Summoned Chaos

by Joshua Roots

  I froze, my mind wheeling. “That’s it. That’s the back door.”

  Quinn raised an eyebrow. “I don’t—”

  I spoke over her, too excited to stop. “I’ve hit nothing but brick walls this whole time because I’ve been targeting the people that seemed guilty. But what if we went the opposite direction? What if we focused on a weak link? Someone with access and power, but doesn’t have their guard up.”

  “Who?”

  “Elder Watkins. He used to work in R&D before he was elected as an Elder and since their credentials are good for life, he’ll have authorization. All I need to do is find a way in through him.”

  “You plan to break into his office?”

  I shook my head. “With as tight as security is at HQ, it’ll be impossible to pass gas without someone knowing about it. No, I’m gonna hit his home.”

  Quinn frowned. “Come again?

  I found the sheets I was looking for and handed them to her. “Check out the browser history.”

  She flipped through the pages. “Wow. He buys a lot of stuff online.”

  “A lot is an understatement. If this is correct, deliveries show up daily. Sometimes more.”

  “So?”

  “So, unlike most of the Elders, he’ll have a computer in his home. Seamus said if I could find a portal to the R&D site, he could hack it. Twenty bucks says the Elder’s machine is synced to the Council’s secured databases. If I can get Seamus to that machine, I’m golden.”

  “And if you’re wrong? If there isn’t a machine or it’s not an access point to R&D?” She sounded concerned which cooled my excitement a little.

  “Then I’m no worse off than I am right now. You know,” I added, thinking on the situation, “with the Reformation Ball tomorrow, it might be worth publically shaking the trees a little. Give the guilty parties a good scare, even if I have nothing to go on.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  The muscles between my shoulder blades tightened. “Because I’m tired of reacting to the situation. I’ve been one step behind this whole time. If I can rattle someone’s cage, maybe they’ll get sloppy and give me the proof I need.”

  “That could be dangerous,” she warned.

  I nodded. “I know, but doing nothing is worse.”

  She was silent. Then she reached for my hand. “I’ll help.”

  I was touched by her offer. “Thanks, but I can’t ask that of you. If this goes south, the Council will come after me hard and you don’t want to be in the blast radius of that. You’ve already been in the crosshairs of the Council once. I don’t want to jeopardize your freedom again.”

  “That’s my choice,” she said firmly. “And I’m offering to help. Only a moron would refuse it.”

  I smiled, thankful for her support, but worried about the risk she was taking. Monroe’s loyalty hinged on finding what he wanted and Dad’s influence only stretched so far. If this blew up in our faces, I doubted he could protect me, let alone her.

  But Quinn was a fighter. She’d faced the Council’s ire once and survived. More important, I trusted her. With Steve out of commission, Quinn was the only other person I could lean on for this kind of job.

  “Okay. You’re in.”

  She grinned triumphantly. “Excellent. What do you need me to do?”

  “Stake out Watkins’s home. Find out when deliveries show up. Also get an idea of his security. Physical and magical.”

  “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s playing in the shadows.”

  “Also, call Seamus and see what he needs for hacking.” I wrote his number down and handed it to her. She tucked the note in her pocket.

  “What are you going to do while I’m off playing Secret Agent?”

  In response, I dialed Andrew.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  I respected his direct demeanor. “How soon can you set up an interview?”

  “Give me a few minutes and I’ll call you back.”

  We hung up.

  Quinn leaned forward. “What was that about?”

  I inhaled deeply, calming my insides. “If someone is trying to manipulate forces to disrupt the peace, then it was high time I shined a light on them. And the most effective way is by doing the one thing I’ve been avoiding since the whole PR storm began.”

  I gave her a wicked smile. “I’m going to give them one hell of a show.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lights, Camera, Fiction!

  They say patience is a virtue. “They” are also idiots. Patience is really, really boring.

  After Quinn had departed to begin her recon, I’d spent the rest of the evening in Steve’s hospital room, reading the files Seamus had printed for me. Most of them were as dry and useless as I’d feared.

  Eventually the nurse kicked me out. I gathered my things and bid goodbye to my unconscious friend.

  By the time I got home, I was so emotionally drained from the events of the day that I barely registered the protesters or cameras. I simply hauled myself to bed, then spent a restless night worrying about my performance the next day.

  Morning came far too early and with it, the uneasiness of knowing that the day demanded an acting performance worthy of an Academy Award.

  I prayed I was up to the task.

  The “wake-up” show was one of the cookie-cutter varieties popular among local news stations. But even at such a painful hour, the backstage was a hive of activity. Handlers shuffled guests to and from the stage while tech crews continually checked on equipment. I’d been standing by the curtain for the main stage for almost ten minutes, waiting for my turn.

  And wondering just what the hell I was thinking coming on the show.

  “Our next guests have been in the news a lot recently,” the plastic anchor said. “Between saving the Ambassador to the Skilled and shaking things up on our local highways, they’ve proven there’s nothing boring about the relationship between the Skilled and Normals. And while many of us see them as the embodiment of cooperation, there are some who question the unity. Here to offer us their opinion on things, are Marcus Shifter and Elsa Klein.”

  Applause thundered from the audience. I swallowed and scratched nervously at my scar. Elsa, meanwhile, gave Mick a peck on the cheek, then stepped confidently through the curtains.

  Andrew shooed me. “Go on.”

  When I hesitated, Mick helped motivate me. “You heard the man. Go!” And shoved me rather forcefully behind his lady.

  Bright lights assaulted my eyes. I squinted, but tried to smile like I wasn’t already regretting this moronic PR stunt.

  I wiped sweaty palms on my pants. No turning back now.

  The anchors—a man and woman who were too perky for their own good—beamed as we shook hands and climbed into the tall chairs.

  “Good morning,” the female anchor said with an expression of excitement that was carved into her make-up. “Thanks for coming.”

  Elsa crossed her legs, exuding a level of confidence that I wanted to bottle and sell. “Thanks for having us, Candace. I’m a huge fan of your show.”

  Candace showed off her pristine veneers. “You’re too kind.”

  Mouth dry, I picked up the mug with the station’s logo on it from the table between me and the anchors. I steadied my shaking hands, then took a sip.

  “You okay there, Marcus?” the male anchor asked when I coughed.

  “It’s 8:00 a.m. Why is there water in these mugs instead of coffee?”

  The audience and hosts laughed, but the latter’s was less sincere.

  Like during the fight at HQ, Elsa was there to get my back. “Marcus isn’t a morning person, Jack.”

  “Neither am I,” the guy replied, chuckling with practiced ease. “It’s why I down so many shots of espresso before the show. And why I use the restroom between every commercial break.”

  The audience cheered, missing the condescending tone in Jack’s voice. I fought the urge to thump him on the head with the mug.
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  Play the role, I reminded myself.

  Candace leaned forward as the room quieted. “So, Elsa and Marcus, what can you tell us about the initial attack at your government building?”

  “It was terrifying,” Elsa said, “but the combined forces of the Skilled and their Normal guards proved to be very effective.”

  “Hardly,” I muttered.

  “Sorry, what was that?” Jack was barely able to hide the tension in his voice. The anchors and Elsa stared at me.

  “She’s being modest. This lady was amazing. She blew the brains out of several Mimics, saved my life, sealed HQ’s entrance and then coordinated the response team. The only reason I’m here today is because of her.”

  The audience responded appropriately and the anchors relaxed. Elsa turned slightly pink.

  “Thank you.”

  “Oh, are these sparks we see?” Candace asked, glancing sideways at the camera.

  Elsa started to answer, but I beat her to the punch. “Not at all. She’s good people, but she’s got an eye for someone shorter and a whole lot more muscular than me.”

  More laughter from the crowd.

  Candace must have smelled blood in the water because she just wouldn’t let my love life go. “And is there someone special in your life?”

  It took every ounce of willpower not to be a smart-ass. “Absolutely. Sadly, it’s not the Minotaur hunk that the tabloids are making money off of.”

  “I think the audience would love to hear who it is.”

  Everyone applauded.

  “No offense, but that’s between me and her.” Disappointed awws from the audience. “Besides,” I added, “she could wipe the floor with me, so I’ll honor her wishes to keep my big mouth shut.”

  As the crowd laughed, I struggled to keep from rolling my eyes. The anchors questioned us about our training, our hobbies and a bunch of other crap that I answered as playfully as I could. Elsa fielded questions about her solo appearance on the Late Nite Show while I enjoyed a few minutes of respite from the storm. Finally, Candace opened the window I’d been waiting for. “So, Marcus, you mentioned to our producers that you wanted to offer an exclusive piece of information on this show.”

  Oh, thank goodness. The muscles around my mouth were beginning to ache from grinning so much. It was about time we bypassed all the pleasantries and got down to business.

  But being faced with actually going through with my plan, I hesitated. Sweat trickled down my back.

  “Marcus?” Candace asked, giving the camera a quick, but hurried glance.

  I swallowed, then reminded myself that this was the entire reason for coming on the show. “Uh, yes. I do indeed. If the crowd is interested, that is?” I added, forcing myself to wink at the audience.

  Cheers.

  Maybe I could play to the cameras after all.

  Jack nodded. “I’d say that’s a yes.”

  Oh hell, here we go.

  “Awesome. Which camera do I look at?”

  A portly fellow with a headset waved. I turned, ramping the intensity of my movie-star smile as high as it would go.

  “As many of you know, there’s a huge Reformation Ball this evening to celebrate the peace between the Skilled and Normals. What many might not know is that the Skilled recently met with the leaders of many different religions in an effort to rebuild the bridges burned so long ago. As a show of good faith, the Council invited them to attend and, I believe, many accepted. This is a momentous occasion, one that will certainly go into the history books.

  “But that’s not the only reason why the ball will be memorable. I’ve been planning a little drama this evening as well. Obviously I won’t spill the beans here because it would ruin the surprise, but suffice to say, both the Skilled and Normal worlds would appreciate what I will give you all. Therefore, I would like to personally invite the various news agencies and media outlets to attend as my date. I’d invite the audience here as well, but there’s only so much space.”

  The audience cheered, applauding. I waved, then turned back to the anchors who were practically glowing.

  “Mystery and the promise of excitement?” Candace asked, beaming at the camera. “How could we possibly say no? And what an excellent place to end this part of the show. Thank you, Marcus and Elsa, for joining us this morning.” She addressed the cameras with, “Up next, we have local celebrity, Chef Marlowe, who will teach Jack and me how to make homemade gluten-free donuts.”

  The audience applauded as the morning show music filled the studio.

  “And we’re at break,” the stage manager said. “Four minutes, everyone.”

  Jack shook my hand. “Great to have you on the show.” He sounded about as sincere as the fake-and-bake tan he was sporting.

  “Yup,” I replied, but he was already chatting with Candace about the next segment. The stagehands helped us remove our mics, then escorted us through the curtains and down to the green room.

  Mick wrapped Elsa in a massive bear hug while Andrew walked over to me.

  “That was nicely done,” he said in an approving tone. “It’s almost like you’ve started listening to me.”

  I wiped my palm before shaking his hand. “Sorry it’s taken this long.”

  He smiled sympathetically. “Some people have a harder time adjusting to fame than others.”

  “Some people are just thickheaded idiots.”

  Andrew chuckled. “Well, thickheaded or not, that announcement you made was masterful. You’re going to have every media outlet scrambling to attend the ball this evening.”

  I nodded grimly. “Good, that’s exactly what I need. What I don’t need is you there.”

  Andrew’s smile faded slightly. “What’s up?”

  I placed my hand on his shoulder. “Something big. Too many people have gotten hurt already because of me. I’d prefer if you were outside the blast radius.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment, but I am your PR guy. I have to be there. Besides, Carlos and I already RSVP’d to the Council’s formal invitation.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  He patted me on the arm. “So am I. This is my life, Marcus. And as much as you’ve been a pain of a client, you’re a good person. Plus, I’m getting paid, so whether you like it or not, I’m going to me there.”

  I started to argue with him, but my phone buzzed. It was a text from Quinn which simply read All set.

  “Think about skipping,” I said, hurrying toward the door.

  “Not going to happen. And where are you going?”

  “To do something mildly illegal before the ball,” I called, then ran out of the studio at a full sprint.

  Chapter Nineteen

  B and E for You and Me

  “What’s the situation?” I asked as Quinn and I scampered along the stone fence of the Watkins compound. It was a large place, but not nearly as gargantuan as the Homestead. Two acres of trees surrounding a modest, elegant house.

  “Light staff today. At least one butler, a handful of maids and only a couple guards. These guys are only a couple hours into their shift, so they’re fresh.” She bit her lower lip. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. And in broad daylight too.”

  “They won’t expect it,” I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt.

  She glanced over her shoulder, checking to make sure we weren’t being followed. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Me too.”

  Quinn looked at me with concern.

  “Give me some credit, not all my plans are epic failures.”

  She grimaced. “Enough of them are.”

  Fair point.

  We reached the edge of the wall. I poked my head around the corner.

  Quinn pressed up against me. “Well?”

  “Large gate with a call box, just like you said. You sure that is the right package?”

  She patted the small box covered in shipping labels. “Yes, sir. One extremely expensive antique from Monson’s Collectables.”

  �
��How’d you convince the delivery company to give you the package?”

  She shrugged. “Breasts are amazingly powerful, Marcus.”

  I glanced down, but she snapped her fingers. “Later. Stay focused.”

  “How’s my getup?” I shifted uncomfortably in my costume. The padding in my shirt and trousers changed my body type while the fake goatee masked some of my face.

  She gave me the once over, tugging on the facial hair. Thankfully, the spirit gum held the fibers in place. “Not bad, if I do say so myself. Keep your Skill tamped down and someone would be hard pressed to recognize you.”

  I swallowed, sweat already trickling down my forehead. “Man, I hope you’re right.”

  She grinned. “Me too.”

  How could anyone not love this woman?

  But those were feeling for later. I shoved them aside and slipped on an earpiece. “Okay, time to shine.”

  We rounded the corner, walking briskly like we knew what we were doing. I pressed the button on the callbox, then waited. The barrier of the estate pressed against my Skill like a wall of concrete. I caught a glimpse of a curtain being pulled aside in an upper story window. My guess was a guard checking us out from afar.

  “Yes?” a bored voice asked.

  “Delivery for Glenn Watkins,” I said in my best pizza-guy voice.

  The box was silent. I crossed my fingers that this would work because considering how powerful the Elder’s defensive barrier was, Quinn and I wouldn’t stand a chance blasting our way in.

  Thankfully, the gate buzzed and swung open. We pressed through the barrier, slipping inside like we were passing through silky water. Once across the initial perimeter, we walked up the short drive to the front door, then rang the bell.

  A stooped, elderly gentleman in a dark suit greeted us. The carnation in his lapel was a strange mixture of blue and green. I’d never cared for the Watkins’s family colors, and seeing them on a flower convinced me that some palettes just don’t mix.

  The butler looked out into the street. “Where’s your truck?”