Eying Saul with as much sympathy as he could produce, Roland hit the intercom button and said into the microphone, “Sandy, can you please get the janitor up here?”
“Of course, sir,” Sandy’s cheerful voice replied. “He’ll be there in about five minutes.”
“Thank you, Sandy.” He returned his attention to Saul, and steadfastly avoided glancing at the mess on the floor. “Do we need to finish this discussion later?”
Saul dragged his hands down his face. “No, I’m all right. I just…I didn’t expect that. I don’t even understand that. How can a revenant soul split in half?”
“We don’t know,” he said. “No one’s ever heard of such a thing. Laura checked around with all the so-called experts who study the revenance phenomenon, and none of them thought it was possible. Souls are typically robust enough to withstand losing a few pieces here and there, as Kim Ballard so capably demonstrated. But usually, when you split one in half, the damage is so catastrophic to the soul’s stability that both halves break down.
“By all accounts, you and Tanner shouldn’t have been born alive, much less thrived. Furthermore, souls don’t split for no reason. The splitting of a soul is generally an intentional act committed by the person who owns the soul—or by an external force.”
Roland gripped the edge of the desk. “Now, we’re not discounting the possibility that Merlin’s soul split in half due to some cosmic mistake that happens once in a million years, but there is another possibility…”
“Somebody split the soul in half,” Saul finished. “You think the splitting has something to do with the Terrible Trio, don’t you?”
“It’s impossible to say for sure, but I don’t believe in coincidences of this magnitude.” He released his grip on the desk, revealing scorch marks shaped like his fingertips. “What are the odds that during the same incarnation where Merlin’s soul mysteriously splits in half, a powerful sorcerer with two Arthurian revenants as his lackeys puts into motion a plot that involves waking up Arthurian revenants all across the world?”
“The odds are astronomically low,” Saul murmured, “unless the splitting of Merlin’s soul was part of the plot.”
“There are great and terrible machinations at play here, and I fear we’ve only seen the tip of a massive iceberg that is hurtling toward us in the dark. In fact…” He clenched a fist, smoke curling out between his fingers. “It may already be too late to prevent the devastation these people are planning to wreak on the world.”
“Why do you think that?”
Roland didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he did something that absolutely shocked Saul. He opened one of his desk drawers, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and poured himself a generous helping that he downed in a single gulp. As if a man related to the actual Thor needed liquid courage in order to answer a simple question.
“Um, boss,” Saul asked softly, “are you okay?”
“No.” Roland slammed his glass onto the table, shattering it. “When your brother was fleeing the sable wight across the Karthen Street Bridge,” he said in a rush, “he saw the Seven Phantoms of Fate.”
Ice flooded Saul’s veins. “No. He didn’t. He didn’t.”
“He described them perfectly, Saul.”
Saul swallowed, the acid in his throat burning all the way down. “But that means…”
The Seven Phantoms of Fate were a magical phenomenon that, as far as anyone could tell, had existed since the dawn of time. Depictions of the neat row of faceless black phantoms blocking a path or a road or a bridge had been found in every artistic medium used by people throughout all the stages of civilization. Crude cave drawings. Roman bas reliefs. Japanese picture scrolls. Renaissance paintings.
Ancient tribes had woven songs about them, passing memories of their manifestations down the generations. Theologians had written religious essays about their significance, proclaiming them a sign from God Almighty. Conspiracy theorists had declared them visitors from another world, concerned aliens from more advanced planets warning humans about their shortcomings.
No one knew exactly what the phantoms were, and it was doubtful anyone ever would, as their visits to the mortal plane were always short-lived, as well as far and few between. But what everyone knew—or at least, everyone with the Third Sight—was what each appearance of the phantoms portended: a terrible catastrophe that would claim thousands upon thousands of lives.
Throughout all of recorded history, every appearance of the phantoms had come within six weeks of a world-shaking event that struck a hard blow to the human race. The Seven Phantoms of Fate had last appeared in the weeks leading up to the Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami that killed over two hundred thousand people.
Generally, those who witnessed the phantoms lived in the areas that would be impacted by the event. And Tanner had seen them right here in Weatherford, Connecticut, on the very day that the Terrible Trio had planned to trigger a global mass revenance event using a sacrificial ritual.
“What the hell are those bastards planning?” Saul all but shouted.
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Roland admitted. “But if we don’t find out in the next few weeks, we may wind up standing at the center of a great inferno that burns down the whole of New England.”
Chapter Forty
Tanner
A nightlight had not been a bedroom feature for Tanner Reiz since he was eight years old. But when he woke to near-total darkness in the bunkroom on the third floor of Renault Manor, and immediately had a panic attack, he decided to pick one up before he returned to his apartment. After his encounters with the sable wight, Tanner didn’t think he’d be comfortable with the dark for a long time.
There were a great deal more things he would also be uncomfortable with for the next several years, pending his brain processing all the traumas he’d suffered since yesterday morning. The dark, however, was the easiest to defeat.
Once his pulse stopped pounding like a drum, Tanner carefully sat up, mindful of yesterday’s injuries. It seemed that most of them had healed overnight as his life energy replenished. But he was still sore all over, and his muscles were so stiff that he had to spend a few minutes stretching before his back would fully straighten.
Rising on unsteady feet, Tanner noticed that someone had placed a shirt, a pair of jeans, and his glasses—the ones that had been in his satchel—on the nightstand next to the bed. Huh. The PTAD must have tracked down that crappy van Muntz and crew used to abduct me.
After he dressed, he plucked the glasses off the nightstand and discovered that one of the lenses was deeply cracked. He would have to get that fixed, and with his prescription, it wasn’t going to be cheap.
He grunted, irate. The whole reason he’d moved all the way across the country was to escape his parents’ sphere of influence so he could be an independent adult. He didn’t want to go raiding his trust fund a week into his first real job.
Grumbling about his shitty luck, Tanner felt along the wall until he found a light switch. When he flicked it up, a harsh fluorescent glow filled the room, vexing a dull ache behind his weary eyes.
When his eyes adjusted, he examined the place where he’d slept. The long walls of the narrow room were lined with plain twin beds. All the beds were empty, and only the sheets of his were rumpled in a way that indicated it had been used recently.
A vague recollection of the night before came to him: The infirmary had been at capacity after the church battle, and since Tanner wasn’t grievously injured, Laura had booted him out of the infirmary with a little cup that contained two sleeping pills and instructed him to crash in one of the bunkrooms on the third floor.
He was fairly certain those pills were the only reason he hadn’t woken up screaming in the middle of the night.
Smoothing out his hair so he didn’t look like he’d been spit out by a twister, Tanner cracked the bunkroom’s door open and glanced both ways down the hall.
Last night, he’d been nervous traversing the halls
of the Castle all by himself, as he’d felt like things were watching him from within the many shadows. But the bright morning light spilling in through the tall windows had chased away all those shadows, so Tanner slipped into the hallway with minimal fear that something was going to grab him and drag him to hell.
On bare feet, he padded down the hall until he found a set of stairs. He descended two stories, and as he reached the last landing, the general buzz of a busy office building floated up from the ground floor. Tanner paused, wondering if he should go back, find a bathroom, and make himself more presentable.
“Don’t be too self-conscious,” came an upbeat voice from behind him. “Everyone around here is used to seeing people who look like they just crawled out of a grave.”
Tanner peered over his shoulder.
Jillian Ford stood at the next landing up, one arm in a sling, the other supporting a single crutch. The warm brown skin of her face was marred by a dark-purple bruise that stretched from her cheekbone all the way to her chin.
“Do you need some help getting down?” Tanner asked, holding out his hands.
“Nah, I got it.” She hobbled down the stairs in a manner that was almost rhythmic, as if she was used to moving about the Castle with mobility-impairing injuries.
If last night is anything to go by, Tanner thought, then PTAD agents probably don’t go a month between serious injuries.
Ford paused beside Tanner. “So, how are you doing this morning?”
Tanner let out a ghost of a laugh. “Did you have to start with the most difficult question?”
She smiled. “I always find it best to get the hard stuff out of the way before I really start my day.”
“I see.” Tanner massaged a sore spot on the back of his neck. “Well, I guess I can honestly say I’m doing better than I was yesterday.”
“That’s a good start.” She nudged him playfully. “I think your next step should be a trip to the dining hall. Our chef makes a mean pancake platter.”
“I’m not really up for food.”
“Sure you are.” She tugged his sleeve, surprisingly hard, and he staggered down a step. “Eating is the most important thing to do the day after a fight. The energy in your soul replenishes on its own. The energy in your body does not. And you have to take care of your body’s needs, because the soul can’t fight battles on its own. So come on. Let’s go get some grub.”
Since the mischievous glint in her eye implied she’d drag Tanner all the way down the stairs if he tried to say no, he capitulated, and they set off at a slow pace to accommodate her crutch. At the bottom of the stairs, they were greeted by the hustle of innumerable PTAD agents who’d been called in on their day off to handle the spiraling repercussions of what had happened the night before.
As he and Ford waded through the throng, numerous people glanced at Tanner and did a double-take. Word had clearly spread that Saul Reiz’s twin was in the building, and now everyone felt compelled to catalogue all the differences between the two.
That irritating habit had always made Tanner feel like a sideshow attraction.
At last, he and Ford reached the dining hall, which had once been the manor’s grand ballroom. But the crystal chandelier, the stage for live music, and the expansive dance floor were long gone, replaced by cheap industrial lights, a salad bar, and thirty faux-wood tables.
Ford led Tanner to the end of the serving line and handed him a tray. Over the next few minutes, they moved through several stations, acquiring a pile of food.
When they sat down, Tanner had three whole plates of breakfast items, including fried eggs, thick-cut bacon, a fruit bowl, and the infamous pancake stack topped with whipped cream. There was no way he could eat all of it, but Ford had insisted he get a little of everything in order to have a “balanced” meal.
“Plus,” she explained, “all the food is free, even for visitors.”
Shrugging, Tanner dug in, and quickly realized that Ford was right. He was famished after all the exertion from yesterday; he just hadn’t noticed the hunger because he’d been focused on his aches and pains. As soon as he swallowed the first bite of bacon, his stomach growled, begging for a whole lot more.
In between large bites of food and gulps of orange juice, Tanner chatted with the soft-spoken Ford. She gave him a rundown of the latest developments, many of which made him cringe, and delicately described the status of everyone who’d been involved in the church battle.
Tanner had just started on his second pancake when Saul walked into the dining hall.
Saul looked terrible. He was white as a sheet, except for a touch of green around the mouth, like he was nauseous, and large dark bags under his eyes that indicated he hadn’t slept a wink.
Without even scanning the room, Saul plodded through the serving line and emerged with only a can of ginger ale, two pieces of plain white toast, and a banana. Foods that had been his go-to choices during childhood whenever he was sick to his stomach.
Saul was so out of it that he didn’t notice his own twin was at the table—what Tanner guessed was his team’s usual table—until after he sat down. Saul glanced up from his tray, blinking blearily, and jumped at the sight of his own face staring back at him. “Oh, Tanner, you’re up.”
“And you look like you’ve been up all night.” Tanner pointed to his brother’s tray, indicating the meager breakfast. “You coming down with something?”
“No, I just had a bad shock is all.” Saul popped the top on his ginger ale and took a sip. “My stomach tends to get a little unsettled when my whole world is turned upside down. A fact of which you are well aware, what with being my other half and all.”
Tanner grimaced. So Agent Smith finally told him. That must’ve really screwed with his head, after he spent all these years thinking he alone was the revenant of Merlin.
They needed to have a long conversation on the topic of their shared soul. But not today. Saul couldn’t handle any more today.
His brother was clearly teetering on the edge of shutting down. The last time he’d seen Saul do that—when a serious girlfriend broke his heart right after homecoming—Saul locked himself in his room for two days straight and subsisted solely on Oreos and Gatorade.
This revelation, one that cast the last decade of his life in a totally different light, one that would wildly skew the course of his future, was far more damaging to his psyche than a tragic end to a teen romance. So Tanner would give Saul the time and space he needed to work through his conflicting emotions.
Eventually, he would come around, as he always did. Then they would stay up all night long talking about their feelings over greasy takeout and a two-liter bottle of soda.
The more things change, Tanner thought, the more they stay the same.
Ford looked from Saul to Tanner. “What’s with the pensive expressions? Am I missing something here?”
Saul screwed his eyes shut, not wanting to be interrogated during his time of turmoil, but prepared to explain anyway.
Tanner cut him off. “I’m sure Agent Smith will tell everyone about it, once all the injured agents are well enough to attend a meeting. Until then, let it go.”
Ford shot him a perplexed look. Tanner held her eye for an extended moment, a warning.
She got the message. “If you’re still feeling sick after breakfast,” she said to Saul, “I’ll go get you some ginger chews. I’ve got a whole bag in my locker.”
Saul cracked his tired eyes open. “That’d be great. Thanks.”
“And then you should take a nap,” Ford added. “A really long nap.”
“Too much to do,” Saul murmured.
“Uh-uh. You’re not pulling that excuse again.” Ford wagged a finger reprovingly. “You will get some rest, even if I have to hold you down while Laura pours her sleepy-time tea down your throat.”
That elicited a tiny smile from Saul. “Okay, I’ll take a nap after breakfast.”
They resumed eating, and while their conversation was sparse—they st
eadfastly avoided any topic that might bring them around to yesterday’s events—much of the tension had left the table. Unfortunately, it dispersed throughout the rest of the room.
All the other agents sitting down to breakfast ogled Saul and Tanner, unsure what to think about the appearance of a second Reiz. It was obvious that Saul had quite the reputation, and though Tanner didn’t know all the details, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Saul’s destructive capacity made people nervous.
Today, there were two magic bombs eating breakfast within five feet of each other. If they went off, there wouldn’t be a dining hall left when the smoke cleared.
Ford, finishing off her cup of apple juice, suddenly said, “Trouble approaches.”
Tanner and Saul followed Ford’s line of sight back to the doorway. Laura stood just inside the dining hall, her low heel propping open the door, and she scanned the room until she found their table. Ignoring Ford and Saul entirely, she motioned for Tanner to join her in the hallway.
“Guess that’s my cue to leave,” Tanner said, shoving the last bite of pancake into his mouth.
“I don’t know what she wants, but I’ll go with you.” Saul made to get up.
Tanner grasped his shoulder. “No, you’re going to finish your breakfast and go take a nap. She’s a healer, not a harpy. I can handle her on my own.”
“Don’t be so sure about that,” Ford muttered.
Tanner scoffed. “Seriously. I’ll be fine, Saul.”
Saul vacillated for a moment, but ultimately gave in. “Just don’t get kidnapped again. Please?”
Tanner whacked him upside the head with a crumpled napkin. “Very funny.”
After depositing everything but his fruit cup on the conveyor belt that whisked trays off to the kitchen for cleaning, Tanner popped a grape into his mouth and strode over to Laura. She held the door open for him, and after he stepped into the hall, she said, “You and I have a date with a metal box in the basement.”
A Knight of Cold Graves (The Revenant Reign Book 1) Page 37