by Ann Macela
Alton gasped, groaned, and fell out of his chair to the floor. He curled up in the fetal position and began moaning and rocking from side to side.
“What happened? What’s going on? What do you feel?” Bruce leaned over him without touching him. Alton was obviously in pain. The Defenders must be destroying the Stone, right this minute. He had no idea what would happen to Alton when they did, and he’d be damned if he was going to hang on to the man and get caught in a backlash.
Alton rocked more violently, his moans became shouts, and his eyes were wide open but focused on somewhere out of the study. “No! No! I won’t let you! Bitch! Son of a bitch!”
“What, Alton? Who? Do you see someone? Who’s the bitch?”
Alton looked up at him, seemed to actually see him. “Re-re-red ... B-b-b ... I- ... Sa ...”
“Who, Alton? Read? Read what? A book? The red book? You what? You say what?”
The writhing man shook his head and began to shout again. “No! You can’t! I’ll get you, I’ll get you!”
He reached out and grabbed Bruce, who recoiled and fought to free himself as enormous fear, pain, and anger spread through him from Alton’s grip. He had to kick Alton in the ribs to break loose, and he retreated across the room until he was sure his cousin wouldn’t be able to seize him again.
Alton yelled and thrashed around, cursing, trying to cast spells on whoever was tormenting him. At times he seemed to be dodging a missile; at others, he was plainly taking a direct hit.
Bruce moved a chair and a small table out of Alton’s way, but did not approach him. He needed to find out who the bitch or the son of a bitch was—or were. As powerful as the smaller Stone was, he assumed it would take more than one Defender to kill it. He wanted to know his enemies. It was quickly clear, however, that Alton could not supply the information.
As Alton’s torture went on, Bruce felt a familiar stirring in his magic center—his now warm center. Gone was the frozen lump of ice. His own portion of the Stone was responding, reaching out to help its severed third. Magical energy coursed through his body until he felt like he could take on the world. There was clearly no way he could help his cousin—he couldn’t see whoever was killing the other Stone, and Alton had gone beyond speech to incoherent cries.
Maybe what was happening to Alton didn’t matter. The influx of magic infusing Bruce’s brain and muscles was conferring new powers. He could actually feel his knowledge, abilities, and spells growing. When the Stone granted them the power to read the red book, the process had been pleasurable. This gift surpassed the previous ones by a magnitude of hundreds or thousands—ecstasy.
As he watched his cousin writhing on the floor, Bruce smiled. When he found out who was behind the attack, he now possessed the ability to destroy them. He intended to take every iota of pleasure out of doing so.
Suddenly, Alton went stiff, arched his body so only his shoulders and feet touched the floor, and screamed, a long, drawn-out wail of anger and pain and despair. Bruce thought he heard another deeper cry, this one coming from under his feet where the secret room lay. An immense sorrow engulfed him for a moment. Then Alton collapsed—out cold or dead.
Bruce knelt beside him and put his hand on Alton’s neck, searching for a pulse. Just as he found a faint beating, the door flew open, and Sedgwick, the butler who had been with the Finsters since before Bruce was born, burst in, his robe askew, his thinning hair flying.
“What’s the matter, Mister Bruce? What’s wrong with Mister Alton? Was he screaming? It woke me up. It sounded horrible.”
“Call 9-1-1, Sedgwick. Alton’s had some kind of a fit. Don’t worry about anything except him. I’ll take care of everything else.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Fireballs and lightning bolts came at Jim from every direction, singeing his body as they passed. A black hole was opening at his feet, and he fought against its pull, scrabbling backward on a slick, uneven surface and losing ground with each breath.
He couldn’t get his shield up, couldn’t fight back.
The hole grew bigger, the surface became slicker, and the darkness got blacker. A flame burned at the bottom of the well.
He was sliding into the horrible pitch-dark maw, when a brilliant white light speared past him and blew the hole to smithereens.
He yelled and woke up, gasping for air and sweating like he’d just run out of hell.
“Holy shit! What was that?” he mumbled while he hauled himself out of bed and into the bathroom. After splashing cold water on his head and chest and drinking some out of his cupped hands, he felt a little better.
He staggered back into the bedroom and flopped on the bed. His breathing and his heartbeat still weren’t back to normal, and he rubbed his aching, itching breastbone.
He peered at the clock. Three in the friggin’ morning. He’d only been asleep for an hour and a half.
Where had his crazy dream come from? Black holes? This damn case was a black hole. Finster’s activities all by themselves were enough to give him nightmares—already had, as a matter of fact.
If he’d found the right information last night, however, he would look forward with great relish to seeing the bastard brought to justice. If they couldn’t catch him outright in drugs or weapons smuggling, they would catch him the same way they caught Al Capone—tax fraud and evasion.
Jim had delivered the flash drive copy to the office after he left Finster’s, and the techies went to work on it immediately. As ordered, he’d phoned the task force head to report his success, and Ken Erlanger had praised his work.
But ... Jim had left out part of what had happened in Finster’s study. He couldn’t bring himself to mention the redheaded woman—who glowed. He had to learn who she was and how she fit into the mess before he told anyone about her. He had to see her again.
Because? Because another hunch was driving this decision. One of the most powerful he’d ever had.
At first, the guys in his police squad and then the Drug Enforcement Administration and now a combined task force had ridiculed him for his intuition, his premonitions, his out-of-left-field notions like he was a weirdo or a charlatan. When his hunches started to pay off, everybody shut up. Next, they were asking his help.
Sometimes he wondered where his ideas came from. They didn’t really come all that often, and the big, solve-the-case ones didn’t show up until he and the others had gathered reams of information. It was like the data had to sit in his brain and percolate, drip down from his subconscious. He’d be doing something totally unrelated when, all of a sudden, wham, and everything was laid out in his mind like rolling out a carpet.
Having a quick strong hunch, like with this woman, was rare. Something would be behind it. What, he didn’t know—yet. Could she be the real key to nailing Finster?
He almost let himself follow the road of wishing he’d had a quick hunch about his sister—hell, any hunch about his sister. Almost. He shut off the thoughts, stuck them behind the wall in his mind, and remortared the stone. Finster would pay for what he did to Charity. Patience and good police work were the keys.
He turned over, punched the pillow, rubbed his itching sternum, and willed himself to sleep.
In a private dining room at four in the morning, Irenee took a break from stuffing herself and looked up. Everybody in the room was eating like they hadn’t seen food in a month. One of the wait staff brought her favorite dessert, warm fudge cake and raspberry sauce. Could she truly eat more? When the warm chocolate smell hit her nose, she realized of course she could.
Because energy in the human body was caloric and spells required use of that energy, she’d known she needed to eat to maintain her Sword powers. She never expected, however, to be eating like a teenaged boy or a farmhand. On the other hand, she could indulge her sweet tooth. She’d probably lost five or ten pounds in tonight’s endeavors. Maybe a hot-fudge sundae would top off her appetite—after the cake, of course.
The food was definitely helping her headache, and she
didn’t feel at all wobbly anymore. She hadn’t been the only one to fall over when the Cataclysm Stone finally died, so she wasn’t embarrassed by her fainting. Two team members and two backups had also.
She did feel somewhat guilty and chagrined about relaxing her guard for the moment when the black flame almost burst out of the Stone and hit her. Her training had emphasized the need to maintain concentration. Better to face her lapse, learn from the mistake, and go on.
Turning to Fergus sitting at the head of the long table next to her, she waited until he put down his coffee cup before speaking softly. “Listen, I’m sorry I almost blew it.”
His bushy eyebrows shot up. “What are you talking about? When?”
“I made a mistake, relaxed when I shouldn’t have. When the facets first started dying, I jumped to the conclusion the Stone was much weaker than it actually was. It almost got loose, and it was my fault.”
“Nonsense. I was assuming the same thing. The attack surprised me, too. No, you have nothing to apologize for.”
“But—”
“Hush, Sword. You did your job.” He smiled at her. “I, for one, am very proud of you. We’ll have to test your level again. From the way your sword changed colors, I think you went up during the battle.”
A little thrill of excitement zinged through her when she remembered the color changes. At the same time, praise from her mentor choked her up so much she couldn’t get a word out in return—not that he gave her the chance. He stood up and clinked his spoon against his water glass.
When he had everyone’s attention, Fergus said, “We have done some great work tonight. Thanks especially to those who answered our call for help. I’ve never had an item cause so much unexpected havoc. I particularly call to your attention the actions and abilities of Irenee Sabel, our newest team member. Her blade was pure lightning. I doubt very much I could have risen to the challenge the way she did at the same stage of my career.”
Someone started clapping, and the entire group rose to applaud her.
The praise totally discombobulated her, and it took all of her control to say simply, “Thank you,” and not burst into tears. Her father, standing next to her, gave her a hug.
Fergus waited until everyone was seated again before speaking. “We should be proud of all of us. However, I fear we are not finished with the power residing in that Stone.”
Unsure what he meant, Irenee stole a glance around the table. Several Defenders were nodding. All looked worried. She sat up straight as tension from her center tightened her muscles.
“I would venture a hypothesis,” Fergus went on. “First, the remainder of the Cataclysm Stone, the larger portion, has not been lost to history. And for the sake of argument, let’s propose only one other piece exists and the original has not broken into multiple parts—a nightmare we definitely don’t need. Second, this other piece is close by. Third, someone other than Alton Finster has it.”
Several Defenders nodded in agreement.
“Here is my reasoning: Usually, once facets or other physical attributes of an item start dying, that’s its death knell. It will continue to fight, but only with defensive, not offensive action. This Stone, however, attacked us, Irenee specifically, after its facet decline. Therefore, it had help, more power from a different source, which could only logically come from its mate, the other piece. The missing remnant, larger by Glynnis’s extrapolative measurements, probably more powerful as well, still lives. The proof is in the scream at the end that went on after the reduction to ashes. While I’ve had many an item cry at its end, I’ve never heard a sound so late or with an echo. Does anyone disagree with my theory so far?”
John Baldwin spoke up. “I concur with the defensive versus offensive action also. I’ve never seen one begin to lose mass and then come back. Let me point out also, the aid from the other remnant pierced all our shielding on the building, in the D chamber walls, and in our pentagon fortress to reach the smaller piece. I’ve never heard of such a possibility in modern times, although I can think of a couple of legends telling of similar powers. We may be very lucky the monster is in pieces.”
“That brings up my second point,” Fergus said. “It has to be close by. How close, we can only guess. The most powerful items, whether good or evil, can have effects from halfway around the world. In the hands of a very high-level caster, an intact Cataclysm Stone might have been one of those.”
“Remember, we’re dealing with a damaged Stone,” Glynnis interjected. “The broken items I’ve come in contact with in previous encounters have always been less powerful than the whole. The distance over which they could act was also greatly cut. Furthermore, the pieces of an item give off different vibrations from each other. Having felt the original vibrations when Finster was casting and then from the item we had, I can confirm they are one and the same—identical modulations, identical energy. Wherever the larger piece is, I have not directly felt it—yet.”
“Exactly,” Fergus acknowledged. “Before we get into actual distance, let me bring up the third point. Someone other than Finster possesses the remnant. If Finster did have the other piece, why wasn’t he casting with both for greater power? Why was only one piece in the bag Irenee brought back? I think someone else has the greater section, and Finster knows who.”
Mary Ann, the team’s healer, spoke up. “We’re all aware destruction of an item harms its possessor. For those of you who have only dealt with much weaker items, let me point out demolition can physically damage brain cells or the magic center. Destroying the stronger ones can trigger various psychoses and cause a total breakdown. Doing the same for the ancient monsters can kill. After what we all went through, Finster has to be in much worse shape. He may not be able to tell us anything, now or ever.”
“I’ll send someone over to Finster’s to see what they can find out. Would anyone like to estimate where the other remnant is?” Fergus asked.
“I think it’s somewhere close to Finster,” Irenee’s father said. “I’m willing to bet he’s had the thing for a number of years because of the magnitude of his criminal activities. You don’t build a sizeable organization in a day. Neither do you create it without a lot of power. Those actions imply, if not a whole Stone, certainly pieces of it working together and/or a partner. And another question, was this accomplice on the other end of the line, so to speak, casting at us during destruction?”
“I agree with your points, but I don’t think there was a human looking through that black flame at us. I’ve been in a similar position, and there’s a different feeling entirely,” John said.
“If Finster and another person have been casting over years, especially close by, they must be in an extremely secure environment, or I’d have picked it up,” Glynnis said.
“Looks like we have some investigating to do. Glynnis, you put some scholars to researching the Cataclysm Stone. If we’re going after a larger piece, we need to know what we’re doing,” Fergus concluded. “First, we must get rid of the ashes from our most recent project. John, do you have the vials?”
“Yes,” John replied. “I divided the remains into portions so all who participated in the destruction could have one. They’re in the box by the door. Be sure to take one when you leave.”
“As usual,” Fergus said, “please scatter them in many places. The last thing we need is the abomination or even a part of it reconstituting itself. We’ll meet this evening at seven to discuss the situation and make plans to find the remains of this abomination. Okay, anything else before we adjourn?”
Irenee tugged on Fergus’s sleeve, and he bent down to her. “Could you ask our team to stay for a minute? I forgot something I’d rather discuss with them alone. Oh, and Dad can stay, too.”
Irenee fidgeted until her team members were the only ones in the room. During the previous discussion, she’d thought about telling everybody, but the task was somehow too much to take on, exhausted as she was.
“Here’s the thing,” she said when all were sett
led again. “When I was about to open the safe in Alton’s study, a man picked the lock and came in. He could see right through my invisibility, and he asked why both the safe and I were glowing. I don’t know, however, if the safe radiance was from my discover spell or Alton’s protective ones.”
She related the events without mentioning her more personal reaction to him. What possible importance could it have to the larger problem? “Uncle Dylan said he’d find out who the man was after I left.”
“This guy specifically mentioned seeing a glow from the spells?” her father put in.
“Yes, but he didn’t say a word about magic.”
“What about evil? Was there any taint?” Glynnis asked.
“None I could identify. He certainly didn’t want Alton to know he’d been there, so I’m guessing he’s connected with law enforcement.”
“It would stand to reason,” John said. “We’ve been assuming one agency or another must be after Alton after all he’s done.”
“He didn’t threaten me with either arrest or harm, even though he was angry,” Irenee continued. “I think we were under the same time constraints because he didn’t argue when I suggested he leave first. He simply left. I finished up and heard the guard try the door right on schedule. It was still locked, so he didn’t come in. If Mr. Mysterious thought to waylay me in the hall, the guard must have chased him away because there was nobody there when I came out to go to the auction.”
“Very puzzling.” Fergus stroked his beard. “You’re sure he’s not a practitioner.”
“I don’t think so. He used an electronic gadget to open the wall safe, and he didn’t know how to handle the spells in the one in the floor. He was actually going to touch it before I stopped him. No practitioner expecting magic protection would have done so, whether or not they could see a spell glow.”
Fergus leaned back in his chair. “He didn’t take anything—not from either safe. He only copied some drives and put them back. Interesting. Is there anything else you haven’t told us?”