by Paul Duffau
At the corner where the house met the terrace, a tall man stood with imperious ease in the shadows cast by the overhang of the veranda’s cover.
They proceeded. Kenzie peered in the large mission windows. The mansion featured expansive wood floors, polished to a gleam, and white walls. Hunter’s father, Jorge Rubiera, stepped from the shadows into a crescent of light cast from a globe mounted on a column.
“Hello,” he said, voice melodious, smile practiced and welcoming and insincere. “I thank you for coming.” His eyes were still the lifeless black that Kenzie had seen in the spring, a bleakness that made her spirit want to curl up and hide. He’d make a good vampire.
“Our pleasure,” stated Sasha.
That makes one of us. Kenzie checked her father. He seemed none too pleased to be here, either, but he stepped forward and extended a hand.
“To what do we owe the honor?” he asked as the men shook hands in a perfunctory manner. Kenzie snapped her head around at the faintly mocking tone.
“Please, come this way.” He guided them to a marble outdoor bar, attended by another suited servant who bore a striking resemblance to the man at the garage. French doors, crafted in oak and set with individual panes of glass separated by muntins, stood open to let the cooling air into the home. A semicircle of chaise lounges and well-padded furniture was arrayed facing toward Lake Washington. Lights began to twinkle as the twilight settled on the far shore. “Would you care for refreshments?” Singling out Kenzie, he said, “Please excuse my son. He has been delayed a few minutes, completing a project for me.”
A statuesque woman, dark in coloration, with downcast eyes under arched brows and a widow’s peak, appeared at the doorway. Rubiera saw her. So did Sasha and Raymond. Kenzie saw both of them shift in tandem by barely perceptible stages into defensive postures. “Sasha, I believe you have met my wife, Cailida.”
Kenzie twitched. Whispers in the Glade hinted at an impossibly cruel wizard, Cailida, who specialized in inventing spells that materialized hot molten metals that she then splashed onto her naked prisoners, droplet by droplet, blistering and burning the most sensitive parts of their bodies and drinking in the agony of their shrieks. A tale to keep the children in line. Scary, but not real; it was the Glade’s version of a monster story.
The woman in front of Kenzie did not seem capable of such calculated evil, but she noticed that both Raymond and Sasha stayed alert.
As though oblivious to their caution, Cailida faced the Grahams, hands folded at her waist like a nun entering the abbey. In a husky voice, she welcomed them to her home.
“Thank you, dear,” said Rubiera, in dismissal. His wife left, an actress with a cameo, brought out to show that he, Jorge Rubiera, was a family man, and sent away once her part was complete.
Both Grahams stood down. Kenzie released a pent-up breath. The Rubieras were off, somehow. Who stages a happy family scene when no one is happy?
An uncomfortable silence descended on the group. At the periphery of her awareness, a disturbance rippled. Hunter was nearby.
“So, do you get out to sail often?” asked Sasha, to break the silence.
Kenzie turned her back on the doors and her mother’s nervous chatter and went to the balustrade. Mitch’s description of dislocations that she caused pricked at her. Hunter did the same thing. Now, closing her eyes, she could see they all did, though not to the degree of jerk-face. Her “betrothed” outshone the others by an order of magnitude. Surprised, she realized her father was the weakest among them. Uneasily, she recalibrated her estimate of Cailida, too. The deferential woman was the most potent of the adults.
Lurking at the back of her mind, an image of Mitch floated on a cloud of worry that trickled back along whatever connection they shared. Kenzie didn’t have the words to describe it. Just that there was this awareness, not of Mitch’s thoughts but moods, feelings, totally different from the pressure that the wizards around her were exerting. The distinction made her chest swell and hurt at the same time. She submerged both as Hunter threatened to swamp her. At the sound of footfalls, Kenzie abandoned her vigil of the lake and adjusted herself so she could watch the adults and the door.
Hunter stood at ease at the edge of the indoor lights. The effect was dramatic. The backlight accentuated his tight frame and broad shoulders. Muscle showed below the fabric of his button-down shirt and his waist was narrow. The luminous outdoor sconces left his eyes shadowed and smoldering. He smiled in Kenzie’s direction. Startled, Kenzie felt a flutter that led to a yearning. “Jerk-face” might not have been fair, Kenzie confessed to herself. Then, to reinforce her resolve, she reminded herself, Poison comes in pretty packages.
“Ah, Hunter,” said the elder Rubiera. “Please take McKenzie inside and show her around.”
Kenzie flushed. Dismissed, to the wizard equivalent of the kiddie table. She spun and faced Rubiera. “If you are discussing my future, I’m going to have a say. I’m not going anywhere.”
Shock blossomed on Sasha’s face, swiftly followed by rage. Her stepmother’s reaction was dwarfed by the towering fury from Rubiera. Kenzie’s heart thudded at the malevolence that burned in his eyes, the first emotion she had seen touch those onyx orbs.
“Take this disrespectful girl child from me,” he ordered Hunter, through gritted teeth, each word enunciated as sharply as the sound of a hammer hitting a nail. “Now.”
Girl child? Kenzie’s nostrils flared and she clenched her teeth. “I’m staying.” No time for a spell, she sought raw magic. All of them knew it. The atmosphere practically dripped with potential energy.
Rubiera strode to her, and Kenzie faltered backward a step before his approach. Her father angled toward them, a step too slow as he processed the situation.
“You are a disrespectful girl child. You think that this conversation is about you?” His tone menaced her. “We discuss the attacks on your Family, and how the hechiceros can assist the draoi. You. You are an insignificant piece of the problems that our Families face.” He snapped angry fingers in her face with the impact of a thunderclap.
Kenzie gasped and staggered backwards, hips hitting the railing.
“Now leave!”
Kenzie trembled and looked wildly from Sasha to her father to Hunter. She locked eyes with the leader of the hechiceros. “What did you do to me?” It slithered out as a whimper, and she despised it, and him.
Kenzie couldn’t find her magic. When Rubiera had snapped his fingers, the whole realm had been amputated from her, a negation of energy. Kenzie knew magic the same way normal people knew air; it was always there, unthought-of, until it wasn’t, when the lack became urgent. It was like being blinded, instantly and painlessly, and, most terrifyingly, what if permanently?
She felt a hand on her elbow. Hunter stood there, features impassive.
She yanked her arm free. “Don’t,” she said, panting, “touch me.”
He pivoted to face her. Under his breath, Hunter said, “It will dissipate.”
“Hunter, please step aside.” The politeness hid her father’s tension. He inserted himself in front of Kenzie. “We’re leaving.”
Kenzie saw her father’s hand at his hip. Still quivering, she read the same implicit threat that Rubiera did; magic couldn’t stop bullets. Both Rubieras backed away, hands out in the open.
“Raymond, quit being melodramatic. We have business to transact. McKenzie has been getting too big for herself. Mr. Rubiera simply did what I should have done months ago. A little discipline won’t harm . . . her.”
The hesitation in Sasha’s voice set Kenzie’s teeth chattering. What had she meant to say before she caught herself?
“We’re leaving. Now.”
Jorge Rubiera spoke, a maelstrom of negative emotions attending his words. “Your wife is correct. We still have business, important business, that we must discuss. First and foremost is to locate and remove the threat to the draoi. Whoever threatens you, threatens us as well. But that is just the starting point. These negotiation
s will set the path that both Families can follow to a new future where we chosen can live without the necessities of hiding from Meat. We are that close.” He took a deep breath. “I can have my driver deliver your wife to your home when we are done. I will personally guarantee her safety.” He nodded to Sasha. “If that satisfactory to you?”
“It is,” stated Sasha, in a voice Kenzie recognized as business professional. The fact that Rubiera had attacked Kenzie was outside the parameters of the deal. It was at best a distraction.
Kenzie gazed on Sasha’s face, saw the slim, satisfied line to her lips. The bitch is enjoying this.
“Raymond, why don’t you take McKenzie home while Jorge and I work out a few details?”
Her father stared, steely-eyed, at the elder Rubiera. He dropped his chin a pair of millimeters. “Very well.” He glanced to Hunter, who had watched the interplay intently. “May I get you to step back?”
Hunter complied. Under his breath, he murmured, “My apologies.”
Her father acknowledged Hunter with another minuscule dip of his chin.
Kenzie put a shaky hand on the back of her father’s arm. Without another word, they left. Kenzie had never realized that hot glares of contempt could burn so badly, but it felt like blisters were growing on the nape of her neck. The heat didn’t leave until they were in their car and headed home. Lights flared past while Kenzie searched for her missing appendages in silent desperation.
“There are better ways to get intelligence.”
Kenzie stopped staring out the window. “What?”
“The hechiceros have always been formidable in battle, both the wizardly kind and in business. Tonight is the first time I understood why. You pushed Rubiera enough that he gave away a pair of critical secrets.”
“It hurts.”
He shot her a concerned glance. “Physically?”
Kenzie shook her head. “Like a foot that’s gone to sleep.” Her eyes reverted to the window. “Do you know what he did?”
“Not exactly. One minute you looked to be absorbing magic, the next you had all the potential of Meat.”
A shudder ran through her and Kenzie clenched her shoulder blades to her spine to dampen it. “It’s like a part of me was cut away with a scalpel.” Her phone vibrated, sending another round of ripples through her. She checked the number. Mitch. Blinking, Kenzie realized he was still there, hiding in the back of her head. She pursed her lips. “What’s the second part? You said there were two.”
Raymond kept his focus on the road ahead as he answered. In a voice as grim as a grave, he said, “Your mother was not caught by surprise.”
Chapter 26
It was too easy, too easy, too-too-too easy-easy-easy. . . .
Mitch sat up in bed and unsuccessfully stifled a jaw-popping yawn. His brain refused to shut down, trapped in an endless train of guilt and worry. With a grunt, Mitch tossed the thin sheet off his legs and swung them to the floor. If he wasn’t going to sleep, he might as well do something productive.
It took a minute for his laptop to start up. While it did, Mitch padded over to his dresser and pulled the rogue chip from his underwear drawer. He hit the button on his phone to check if Kenzie had replied to his text message. She hadn’t.
Something else to worry about. Part of the regret loop stuck in his head included calculations of which agency would bust down the door and arrest him for espionage. Seattle Police? Washington CID? FBI, NSA, Homeland Security? Or some clandestine group nobody’d heard of?
It had been too easy. After Snowden and WikiLeaks, no rational person would have security so lax a teenage boy could break it.
Would they make him stand trial? Easier just to disappear him. Less embarrassing to the rich and powerful that way. That would be what I would do, right? Just make the awkward kid who punked me go uh-buh-bye?
The hard drive chittered as the programming loaded. As soon as the Start screen appeared, he turned off the wireless connection to the router. Propped in bed, with the screen flexed against his thighs at the best angle for reading, he took a deep breath and opened the purloined files.
The first set of prints sparked recognition. The warehouse droid. With interest, he saw that drawings for each iteration of the robot were included. By starting at the earliest date stamp, he could follow the evolution of the design, from rough concept to now. He slipped back and forth, noting changes and reverse-engineering why they were made. Twice he had to go to the project notes for explanations.
He switched to a new robot. Instantly, the military applications jumped off his screen. Tank-like treads replaced the wheels of the previous design. A centrally placed gun mount with an articulating turret capable of traversing 360 degrees in the horizontal plane and—Mitch checked the specs—up to seventy-five degrees of elevation made the machine resemble modern armor. Totally different than the Russian effort, which looked like a Terminator or Google’s quadrupedal killer. Hand-drawn images suggested an energy weapon instead of standard projectiles. Too cool!
Odd, though, that there was a dead space inside the robot, not designated for any purpose. The warehouse bot had a similar space added in the latter stages. Mitch had skipped past it, interested in the assemblies that were there.
He sampled another file. And another. Each design had the open space. Mitch tipped his chin down, trying to puzzle out a rationale for the change. He couldn’t see a functional reason to introduce the void.
He clicked another file to see if that one had been modified, too. His eyebrows practically climbed up over his head. The new drawing didn’t have metal and linkages. It was a soft robot that looked like a jellyfish. Mitch didn’t even know that 3rdGen had a soft robot division. Mitch didn’t spend much time with the protoplastic machine. Organic stuff was icky.
He opened the MAGE file next. He went back through the drawings, and a familiar frustrated feeling emerged. He wasn’t a genius at circuitry, but he couldn’t see how the thing could possibly work. You could dump power in. That part was easy. It was trying to control it at the other end of the boost chain. How did you control fundamentally unstable energy?
He erupted into another gigantic yawn. The computer told him he still had a couple of hours to get some sleep. He started shutting down the files when the pointer on the screen twitched away from his control. Crumpling his lips, Mitch stroked the touch surface and positioned it over the X to close the file manager program.
Again, the pointer twitched. A cold chill blew on Mitch’s back. He moved it back and the screen went blank.
Great, I got a virus, he thought. Instantly, he blamed 3rdGen for not having better protection on their systems. Had to come from their files. He punched keys in an attempt to bring the screen back to life. With a little luck, he could derail the malware before it ate his computer.
Mitch got the screen back, but his feeling of relief was short-lived. A blue light turned on as the wireless network switched itself on. The monitor popped with a bright white light before resolving into words. Printed on the screen in bold letters was a message.
You Have Something Of Mine
Mitch let loose with a string of passionate invectives. Then he stopped, mid-curse. The light for the camera glowed. The cold breeze on his shoulders turned icy and his skin reacted in goose bumps.
Whoever was out there was watching him!
Swiftly, he hit the Wi-Fi button to physically shut it down. The switch failed to respond. Typing commands and using the shortcut keys proved equally fruitless. In desperation, he reached for the battery.
The message changed and Mitch just had time to read it before he disconnected the power supply.
give it back . . . give it back . . . GIVE IT BACK!
Chapter 27
It itched, like the worst case of poison ivy she’d ever had, but on steroids. Not a mosquito bite that she could ignore, or dry skin she might rub to relieve the sensations, but an unrelenting message that intensified every time she tried to gather magic.
If the
itch had been physical, she’d have scratched herself into a bloody mess.
Kenzie sat in the dark, bedroom curtains drawn. A slashing ray of light leaked at the edge, lighting up the wall next to it with a triangle of sun that hurt her eyes, but not enough to make her get up from her bed.
Is this what a migraine feels like?
Magic kept most diseases at bay. Her childhood bouts of poison ivy had been a lesson from Sasha. “Pay attention next time,” she’d commanded, and refused to heal the welts.
This was so, so much worse. Just as with the painful rash from her encounter with poison ivy, she needed to scratch, but with magic, not her hands. The more she tried to scratch, the worse it got, eating a hole in her head.
In desperation, she toppled herself off the bed, landing in an untidy heap. The act of moving provided a short-lived moment of relief by distracting the gnawing.
She had to do something, anything, until this passed.
Move!
She crawled on her knees to the closet. The necklace. Elowyn’s Star. The amulet fashioned by her mother, with the missing stone. Maybe she’d been trying to activate it wrong. Or maybe it was broken. She cursed herself for not probing the two old wizards for more details.
Right now, she couldn’t care less about the secrets it contained. She needed it to deflect the spell that the hechicero had slapped her with. Next time he went to snap his fingers, Kenzie was going to break them.
Kenzie slid the door of the closet open and groped in the rear corner, where the amulet lay hidden. The closer her hand came to it, the more intense the itch became. With her hand shaking like an old woman with Parkinson’s, she removed the necklace.
Panting from her exertions, she leaned her back against the closet jamb. Delicately, she brought her attention to the amulet, performing her ritual for summoning magic. She gasped at the instantaneous reaction. The emerald sat inert, but an overpowering need to address the itch blasted down her nerve endings, a cross between the poison-ivy feeling and that of a million spiders stalking over her skin.