73.

  I had to give it to the pigeons; they were certainly industrious creatures, even if they weren't the most intelligent. Fires had been lit in the abandoned church, and preparation was in full swing for the divination charm. I'd been told by the Pigeon King to remove all of my gear, lest the Runes interfere with the ritual. So now I was sitting where the pulpit should have been, in just my combat trousers and a T-shirt, feeling the cold of the night on my bare arms. He instructed me to begin clearing my mind, to ready myself for a state to channel my energies, which was much easier in my bedroom alone than it was in this echoing church with the constant flap and coo of pigeons around me.

  Eventually, I became engrossed in just watching them. Their movements were entirely coordinated and I had the feeling that they had been preparing long before I made my request. As usual, the Pigeon King seemed to be three steps ahead.

  First came the circle. The pigeons created this using bricks and chalk dust. I watched them smashing crumbling bricks that they had found. They flew high into the rafters of the church and dropped them again and again until they had pulverised the bricks into dust. They then mixed the brick dust into a bowl of chalk and set that down next to me.

  "Why bricks?" I asked the Pigeon King, who was sitting on his little throne, which had grown bigger now that he had also swollen in size. He was watching the whole process with marked disinterest, but I noticed he kept an eye on the pigeons and assessed everything that was brought to me with a surreptitious gaze.

  "Circles have many functions," the Pigeon King explained. "Mostly, they are for protection and containment, but by using bricks from the city that you intend to explore, it should help channel the energies in the right direction"

  Next, a rusty nail about 2 inches long was placed down in front of me by a small white and grey pigeon. Then a small bowl of dirty water, a candle, and finally a red thread was laid out.

  Once all the items were sitting in front of me, two black pigeons upended the bowl of chalk and brick dust and began to create a thick circle around me. The circle closed and I felt a strange sensation crackle across my skin. This one was different from the circle that the Pigeon King had me sit in previously. Have you ever heard that electrical buzzing in your ear that's kind of there and then suddenly isn't, and you notice its absence so clearly? That's what it felt like, as if some buzzing life energy or force was suddenly cut off. The Pigeon King clacked around to the front of the circle and sat himself down in front of me, explaining the ritual.

  “These are your items of divination,” he said. “The rusty nail represents the binding and construction of humanity, since we are looking for a building, after all. The bowl of rainwater is to act as your reflective surface. All divination requires a medium to show truth; that’s why in fairy tales people always use mirrors and the like. Of course, this is rainwater collected from the city itself, which again should aid even an amateur like you. You have the candle to connect to unseen forces and the red thread that represents the trail that connects your queries to your answers.” The Pigeon King lifted his wing and plucked one of his own feathers, dropping it into the circle. “A pigeon feather for guidance and intuition, a special gift from me to you.”

  “Thanks,” I said, trying to process all of this information.

  The Pigeon King nodded to one of his pigeons who flew towards the circle, but I noticed it didn't cross the threshold and instead held out a long taper to light the candle before flying away. All other lights were extinguished in the church, and soon all I could see was the small flame reflecting in the eyes of the Pigeon King, and I couldn't help but notice his shadow was too large and not at all pigeon-shaped.

  “Take the nail, mageling, and hold it over the candle flame,” he instructed. I did as he said, holding the pointed end of the nail over the flame until it grew hot enough to singe my fingers. “Drop it into the bowl,” the Pigeon King instructed, and I heard the hiss of steam.

  “The nail has now become an anchor,” the Pigeon King said. “It will bind your metaphysical spirit to the physical world, much in the same way that the Rune did when we entered your mind.”

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  I nodded, suddenly feeling not quite sleepy but certainly fuzzy, as if the corners of my concentration and awareness had been sanded to a dull edge. The only thing that existed in my world now was the flicker of that candle and the Pigeon King's voice.

  “Take the nail and tie the red thread to the end of it. This will symbolise your connection to this hidden stash house. Take the other end of the thread and tie it to your wrist.” I did as I was instructed, my eyelids drooping. “Place the nail back into the water and start to channel your energies.” I dropped the nail, closed my eyes, rested my hands on my knees, palms facing upwards, and began to enter that space of perfect calm and clarity. I was finding it easier and easier to do. I knew how it felt and I knew how to find it now.

  Then I heard the Pigeon King's voice. He spoke in some language that at first I could not understand. It reminded me of the dense tongue I had found in the Codex, but it was different somehow. I couldn't quite figure out why, but it was unnerving. It was an inhuman sound, unearthly even, and then it began to make sense to me.

  “Follow the unseen through the shadow and smoke,” the Pigeon King intoned. “A hidden path lies tangled. Let the thread choke and find.” He repeated this again and again until his words tumbled over each other and became a menagerie of meaningless sounds in my own head.

  I half-raised my heavy-lidded eyes and saw the smoke from the candle begin to curl into shapes above the water. I saw the reflection twist and blur into streets that I recognized. But they showed only a fraction, a glimpse of buildings and landmarks. Smoke continued to wind its way around the streets and buildings.

  “Just focus, Mage,” the Pigeon King spoke quietly. “It is your will that will direct the enchantment now. What is it you seek?”

  I nodded and closed my eyes, but the problem was I didn't know what I sought. I couldn't picture a building. I couldn't even picture what the drug shipment would look like. I had no solid, concrete image in my mind of what I was looking for. I furrowed my brow, trying to let instinct guide me rather than conscious thought. I tried to imagine a big shipment of drugs, and the best I could manage was a stack of cardboard boxes or bags of miscellaneous illicit substances that I had taken from the drug dealers on the streets. But I knew that wasn't right, and when my eyes flickered open, I saw the smoke just spinning in circles listlessly.

  Grinding my teeth, I closed my eyes again, this time picturing the Syndicate members I knew, namely Brick, Black John, and that little accountant-looking man, and maybe even the other two, but I could barely remember their faces. Again, I could picture nothing solid, and when I thought of Black John, all I thought of was him beating the crap out of me. When I opened my eyes, I saw the smoke travelling rapidly across the map to the mechanic's yard that I had been ambushed in. I shook my head again and rubbed my weary eyes.

  “You will find no answers through frustration, mageling,” the Pigeon King said quietly. “Calm yourself and focus.”

  I tried to let the tension run out of my body. Unconsciously, my shoulders had bunched, my brow had furrowed, and even my toes had curled in my boots. Slowly, piece by piece, from top to bottom, I unclenched and loosened my body. First, my eyebrows went slack, my shoulders fell, my teeth unclenched, my hands went limp on my knees, and then my toes unfurled in my boots. I breathed deeply a few more times and just asked myself a simple question: What was I looking for? And the answer was immediate, as if I'd known all along but simply didn’t want to look at it. I wanted to hurt the Syndicate. I was looking for vengeance.

  When I thought about that, when I thought about crippling this vicious, brutal organization that ruined lives, that ruined my life, suddenly the water began bubbling, and the shadow began spinning and flying around the map with renewed vigor and energy. My emotions had also begun to bubble. I felt my heart speeding up, my nostrils flaring, and the anger that seethed inside of me, that had been unlocked by Somnix’s nightmares, began to flood through my body again. Suddenly, I felt the thread on my wrist tighten. I opened my eyes and saw that the nail was now struggling to escape, pointing wildly, pulling at the thread until it cut into my skin. I tore my eyes away from my rapidly reddening and swelling hand and focused on the bowl in front of me.

  “Calm yourself,” the Pigeon King said quickly. “If that thread snaps, the whole spell falls apart. Bring yourself under control, mageling.”

  His voice was back to being stern and authoritative, but it was what I needed. It cut through the rampant emotion and reminded me of what we were doing. I forced myself to calm. I forced back the feelings of anger and hatred and put them back in their box, where they growled fitfully but allowed my mind clarity. The nail tugged the thread painfully tight, but it was no longer getting any tighter. Then, just before I felt the thread was going to snap, the reflection sharpened into a clear but fleeting image. It showed me a decrepit building with broken, flashing neon signs in an industrial district. I saw graffiti and, more importantly, I saw the river.

  I had one last moment to glance at the map, and then the thread broke. The water bubbled and spewed out of the bowl, and the remaining thread around my wrist suddenly turned to ash, burning in front of my eyes. I blinked, coming out of my trance, pain shooting up my wrist, and I looked up at the Pigeon King… except he wasn’t there.

  Instead, an eyeless black face stared at me from the other side of the circle, grinning maniacally, and I screamed.