by Joshua Roots
Visitation Hours
The drive to Old Town was short thanks to minimal traffic of midday. I hit the waterfront area in less than twenty minutes, dumped the Senior Mobile in a parking garage, and walked briskly along the timeworn streets to a row of tall, expensive townhomes.
Double-checking the address, I walked up to the gate and rang the callbox.
“Yes?” a voice said.
“Hi, my name is Marcus Shifter. Is it okay for me to see Alistair?”
The box was silent. I stood there, willing to wait as long as necessary. I owed the kid as much. He might have been the annoying new guy, but a team was supposed to watch out for one another.
And we’d failed.
A minute later, the door buzzed as it unlocked. I turned the handle and walked inside. My senses tingled as I crossed the barrier of the home.
A young butler greeted me.
“Good evening, sir. If you’ll wait here one moment, please.” He disappeared before I could respond.
I killed time inspecting my surroundings. Considering how large the townhouse seemed from outside, the entryway was surprisingly small. But what it lacked in size it more than made up for in elegance. On one side was a mirror framed in gold leaf, on the other, a gorgeous wood side table that looked centuries old. The marble floors were polished to a shine, reflecting my image like a mirror.
So much beauty in the small palace. But if you were stuck there for the rest of your life, it would only ever be a prison.
“This way please,” the butler said, appearing out of thin air.
I followed him down a narrow hallway, guilt picking at my heart. I’d received a lot of attention recently, even a few accolades, yet I hadn’t spared a thought for Alistair. The last few days I’d only cared about my own petty problems, not about the one team member who’d been grievously wounded.
That last thought filled me with trepidation. How bad off what Alistair? Was I really ready to see him?
Ready or not, I sure as hell was going to do it. Because he deserved it and because that’s what teammates did for each other. Steeling myself against the fear of what might come, I pressed forward.
The butler escorted me into a bedroom at the back of the home. Unlike Normal hospital rooms, the Skilled tended to rely more on holistic and magical techniques. As such, technology was eschewed for things like burning herbs and healing balms. I’d expected as much at the Monroe household.
What I hadn’t expected was Jethrow.
“What the hell?” The words were out before I could stop myself. My old friend looked up from the bedside. His eyes were red and his face deeply lined.
Jethrow broke into a weak smile when he saw me. “Marcus.”
I buried my surprise, focusing instead on appearing calm. Letting Jethrow’s presence get to me at HQ was one thing, but it was quite another under these circumstances. We both owed it to Alistair to be on our best behavior.
Which meant I needed to be on my best behavior since the grudge between me and Jethrow was very lopsided.
“What are you doing here?” I asked evenly.
Jethrow turned back to Alistair. The kid was pale and his face gaunt. His breathing was labored. Even asleep it seemed like he was in pain.
“I left the meeting with the Mosaic Group right after you slipped out. Thought I’d swing by here on my way home.” Jethrow placed a hand on the bed. He stared at Alistair, swallowing hard. “He was one of my students, you know?” he whispered. “Had him for some basic Warlock training. He was cocky, arrogant, headstrong. We never could see eye to eye. But deep down, he was a good kid. Passionate, determined. Funny thing, he reminded me of someone else.” Tears filled his eyes. “Maybe that’s why I took a liking to him.”
I was too uncomfortable with Jethrow’s display of emotion to find any words. He was always in control when we were younger. Never lost his temper, never broke down. A bit of a hothead myself, I’d been so envious of his composure.
Watching him cry over the kid, I wondered if that composure was nothing more than an act. Could he have simply been bottling his emotions? And if so, was releasing them, like he seemed more willing to do these days, the better option?
I also wondered just how damaging his own injury must have been. To nearly be killed by your partner was the kind of betrayal that could leave a long, bloody scar. Physically and emotionally.
Maybe, after everything that had happened between us, it was time to let the past go.
Maybe he needed a friend.
I moved next to him. “So, been here before?”
He wiped his eyes. “I stop by as often as I can.”
“Do you help with the healing?”
He shook his head. “I just sit and pray.”
The man was full of surprises today. “Since when are you religious?”
“Not every problem can be solved with science or magic, Marcus. Sometimes we have to ask for outside help. Care to join me?”
I shifted, suddenly uneasy with the conversation. Thanks to our history, my own emotions were complicated enough around him without bringing God into the equation. Even so, if this was his normal routine, I’d feel worse disrupting it. “No thanks. I’ll just stand here and listen if that’s okay.”
He nodded, then bowed his head. The prayer was short and sweet. When he finished, he touched Alistair’s hand.
“Sounds like you’ve done that before.” I meant for it to sound earnest, but I was so out of practice with him that it might have come across as snarky.
He stood and clapped me on the shoulder. “It’s not the first time I’ve prayed by the bedside of someone I care about.”
Tears filled my own eyes, but before I could answer, he yanked me into a hug. I was so stunned that I simply stood there, arms at my side.
“See you,” he said, releasing me and walking out of the room before I could react.
I watched him leave, shaken by his affection. Even at our closest, we’d never even man-hugged, let along real-hugged. His intense sentiment, the physical contact, it was an emotional punch in the gut that was accentuated by the sudden realization that I was alone with Alistair.
Like the aftermath of a tornado, the quiet that fell over the room only made the destruction of my own feelings that much more raw. I slowly picked up the pieces, still numb from the shock of what had transpired with Jethrow.
I took several deep breaths, reminding myself that this visit was supposed to be about Alistair, not about my estranged relationships.
I moved to the bedside.
I wanted to offer words of solace, but I had no clue if he could even hear me. Instead, I just stared at him, silently begging a higher power to cut the kid some slack.
A light tapping jerked me from my trance. I jumped, then turned to find Councilman Monroe standing in the doorway.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
I struggled to get my breathing and heart rate under control. “It’s okay. Thank you for letting me see him.”
He entered the room. “I appreciate the request. It’s comforting to know that he made friends on your team despite being so new. When I was a rookie, it took months before my team accepted me. Apparently times have changed.”
Pangs of guilt stabbed at me, but I wasn’t about to admit that we’d all agreed Alistair was weapons-grade annoying. That was the last thing the poor guy needed.
“So, how’s the prognosis?” I asked, unable to ignore the question that had been on my mind since arriving.
Monroe deflated slightly. “Stable, but still very weak. The Healers have been able to neutralize most of the venom, but his body is slow to recover. They’re not sure about the extent of the damage, but R&D is working on an anti-venom from the samples your team recovered. They’re hopeful they can make something to help Alistair over the long-term.”
I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until I released the sigh of relief. Damaged was much better than dead. From the grim exp
ression on Monroe’s face, I wasn’t sure he agreed with me.
Monroe took an unsteady breath. “His mother is having a hard time understanding all of this. Most of the Skilled society still baffles her, even after all these years. But this,” he waved his hand. “No parent can understand this.”
We stood in silence.
“Join me for a drink,” he finally said, heading for the door before I could decline. I followed him to a small room filled with bottles. He heavy-handed two glasses of very old scotch, gave me one, then motioned for me to sit in one of the luxurious, burgundy leather chairs.
He raised his glass. “To hope.”
“To hope.”
The liquid was warm and buttery, sliding over my tongue like a lover.
“Whoa,” I said.
Monroe smiled. “I take it you don’t drink good scotch.”
“I’m more of a quantity than quality kind of guy.”
He chuckled. “You’re missing out.”
“Apparently.” I glanced at the liquid, then up at Monroe. “Listen, Councilman, I appreciate the drink, but don’t want to eat up more of your evening. I’m sure you have a lot on your plate.”
“I do, but this opportunity to talk with you in private is fortuitous, so I’ve moved it to the top of my list.”
I frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Monroe swirled his drink, eyeing me. “What are you opinions about the way the Council has handled this whole rift situation?”
I hesitated, debating how honest I should be with the man. Aside from the occasional nod in the halls of HQ, Monroe was an unknown entity to me. Not to mention, I didn’t trust the average Councilmember to tie my shoes, much less share my inner thoughts.
But his question seemed leading, as if feeling me out. Considering the state of his son, I was willing to roll the dice that he’d appreciate brutal honesty over sugarcoated BS.
“It’s all one big, bureaucratic circus,” I admitted. “Your son was hurt because the Council delayed making a decision. Then they made the wrong one. My team was punished because the Elders wanted to save face.”
Monroe’s silence in the aftermath of my comments worried me. Had I made the wrong call about him? Did I just drive the nail in the coffin of my career? The thought of being drummed out of the Council once again terrified me.
“There is plenty of blame to go around,” he finally said. “But none of it deserves to be directed at your team. Every one of you should be commended for your actions. You in particular.”
I was uneasy with where this conversation was headed. “The team, yes.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Monroe countered. “From what I heard, you were instrumental in closing the rift, despite orders to the contrary. Suffice to say, your willingness to question authority rather than blindly follow it likely saved many lives. Who knows the damage those creatures might have caused if you hadn’t sent them back to where they came from?
“Leaders make decisions, Marcus,” he continued. “Good leaders have the courage to stand by those decisions, even when those around them question the actions in hindsight.”
Goosebumps ran up my back. “I’m not sure that applies to me.”
Monroe waved a dismissive hand. “Your willingness to stand up to the Council took courage. That has not gone unnoticed. Granted, you rub most of the Elders the wrong way, but change cannot happen without friction. And you, my friend, are going to cause a lot of friction in the years to come. When you do, the people who believe in you will be there to fight for you. Suffice to say, you have an ally in your camp. When the times comes, most likely in the near future, I will have your back.”
Red flags went up in the back of my mind. If these words were spoken to the wrong people, Monroe could be accused of plotting treason.
I smiled, trying to mask my discomfort. “With any luck, I won’t be on the Council.”
“That may not be of your choosing,” he said bluntly. “There’s a changing of the guard coming, whether the Elders like it or not. The old ways are dying out and we must either learn to modernize or we’ll simply fade away like morning fog. The days when men and women gloss over the ugliness of reality are numbered.”
That last comment caught my attention. I sat up. “Gloss over?”
Monroe sipped his drink. “How many times have you reported dangerous findings to the Council? Begged for more help with dealing with them?”
“Every time.” Anger bubbled to the surface as I thought about my past debriefs.
“Yet support has been reluctant and begrudging. Why?”
“Bureaucracy, I suppose. Or laziness.”
“What if it was something more intentional?” Monroe asked.
I thought of the lack of data Seamus and I had found. “Like maybe people don’t know what’s really going on?”
“Perhaps you’re more astute than people give you credit for. There are some of us on the Council who feel that we have been receiving filtered information.” Monroe peered at me. “Case in point, I demanded to see the incident report concerning Alistair’s injury, but have been stonewalled. Every request to R&D is met with red tape or a pathetic excuse about needing more time to compile the facts.”
“No offense, but the Council sets the bar when it comes to paperwork.” I tried not to sound too sarcastic.
“I can tolerate the typical administrative delays. But not when it comes to my son.” His voice was tighter, almost bitter. “This is where you come in.”
My gut twisted. “Councilman, I—”
“I want that report,” he said, cutting me off. “Something about that rift interested Elder Rancin and her R&D team. So much so that they were willing to risk all of your lives. Now Alistair is fighting for survival. Someone owes me answers, but since Linda and her people aren’t talking, I’ll have to get them on my own. Get me that report and I can promise you my full support in the years to come.”
My heart pounded. If I was worried that his previous comments were treasonous, what he was now asking for was downright suicide.
It was one thing to talk about operating against the Council and quite another to follow through with it. Devon wouldn’t just strip me of my credentials, he’d mount my head on the wall like a trophy.
I struggled to maintain a façade of calm. “I wouldn’t even know where to start. It’s not like I can simply waltz into R&D and demand it.”
Monroe smiled, but this time he appeared more like a predator than a bureaucrat. “You’re a resourceful man. You spent a long time living outside the Council which means, unlike the rest of your peers, you can think outside the box. Prove to me that the courage I see in you is not just blustering and foolishness and you’ll win not only my loyalty, but that of my people as well.”
I was silent, my stomach churning with tension. I’d finally reached a level of begrudging acceptance with the Council, if not with the Elders. If I did something as royally stupid as breaking into R&D, I’d be throwing away everything I’d worked so hard to recover. I’d scraped and clawed my way back into the Skilled world, climbing up a hill that, at times, seemed insurmountable. I wasn’t sure I was willing to risk my career—maybe even my life—to help Monroe.
Yet despite my fears, a hunger gnawed at me. Monroe’s words were laced with the Devil’s promises, but I couldn’t deny I was intrigued.
What were the real reasons Rancin had ordered us to keep the rift open? And why were her people denying the existence of the one in Maryland? Someone, maybe an Elder, was pulling the strings that had nearly cost Alistair his life. Not to mention that of Carla Jones and myself.
More than the desire for answers that was building inside me was a sense of vindication.
Dad and I suspected wrongdoings on the Council, but hearing it from someone on the outside solidified my suspicions. If someone like Monroe was willing to believe proof of a traitor existed, maybe I stood a decent shot at uncovering it. And if that happened, of having support when I brought it to bear
on the guilty.
But finding answers wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. I wasn’t lying when I told Monroe there was no way to get into R&D. That place was locked down tight. My Wizarding credentials wouldn’t even get me into the parking lot, let alone inside their computer files.
Maybe I was thinking about it all wrong. Rather than kick in the doors like I usually did, perhaps a more subtle approach was required. After all, even the most impenetrable fortress had a weak point. All I needed to do was find it.
And not get caught.
“Okay. I’ll get you that report.”
Satisfaction spread across his face. “A wise choice.”
My phone rang, interrupting us. Quinn.
Excitement at seeing her name and worry that she was angry at me filled my veins. I leapt to my feet. “Pardon me.”
Monroe nodded, toasting me with an approving grin as he leaned back.
I ducked into the hall, answering immediately.
“Hey,” I said, before she could speak. “Again, I’m really sorry about what happened in Maryland. I never intended for you to wind up anywhere near the cameras. I’ll make this up to you, big time.”
“Marcus—” Her voice caught.
I felt sick to my stomach. “Babe, what’s wrong?”
She paused to clear her throat. “Steve’s in the hospital.”
Chapter Seventeen
Collateral Damage
For the record, the Skilled hate hospitals. Since emotions played such an important role in our powers, we tended to be more sensitive to the outpouring from others. With the multitude of pain and fear, hope and relief, hospitals were like a psychic fire hose of emotions. The extremely powerful of my kind avoided them altogether, opting instead for smaller, boutique clinics or on-site family Healers like the Shifters employed.
Even with my hamstrung powers, I wasn’t much a fan myself.
Of course, that was mostly because I spent far more time in them than the average person should. Heck, considering the amount of time I’d spent getting patched up recently, I was thinking about having my mail re-routed.
But as much as I would have preferred to be anywhere else, concern for my friend brought me back to Wellington Memorial.