by Joshua Roots
For the first time since arriving, I was completely nonplussed. The conversation hadn’t gone the direction I’d expected.
Worse, I was being forced to admit how much of a negative impact I was having on Dad’s career.
The Elder put his arms on his desk, steeping his fingers. “Listen, I get that you’ve had a hard road the past few years. The attack by the Agents of Quaos didn’t help matters. But the reality is that you’re doing the Skilled and Normals a lot of good by playing the role of media darling. That said, you simply cannot continue acting like a spoiled brat because you’re not getting what you want.
“As for your demand for answers, you’re barking up the wrong tree. None of that is any of your business and you’d be smart to leave well enough alone. You are accusing Elders of impropriety when you have nothing but conjecture. That is bordering on treason. Please tell me you don’t need to reread the tomes covering the professional conduct for employees of the Council.”
I finally found my voice. “Unnecessary.”
“Good. I knew there was some level of intelligence buried beneath all that stupid bravado. If you want to play detective on your own time, I don’t care. But bring unsupported accusations against any Councilmember and you’ll dig your career a grave. Now then,” he added, leaning back in his chair, “is there anything else you want to talk about?”
Dammit, I’d been outmaneuvered.
“No,” I said between clenched teeth.
“In that case, you may see your way out.”
I stood and made for the door.
“Oh, and, Marcus?” Devon asked as I reached for the handle. I turned. “If you ever barge in here like this again, I will strip you of your Warlock title and personally throw you into the gutter. Are we clear?”
I nodded absentmindedly.
“Excellent. Now get the hell out.”
Chapter Fourteen
Re-Research
Steve found me an hour later at the bottom of a pint.
“Hey, big boy,” he said, leaning on the table. He immediately picked his hand up and wiped his palm on his sleeve with a sneer. “Gross.”
I was seated in a dark, corner booth of a filthy, local bar. The floors and tables were equally sticky and the room smelled like moldy beer. Despite the decrepit surroundings, the pub carried a wide range of beers on tap, most of which were from a local micro-brewery.
It was the perfect place to drown one’s sorrows or hide from the public eye—or both.
I glanced up from my drink. “How’d you find me?”
He grinned. “Magic.”
I didn’t laugh.
“Sheesh, tough crowd.” He slid into the seat across from me. “My arm’s better, thanks for asking.” He showed me the bandage. “Healer Jenkins fixed me up.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Our waitress came over, but froze when she saw the behemoth of Greek mythology.
Steve pointed at my dark, heady beer. “Three of whatever he’s having.”
The waitress blinked several times, then backed slowly to the bar.
The Minotaur gave me the once-over. “So, trying to solve the world’s problems?”
“Sulking.”
“Anything I can help with?”
I gave him a quick run-down of my meeting with Devon.
“You’re an idiot.”
I glared at him. Friends were supposed to support you, not point out the obvious.
“Seriously, Marcus,” he continued, not even bothering to cover his distaste for my actions. “What kind of moron does that sort of thing?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Deep down I knew whatever he was going to say was likely right. I didn’t want to confront my behavior. I just wanted to sulk.
The Minotaur snorted. “Well, I’ll give you this, you certainly have a knack for destruction. Both physical and professional.”
My face flushed with embarrassment. “Drop it.”
“Fair enough,” he said as the waitress brought us our drinks. She deposited them on the table. Steve downed two of them like they were shots. He pushed the third toward me and held his fingers up to the waitress. “A couple more, please.”
The girl returned to the bar quicker than before.
“So, what’s your plan now?”
I wiped the condensation trickling down the side of the glass. “No idea.”
“That’s...not like you at all.”
“What do you want me to do, man?” I asked, exasperated with him. With everything. “I thought I had some leverage on Devon and instead, got outmaneuvered. He knows something, but isn’t telling. Worse, he basically told me that if I don’t toe the line and play nice, Dad’s chances of becoming an Elder are zero.”
“He said that?” he asked in disbelief.
“Not directly, but it was a heck of a hint.”
“But he didn’t say it.”
“So?”
“So maybe he’s just screwing with you. Playing mind games.”
I shook my head. “Devon’s an old-school fuddy-duddy and world-class bureaucrat, but he doesn’t seem like the type to manipulate people like that. If anything he’s the most straightforward of all the Elders.”
“I’m not going to pretend to know Council matters, but I do know that all high-level bureaucrats are manipulative in some way. You can’t reach a position of power and authority without playing the game.”
I huffed. “Maybe.”
“No maybes about it. Hell, it’s like that with my clan. Our Alpha didn’t get there by being sweet and charming. She did it by maneuvering her way to the top.” He sipped his beer. “Well, that and killing almost every competitor along the way. But that’s just semantics.”
For the first time all evening, I chuckled.
Steve nodded. “There’s the Marcus we know and love. I was wondering where he was hiding.” He glanced at a nearby table of frat boys arguing loudly about comics. “Why are you hiding in this sinkhole, anyway?”
“No press.”
“Ah.”
My phone chirped.
“You gonna answer that?”
I silenced the ringer. “It’s my PR guy. I’ve been avoiding him all day.”
“Why?”
“Because I just don’t have the energy to do this anymore,” I said heavily. “I’m tired, dude. Tired of being the Council’s pet and tired of not getting anywhere with this Mimic situation. All I want is to sit here, drink a beer and bury my head in the sand for a while.”
Steve took a swig from his drink. Then he reached over and smacked me on the back of the head.
“What the hell was that for?” I demanded as my brain rattled around inside my skull.
“You’re gonna act like a child, I’m gonna treat you like one.”
“You don’t hit kids!”
“Really?” he asked. “‘Cause that’s how my species rolls. Might explain why Minotaurs are complete bad-asses while humans are such sissies.”
My ears rang as I blinked to clear the stars.
He leaned his massive arms on the table. “Seriously, dude, you’ve been a royal pain the past few days. Edgier, darker, short-tempered. You’ve gone from lovable scamp to Grade-A brooding tool. And don’t feed me this crap about the Council, media, or Mimics. I’ve personally seen you deal with apocalyptic forces without allowing a dent in your armor. So what gives?”
I wanted to tell him how terrified I was that I’d enjoyed killing the Mimics at HQ and the excitement I’d felt when we’d faced the mutant pumas—or whatever the hell those things in Maryland were.
I wanted to spill my guts about the guilt I was carrying for the two dead bloggers. Guilt that only added to what I was already carrying from the mistake in my youth. And how all of that made me doubly aware of the current instability of my emotions and Skill.
Then there was the issue of the media and protesters, both of which made me feel exposed in my own home. Try as I might, their presence meant my townhouse was no longer a
sanctuary. Not to mention, they were always there, ready for one of my inevitable screw-ups.
Piled on top of all that were my concerns regarding me and Quinn—especially now that I’d exposed her to the one thing she was trying to avoid. Where were we going? Could I give her what she needed? And her me?
And as the cherry on this sundae of crap, my frustration at Devon’s threat. It was one thing to skip along in life, worrying only about your own reputation. Sadly, I was no longer flying solo. Dad’s career was hinging on me being a good little Warlock.
All of this rattled around inside my head, begging to be released. More than anything, I wanted someone to listen as I unloaded all the baggage I was carrying.
But pride is a huge, stupid speed bump on the highway of relationships and mine was the size of a mountain. So instead of venting like I should have, I stayed silent.
Eventually Steve frowned.
“Fine,” he said, downing his beer in one shot then standing. “You want to keep this crap bottled up, that’s your choice. But failing to talk about it doesn’t mean it goes away. In fact, that kind of stuff will eat at you from within if you don’t let it out. It doesn’t have to be me, Quinn, or your folks, but you do need to let stuff go.” He leaned forward. “But keep in mind that if you shut people out of your life long enough, they’ll eventually get the hint.”
He tossed a gold coin on the table and stormed out of the bar, slamming the door behind him. The waitress stared at the bent doorframe, then glowered at me. I immediately focused on the condensation sliding down my glass.
As much as I hated to admit it, Steve was right—I was being a jerk.
I was keeping both him and Quinn at arm’s length, despite the fact that they were the ones I needed closest to me. I was avoiding Andrew for no good reason and intentionally poking Devon and the Council’s nerves.
Holy hell, jerk didn’t even begin to describe me.
My phone buzzed for the umpteenth time. Having ignored him long enough, I decided to answer it.
“Hey, Andrew.”
“Marcus, thank goodness.” He sounded less relieved than I’d expected. “I’m doing the best I can with damage control, but you and I need to come up with a battle plan.”
My spine tingled with concern. “What in the world are you talking about?”
Andrew paused on the other end. “Have you seen the news?”
“Just the tabloid article that questioned my preference of species.”
He cursed, something that sobered me up immediately.
“I’m sending you a link to the video. Watch it all, then call me back.”
He hung up. I clicked the link as soon as my phone buzzed.
A minute into the video, I was sick.
The news piece was from a local station. A plastic anchorman in an expensive blue suit stared intently at the camera.
“Relations between the Normal and Skilled governments took yet another hit earlier this evening when Carla Jones, Ambassador to the Skilled, was attacked at her home in McLean. Although no fatalities were reported, the Ambassador had few words for reporters.”
The scene switched to a frazzled, albeit still graceful Carla standing outside one of her many garage bays.
“What can you tell us about the attack?” someone asked off camera.
Carla shook her head. “Honestly, not much.”
“Rumor has it the animals were paranormal beasts. Can you confirm that?”
“The local authorities are on the case, so I think it’s best to wait until they submit their report before making wild conjecture.”
“Some people have already questioned if this event, paired with the other recent attacks, will strain relations between the Normals and Skilled.”
Give Carla her due, she didn’t miss a beat. “That relationship is stronger now than ever before.”
“But not everyone shares the Ambassador’s opinion,” Plastic Man said as the image switched to a neighborhood. Another reporter was talking to a man with large glasses and an enormous amount of forehead wrinkles. He leaned into the microphone at the bottom of the screen.”This is exactly the kind of thing that we knew would happen joining our societies. These attacks come from paranormal beasts that we never had to deal with before the reformation.”
“So who is to blame?” Mr. Plastic asked as the scene switched again. This time, to my horror, I recognized the group of protesters outside my home.
A pretty girl with red hair stared wide eyed into the camera. “The Skilled. They brought these abominations with them and we’ll never be safe while these freaks are allowed to practice their dark magic.”
The video ended with a long shot of the protesters and Mr. Plastic asking, “Just a few random incidents or are we seeing a growing trend of danger to Normals because of the Skilled? We’ll put this question and more to our panel of experts at the top of the hour.”
“Holy hell,” I muttered to myself, dialing Andrew. The second he picked up I said, “Tell me this is fixable.”
“It is, but it won’t be easy. Remember how I told you that part of the cross you bear in the limelight is becoming a lightning rod for antagonists?”
“Yeah.” Then, for good measure, “Dammit.”
“Fame is a bitch, Marcus. This is just the tip of the iceberg compared to what my Hollywood celebrities deal with every day.”
I made a mental note to never get into movies.
“The good news is that all press, even negative, generates buzz. That increases your and Elsa’s stock ten-fold. We’ve had two more shows reach out for interviews.”
“Yeah, about that...” I wanted to say that I had no interest in being in the hot seat, especially not now with these targeted attacks against me, but I decided to remain political. “I’m not comfortable leaving this mess the way it is. I need another couple of weeks to patch things up.”
“Marcus, you are operating in a very small window here. You’re a hit with the media for now, but that will fade quickly, especially after the Reformation Ball. The news has a short attention span and once this big Skilled event is over, they’ll be looking for fresh stories. I may be able to push your appearance with Falls another day or so, but that’s it. Shows like the ones we have lined up have literally hundreds of guests waiting in the wings. If we miss this opportunity, it will be gone for good.”
“I’ll do my best.” Not that I’d lose any sleep if things didn’t pan out. Heck, I’d sleep better if they didn’t.
Andrew was either a mind-reader or simply as good at his job as he claimed because he sighed. “Thank you.”
After we hung up, I spent another beer re-watching the video several times. Something in the first viewing had bothered me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. It wasn’t until my third viewing that I saw it. Just a glimpse from the news cameras, but there was no denying the body of the creature that had attacked the Ambassador was the same one I’d run from in Maryland.
The engines of conspiracy in my mind went to warp speed.
A single act of violence was one thing, but a paranormal strike against Carla on the heels of the attack at HQ smelled more like an assassination attempt than anything. And a persistent one at that. Someone was hell-bent on taking her out—they’d tried with Mimics and again with the puma-things.
But who would do such a thing. More important, what would they gain by killing Carla? Or me, for that matter?
I didn’t have an answer. Nor did I have one for why R&D was denying the existence of the Maryland rift.
But if someone had tried to assassinate Carla, then maybe the Mimics had attacked me because I’d thwarted their first attempt.
Then again, the two could be completely unrelated. I had a list of enemies that seemed to grow by the minute. Any one of those people or paranormals would dance in the street if I was killed. But few of them had the capabilities to control a creature like a Mimic. The species had just enough free will and cognitive adaptability to resist mental manipulation from the averag
e Joe.
So if someone was using them to target me and Carla, they’d have to be pretty damn powerful.
Which shortened my list of suspects considerably. On the paranormal side, there were several species capable. Centaurs and Elves were at the top of the list—they possessed the strongest mental acuity. On the human side, only a Master Summoner or Necromancer, a sub-sect of the Summoning branch, were capable. And only the truly powerful Masters could go as far as weak-willed humans or, say, Mimics.
Someone like Devon.
I bolted upright. He had been a Master Summoner before being promoted to Elder. Not to mention, he’d investigated the rift seventy years ago. An incident that also involved crazed Mimics.
Was he the one pulling the strings? Circumstantial evidence supported it. But if so, I still didn’t have a reason why. And without motive, all I had was accusations that bordered on treason.
But even if he wasn’t the one controlling the situation, then someone equally powerful was. And Devon had too much intelligence and knowledge not to have suspicions. Yet he hadn’t pursued it. The only way that would happen was if these events were somehow related to the Blood Oath he’d sworn seventy years ago.
Either way, Devon had just moved to the top of my list for leads.
Renewed with a sense of hope, I pushed the warm beer away from me, tossed a few dollars on the table, then dialed a new number.
“Hey,” I said when the other person answered. “Want to get into trouble?”
* * *
I was just beginning to drop off my euphoric high when I pulled into the short, paved driveway in the older part of north Reston. The house was a ranch-style layout with a two car-garage and an exterior of brown cedar shingles that were popular in the days of disco. The heated square footage was more than adequate for the average family, but the home was miniscule compared to the monoliths on either side.
The front door opened as I exited the Senior Mobile.
Seamus James and I had been friends for almost our entire lives.