“Is your age getting to you?” I teased him.
He closed the distance between us faster than I could see and wrapped his near arm around my waist, pulling me tight to his side. I gagged on the bleakness of his aura and the boiling nausea he brought with him. He put his mouth near my ear and whispered, “There is another way, Blaine.”
I had to swallow hard before I could reply. “No. You know the answer will always be the same.”
“I cling to hope,” he said. Then he laughed, let me go, and took half a step back. “On the table, if you please.”
“I feel like a surgical patient, but without the backless gown,” I said as I hitched myself up onto the steel embalming table and began taking off my boots.
“No surgery, though there will be some blood.”
I rolled my eyes, dropping one boot to the floor. “I should have known.”
“And death.”
I looked up, trepid and not a little upset. Carlos had his back to me and was reaching into a cupboard near the coffins. He took something down and turned to face me.
It was a rat—a huge rat. “I didn’t know they came that size,” I said.
“It is very large. It was destined to be dinner for an anaconda at the university, but I borrowed it first.”
“And what’s it for?”
“This is a spell of similarity. To make you appear dead, we’ll need another creature that is dead. The strands of your life forces will be entangled, and so long as one lies as dead, the other will continue as alive. Currently you’re both alive. Someone’s state must change, and it’s far safer and to our needs that it be the rat and not you.”
I felt sick. “No, I can’t do that. It’s terrible,” I said. I don’t have any particular soft spot for rats, but it was a healthy, innocent, living creature. It didn’t deserve this.
He shrugged. “My power lies in death and within that realm there’s only the one other way, which you’ve already rejected.” His voice, though soft, still sent a quivering sensation through my chest.
I stared at the rat. It looked calm, even a bit sleepy, in Carlos’s hands. He put it on his shoulder like a pet and picked up two small bottles from the counter nearby. He walked to me, stroking the rat with his knuckles, and held out the bottle in his free hand. “Drink this.”