Part Five
Ida's voice echoed from the main control room. "Don't try to sneak off for a quickie, we've got work to do."
When they were all in the same room, Ida got down to business. "We've got two reliable locations in all this. The coastal town that Middleman 1999 was in the last time he called home, and the crash site itself. I've been doing scans within an overlapping radius of both those sites, looking for technology glitches that could be magic-related. Over the entire last ten years, which yes, would have been incredibly difficult if I weren't the most advanced processing unit on this entire dirtball. HEYDAR and I are still crunching numbers, but there's not any big obvious pattern. Except one." She looked expectant.
"Yeah. You rock, you rule, we couldn't survive a single day without you," Wendy said in an absolutely flat voice. Rolled her eyes. "Please, oh superior computerized one, favor us with your wisdom." The Middleman stayed out of it.
Ida smirked. "The crash site. When the Navy found it, they did a four-day salvage operation. A pretty good job, actually. It was clear on the first day that the plane was too structurally damaged to bring up in one piece. Getting it back in sections was more time and effort than it was worth. So they did a detailed survey of the site, photographed every inch. Spent most of a day recovering the remains. Sifted through the whole crash site, got every little bit of bone they could find."
"We don't leave people behind," the Middleman said quietly. It wasn't clear if he meant the Middlemen, the Navy, or both.
"That was day one and two," Ida said. "They come back at dawn, day three, and suddenly everything's gone to crap. Camera trouble, diving gear trouble. One of your SEAL types had to choose between decompressing too fast or suffocating when his regulator shut down. Spent a week in a hospital. Nobody you know personally," Ida added. "They kept trying, but no hope. Midday the fourth day they gave up and went home with what they had."
"Then the magic artifact was in the wreckage," the Middleman said. "For a while at least. You're sure the salvage and the photographs didn't find anything like it?"
"Nothing even close," Ida said. "I also retasked a satellite, did some deep-radar scans last night. I can't say whether it was there during the salvage, maybe maybe not. It's definitely not there now."
"What was stopping this statue thing from screwing them up the first two diving days?" Wendy asked. "Do you guys -- us guys -- have some whack-a-magic gadget in the armory someplace?"
"Nope," Ida said flatly. "That's probably another question you should ask the slut-puppy."
The Middleman looked reproachful; Wendy grinned. "That's the first time I've heard you get truly b ... catty about someone who wasn't me," she said. "You are so freakin' jealous."
"Look at the time," the Middleman said hastily. Without a glance at his watch. "Later, Ida. Come along, Dubbie, it would be rude to be late for that consultation."
-----
Roxy Wasserman, semi-retired succubus, was dressed in a sleek linen sheath and jacket that probably cost as much as Wendy's car. She was standing at a fabric-covered table when they entered her office, outlining a pattern in long sweeping strokes. "You never call, you never write," she said dryly. Wendy couldn't guess how much of the disdainful tone was real.
The Middleman looked a little flushed. "Yes. Well, we haven't had a magic-related incursion in some time. This one is old news. It's connected to the mission that killed Middleman 1999. I need you to identify a magic artifact." He held up the sketch. "Apparently it was so antagonistic to high technology that even cameras wouldn't work on it."
Roxy held out an elegant hand. The Middleman stepped up to the table opposite her and passed the paper across. "That narrows down the type of magic a bit. Some of the older ones work that way when they're powerful enough. Speaking of which, I heard from Dresden. He says that if a sacred katana doesn't suit you, there's a longsword available too."
The Middleman looked down. "Michael's dead?"
"Injured and retired, I gather. You should be so lucky. Call the poor boy. He's right, it would be a good match."
Head shake. "I have a job."
Wendy came forward to the table. Roxy's look got more sardonic. "Congratulations, dear. On the wardrobe change, I mean. A bit unimaginative, but at least it's no longer actively offensive."
She'd had a personal relationship, of a sort, with the Middleman before Wendy came along. The human girl couldn't blame Roxy for having her claws out, but she didn't have to turn the other cheek. "It's not haute couture, but it's comfortable," Wendy said with a slight edge and a sweet smile. The Middleman pretended not to hear either of them.
Roxy looked down at the sketch. "But I see you've got bigger problems. If this is even remotely accurate, you're dealing with an artifact of the Deep Ones."
"Oh, phooey." The Middleman's tone made the word stand in for paragraphs of salty language.
Wendy readied a biting "tell me and we'll all know" remark, but she didn't need it. "You must have realized that Earth has several intelligent species besides you," Roxy said. "The Deep Ones are very, very old. Very, very powerful. Fortunately they live in the deepest parts of the oceans, or you wouldn't stand a chance. When they get curious about dry land, it doesn't go well. If they did kill a Middleman in 1999, he wouldn't be their first. The powerful magical aura fits. Even if this artifact were ... asleep, it would destroy any of your little toys more complex than about 1950's technology."
"So a mint-condition DC-3 would be an ideal way to transport this over a long distance," the Middleman said. "We suspected as much."
"If the thing's asleep, that might do it. If it were awakened, even technology that old could stop working." Roxy tapped the sketch. "This is an image of one of the Deep Ones, maybe Dagon. If it's on dry land, and becomes aware of you people ..." She shrugged. "I might have to move back to my old neighborhood."
"So reassuring having you for backup," Wendy snarled. "I feel all warm and fuzzy."
The succubus ignored her and looked straight at the Middleman. "I'd help if I could, truly. But nothing I have can stand against this if it comes alive. Not for an instant. If you can, get it back to the ocean before it notices. If you can't -- it's been interesting knowing you, MM." Her perfect nails tapped on the top of the table. "I might be able to sneak you into the Underworld alive, or even the Summerlands." She glanced across at Wendy. "Bring the cheerleader if you insist."
"You know that isn't going to happen." His eyes were serious, hiding nothing. "We have our work to do, good odds or bad ones."
Roxy's eyes had a tinge of red. "You're a fool. It's not just death, it's the kind of death they'll deal out if you irritate them. And if you think Polly Pocket here will be any use..." She stretched farther across the table, closed her hand around the Middleman's. And screamed.
Wendy went for her gun. But the succubus was retreating, not attacking. Roxy had changed into her other form, red-eyed and shark-toothed. The demonic eyes were round with terror. "How ..." She cradled her right hand. Roxy's palm and fingers were sunburn red. Blisters formed and popped as Wendy watched. "You could have damned well warned me," Roxy hissed, inhuman echoes in her voice.
The Middleman looked from her to his own hand, which looked completely normal. "Warned about what?"
"You've been doing soul-magic yourself. It's her, isn't it?" Roxy pointed a finger at Wendy, flinched in new pain. She backed up another step. "Did you come here to show off? I couldn't give you any shields half as good."
He started to come around the table, thought better of it when the demon backed up. "Roxy. I'm sorry you got injured." The Middleman glanced at his hands again. "But I'm about as magical as a two-by-four, you know that. I swear, I have no idea what just happened."
Roxy sank into a chrome and leather chair. "Stay where you are, both of you." She looked at her burned hand and said something in the hissing, echoing demonic language. The injuries began to heal. "Assuming you are telling the truth, I'll break it into baby steps. You may not know that what humans term True Love," Roxy made a sour face, "has magical significance."
Wendy remembered hurling Carpathian-wood stakes at creatures using Lacey's and the Middleman's bodies. "Actually yeah. It has come up." She pressed closer to him on their side of the table.
"For one thing, it's the natural antidote to my kind's sex magics," Roxy said. "I could throw a killing-force compulsion at you right now, MM -- yes, if I hadn't reformed -- and I doubt you'd notice. The same with Miss Perky and an incubus. Related magic attacks -- enforced despair, the draining of life energy -- also lose effect. You seem to have channeled it through a ritual whether you realized it or not. Did you write your own wedding vows?"
"We haven't gotten married," Wendy said weakly.
"You don't sound sure." The demon looked distant and elegant. "Were there alcoholic blackouts in Vegas at any point?"
"Arroxane," the Middleman said flatly.
Roxy caught the reproach in his formal tone and subsided a little. "Wedding vows can do it. At the dawn of history, they were intended to. Blood brotherhood oaths, in cultures that have them. Don't expect me to explain it, I wasn't there.
"But count your blessings. It's a better defense against Deep Ones than anything I could do. If you don't push your luck, don't confront them too directly, you might both get out alive."
"That's the plan? Find this thing wherever it is, take it away from whoever has it, and act cute in front of it until it gets cooties overload and explodes?
The succubus was getting her composure back. "Oh my, I think that was sarcasm. No. Not unless you intend to spend the rest of your lives in the same room with it." Roxy tapped the sketch. Are these dimensions accurate?"
"We have to assume so," The Middleman said.
"Give me a day or so, I can build you some containment. Limited, but it should let you handle this thing without your darling little Dick Tracy watches destroying themselves." Her eyes narrowed. "Ten years, you said. What's been keeping it restrained this long?"
He shrugged a little. "No idea. It was -- we're almost certain it was -- in a wrecked DC-3 off the coast under fifty feet of water. The Middleman 1999 and," he hesitated. "And an assistant crashed while trying to transport it."
"The salt water didn't stop it, then. The Deep Ones or one of their halflings could have gotten it back as easily as picking up the morning newspaper." Roxy looked down. "Your Middleman 1999 didn't come to me with this. He never did believe I was reformed enough to trust. Maybe he went to some other magic consultant."
"There's no mention of one in the archives. We need more information on the Deep Ones," the Middleman said. "All you can give us."
"You always did live dangerously. There was a human in the 1920's who did extensive research. He didn't mean to -- he was trying to find out why both his parents had died insane. He found out too much. Died young himself, of an unexplained cancer -- that's the official story," Roxy said. "The Deep Ones have made contact more than once on that part of the East Coast. And they're interfertile with your kind, in spite of their looks. Never lose sight of that. When they get interested in dry land, breeding hybrids is always their first move."
"And the tabloid reads 'I married a frog,'" Wendy said. "Sounds nasty."
Roxy's blood-red eyes were serious. "Suicide is usually the best move at that point. You don't want details."
The Middleman's hand rested on Wendy's shoulder. "Then it's a good thing we're protected."
"You'd better stay that way," Roxy said. "Candlelit dinners, whatever it takes. Soul-bonding shields are only as good as the bond." She stopped, visibly pulled her emotions together. "I'll send the background information to your office by messenger. A few hours, probably. And the magic-proof container when I have it finished. MM, darling, just be yourself. You ..." her eyes shifted to Wendy. "Be worth it."
Wendy stepped around the fabric table. Reached out in what she realized was a copy of the Wu Han Thumb of Death, touched the older woman lightly between the eyebrows. "Count on it."
------