SL Huang - Up and Coming - Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

Mr. Norse only smiled. “I’ve already stepped outside, Ms. Brooks.”

He laid a particular emphasis on her name, rolling it on his tongue.

Sal felt her phone vibrate against her thigh. Incoming call. She ignored it.

“Congratulations, you know my name. Am I supposed to find that intimidating?”

“You’ll want to get that,” said Mr. Norse.

Behind her, Father Menchú's hand slid toward his own ringing phone.

“Why?”

“It’s the part you’re supposed to find intimidating.”

Sal pulled out her phone and glanced at the caller ID. Liam.

Liam and Asanti stood at the center of a maelstrom. A fierce wind roared through the Archives, picking up books and sending them flying off their shelves, hurtling through the air like mad birds.

“What’s going on?” Liam shouted.

Above them, the towering shelves swayed, metal creaking like an old barn in a storm. Liam wondered just how many tons of paper loomed above their heads, and how long it would take to dig out their bodies if it all came tumbling down.

And then something was falling toward them: Grace. No, she wasn’t falling. She had slipped through the lattice surrounding the central stairs and was skittering down the supports like they were a giant, swaying jungle gym. She landed lightly on her feet, not even out of breath.

“Are you insane?” Liam asked.

She shrugged. “Faster than walking.”

“Did you find the monsignor?” Asanti asked.

Grace shook her head. “Couldn’t get out.”

“We’re sealed in?”

It wasn’t really a question, but Grace nodded. Liam reached for his phone.

“I tried,” said Grace. “No signal.”

Liam didn’t look up. “I’ve got some boosters built into mine. I might be able to get through whatever’s causing this so we can warn the other teams.”

Asanti grabbed Liam’s shoulder to get his attention. “Try Sal and Menchú first.” Even though she was shouting directly into Liam’s ear, he had trouble hearing her over the creak of shelves and the thumps of falling books.

“Why?”

“Because the Market began tonight, and whatever this is, it started at sunset.”

Once Sal had hung up with Liam, Menchú calmly returned his attention to Mr. Norse. “All right. You’ve shown that you can attack my people. Now stop.”

The other man smiled. “No.”

“I will report you to the Guardians. It is against the rules of the Market—”

“The rules of the Market forbid any member to offer violence against another within these walls. I have not lifted a hand against you or your companion. But you killed three of my people. Return my book,” said Mr. Norse, “or the attacks will escalate every night until the rest of your team is just as dead as mine.”

Sal and Menchú left the castle the instant the doors were unbarred at sunrise. Their landlady gave them a look as they arrived for breakfast through the outside door, but Sal was too strung out to care. As soon as they could, they adjourned to Menchú’s room and called Asanti.

“The maelstrom stopped briefly at dawn,” she reported, “but it keeps picking up again, randomly and without warning. Which is almost worse.”

“Is everyone okay?” Sal asked.

“A bit battered, but so far, yes.”

Well, that was something, at least. “Could Mr. Norse be bluffing?” Sal asked.

Menchú shook his head. “Unfortunately, I think we have to assume that whatever Mr. Norse is doing will escalate to more lethal levels until he makes good on his threat.” Then he added, to Asanti, “We should be there with you.”

“As much as I’d appreciate your company and assistance, I think you can do more good working on Mr. Norse where you are. Besides, we’re locked in.”

Menchú said something in Spanish that Sal suspected he wouldn’t be willing to translate. She decided to get back to the matter at hand.

“Okay, so if you’re stuck in there, what can we do from Liechtenstein to make sure that you don’t, you know, die? I mean, besides give Mr. Norse a book leaking demonic goo that wants to drown the world.”

“It depends on what he actually wants,” said Asanti.

“He sounded pretty clear about wanting all of you dead,” said Sal.

“If Norse wanted to kill us, there are a lot of faster, easier, and more deniable ways to go about it,” said Asanti.

Menchú grimaced. “Which means that this is just the opening of negotiations.”

Indeed, Mr. Norse responded immediately and favorably to their request for a meeting, which Sal had to admit lent a certain degree of credibility to Asanti’s theory. They arranged to meet before sunset, in a small room that was normally part of the castle’s museum.

Mr. Norse seated himself on a tapestried stool that must have been at least four hundred years old as though he sat on Renaissance furniture every day. Maybe he did. Menchú and Sal remained standing.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” Menchú began.

“Do you have my book?”

“We do. Locked in our Archives.”

“Then I suggest you unlock it,” Mr. Norse remarked drily. “If transport is a problem, I have an envoy in Rome who will accept delivery on my behalf.” He took a card out of his jacket pocket and held it out to Menchú. Menchú ignored it.

“The book is both damaged and highly dangerous. We cannot hand it over.”

Mr. Norse raised a brow. “I thought Catholics believed in the value of human life.”

“We are aware that you purchased the volume, and are prepared to compensate you for your loss of property.”

“My demands for compensation are very simple. I want my book. Since I suspect you will not provide it, I will kill your team. And then, I want you to live with the knowledge of the deaths you caused with your obstinacy.” His smile was flat and cold. “Unless you can offer me something better than that, I think our discussions are concluded.”

So much for negotiations , Sal thought.

“Time?” asked Liam.

“One minute to sunset,” came Grace’s calm reply. As though they weren’t anticipating all unholy hell breaking loose in the next sixty seconds.

Liam had faith in Menchú and his powers of persuasion. He believed that God would protect those committed to His work on earth. Liam had also been taught that the Lord helped those who helped themselves—and so that was what he and the rest of the team had spent the day doing. Now, Liam’s entire body felt like one huge bruise, and his ears rang from stress, hunger, and lack of sleep. But this time, they would be prepared.

“Are you ready?” Asanti asked.

“Gimme five seconds.”

“Thirty seconds to sunset,” said Grace.

Liam took hold of two heavy iron maces—originally part of some forgotten order’s regalia, now wrapped in wire stripped from every reading lamp in the Archive—and lifted his arms to their greatest extension, one on either side of his body. “Do it.”

Grace and Asanti both jammed spliced electrical plugs into outlets on opposite walls, one for each mace. It hadn’t been easy to create electromagnets with things that were stashed around the Archives, but pain and annoyance were both powerful motivators, and Liam had plenty of both to egg him on. Now he just needed this harebrained scheme to work.

“Grace, a little more on your side.”

Liam heard a scrape as she pushed a set of iron shelves through the cascade of books covering the floor. He fancied he could see Asanti wince out of the corner of his eye, but she didn’t say anything. First, save themselves. Worry about the damage later.