by Joshua Roots
“That’s just the tip of the iceberg, dude. Someone has been removing tons of data.”
“Deleting?”
“Hiding. But they don’t seem too hip on computer security, so it didn’t take me long to find the files. Forwarding what I found.”
My phone almost blew up with the deluge of information. Message after message poured in.
Reports from rift teams, personality profiles, R&D analyses—the works. Out of curiosity, I opened Arbent’s original report to R&D about “our” rift. It was a clunky, heavy read with broken sentences and odd numbers. It took a second reading before I realized it had been heavily edited.
If he’d ever made an official statement about the one in Maryland I’d asked him to investigate, it never made it to paper.
While it appeared as if someone was muting the danger of the blue rifts, they had increased the volume of another threat.
Message after message rolled in, but all of the data centered around decades worth of birth certificates from both Skilled Healers and Normal hospitals. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of names matched to their parentage.
Reading over the various graph and chart attachments, I slowly began to make sense of the information. Numbers, analysis, forecasts. The briefings highlighted one very terrifying result.
The Skilled were on the decline.
My stomach tightened the more I read. “Seamus, are you sure this information is accurate?”
“I can’t speak to the accuracy, but I can guarantee those birth certificates are copies of the real thing. And it’s all from the same person.”
My phone buzzed again. I froze when I saw the name in the message. My mind whirled, struggling to connect it to the events of the past few weeks.
“This doesn’t make sense,” I muttered.
“Sorry, bud. I just find the data. You’re the one who has to interpret it.” When I didn’t respond he said, “So, need anything else?”
I stared. “No. This is good. Thanks.”
“Anytime. Hey, before I go, who is Shannon?”
I racked my brains. “No idea. Why?”
“That name showed up a lot with the account. Thought you might find it interesting.”
I nodded numbly. “Oh, I do.”
“See ya’ around,” he said, and hung up.
I stood in the hall, dazed.
The evidence was damning, but not solid.
Removing data was one thing—proving that a person was behind an assassination attempt was something completely different. I had a name, Monroe’s report and a lot of “unrelated” charts. All of it confirmed my own suspicions, but it wouldn’t hold up in a court of law.
Which meant I’d need a confession. Or something close to it.
I’d promised theatrics, but hadn’t expected anything like the performance I was about to give.
The ceremony was well underway by the time I weaved back through the tables. Several diners grumbled when I bumped into them, but their complaints were distant and muted.
“You feeling okay?” Quinn asked as I rejoined her. “You’re very pale.”
I glanced to the podium where Elsa was in the middle of her speech. She had a pretty voice and her confidence in front of the crowd was impressive. I didn’t bother paying attention to what she was saying.
Instead, I scanned my table, the audience, and the media folks at the back of the room before turning back to my date. “Interesting call.”
She slipped her fingers into mine. “You sure you want to do this?”
“No,” I said, firmly. “But I have to.”
She squeezed my hand.
Elsa spoke for another minute or so, then wrapped up to a standing ovation. Cameras flashed as Ambassador Jones walked up to the podium, shook her hand, then stood in front of the mic.
“On behalf of the Office for Skilled Relations, I’d like to present Ms. Klein with a newly minted medal. The Unity Award recognizes those persons who go above and beyond the call to help build relations between our two societies. Having risked her life to defend both Skilled and Normals during the attack at the Delwinn Council’s headquarters building, we feel that Ms. Elsa Klein represents the qualities inherent to the spirit of this award and are honored to make her the very first recipient.”
Carla took an opened box from one of her staffers on stage which she then presented to Elsa. The latter beamed and the two shook hands, pausing for several photographs Elsa shook the Ambassador’s hand once again, then descended the short staircase gracefully, rejoining us at our table.
“Congratulations,” Elder Watkins said to her.
Carla smiled at the crowd. “Our second, and final speaker needs very little introduction. He not only helped save many lives that same night, including my own, but has also been in the media quite a lot ever since. Sometimes that’s been a good thing.”
The audience chuckled politely.
“Please welcome to the stage, Warlock Marcus Shifter.”
Nausea swept over me, but I fought it. I put on the mask of an entertainer to cover the fear that threatened to consume me.
Show time.
I hopped up the stairs, shaking Carla’s hand as I reached the podium. She walked off the stage, leaving me alone with the crowd, the lights and the cameras.
I paused, collecting my courage as I drank in the sight of the audience. Skilled, Normals, and even several representatives of the religious conglomerate all looked up at me with interested, sometimes annoyed, expressions.
But tucked within the crowd of skeptics were people who radiated love or support. Quinn, my folks, Healer Jenkins, Arbent, Councilman Monroe, even Jethrow and Carrie. Their gazes fixated on me, silently filling me with the courage to step out on a limb and take a leap of faith.
My hands shook as I removed my prepared speech from inside my robes.
These were no longer the words I needed.
“I bet most of you think Hell’s frozen over at this point,” I said, setting the papers to the side.
Laughter.
Good.
“When the Elders asked me to say a few words this evening, I wanted nothing to do with it. Part of that is because I hate public speaking, the other part is because I really, really hate public speaking. So if I screw up or fall short, please forgive me.”
Light applause. Camera flashes.
“Let me begin by saying that this night is special. Not only because it is the anniversary of the formal Reformation between the Skilled and Normals, but also because it is a night where we honor a unity that’s been decades in the making.
“For countless generations, the Skilled lived in the shadows, hiding from the persecution brought on by fear, hate, or greed. We learned to trust only ourselves, staying hidden in the corners or pretending to be Normal just to fit in with society. Yet we all carried the secret of what we were and with it the terror that someday we would be murdered because of it. To say we had trust issues is an understatement.”
The audience rumbled with amusement. A decent start.
“I was just a kid when the peace accord was signed, so I barely remember what it was like to live in that world of fear. But many of the Skilled do.” I looked at the Elders seated at my table. “For some, it’s a scar that will never fully heal.”
All three Elders seemed entranced—Rancin even had tears in her eyes. Father Pierce gazed on, listening intently.
Okay, I still had their attention.
“It’s been twenty years since that momentous day and I think we can all agree that our worlds have come quite a long ways since then. Pop culture seems obsessed with the paranormals while Normals are accepting of the Skilled way of life. Hell, I’ve even gotten to know a handful of kids that would sign up for our training if they were allowed. Obviously that’s not possible, but the sentiment is meaningful. We’re not pariahs anymore. We’ve been accepted within the fold of humanity.”
I turned to the table where Jethrow and Carrie were seated, pausing to look them both in t
he eyes. “It warms my heart that the generations of Normals and Skilled who follow us will never know a world where they are not considered human. It’s the reason why so many of us work so hard to protect the peace. Because our future generations deserve it.”
I glanced at Quinn. She smiled up at me, filling me with resolve. My hands calmed and I returned my attention to the crowd. “Which is why it boggles my mind that anyone would want to screw with it. Sure, there will always be friction, but I’m talking about actively trying to drive a wedge between us.”
The audience murmured and several people shifted uncomfortably. I spotted Arbent and nodded at him. He rose, walking to the table where Helga was sitting. Cameras swung to photograph him as he passed.
No, stay focused on me.
“You see,” I said, raising my voice slightly, “something’s been bothering me since the attack at HQ. The Mimics we faced weren’t run-of-the-mill. They were aggressive. More important, they knew where to go. They killed several of Ambassador Jones’s staff. Then they came after me.”
That got everyone’s attention, including the media.
Keep it up.
“I take that kind of thing personally, so my friends and I started doing a little research. What we uncovered were more questions than answers, but the one thing that kept popping up were these annoying rifts. As many of you know, I’ve been working with the repair teams and, over the past few months, have encountered a surprising number of them. These rifts, however, were unstable, created by fractures in the fabric of our reality. Imagine my surprise when my friends and I discovered one that was the opposite. One that was man made.”
I paused, allowing that information to sink in.
The crowd mumbled louder with questions.
“The thing I couldn’t figure out,” I said, cutting everyone off before they got too distracted, “was the connection between the Mimics and the rifts. At first they seemed independent of one another, but the more research I conducted, the more I began to question the coincidence. Then I found a second rift in Maryland, one just as stable. And guess what? My friends and I were attacked by something that didn’t belong on this world. Then they went after Ambassador Jones.
“That got me thinking, what if the new rifts were opened specifically so a Summoner could control the beasts? Bring them to this plane to do their bidding. Say, to take out the Ambassador to the Skilled. Or the annoying upstart who got in the way.”
I turned to my table.
“You got sloppy in your old age, Linda.”
Elder Rancin frowned deeply. “You are mistaken, Warlock.”
“This is treasonous talk, Marcus,” Watkins said, his voice filled with shock.
“No, Elder Watkins. Manipulating Mimics in order to assassinate Ambassador Jones is treason. Murdering two harmless kids in an attempt to kill me is treason.” I glared at her. “You know what’s interesting about the Computer Age, Linda? Browser histories. Unless you make an effort to wipe them clean, that information stays on your computer. Information like the web address for the Magical Mania blog. Or a map search for the address of the kids who interviewed me. You know, in case you wanted to send a couple of Mimics to their place.”
Rancin darkened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Actually, I do.” I held up my phone. “That’s the other great thing about living in the Computer Age. Someone who knows more than you can hack your files. I have the reports. Both from R&D and the ones that you doctored from the team. The data you removed to hide the stability of the rift my team found. It’s easy to deny it since we closed it and R&D never inspected it. But then you had your people close the second rift. The one that you used to summon the puma-things so you could send them after Ambassador Jones.”
I shook my head. “And all of this just to destabilize the Reformation.”
“I led the drive for the peace accord,” Rancin snapped defensively. “I have dedicated my life to melding our two societies.”
“Yes, until you realized the danger of doing so.”
Rancin froze, surprise etched on her face.
“Yeah, I have those files too. And the graphs. All here in my little electronic device. It’s almost magical, isn’t it?”
The Elder’s mouth moved, but no words came out.
I savored the feeling of being right. Of besting her.
After all her months—even years—of planning, I was the one who figured her out. Not Jethrow, not Arbent, not even the Elders. Me.
Suck it, doubters.
“You have no idea what you are doing,” Rancin said, finally finding her voice.
“Oh, I think I do. Arresting your ass for treason.”
My rift team and a handful of Warlocks surrounded her. Arbent placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Elder Rancin, please come with us.”
She scanned them, then turned back to me. “You’re serious about all this.”
I grinned, riding the wave of my own theatrics. “You bet I am. According to these briefs, the Skilled are on a decline. Diminishing powers and all that. But who knows what the truth really is, eh? After all, you’ve done a masterful job of hiding things. The rifts and the beasts you summoned. Hell, I bet you had a hand in the massacre seventy years ago. Isn’t that right, Devon?”
The old man scowled.
“Oh, that’s right. Blood Oath has your tongue.” The dead likely heard the sarcasm in my voice. “Well, your testimony isn’t really needed, considering all this information we have now.”
“You have theories, Warlock,” she retorted. “Wild, treasonous accusations. Whatever you think you’ve found, I can promise you that you’re wrong. Did you really believe that a doctored report and a set of birthing records that I’ve been showing to the Elders for some time now would actually carry enough weight to send me to the gallows? I have an unblemished record. I have been a champion for peace. I am a leader. And what are you? A paranoid, selfish, incorrigible child.”
I could feel the room shifting to her side.
Dammit! She was supposed to cave, not masterfully outmaneuver me.
But she was. Scowls from diners gazed up at me. I could only imagine what this looked like from those watching at home.
Quinn was pale and even Arbent seemed to deflate a little.
“This is an embarrassment, Marcus,” Devon said, glaring at me. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Rancin started to rise. “I think the party is over.”
No. Not again. I wouldn’t fail or get outmaneuvered. This was my one shot and it was slipping away.
But what else could I leverage?
“Let’s talk about all your victims first, Linda,” I said hurriedly, barreling over the murmurs of protest before anyone could cut me off. “We have three of Ambassador Jones’s staff, not to mention my friends, Tessa and Mike. Then there’s Alistair Monroe who nearly died because of your orders. And that’s all just in the past week.”
Councilman Monroe perked up. Others, too, began to give Rancin a wary eye.
Now to roll the dice.
“And speaking of victims, whatever happened to Shannon?”
Rancin froze. “What did you say?” she whispered.
Oh hell, please work.
“Sorry, I must have mumbled. I said ‘Shannon.’ Was she a lover of yours? Someone else who got in your way when you were burying information and bodies? You went through a lot of effort to hide her existence as well, so I can only assume it’s another victim of your machinations.”
She was rigid, her face ashen.
Hot damn, that was it.
“You see, there’s a trail of dead bodies in your wake, so I assume you erased her once she stopped being useful. But you know what? She had a family, just like everyone else you murdered along the way. Friends too. And they’ll never have closure because you took her from them.” I stared her down. “You stole someone’s loved one, you selfish, cold-hearted bitch.”
Her Skill vibrated like
a piano wire just plucked. It resonated inside the room, humming with psychic tension.
Then it snapped.
“How dare you!” she shrieked. “You of all people!”
Uh oh.
I felt the rage of her emotions a split second before she acted. The hate and grief washed over me like a wave, dragging me under. Decades of shame and months of loathing crashed all around me. I screamed, desperate to warn everyone, but I was too late.
She moved like lightning, grabbing her staff and driving it into the ground with a deafening boom. A shockwave exploded in all directions, flipping tables and shoving diners away from her.
Arbent and his team were thrown backward, landing several feet away.
A glass from my table clipped me in the head as it flew past. Stars exploded in my vision and I dropped to my knees. The world grayed before slowly easing back to normal.
Holy hell, this wasn’t what I’d expected. She was supposed to be stunned into submission. To confess her guilt and be led away. Not attack a room full of the Skilled’s most elite warriors.
True to their powers as Elders, Watkins and Devon recovered first, charging Rancin.
She spun, flinging a knife that sank into Watkins’s chest. The man crumpled as Devon whipped his own staff in Rancin’s direction. The woman deflected the spell, ducked, then drove her staff upward into the old man’s chin. Devon’s head snapped back and he dropped like a rock, crashing to the floor.
The Ambassador ducked as the Elder waved her hands, unleashing a fury of Fire Spells on the crowd. Screams erupted from the diners as Normals and Skilled dove for cover. A nearby table disintegrated as a fireball crashed into it while several people were thrown across the room.
Helga sidestepped the spell, driving her own at the Elder, but Rancin ripped the electricity from the overhead chandeliers, redirecting it toward the Mage. Helga dove out of the way, but the sparking ball crashed into a Warlock behind her. The man fell with a scream, bucking as the electricity danced across his body.
The crowd was in full panic mode, scrambling between spells as they made for the exit.
As pandemonium consumed the room, I crawled behind the fallen podium, then rolled over the edge of the stage. Where were my folks? Jethrow? Healer Jenkins? I couldn’t see anyone except Quinn who was next to me.