The Edge of Reason

by Melinda Snodgrass

  The westering sun slanted through the wide windows. A touch on a switch and the blinds rolled into place. He left the slats tilted so light laddered across the Persian carpet, bringing the blues and reds into high relief. He knew where Oort lived, so early in the day he had sent Cross to keep watch on the girl. The Old One reported that the pair had gone out around ten-thirty and been gone for a little over an hour. The most recent report established that the girl had a fine sense of self-preservation. According to Cross there had been a spirited argument in the parking lot which ended with the girl ensconced in the front seat of the car next to a disgruntled policeman. Thus the girl ended up where Kenntnis had intended, if some hours later than he could have wished.

  His secretary’s voice came over the intercom. “Mr. Oort is here to see you, sir.”

  “Send him in.”

  The massive carved wood and frosted glass panel of the door swung open. Kenntnis lowered his eyes to locate his visitor. He was a small man, no more than five foot four, and very slim. The camel overcoat over a blue cashmere sweater gave bulk to his slender frame. Perfectly tailored gray pants broke on his instep, and cufflinks glinted on the cuffs of the shirt worn beneath the sweater. Kenntnis now understood the level of debt. The clothing was all designer quality.

  He transferred his attention to Oort’s face. The policeman flushed under Kenntnis’s intense scrutiny. Despite the bruise blooming across the right cheek it was a face of almost unearthly beauty, and beauty was the right word despite the gender. This was simply the handsomest man Kenntnis had ever seen. Silver gilt hair combed neatly back. Pale white skin so translucent that he could see the blue veins at Oort’s temples. High cheekbones narrowing to a pointed chin, and unique eyes. The interior of the irises were ice blue, but haloed by a blue so dark that it seemed almost purple. The surface expression was polite and a bit aloof, but deeper there was a sweetness and a vulnerability in those eyes, and Kenntnis wondered again at the career choice.

  “Officer Oort, pleased to meet you.” Kenntnis rose from behind his desk and extended his hand.

  It was taken in a firm grip, the pale skin seeming even whiter against the ebony of Kenntnis’s skin, but very quickly released, almost an avoidance of physical contact. Kenntnis took note of those hands—long and slender with tapering fingers ending in buffed and manicured nails. The young man wore one piece of jewelry, an elaborate gold signet ring on the little finger of the right hand. It looked old.

  “Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Kenntnis said.

  “It appeared from my captain to be a request that I couldn’t refuse,” came the soft reply. The words were iced with an achingly monied East Coast accent.

  “I have clout,” Kenntnis said.

  The blue-eyed gaze roved around the office, noting the collection of glass in the lighted cabinet, and the eighteenth-century French clock, and the Reynolds hanging over the fireplace.

  “Evidently.” There was a dry edge to the words.

  Kenntnis indicated the chair in front of his desk and Oort sank down warily. Kenntnis came around and sat on the edge of the desk in front of Oort. The wariness intensified until the policeman had his back pressed against the chair. They regarded each other. The hum of the computer, the ticking of the antique clock, and the man’s breath all seemed very loud.

  “A few years ago I would have played the charade,” Kenntnis began conversationally. “I would have set up a new company, formed a security force, wooed you with enough money so you would come to work for me—”

  “You would have failed.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m a police officer. I don’t want any other career.” There was something in the tone that made Kenntnis think this was part of a long-running discussion. Kenntnis wondered with whom?

  “All right. Well, perhaps the work we do here would interest you.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “Probably not. But make your case.”

  The response pleased Kenntnis. Not the annoying and meaningless I don’t understand, or the nervous babble of a man off-balance.

  “I need to give you a little lecture now. Please bear with me,” Kenntnis said. He drew in a deep breath and mentally looked over what he needed to impart. It loomed vast and unwieldy, an ocean of information in the era of the sound bite and MTV.

  “There’s a war being fought, much older than the ‘war on terrorism’ or our current adventures worldwide, but tied to them in a dark and fundamental way. And I use that word, fundamental, quite deliberately, as you will see. This ancient war is being waged for the spirit of humanity. I don’t use the word ‘soul’ because it’s too loaded, too charged, and it’s one of their words. If my side wins, mankind literally inherits the stars. If they win, gateways between universes will be fully opened again and the earth and all of her six billion inhabitants will enter a new Dark Age with all the attendant ignorance, superstition, suffering and death.”

  He stared into Oort’s eyes trying to read the reaction, but there was nothing to read. The man hid his thoughts and emotions well and offered no encouragement.

  “Our weapons are science, technology, rational thought,” Kenntnis continued. “Their weapons are superstition, religion and … magic. You encountered a touch of it last night.” Oort stirred in his chair. Kenntnis anticipated the question. “No, it’s not common for it to be used so overtly or openly in this modern world. Which either means they are very close to opening the gates and allowing a flood of Old Ones back into the world, or there is a power-drunk child wielding the power. Neither of which is good news.” Kenntnis paused to encourage comment or reaction. All he got were two words, thin and tight with tension.

  “Go on.”

  “Let me explain a bit about magic. It bends and warps natural law, and that takes enormous power. Power as in will, not in the physics sense of mass and energy. The Old Ones and the humans who serve them feed on human emotion. The more powerful the emotion, the deeper they can reach into our minds. Dark and negative emotions are easier to evoke than joy. Humans are utterly unique in what brings them joy. There’s nothing unique in how they experience grief, pain, fear and death.

  “We’re at a crossroad here, Richard,” Kenntnis continued. “We’re on the verge of sharing technology, medicine and science worldwide, and if that happens it will kill forever the chance for the magic to return. But there are forces at work, human and otherwise, who tell us that it’s too much information, that there is some knowledge that man was not meant to know—the origins of the universe, for example, or genetic engineering. They argue that the exploration of these questions undermines our values.

  “They can no longer argue that science is the work of the devil so they offer us bad science—global warming is natural, condoms don’t prevent disease, birth control is a sin but destroying the environment through overpopulation isn’t, homosexuality is sin rather than a naturally occurring trait, creation science and intelligent design rather than evolution and Big Bang theory. We’re raising a generation of truculent devout dunces inhabiting the wealthiest country on earth, with the most powerful army on earth.” Kenntnis was both enraged and depressed by the litany. “It’s a recipe for disaster for us, and a banquet of death for our foes.”

  Long, slender hands clutched at the arms of the chair and the policeman was on his feet. He came to rest across the room from Kenntnis with his back to the fireplace. It was a retreat, but only a partial one.

  “And what or who are these Old Ones when they’re at home?” Oort asked.

  “Every dark myth and monster you can think of.” Kenntnis paused, then said it. “And every god you can name.”

  That got a reaction. Oort stiffened. He’s not making the mistake of thinking that I’m only talking about safe, ancient pagan gods.

  “I think you should know … I’m a person of faith.”

  Kenntnis hesitated, weighing what to say. “We can negotiate about that later.”

  The policeman advanced on Kenntnis. “It
’s not subject to negotiation.”

  “I think it might be when you understand a little better.”

  They were only inches apart. Blue eyes lifted to meet his. A whiff of aftershave reached Kenntnis, spicy and rich.

  “What happened last night?” Oort demanded.

  “Our opponents tried to kill a girl. And I owe you my thanks. The girl you saved is important to us.”

  “Stop assuming we’re united in any way. What makes this girl so dangerous that someone would want to kill her? Aside from the fact she can make pennies light up and spin, and make sheets of flame?”

  “You don’t think that’s enough?” asked Kenntnis, his sense of the absurd and ironic momentarily overcoming his good sense and very real worry.

  He managed to offend his guest. Oort cloaked himself in dignity “Every tenet of my world has been thrown into question. I don’t need flippant horseshit from you. So either answer my question, or I’m going home and get some sleep before I have to go back on shift.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kenntnis said sincerely. “Sometimes you just have to see the absurd in all this or you’d lose your mind. Would you like some coffee?” Kenntnis asked, partly out of politeness and partly because he needed to marshal his thoughts.

  “No, thank you. I don’t drink coffee,” came the reply.

  Kenntnis regarded his guest quizzically. “You really are in the wrong business.”

  “So many people have said.”

  It was meant to be neutral, even lightly ironic, but Kenntnis heard the resentment just below the surface of the words. Kenntnis suspected it was not so many people as one particular person. He again wondered, who?

  Leaving the desk, Kenntnis crossed to the south wall and opened the hidden cabinet doors on the polished slate. Tucked away in the cabinet was an elaborate espresso machine. The body was a gleaming iridescent red tricked out in brass. “I do drink coffee,” Kenntnis tossed back over his shoulder to the policeman.

  Oort joined him. A small smile played at the cop’s mouth. “I’d venture that’s an understatement. This looks like an altar.”

  Over the grinding beans Kenntnis asked, “So where was I?”

  “Ms. Davinovitch.”

  Kenntnis poured the grounds into the portafilter and tamped them down with the weighted metal tamp. He screwed it into place, and set a tiny cup underneath. The espresso machine began to hiss like a disgruntled dragon as he pulled a shot.

  “Ms. Davinovitch is a physics major at the university. She’s also at that age where one searches for spiritual meaning. She fell in with a group promising enlightenment and a return of magic into the world. Given that some current physics theories sound like magic it probably wasn’t a big step.” The thick dark liquid ceased falling into the cup. Kenntnis placed a cube of raw sugar between his teeth and drew in a sip of coffee.

  “My opponents trawl for people like this. Most are harmless, though they all add to the general silliness in the world, but some, like Rhiana, have real power to be tapped. Now I’m going to have to make some assumptions, at least until we talk to Ms. Davinovitch, but my guess is that Rhiana realized the real goal of this group—to construct a nuclear bomb—and she ran.”

  Kenntnis caught Oort by the wrist as he pulled out his cell phone. The bones were fragile beneath Kenntnis’s fingers, and he could feel the man’s pulse racing.

  “What in God’s name are you doing?” Richard demanded. “We’ve got to call …”

  “The police?” Kenntnis interrupted. “I’m talking to them.”

  “I’m a beat cop. This needs to go way higher than me.”

  “Wait. Hear me out. At the moment we’ve pulled their fangs because we have Rhiana and they don’t have fissionable material. She was their bang.”

  “I don’t understand,” Oort said.

  “Rhiana possesses enormous magical aptitude. Properly fed and nurtured she would have the power to manipulate matter, but you play with that at your peril. Eventually there would have been a catastrophe. Of course Rhiana wouldn’t have survived, but at that point hell truly would have been released because all the evidence would point to Islamic fundamentalists. Then equally evil Christian fundamentalists would cry for holy war, and it would begin. We have some time because it won’t be easy for them to replace Rhiana, and meantime …” He paused, a calculated effect. “I have you.”

  It was as Kenntnis had expected. Oort was bright, aware of subtleties, and he hadn’t missed the emphasis.

  “And what am I?” The tone was low and wary. Whatever Kenntnis was going to say, the man was not anticipating it with any pleasure.

  “A genetic freak, a human utterly devoid of magic.”

  Cross, out in the street, saw it coming. A silver-gray feather against the deep blue New Mexico sky. It arched toward the building. Birds blew skyward with a clapping of wings. There was no time to enter the building, take the elevator and issue the warning. Cross pulled a knife and plunged it into his palm. Blood streamed toward the sidewalk, but never hit. It dissolved into red swirls and vanished. Only then did Cross run for the side door of the building.

  Kenntnis’s words fell like a blow. Once again he had come up lacking. You’re a disappointment to the family … I get you a job and then you quit … A policeman? … Do you really think you’ve got the grit for this? You’ve been very sheltered. What a waste of education. The big man sensed Richard’s distress. His large hand was warm and heavy on his shoulder. “No. Lacking magic is a good thing. Almost unique.”

  Kenntnis broke off abruptly. Richard looked up and found the older man staring at his desk. The bowl of the ornamental fountain was steaming and the ceramic sides of the bowl flashed as swirling opalescent colors chased each other around the rim. Kenntnis flung himself at the desk. Richard was close behind. The water burbling from the pump hung frozen in space and the water in the bowl showed an image of the stone and glass exterior of the building in which they currently stood. It also showed something about to break like a gray wave over the building.

  Kenntnis grabbed Richard by the shoulders and propelled him through the door of the office and into the waiting room. Rhiana sat on a chair nervously flipping through a magazine. Her eyes were unfocused. She was seeing nothing but the inside of her head.

  “Take cover,” Kenntnis snapped at the older woman behind the desk. Without question or panic she dropped beneath the desk.

  Kenntnis swooped down on Rhiana, collected her under one long arm, and threw both Richard and Rhiana to the floor, covering them with his body. As the weight fell onto Richard, yammering panic filled his head. He began to struggle desperately and violently. Kenntnis grunted as a fist found flesh.

  “Shit! Be still! This will be over … .”

  The rest of the sentence vanished in the shattering explosion. Numbing silence filled his head. For an instant Richard feared he had gone deaf. Slowly sound penetrated. It consisted of frightened queries, sobs of pain and terror. Breath also returned as Kenntnis rolled away.

  Richard heard Kenntnis order, “Call emergency services!”

  Richard slowly pushed to his knees and then to his feet. He offered a hand to Rhiana. Once she was up Richard walked slowly to the office door. He pulled it open. The metal slats from the shutters lay like twisted silver crepe paper across the floor of the office. A few slats were embedded in the wood of the door along with splinters of glass from the windows. It looked like a madman’s version of modern art. The upholstery on the sofa and desk chair was shredded and stuffing peeked pale and white through the rents. If he had been in the room he would have been flayed.

  Richard became aware of Kenntnis at his side. He glanced up at the older man. “Thank you.”

  “De nada.”

  Richard glanced over at Rhiana. She stood with her back pressed defensively against a wall of the outer office. “Is this a continuation of the fun from last night?” Richard asked.

  Kenntnis didn’t really answer. “What are they planning that they’re being so over
t?” His frowning focus was turned inward. He gave himself a shake, a tectonic movement of those massive shoulders. “I need to see to my employees. Fortunately Cross got the warning to us in time … .” His voice trailed away.

  “What do you want us to do?” Richard asked.

  “Wait,” Kenntnis threw back over his shoulder as he stepped onto the elevator.

  Through the broken glass of the front doors Richard watched Kenntnis climb into the back of an ambulance with the receptionist from the ground floor. She was the most severely injured and he wanted to accompany her to the hospital. The polished granite top of the horseshoe-shaped desk was spattered with blood. Richard shivered and tried to blame it on the icy wind whistling through the broken doors. Light from the ambulance splashed across the stainless steel and black marble walls, and the wail of the siren faded as it drove swiftly away.

  Glass littered the floor of the lobby and crunched underfoot as Rhiana joined him. She came so close that her arm pressed lightly against his shoulder. Exhaustion clogged Richard’s head, making his thoughts sluggish and disjointed. Though he longed to lie prone on one of the couches down in the main lobby there was work to be done. It was time he and the girl had a Come to Jesus conversation.

  “So tell me about this bomb,” Richard said.

  Rhiana jerked back from him, but not too far. “B-bomb,” she stuttered. She must have seen something in his face because as quickly as she started the pretense she dropped it.

  “We were building it in a trailer down in South Valley. Josh put around that it was a meth lab so nobody bothered us.”