by Stephen King
At least Alaric had stopped casually plotting ways to kill Jack whenever he thought of Jack with Quinn. That was progress, of a sort.
"That is one scary expression on your face, my friend," Ven said. The prince folded his arms over his chest. "Do I even want to know what's on your mind?"
"Your wants are of no concern to me. My mind is my own. I leave now to confront this fake Ptolemy. Once he's dead, and I retrieve the gem, our problems will diminish."
Ven shook his head. "Not by much. The world still knows that Quinn is a rebel leader. That bell can't be unrung. She's done being safe--or, for that matter, going undercover--forever. And we should check in with Conlan and the rest of the Seven and find out if they even know what's going on. It's not like they get CNN in Atlantis."
"Fine. You check in. I'm going to New York." Alaric called to the portal, belatedly wondering if it would even answer, if Noriko truly was the portal spirit or presence who had directed its magic.
A shimmering oval of light answered his question, but before entering he stopped and addressed it, feeling a fool.
"You. Spirit of the portal. Can you speak in that form?"
Silence was his only answer, which was no answer at all.
"Fine. Take me to the Plaza Hotel in New York," he commanded, as he stepped into the swirling magic.
As the vortex took him, Ven followed.
"Somebody needs to save your ass," the prince said.
"Whatever you say, Your Highness."
"Call me that again, and I'll kick your ass instead."
The portal deposited them in what appeared to be a garden or park, in a stand of trees. The rich scent of plants, flowers, and trees, with an underlying touch of metal and machine, infused the night air, and stars twinkled overhead.
"Night here, day in Japan. The time zone change is messing with my brain," Ven said.
"Where are we?" Alaric demanded.
"This is Central Park. See that overgrown mansion of a building? That's the Plaza. Finest hotel in New York." Ven grinned. "I met this brunette in the Champagne Bar once--"
"Yes, I'll be sure to tell Erin all about that." Alaric had even less patience than usual with the prince's banter. Quinn's life was in danger. Rage thrummed through his bones and his blood like the war cry of ancient tribal drums.
A look of pure horror crossed Ven's face. "You wouldn't do that. Erin knows she's the only woman for me. I was just-- Never mind. Let's find this Ptolemy."
Alaric headed out of the trees and toward the hotel, not caring whether Ven followed or not. This bastard of a pretender had put Quinn in danger.
Ptolemy had to die.
"Did you tell Quinn you were leaving?"
"She won't even notice I'm gone before I return with the news of Ptolemy's defeat," Alaric said grimly, acknowledging, if only to himself, how quickly he'd been forced to break his vow never to leave her. But her life itself was at stake--he'd had no choice.
The portals to the nine hells were built with good intentions, too, or so the old stories went. Good intent or avid self-interest? At times the barrier between the two was as thin as a coward's resolve.
Ven caught up with him, whistling under his breath. "Mistake. Big mistake."
Probably. Every step Alaric took with Quinn was a mistake. But he had many long years to work on doing better. For now he'd do what he did best--battle his enemies.
Kill them all.
He stared up at the luxe hotel, wishing he could see through the walls. But he had the next best ability--he could sense Atlantean magic. And, like it or not, at least that much of the pretender's claim must be true, unless there were another Atlantean inside the building wielding control over the elements. He could feel the pounding pulse of incredibly strong power coming from one of the upper floors of the building.
"He's experimenting with Poseidon's Pride," he told Ven from between clenched teeth, as every fiber of his being protested the very thought of it.
"I can feel it. Or at least feel something. The hair on my arms is trying to climb off my skin. Quinn nailed it, though. It feels wrong," Ven said.
"His magic isn't pure. It certainly isn't ancient," Alaric said, closing his eyes to concentrate more intently. "It's tainted with something that feels oily and perverted."
"Perverted magic? What does that even mean?"
Alaric opened his eyes and scanned the busy street they'd approached. "Most magic comes from a wholesome place. Water, earth, air, and even fire, which, though forbidden to Atlanteans, is pure and untainted. This . . . this is something different. Twisted. Demonic, perhaps."
Ven whistled. "I have no desire to run into another demon. One per half a millennium is plenty for me."
"Demon or no, he dies tonight."
"So you keep saying, but don't you think we should get him to answer a few questions first?"
A group of pedestrians approached, weaving drunkenly and singing. Alaric flashed them a single look, and they abruptly turned and started walking very quickly in the opposite direction.
"Humans annoy me," he growled.
"Not all humans," Ven said, making Alaric want to blast the prince with an energy sphere right there on the street.
"Almost all humans," he amended, instead. "Yes, you may be right. If he is drawing on demonic magic, I'd like to know how an Atlantean or Atlantean descendant with that kind of power escaped our attention all this time. You know I've scanned for any of our line with magic every time we come to the surface."
"Less talk, more action?" Ven suggested.
Alaric scowled, and a woman who'd been tentatively approaching them, holding out a camera, screamed and ran across the street, barely escaping being hit by a car.
"That, my friend, is one terrifying face," Ven said.
"Less talk, more action," Alaric replied.
Together, the two Atlanteans crossed the street to the Plaza Hotel, where one pretender to the Atlantean throne was going to die a long, slow, horrible death.
Japan
Quinn sat at the deserted table, her untouched plate in front of her, and stared into space, arms clutched around her waist, trying to contain the empty hole that used to be her insides. She'd known the day might come; she'd crossed too many powerful people for it to be otherwise. But she hadn't expected it to come so soon, and in spite of what she'd said about being tired, there was no part of her that was ready to give up the fight.
"Now I might have no choice," she told Jack, who kept right on snoring at her side.
Damn tigers were worse than house cats. All he did in this form was sleep. Although he was probably going to need to eat again soon, and she hoped that didn't present a problem. Tigers ate a lot.
A lot.
Sushi and noodles wouldn't cut it. Archelaus had told her there was an actual safari-style zoo at the base of Mount Fuji somewhere, and it had been supplying him with tiger chow. One problem solved, seven million to go.
A shadow blocked the entryway from the corridor, and she looked up to see the woman who called herself Noriko standing there. The Japanese woman, or Atlantean portal, or whatever she was, bowed slightly before entering the room.
"Are you aware that your companions have gone?" Noriko asked.
Quinn nodded. "Yeah, I'm surprised you didn't hear the shouting when Archelaus told me."
A fresh stab of pain sliced through her. Alaric had left her without so much as a "see you later," after promising never to leave her side. When he came back, she was going to point that out to him.
If he came back.
"I'm just going to call you Noriko, because the rest of it is too unwieldy," Quinn said abruptly. "Or, what did you say your Atlantean name was? Galillee?"
"Gailea. I have not heard that name in so long that I am as unused to it as I am to Noriko, although the one whose body this is reacts to her name, of course."
"That's just creepy, you know, right? Doesn't she mind that you hijacked her body? Not that I'm sure I believe any of it."
Noriko dropped gracefully down to kneel beside Jack. She tentatively placed a hand on his head and began to stroke his fur, and Jack's snore changed to a rumbling purr.
"Well, at least Jack thinks you're okay, but he once had a drinking buddy who belched the national anthem for fun, so he's not exactly the best judge of character." Quinn knew she sounded unwelcoming at best, and openly hostile at worst, but she didn't have room for one more problem in what was left of her life. Her mind already felt like it was cracking a little around the edges; her future fracturing into a shattered fun house mirror of thwarted hopes and doomed plans. She tried not to wonder if Alaric had been any part of any one of her futures.
Too little, too late. If even half of her enemies had seen that broadcast, she'd be dead soon. Better to focus on Noriko's bizarre story, rather than her own probable early death.
Noriko, unaware of Quinn's dark thoughts, smiled, which transformed her skeletal face into something approaching loveliness. "Tigers are very wise. I'm sure his friend had a good heart, beneath his churlish ways. And, no, Noriko is at peace that she will not die from the cancer."
"Yeah. Maybe. And you? What kind of heart do you have?"
"One that wishes to assist you in any way that I can, Quinn Dawson," Noriko said, staring at Quinn with eyes both old and sad. "I have watched you and your sister during the past few years, and I have come to know the strength and goodness in your own hearts. Riley is truly fit to be queen of Atlantis."
"Why did you quit being the portal?" Quinn asked, ready to change the subject. Sure, Noriko knew things she shouldn't know, but that still didn't mean her story was true.
"Poseidon plays his games. This is one of them. I must prove that I am worthy to be mortal again--a woman instead of an untouchable spirit." Noriko dropped her head so her hair covered her eyes, but Quinn didn't miss the single tear that escaped and made its way down the other woman's cheek.
Either Noriko was telling the truth, or she was an Academy Award-worthy actress. Quinn still wasn't betting on which one it was. She decided abruptly that she didn't have time right now to care.
"Help me, then, if your heart is so true," she challenged. "Noriko must speak Japanese, right? If she's in there, too, help me find a way to the airport. I need to get to New York. Ptolemy wants me? Okay, then, he's going to get me."
Noriko's eyes widened. "But your companions meant for you to stay here . . ."
Quinn rolled her eyes. "If you're going to live in this century, Gailea, you need to learn something. Women do whatever they want to do these days."
Noriko nodded and drew a slim phone from her pocket. "I will find out the fastest way to Narita International Airport in Tokyo and book you a flight. We have something called a Visa platinum card, evidently."
"JFK Airport, please," Quinn said. "If you have access to unlimited funds, by the way, instead of worrying about dying or Poseidon's games, you might want to consider joining the rebel alliance and helping out. We're humanity's best hope."
"Are you recruiting me?"
Quinn shrugged. "Once a rebel leader . . . If you'll excuse me for a minute, I need to say good-bye to a hungry tiger."
Noriko rose and bowed again, and then left the room, tapping away at her phone. Quinn looked down at Jack and wondered how to say what would probably be her final good-bye to the best friend she'd ever had.
Jack opened one eye, probably some tiger sixth sense or something at work. Quinn dug her hands into the fur on the sides of his face and pulled his shaggy head up closer to her own.
"I have to go, fur face. I have to find out what that nut ball Ptolemy wants from me and what he's up to. If the jewel really is what Alaric thinks it is, and it really has that much power--well, who knows how much damage it can cause. Somebody has to stop him, and I seem to be out of any other kind of job, so I guess it needs to be me."
Jack pulled away from her and snarled, placing one heavy paw on her leg as if to hold her down.
"Look," she said, almost desperately, fighting the tears threatening to close her throat and run down her face. "I can't do this without you. I don't want to do this without you. Can't you please come back? Please be human again, just for a while?"
She stared into his eyes, searching for any trace of his humanity, but saw nothing to reassure her. Nothing but wildness and ferocity. Maybe Alaric was right. Maybe Jack really was gone--permanently gone--and only a faint memory of their friendship kept him from mauling her or worse.
She stopped fighting the tears. Nobody was around to see them anyway, and Jack deserved at least her tears.
"You saved my life so many times I can't even count that high," she whispered. "You loved me when I didn't deserve it. You stood by me when I took us into trouble, and battles, and worse. You even stood by me when I fell in love with an Atlantean priest who has sworn a vow of celibacy to a god."
He snarled again, more quietly, and gently butted her shoulder with his head.
"I never deserved you, Jack. Not your love or your friendship. Not even your amazing ability to always have my back," she continued, openly crying now. "I never did, and now I can never hope to. I love you, you know? Not the way you want, but I love you. If you really love me, try to come back. For me. Please."
She gave up at that point, since further words would be meaningless. Jack--her Jack--knew what was in her heart. Instead, she put her arms around him as best as she could and she cried into his soft, silky fur until it was soaked, while her heart shattered into tiny, tiger-shaped pieces.
Finally she stood up and scrubbed at her eyes with her hands. "Good-bye, my friend."
In the most painful blow of all, he didn't even try to stop her from leaving. He just sat there and silently watched her walk away.
Chapter 6
The Plaza Hotel, New York City
"Pretty fancy, isn't it?" Ven looked around and whistled. "Whoever he is, he has money. This place doesn't run cheap, and he's in one of the best suites, from what you tell me of where you feel that magic."
Alaric shrugged. He didn't care about money or hotels with gold and gilt fixtures. He cared about Quinn. Her life was in danger. Nothing else mattered.
"It's probably a private elevator to get there," Ven said. "This could be a problem, if you want to be subtle."
Alaric raised an eyebrow. "Elevator? Subtle? Really? Has domestic bliss befuddled your mind?"
Whirling around, he headed back out to the street, leapt on the edge of the fountain, and then shot straight up into the air, transforming his body into mist on the way. What did he care for subterfuge or hiding his powers from humans now? Ptolemy had announced the existence of Atlantis to the world, so what did it matter if a few New Yorkers saw Alaric as he claimed Atlantean water magic?
Below, he saw Ven stare up at him, cursing, and then take a less dramatic approach to achieve the same end, ducking behind one of the ubiquitous yellow taxis before he, too, transformed. Alaric felt a moment's grim amusement at the idea that practical jokester Ven had acted with more caution than he had. He soared up until he felt the source of the magic as it pulsed and pounded in front of him, coming from behind a wall of glass.
Nice view these bad guys have, Ven sent to him on the shared Atlantean mental pathway.
Let them view this, Alaric returned, just before he blasted a hole in the window and soared through.
Ven changed back from mist to his body mere seconds after Alaric did, and the first thing he did was punch Alaric in the arm.
"Way to go. Seriously, nice stealth move."
Alaric ignored him, concentrating on the group of green-robed humans cowering on their knees in the room. "It's them again. The Platoist Society. Remember, with Reisen? They worship anything they think is Atlantean."
"They don't have to wonder if I'm Atlantean. I have already told them, and the world, that it is so," Ptolemy said, stepping out from behind a teenage boy who was the only human standing.
The boy was trying desperately to look brave, but sweat stood out
on his dark skin and his eyes were wild. Ptolemy still carried the enormous tourmaline, but he'd fastened it to the end of a gaudy gold-gilt scepter. It glowed faintly, and Alaric could feel pure Atlantean magic course through every nerve ending in his body. From underneath and around the shimmer of power, however, the tainted pulse of demonic magic bit into him with jagged teeth.
"What are you, really?" Alaric demanded. "Tell me now, and I may at least make your death quicker."
"Ah, such a generous offer," Ptolemy said. He laughed mockingly. "Who exactly are you that you dare to make it when I hold the most powerful jewel of Atlantis in my hand?"
"How do you know that jewel is Atlantean?" Ven asked, edging closer to Ptolemy's right, to flank him.
Ptolemy pointed the scepter at him. "You must be one of the false princes. I recognize the stench of undeserved arrogance."
"I am the King's Vengeance, and you are going to die if you don't start answering questions right now." Ven pulled his daggers from their sheaths and dropped into a battle-ready stance.
Ptolemy aimed the scepter at Ven and fired off a blast of sickly reddish-orange power that slammed Ven into the wall. When Alaric called to his own magic and drew back his arm to hurl an energy sphere at the pretender, the man yanked the teen boy in front of him.
"I think not," Ptolemy taunted Alaric. "Not unless you want to kill this boy, and you don't do that, do you? You think you're the good guys. Humanity's heroes from legend--what a joke. Which one are you, anyway?"
"I am Alaric, high priest to Poseidon, friend to the true ruler of Atlantis, and I am the one who is going to rip your intestines out by way of your throat," Alaric told the impostor. His teeth ached from the residue of tainted magic, and he still couldn't figure out exactly what Ptolemy was. Demon or human? Not vampire, that much was clear.
If demon, he was the most skilled demon Alaric had ever encountered. Most of them couldn't hide their true forms for longer than a few seconds, or a minute at most. This one had done the press conference, and still now he stood before them in human form.
As Ven struggled to his feet, swearing a blue streak, Alaric decided simply to ask, "What makes you think you're Atlantean, demon?"