by Joshua Roots
“Broke down a half-mile back. We called the tow company, but it’ll take at least an hour to get here. I figured we’d at least drop this thing off before heading back to wait for him.”
Quinn leaned against the doorframe, muttering under her breath.
The butler frowned. “What’s wrong with her?”
“I dunno.” I handed him the package and peered at Quinn. “You feeling okay, Alice?”
“Just a little dizzy.” Her Georgia drawl was surprisingly accurate. “The walk here took more out of me than I thought. Any chance I can get a glass of water?” she asked.
“Of course, of course.” The butler stepped aside, waving us indoors.
Quinn played her part like a pro—stumbling slightly. I wrapped an arm around her, then followed the butler through the large entryway to a side room.
“Set her on the sofa,” the man said. “Once she’s comfortable, I’ll fetch some water.”
We helped Quinn onto the plush, white couch. She leaned back, placing a hand to her forehead. The butler walked briskly out of the room, returning almost immediately with a tall glass of ice water and a wet rag.
Quinn placed the rag against her forehead and took a large sip of water. “Thank you.”
“Shall I call a doctor, miss?”
She shook her head. “I just need a minute to cool down.”
“And you, sir?”
“I could use the boy’s room, if you don’t mind.”
“Down the hall, third door on the left.”
“Mind watching her while I’m gone?” I asked, careful to sound concerned over her welfare without overselling the part.
The butler smiled. “Of course, sir.”
I nodded, then proceeded down the hall.
“Friggin’ déjà vu,” I muttered as I flipped the light on in the bathroom. I scanned the hall to make sure the coast was clear, then pulled the door shut. Once it clicked closed, I continued down the short hall, poking my head into rooms until I found my destination.
Elder Watkins’s office was impressive from a minimalist standpoint. The walls were a warm yellow and filled with family photos instead of the diplomas and training certificates I expected from a senior leader of the Skilled. The desk was large, but unassuming, and the bookshelves were packed with an odd assortment of spell tomes and steamy romance novels.
Not willing to waste time, I opened the lid of the large, ancient laptop. The screen ground to life, ticking slowly as it powered up. While I waited, I dialed Seamus.
“Okay, the computer’s finally on. Now what?”
“Any login passwords?” he said into my right ear.
“Thankfully, no. Went straight to his desktop.”
“Excellent. Can you access the Skilled database?”
“Uh, gimme a minute.”
Unlike his office, Watkins’s computer was completely disorganized. Icons were all over the place, sharing space with a massive number of pictures, documents, and who knows what else. Considering the speed of the computer and the disheveled nature of the desktop, it was apparent Watkins—like many of the old-school Skilled—was completely clueless about modern technology.
But hey, at least he was trying. So kudos there.
After what felt like an eternity, I found the little blue symbol in the upper-left corner of the screen. When I clicked on it, the login page for the Skilled database popped up.
“Okay, now I need help.”
“Time for the Data Hound.”
Geez, he sounded almost gleeful.
I pulled the device from my pocket and slipped it into an available port. No larger than a thumbdrive, the unit contained algorithms that only a select few computer gurus understood. But Seamus swore it would help him break into any system short of the NSA’s. Maybe even that one, too.
“You do it?” he asked.
I tapped my fingers on the desk impatiently. “Yeah, it’s just taking forever.”
Finally the cursor wiggled.
“Okay, I have controls.”
I watched as Seamus began clicking around on the screen. “How do you do that?”
“Magic.”
I chuckled softly, but the humor died when the house rumbled with the unmistakable grind of the garage door beneath me.
“Oh crap.” I ducked under the desk as the sound of the butler’s footsteps echoed down the short hall. More sweat slid down my back and my heartbeat skyrocketed.
“What?”
Holding my breath, I released it only after the footsteps receded.
“Someone’s here,” I whispered. “Quinn and I need to bolt. Now.”
Seamus cursed. “I need maybe five more minutes to access the system. Can you delay at all?”
“No way. My disguise may fool the staff, but Watkins is too powerful and knows my family too well. He’ll see through it.”
Dammit! I was so close. But if Quinn and I got caught snooping around an Elder’s home, Devon wouldn’t just throw the book at us, he’d throw the whole damn library.
I fumed. Just once I wanted to catch a break...
“Holy cow, how old is this machine?” Seamus demanded. “It’s like watching snails move through molasses.”
The grinding ceased which caused my heart to leap into my throat.
“Seamus, we’re out of time. What the hell do I do with the drive?”
“Leave it. It’s small and won’t get noticed until it’s too late. I hope.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “You hope?”
“Best I can offer, bud.”
I swore like a sailor, but left the drive in place. The sound of doors slamming echoed through the floorboards, followed by the muffled voices of the passengers.
Giving the office one last check, I poked my head into the hall, then moved quickly to the bathroom. I eased the door open, flushed the toilet, then walked briskly back to the waiting area.
“We gotta move,” I snapped to Quinn.
She sprang to her feet, but we both froze when the butler walked into the room. On his heels was Elder Watkins.
Time stopped as my heart sank to the floor. Breaking in was a gamble.
I’d lost.
Watkins scowled. “This is unacceptable.”
“We—” I started to say, but the man silenced me with a glare.
“Yes, yes, I know it’s not your fault. You just deliver the packages. But this is the third time this month one of my orders has arrived damaged.”
He handed me the box that Quinn had given to the butler. Sitting on top of the Styrofoam peanuts was an ugly porcelain unicorn with its horn snapped in half.
If I wasn’t so relieved, I might have burst into laughter.
Watkins inhaled, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, where are my manners. How are you feeling, miss?”
“Better,” Quinn said in a cautious voice.
“David said you were faint. Heat stroke?”
“Just a little overheated.”
“Well, my apologies for jumping on you both. No matter how frustrated I am with your company, it was rude and uncalled for.”
“Thank you, sir,” Quinn replied. “But like you pointed out, damaged goods are simply unacceptable. On behalf of the company, we’re sorry. We’ll make sure this is replaced immediately.”
Watkins shook his head. “I appreciate it, but there’s no need. I’ll be taking my business elsewhere from now on. I will, however, want a refund.”
“Of course, sir,” Quinn said.
“Good. You’re sure you’re alright?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Well then, I’ll leave you in David’s capable hands. Please be careful out there. It’s very hot.”
With that, Watkins walked out of the room.
The butler saw us to the door, handed us several bottles of water, then wished us safe travels.
I didn’t relax until we were clear of the compound. My hands shook as we jogged to the car. “That was close. I can’t believe he didn’
t sense us.”
“It wasn’t easy.”
I looked at her in confusion.
“To tamp down your Skill, I mean,” she said. “You were radiating like crazy.”
“You did that?”
She nodded.
I was stunned. “How?”
“I’ll tell you later.” I started to press the issue, but she immediately switched topics. “So, was it a success?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I had to leave the drive in the computer, but I’m hoping that Watkins doesn’t notice. Seamus only needs a few minutes once he’s behind the firewall, so with any luck, he’ll find what we’re searching for.”
“You’re betting on luck?”
I smiled. “Yeah, but considering the huge bullet we just dodged, I’d say we have that going for us.”
* * *
I dropped Quinn off in a random neighborhood, then picked up my formal robes from the dry cleaners. I tried to distract myself from checking my phone for a message from Seamus by running various errands. One of those was calling Arbent.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I’m planning some theatrics this evening that may piss off a couple high-ranking folks.”
“This have something to do with your missing rift?”
“Partially, yes.”
“Anything I need to worry about?” I could hear the edge of concern in his voice.
I rubbed my eyes, struggling to soothe the pressure beginning to build behind them. “I’m hoping that the presence of all the Elders and the media will keep things calm, but can you contact the team and have them on stand-by just in case?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “You got it.”
I sighed with relief. “Thanks.”
“That’s what teams are for, Marcus,” he said and hung up.
And I’m pretty lucky to have one, I thought.
With the big-ticket items complete, I found little could keep me from worrying about the ball, not even a cup of Joe from my favorite local coffee shop. I gave up trying to distract myself and reluctantly drove to the townhouse.
More protesters had arrived, bringing with them a flotilla of new signs. I ignored them, pulled into the garage, and dumped my stuff on the sofa.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when my phone buzzed. Sadly, it was a voicemail from Andrew, not Seamus.
“Again, great job this morning. The station got a lot of positive feedback which is good for the Skilled. That’s how we handle the media.”
I listened to the message again, chastising myself for the way I’d treated him. Andrew, like Quinn and Steve, was simply trying to help. He’d been hired to assist me and until that morning, I’d brushed off most of his attempts. He deserved better than that.
Like it or not, Quinn was right—I was doing a lot of good for my people. And there was plenty more I could do if I would just stop being so juvenile about things. I had responsibilities. To the Council, to the Normals, and to the Shifter family name.
Which meant showing the people around me how I truly felt and not hiding behind the mask I’d been wearing for the media.
Screwing up my courage, I marched down the stairs, out the door, and across the street to the media bonanza. The reporters quieted as I approached and were actually hesitant at first to talk with me. Several asked a few benign questions, but eventually everyone relaxed. Then they machine-gunned me about recent events, including my interview earlier that morning, while the protesters shouted insults. Several cops, including the one who’d broken up the fight last time, watched cautiously.
I was flying on autopilot, smiling and laughing like I should have been doing all along—until a bulky reporter guy pulled me back to earth.
“So, Marcus, any comment on your friend, the Minotaur?”
I paused, collecting my emotions before answering. “The attack on Steve was a shock. He seems rough on the outside, but he’s one of the nicest guys I know. Which is why I can’t fathom why anyone would want to hurt him.”
“Rumor has it the people responsible were Normals,” a pretty journalist said.
I stared deep into her eyes. “I hope it’s just a rumor.”
She frowned, either out of discomfort or confusion. “Why is that?”
“Because of this.” I swept a hand toward the protesters. “I understand that reintroducing the Skilled and the paranormal races is still relatively new to a lot of people. I also get that it can be scary because we are so different than the norm. But the thought that anyone, Normal or otherwise, would attempt to kill another person simply because they are different is beyond me. There is no argument that the world has changed over the past twenty years, but if that’s the case, why are we still behaving like we’re in the dark ages? Not to mention, what do we gain from it?”
“Safety!” someone shouted from the nearby protesters. I turned to the group.
Scared, hateful eyes stared back at me.
I inhaled, then walked slowly to the barrier in front of the protesters. The reporters followed while the noise from the other crowd quieted. Several people backed away, eyes wide.
For the first time since the crowds had appeared outside my home, it dawned on me that everyone, reporters and protesters, seemed reluctant to get near me. No one had been following me when I ran my errands nor did they get in my face when I walked by. Instead, they’d kept their distance, engaging me directly only after I approached them.
Maybe recent events had convinced them that it was dangerous to get within close proximity.
Or maybe they were simply terrified of me.
That last thought was sobering. I’d nearly lost my cool the last time I confronted them, so maybe their fears weren’t off base. And all it took was a tiny drop of fear to poison the well of trust.
No more. It was time they knew who I really was.
“Hi,” I said, reaching the sawhorse barricade. “My name is Marcus.”
“Freak!” someone called from the back of the group.
“What’s your name?” I asked a young woman in the front.
She blinked. “Uh...Janet.”
“Nice to meet you, Janet.”
The woman just stared back at me, saying nothing.
“What do you know about me?”
Janet remained silent.
“Did you know that I grew up in a wealthy home? Or that my parents are some of the most loving people in the world?”
She shook her head.
“Did you know that I love beekeeping?”
Another shake.
“I do. It’s the best hobby on the planet. It’s fun and relaxing. Anytime I’m troubled, I spend a few hours with my hives. The honey is mind-blowingly good too.”
“Um—” she started to say.
“But you know I’m a Warlock,” I interjected. “And you fear that.”
Janet nodded slowly.
“Because you’re a demon!” someone else shouted.
“Hardly,” I called in the direction of the voice. “But I did accidentally summon one when I was a kid.”
The crowd quieted.
“You see, I was cocky and powerful. That’s a very dangerous combination when you’re a teenager. All those raging hormones mashed together with a sense of entitlement? Recipe for disaster. Which is exactly what happened. I wanted to prove how much better I was than my peers. Part of that is because the Skilled jockey for respect based on their powers. The other part is because my folks are some of the most powerful Skilled in recent times. I needed to show everyone I was worthy to carry the family name. So I pushed the envelope, using spells that I shouldn’t have, and summoned a Hellcat. Big, flaming lion of death. Sounds like a really bad movie, right?”
Janet seemed unsure how to answer.
“Here’s the thing,” I continued, “that beast murdered a lot of my friends. Killed them right before my eyes. Almost killed me too.” I pulled my collar down to expose the white line that ran below my neckline. “This is one of the many scars I carry
from that day. The rest? They’re in here.” I tapped my chest.
“See?” a man next to Janet shouted to the crowd. “The Skilled are a threat. What prevents you all from endangering us with some creature like that?”
“The same thing that should have prevented a group of kids from nearly beating my best friend to death simply because he’s different.”
The crowd mumbled, but there was no response.
I turned back to the girl. “You see, Janet, I made a mistake, a deadly one at that. So I walked away from the Skilled world. I tried to disappear into my own shame and sorrow, tried to become like you. I wanted nothing more than to be a Normal. But the faces of those who died to protect me wouldn’t leave me alone. I saw them in my nightmares, heard their screams, and felt their hot blood splatter my face again and again. It got to the point where I realized I could never outrun my screw-up. All I could do was learn from it. So I came back. Restarted my training, and dedicated my life to ensuring something like that doesn’t happen again.”
The protesters fidgeted. Some appeared bored with my story, their animosity and resentment covering them like a blanket. A surprising number, however, were listening intently. I focused on the latter’s interest, drawing strength from the cracks in the mob mentality.
Because they needed to know.
“My family, and the Skilled as a whole, put themselves out there every day to prevent monsters like that Hellcat from killing innocent people. Yes, I was the cause of that incident and I will carry the blood of those who died on these hands for the rest of my life.
“But my blood,” I said, pulling my sword from the scabbard and drawing the blade across my palm. “My blood I will gladly spill to protect you, Janet. It doesn’t matter that you fear me, hate me, or detest my friends. This,” I showed her my bloody palm, “is dedicated to making sure you have the opportunity to live your hate-filled life. Because that’s what me and my kind do. I hope someday you all can accept that.”
Janet stared wide eyed, as did several others around her. The majority of protesters, however, slowly grumbled—the volume of their dissent rising until it drowned the sound of reporters talking into the recording devices.
“This is for you,” I whispered. “Remember that, always.” I stepped back, waving my bloody palm at the crowd, then walked slowly to my home.