by Joshua Roots
Once inside, I leaned against the door with a sigh. The emotional outpouring of hate and fear from the protesters was more powerful than I’d realized. Apparently my Skill had subconsciously insulated me from the deluge, but once removed, the effects crashed into me like a tidal wave. It slammed into the dam of my own emotions.
With no one around to witness, I released my hold.
I sank to the cold tile, sobbing uncontrollably as the weeks of pent-up frustration bled from my system.
The hurt caused by Quinn’s randomness in our relationship, the anger of the bloggers’ death, the fear at seeing Steve beaten and broken—it all rushed out of me in a huge, emotional hurricane. Tears poured down my cheeks as I placed my head into my hands.
Andrew called, no doubt because the news of my display had traveled quickly. I let it go to voicemail. He called again. This time I silenced the phone, dropping it on the floor next to me.
I stayed there, leaning against the door, until the raw, unfiltered pain was finally purged from my system.
As the last, lingering strands flowed out of me, I wiped my eyes, then checked the time.
Two hours was all that remained. Two hours before I threw down the gauntlet and hopefully cracked the nut of this week wide open. And when that happened, all hell was bound to break loose.
The least I could do was look presentable.
Chapter Twenty
Where There’s Smoke, There’s More Smoke
There’s a saying in the Navy that Time, Tide and Formation wait for no one. No truer is that the case than when impending doom is looming over you. By the time I’d showered, shaved and dressed, my time was up.
The sun was beginning to set when the expensive black sedan pulled in front of my home. Realizing that my bloody palm was a pretty decent symbol, I healed only the pain, but didn’t bother stitching the wound closed.
Instead, I hastily applied antibiotic cream, wrapping it in a bandage so the gauze would stain red.
Satisfied that I looked the part of the self-sacrificing Warlock, and maybe even believing it for once, I tightened the holster under my robes, pulled my sword over my back, then exited my home.
As I walked to the car, a painful sense of déjà vu clawed at my heart. Last time I’d made this walk, Steve was with me. It didn’t matter that the doctors seemed to think he would be okay.
My friend was still in a hospital.
And there was nothing I could do to help except hope and pray.
I hated feeling powerless. Hated my own species for hurting someone I cared about. Hated myself for being a jerk to him.
Adding to the hurricane of emotions was fear and anxiety. I was going to play ringmaster this evening, performing before a crowd of hundreds. But the show I had planned wasn’t meant to be entertaining. With any luck, my production would expose a traitor once and for all.
And that scared the crap out of me.
Not that the people across the road would ever know. I wore my mask well—smiling wide for the cameras. Let them see the media darling that they wanted. But let them also know that behind my smile was a sense of duty. Of purpose. Let them remember what I was willing to sacrifice to protect them.
I waved with my bandaged hand. The crowd quieted momentarily.
“This is yours,” I whispered, then stepped to the car.
The driver opened the door—and I froze.
Quinn was absolutely stunning in her white formal gown. The silky material hugged her athletic frame, covering every inch of skin except for the shoulders and arms. A long slit ran up her leg, exposing the elegant handle of her Elven knife. Her hair seemed darker which complimented the starkness of her dress. She wore simple, sparkling diamond earrings and carried a small clutch. Her scimitar rested against the car door, the jewels of the sword’s hilt glinted in the setting sun.
The white, knee-high combat boots added a sultry element I didn’t expect. I warmed all over.
“Hey, handsome,” she said with a wicked grin. “Wanna take a ride with me?”
My mouth moved, but no words came out.
Uneasiness replaced the humor on her face. “Okay, now you’re making me self-conscious.”
“It’s just—” I stammered, sliding into the seat next to her. “Wow. You look amazing.”
She grinned. “Thank you. I was hoping you’d approve.”
The driver shut the door, then eased behind the wheel.
Her eyes moved to my hand. “What in the world happened?”
“I...was making a point earlier.”
She blew out an exasperated breath. “You’re really rough on your body, you know that?”
I gave her the once-over again. “Well, you’re not. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with make-up.”
She touched her hair. “It’s a special occasion. I wanted to look my best.”
“I thought you weren’t ready to come out of the shadows,” I said tentatively.
She slid her hand into my undamaged one, squeezing my fingers. “I’m not, but you need me to be. And I figured if I was going to step into the light for a while, I might as well make it memorable.”
Her touch calmed the torrent swirling inside me. Just having her next to me gave me the confidence to face what was coming.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said softly.
She smiled. “Me too. So, any word?”
I shook my head. “Still waiting to hear from Seamus.”
“What happens if he doesn’t get you the proof in time?”
“Then I’ll bluff.”
Quinn grew serious. “Are you sure that’s wise? Making these accusations in public without hard evidence will ruin your career.”
“I know, but it has to happen tonight. Having the Skilled elite in one room minimizes the chance things will get out of hand.”
“And if it does go south?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered, fighting the fear that welled up within me once more.
She leaned over, pressing herself against me.
I wrapped an arm around her. “I’m scared,” I finally admitted.
Quinn kissed me on the cheek, then wiped her lipstick off with her thumb. “I know. And I’ll have your back, no matter what happens.”
My eyes filled with tears. That was exactly what I needed to hear. I held her tight, clinging to the stillness her presence had on me like a drowning man.
The drive to the venue was disappointingly short, forcing me to detach from Quinn sooner than I hoped. The car pulled around to the front entrance, stopped, and the driver ran around to open the door for us.
I gave Quinn a final glance. “Last chance to bail.”
She shook her head. “No. We’re doing this.”
I held her hand. “Okay then. Show time.”
Camera flashes greeted me as I exited the car, then increased exponentially when my date eased out of the back seat. She unfolded like an orchid, elegantly rising to her full height and slipping her arm through mine. Her eyes sparkled like stars in the night sky as she absorbed the crush of media attention.
“Oh my,” she said, scanning the throng of reporters. “Is this what you’ve been dealing with?”
I waved at one of the countless cameras. “Pretty much. Not with this ferocity, though. That’s all for you.”
She beamed. “I feel like royalty.”
“Apparently the media is willing to treat you like it, so enjoy.”
“Marcus!” a reporter shouted. “Marcus, over here!”
Quinn bumped me with her hip. “Gloves are off, babe. Let’s go get ‘em.”
The process was slow and painful, but necessary. We worked our way down the line of cameras and microphones, answering questions along the way. I didn’t draw a breath of relief until we cleared the gauntlet and passed through the doors to the venue.
Andrew greeted us as we entered. On his arm was a bronze-skinned man with deep, green eyes who introduced himself as Carlos.
“A pleasure to finally meet y
ou.” The handsome man’s voice was deep and rich.
I shook his hand. “Same.”
Andrew turned to Quinn. “May I just say that the way you handled yourself out there was inspirational.”
She blushed. “Thank you.”
He gave me a wink. “I don’t know where you found her, Marcus, but you hold on to this one.”
I pulled her a little closer. “Oh, I will.”
“Good,” he said with a grin, glancing at my bandage. “Because she covers for your flaws better than I do.”
I grinned. “Stopped a bullet, ninja-style.”
Quinn snickered.
Carlos pulled on his husband’s arm. “Andrew, let these poor young lovers enjoy their night.”
Andrew nodded. “Very well. Enjoy the evening.”
Quinn leaned against me as they departed. “I like them.”
I squeezed her hand. “Yeah, me too.”
The doors to the dining hall were still closed, so we walked to the check-in table to pick up our seat assignments and fill out nametags. I put mine on, then handed Quinn hers.
“Yolanda, Mistress of the Night?”
“Yup.” I proudly showed off mine which read “Ramón, Emperor of Awesome.”
Quinn laughed, then placed her nametag over her left breast. “I could get used to being in public with you.”
I stared at the nametag. “Very nice.”
She rolled her eyes. “Let’s get drinks.”
The great thing about Washington, D.C. is that there is no shortage of formal venues. For years we’d hosted our annual Reformation Ball in smaller locations, but the recent spike in attendance—no doubt caused by the sudden interest in the Skilled—had forced us to expand.
For the twentieth anniversary, the Council had reserved the Georgetown University Hotel and Conference Center. A pretty building in North West D.C. that catered to weddings as often as business meetings, it shared space with the Georgetown University campus. Although not as nouveau riche as some Councilmembers would have liked, the red-brick exterior and clean, classy interior fit the lighthearted tone of the evening better than any place before it.
Too bad I might have to ruin everything.
This year was also remarkable because of the overabundance of Normals. In addition to staffers and guards that worked at HQ, I saw a ton of new faces. As Quinn and I made our way to the bar, I spotted Carla Jones, who waved us over eagerly. Mr. Charisma scowled.
I hesitated.
“What?” Quinn asked.
“Rumor has it she’s not happy I went around her back.”
Quinn waved back. “She doesn’t appear mad. Let’s go find out for sure.”
My protests fell on deaf ears as Quinn dragged me over. I braced for a tongue-lashing, but Carla broke into a wide grin, hugging me politely. Her bodyguard glared at me.
“You, sir, are my hero,” she said when she released me. “Getting the ball rolling with Father Pierce and the Mosaic Group? That was a stroke of genius. You accomplished in a day what I’ve been struggling to do for months!”
“My dad should get the credit,” I stammered, still trying to process her words. “All I did was hand him Pastor Rado’s card.”
Carla waved a dismissive hand at me. “Oh stop being so humble. Alex told me you were his ‘point man,’ so that’s good enough for me.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “I don’t know how you did it and frankly, I don’t care. Suffice to say, I’ll remember this.” She stood up once more, smiling. “Thank you.”
“Uh, you’re welcome.”
She and Quinn traded pleasantries, then Mr. Charisma whispered in her ear.
“See you inside,” she said.
I watched in shock as Carla followed the landmass into the crowd. “Well that was unexpected.”
“Indeed it was,” my father said from behind me. I turned, smiling for real as Mom and Dad approached.
Dad was regal in his dress robes while Mom was absolutely stunning in her dress of all black with red piping. In addition she wore a white leather jacket that was traditional garb for a Huntress.
I shook Dad’s hand, then gasped as Mom crushed me in her arms. For a short, thin woman, she was surprisingly strong. The hug not only squeezed the breath out of me, but also much of the worry lingering behind my mask. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed her until that moment.
Nothing compared to Mom Hugs.
Nothing.
“Are you trying to put me in an early grave?” she asked, releasing me. I sucked down air like a drowning man.
Dad placed a hand on her arm. “Marcus is fine, Angela.”
Mom scowled at him. “His bandaged hand says otherwise.”
“Cut myself shaving,” I said.
She shot laser beams at me, then shifted her attention to Quinn. Matronly admonishment was immediately replaced with a look that seemed filled with the hope of grandchildren.
“You’re gorgeous this evening,” Mom said, hugging my date.
“Thank you,” Quinn squeaked.
Dad clapped me on the shoulder. “Ready for your big speech?”
“No,” I admitted.
Mom placed a reassuring hand on my arm. “You’ll do fine, sweetie.”
I wanted to believe her.
A waiter appeared and handed Quinn and me scotches. “From the gentleman at the bar,” he said, nodding toward Garrick Monroe. Alistair’s father was chatting with a group of Councilmembers, but paused to raise his glass to me. I gave him a thumbs-up and toasted him back.
I might not have his report yet, but I’d find it. And when I did, I’d remember his promise of support.
A man in an expensive tux opened a set of double doors, then turned to face the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is ready. Please proceed to your seats.”
We passed through the large double doors, threading through dozens of tables to our seats near the front. Elsa, who was stunning in a light blue gown, and Mick, who seemed as uncomfortable as I was in his formal robes, joined us.
I shook Elsa’s hand. “Great job this morning.”
She kissed me lightly on the cheek. “You too. There was a lot of positive chatter in the green room after you left.”
Mick held the chair for Elsa, then thumped heavily into his own seat. “And here I thought you hated the press.”
“I do, but a very old, very wise man likened them to a weapon. Changed my perception on dealing with them entirely.”
The new couple chuckled as I removed my sword and sat.
The laughter quieted as Ambassador Jones, her husband, Elders Devon, Rancin, Watkins, Watkins’s wife and Father Pierce appeared at our table. We scooted our chairs out to stand.
“Elders, Ambassador, Father.” I dipped my head respectfully to each, flinching as Watkins made eye contact. For a heartbeat, I worried he might recognize me, but he waved a dismissive hand.
“This is a night for enjoyment, not formality. By the way,” he added, “I hear you have a surprise for everyone. I can’t wait to see it.”
Devon and Rancin gave me cold glares.
“It’s nothing big,” I lied. “Just something to get the party started.”
“I’m sure we’ll all enjoy it!”
Watkins was off the mark. The evening would certainly be entertaining, but I doubted anyone would enjoy my performance.
Everyone shook hands, but I could see the trepidation in the Elders’ eyes and the tension in Quinn’s jaw when they came around to her. The air between them crackled with electricity, but thankfully no one mentioned the pink elephant in the room that was her father. Or the fact that the Council was still hunting him.
Rancin especially seemed agitated. No surprise there since she’d inherited R&D in the wake of Simeon’s trial, as well as the blight the case had brought to the department.
That embarrassment was brought back into the limelight when Simeon vanished from the Skilled radar with the zombie, Anthony Banks.
It didn’t m
atter that Quinn had nothing to do with her father’s disappearance, she was a stark reminder that the Council—specifically the Elders—had condemned a man to death for a crime that everyone knew he didn’t commit.
Despite uncovering proof of the man’s innocence, I’d discovered that pride ran deeper than justice.
It’d be a cold day in Hell before the Elders would admit they were wrong.
Which was why I was hoping to brew up one hell of a winter storm later.
Dinner was pleasant, but painfully awkward. Our attempts at small talk fell apart when everyone, including the Elders, realized they didn’t actually want to mention the events of the past week. Or the past year for that matter. I was saved by the buzzing of my phone.
“Excuse me,” I said, standing.
Rancin frowned. “The ceremony is going to start in a few minutes.”
“Sorry, but it’s my hairdresser. I have to take this.”
Carla covered her smile, but Devon and Rancin scowled. I simply turned my back to them, then slalomed through the tables toward the exit.
The call went to voicemail, so I dialed the number back the second I entered the lobby.
“Please tell me you have good news.”
“I do,” Seamus replied. “It took forever thanks to the dinosaur of a computer you plugged me into. But hacking into your Elder’s account allowed me access to the Council intranet. I pinged the server for various account log-ins. When that didn’t turn up anything, I checked the IP addresses.”
I loved Seamus, but he sometimes forgot how to talk to us mortals.
“Smaller words, bud.”
He sighed. “I found your report.”
My heart quickened with excitement. “Send it.”
“Done. I have more, but will let you read that first before sending the rest.”
My phone dinged and I opened the message. Sure enough, R&D’s official findings from the first blue rift popped up. The report detailed the various opinions and recommendations of the inquiry boards. What was interesting was the complete lack of data. Where were the numbers I’d given to Pell?
“Is this it?” I asked, going back to the beginning of the document.
“Yup.”
“But it’s missing a ton of critical information.” It just didn’t make sense.