“I can’t make you leave,” Dalton said. “Well, I could, but it’s not worth the effort. As for Mutex, he’ll be caught. We might have trouble finding the Cornerstone, but once we capture Mutex and dissolve whatever safeguards he’s created, we should be able to find it by divination. There are lots of built-in safeguards against that, since the Cornerstone isn’t something we want apprentices and cantrippers to find, but I know a few techniques that should work. Once we get the big rock back…well, I can’t promise to honor whatever agreement you had with Finch, but we can discuss things, and maybe reach an agreement. We’ll have to investigate first, and find out what, if anything, Mutex did with the stone, see if any damage was done, but after that, perhaps you can make use of it, under supervised conditions, for a suitable price. It might be a while, but I’ll be serving out the rest of Finch’s term, so I’ll be in charge for a few years.”
“Years,” Marla said. “I see. What makes you think you’ll be able to catch Mutex anytime soon?”
“My mirror-selves are out in force, Ms. Mason. Every half hour, I get an update on their status. On my last ping, which happened shortly after you arrived, I learned that Mutex is only a dozen or so blocks from here, being pursued by my mirrors. They coordinated on that ping, and now they’re closing in on him en masse. He’s just meat, and his little poison frogs can’t do anything to help him. My mirror-selves don’t get poisoned. They’re in meatspace, but not of it. You can knock them down, maybe, but you can’t do any real damage to them.” He thumped his chest—a rather grotesque gesture, Marla thought, given the greater context of heart-stealing—and said, “As long as I’m still operational, so are they.”
“You’re bringing him here?” Marla said. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
Dalton smirked. “Don’t worry. He won’t be conscious when he arrives. And my mirror-selves will make sure no biological contagions make it into the office.”
Was Dalton exhibiting stupid overconfidence, or merely a healthy sense of his own capabilities? Time would tell. Probably a very short time.
Something on Dalton’s desk buzzed. He frowned, leaned forward, and tapped a key. “Odd,” he said finally. “That was the door alarm, but it’s closed, and I don’t see anyone on the monitors.”
“Shit,” Marla said. “Could it be someone invisible?”
Dalton rolled his eyes. “I’ve got up-to-date decryption applications running all over this place, so unless they’re using an all-new spell, I don’t think that’s likely. I’ve got infrared sensors, too, of course. More likely it’s just a false positive on the system. Let me run back the video…. Nope. The door didn’t even open. See?”
He turned the monitor, which showed a startlingly high-resolution view of the front door. Marla was used to grainy low-res security camera footage, so this was a surprise, but it made sense that Dalton would have better tech than the average person. The door didn’t open, but there was something—a brief flicker, almost too fast for the eye to see, but Marla caught it. “What’s that—”
Blood welled up out of Dalton’s mouth, then fountained, spattering the desk and computers. Marla leapt backward, putting distance between herself and whatever had attacked Dalton—but what had attacked him? There was nobody else in the room, unless there was someone invisible. “B, Rondeau, get out!” she shouted, and they complied with alacrity, Rondeau dragging B by the hand. Dalton’s mirror-selves came forward and flanked her, but they seemed at an utter loss as to how to proceed.
Then Marla saw a hummingbird fluttering high in the corner of the room, and knew this was Mutex’s doing. Something invisible flung Dalton’s body—he was quite obviously no longer among the living—on the desk, knocking over the monitors, which crashed and sparked on the floor. Something tore Dalton’s shirt open, shreds of cloth flying, and then bright red arterial heart’s blood gushed as his rib cage was ripped open. Something flickered behind the desk, like the ruby flutter of hummingbird wings, moving faster than the eye could see.
“This is bullshit,” Marla said. The time had come when nothing else would work, so Marla reversed her cloak.
The benevolent, healing qualities of the white side disappeared as the inner lining—the deep purple of a bruise—became the cloak’s exterior, clothing Marla in a veil of imperial shadow. When the cloak reversed, Marla’s rational mind receded to a distant corner of her consciousness. She could move with superhuman speed in this form, perform feats of strength that would normally break her bones, but it wasn’t much good for planning, or even for following a plan. While clothed in the purple, Marla could only assess and dispose of threats.