by Jasmine Walt
“I want you to go,” Jeremy said. He carefully held the mirror aloft, aimed at his uncle; the spear in his other hand kept his uncle from making a grab for it. Drops of blood fell from the edge of his palm as the two locked gazes. “And you’re going to give the order yourself,” he said, “so that you can never return.”
Uncle Rick glanced between Jeremy and the mirror. “Is this really what you want? For me to go and never return?”
“Did I stutter?” His knuckles cracked as he tightened his grip on the spear. “Look straight into the mirror and give the order.”
“Or what?” his uncle challenged. “You’ll stab me?”
Jeremy leapt forward and bit at his uncle’s thigh with the tip of the sharpened wood. Uncle Rick dodged to the side at the last second, but its point still dug a furrow in the muscly flesh there, a cut three inches long. He growled in surprise and clamped a hand over the wound.
“Don’t test me,” Jeremy said. More blood seeped from the fingers holding the jagged piece of mirror. “Do it. Now.”
Uncle Rick gave him a stern look and then shifted his attention to the glass. “Go home,” he said, his voice rich and deep. “Leave the valley and never come back. Don’t bother your family ever again.”
Several moments passed, and nothing happened. His feet stayed firmly planted on the ground, showing no sign of the forced compulsion that Jeremy had felt hours earlier.
A tight knot formed in his gut.
Uncle Rick advanced a step. “You see, Jeremy, I built up an immunity to this a long time ago. I know my own power better than anyone else alive. And while you’re just coming into your own”—his voice became infused with an even greater level of resonating power—“I have had decades to perfect it. Give it up.”
Jeremy buckled under the pressure that was resonating from his uncle’s voice. His knees scraped hard against the ground. Trembling overtook his hands, and the mirror shard fell with a tinkling clatter. The spear remained in his grip.
“I didn’t come here to cause any trouble,” Uncle Rick said. “All I want to do is open up the valley for development.”
“But why?” Jeremy asked.
Uncle Rick’s eyes darted beyond him to the Tower.
An overwhelming sense of protectiveness rose up within Jeremy. That was his place. He didn’t know what his uncle had planned for it, but he’d seen into all of Uncle Rick’s past deeds, and he knew there could be no good future where that man was concerned. He would lose all control of his body in a few seconds’ time.
With the little strength he had left, Jeremy lunged forward and drove the spear clumsily into his uncle’s shoulder, embedding it there. As soon as the point pierced the skin, he felt the tremendous weight lift from his mind. He could move again, and he took advantage of the momentary reprieve. Jeremy spun on the spot and sprinted for the Tower as fast as he could.
His uncle screamed in pain and rage behind him, a primal roar of defiance. Jeremy ducked inside the cylindrical tower of stone and desperately wished that the enclosure had a door. There was no place to hide in the little room. Uncle Rick would be here soon, and without a weapon, Jeremy had no way to hold him off a second time.
There was only the stone table and the staircase to nowhere. The emptiness of the room was aggravating. Light from above caught Jeremy’s eye, though, and he suddenly remembered the second level of the Tower. Would Uncle Rick even be able to climb the recessed ladder?
Jeremy slipped his fingers into the grooves in the wall and started scaling his way to the second floor of the Tower. Outside, he heard an ungodly howl of pain. It sounded like Uncle Rick had managed to take out the spear.
The five windows met Jeremy as he reached the wheel spokes landing. A soft glow emanated from their edges, even though the interior landscapes were all shrouded in night. Hours had passed since he’d left the house, and Jeremy realized that the sun would be rising any minute now. Even as he watched, the windows grew brighter, their details coming into sharper relief.
If Uncle Rick looks up here, he’ll see me right away.
There was only thing left to do. Taking off his shoe, Jeremy repeated the same operation he’d performed on the mirror at home. He brought his hand back and then swung hard with the hard rubber heel. With experience, he knew that he had to hit it as hard and as fast as he could.
The glass shattered, and solid stone lay on the other side. It felt like pieces of Jeremy were breaking as he hurried to the other spokes and smashed the next few windows. By the time he reached the fifth and final window, the sun had definitely peeked over the horizon. The snowy landscape was almost blinding with its iridescence. Jeremy knew there was something incredible going on in this Tower, that there was something at work beyond even his wildest imagination. But he couldn’t risk being seen, and the magic window was just too bright. Reluctantly, he brought back his shoe and then smashed the window to smithereens.
As the light went out and the glass fell to the floor, a snowflake the size of a thumbnail flitted into the room and landed on his nose, chilling him for a second before turning to water.
Heavy footsteps echoed up from below, and Jeremy ducked down just in time as Uncle Rick staggered into the lower chamber. His shirt was stained crimson from the wound on his shoulder, and he used the spear as a makeshift staff for support. “Come out, Jeremy. I know you’re in here.”
Jeremy lay flat on his stomach and only leaned over the edge far enough to keep an eye on his uncle.
Uncle Rick trudged to the stone table and checked all around it, and then he went to the pretend staircase and felt all around at the wall where a door should have been. It was clearly too dark for him to see the recessed stone ladder.
The entrance to the Tower was getting brighter, though. With enough sunlight, Uncle Rick would put two and two together.
“Come to me,” Uncle Rick said, infusing his voice with power.
A rumbling came, and the whole foundation of the Tower shook. Jeremy held on for dear life as the wheel spokes did their best to shake him off. Uncle Rick stumbled against the stone table and grasped at its edge to hold himself steady.
Stone gave way, and Jeremy went into freefall as the spoke crumbled into huge chunks and plummeted to the floor. One chunk hit Uncle Rick high on the shoulder and seemed to hit a sensitive nerve, and his body went limp.
Jeremy screamed out as he fell headlong toward the ground. His fall was stopped short, though, as the lower half of his body smashed into the hard edge of the stone table. The wind exploded from his lungs as he curled into a ball and lost consciousness.
25
Sam was waiting at the shuttle station when Brennan arrived.
“Christ,” he said. “Brennan, you look like—no, actually, just no. Because every time I tell you how bad you look, you try and one-up yourself.”
Brennan grunted. “Just when I was getting used to your candor.”
Sam spared him a smile that lasted for a scant second. “What happened to Noel?” he asked soberly. Brennan filled him on the details as they boarded the most direct shuttle going uptown. “Jesus, Arthur! When were you going to tell me this?”
“I told you just now,” Brennan said. “We knew her side of the assault went south a few hours ago—”
“And you’ve waited this long—”
“—but we didn’t have enough intel—”
“—to respond!” They finished at the same time, though Sam’s voice was incredulous whereas Brennan had tried to sound reasoning. “Look,” Brennan said, “I didn’t want to keep you out of the loop any longer than I had to. But—hey, Sam, listen to me—we couldn’t do anything until now. Her entire squad went down, and there was no lead on where she was taken.”
“What, and now there is?” Sam faced him squarely and his eyes narrowed. “Exactly what kind of intel are you working from?”
Brennan kept his face an opaque mask. He couldn’t rightly tell Sam that he had willingly drugged his nephew in exchange for a psychic vision, o
ne that was the product of a well-known and powerful hallucinogen. When he said it in his head like that, even he couldn’t believe half of it. No, he wasn’t ready to reveal what Greg could do. And who knew where the conversation could lead after that? He hated lying to his friend, but it was for his own good.
“The important thing,” Brennan said, forcing calm into his voice, “is that we know where she is now.” He clasped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I need you with me on this.”
Sam stared resolutely out the window for a long moment. He shrugged off Brennan’s hand and looked at him with reproach. “I don’t appreciate having things kept from me,” he said. “But yeah, I’m with you.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Sam leaned against the back of the seats nearest him. “So where is the police contingent on this?” he asked, looking around at the shuttle conspicuously devoid of uniforms.
Brennan shook his head. “Not enough men in too little time. Her team went down hours ago, and who knows how long she has left? Besides, we went hot and heavy last time, and you can see how that went. No, you and me—”
“You and I,” Sam corrected.
Brennan gave him an even look. “Me and you,” he said heavily. “See what you did? Now you don’t even come first. We are going in dark, as quiet as we can. If we go in with dozens of men, they’ll kill her and go down shooting. Or worse, use her as a bargaining chip against us. The hospital is a big place, and we don’t know how many men Leviathan has inside.”
“Ballpark?”
“Probably a lot of them.”
“That helps. I’m glad I asked.”
“This is Bishop we’re talking about. Does it really matter how many of their men stand between us?”
Sam shook his head. “Move heaven and earth, right?”
Brennan grinned fiercely. “And march through hell to get there.” He glanced up at the small screen that announced each station as they passed through. “This is our stop coming up,” he said.
Sam read the sign as well. “It’s too soon. The uptown hospital isn’t until the one after.”
Brennan frowned. “The shuttle station is right next to the hospital; I guarantee they’ll have someone on watch there. Our best bet is to get off here and walk the rest of the way. We can try and gain access through a service entrance.”
“Even if it takes longer?” Sam asked. Brennan knew how much Sam cared for Bishop, despite his polyamorous tendencies. He resisted the urge to look at his watch. Every second delayed could mean the end of Bishop’s life, but there was no other way.
“We won’t do Bishop any good by getting shot fresh off the shuttle,” he said, just barely loud enough to be heard over the automated voice announcing their stop. “This is the way we’re doing it.”
The now defunct Odols General North Hospital was a building of enormous size, an entire city block of whitewashed stone and marble. It wasn’t the tallest building, but what it lacked in height it made up for in sheer square footage. It had fallen into disrepair over the years and passed away silently as the newer, better-equipped Odols General Central opened closer to the city’s center. The rights to the property stayed in government hands, though, so no new development had taken over. Most abandoned buildings fell to squatters, and the police were too occupied with more serious matters to heartlessly evict them.
In some cases, though, the open spaces attracted the likes of Leviathan, and as an officer of the law and employee of the government who owned the building, Brennan felt fully within his right to persecute the trespassers.
He and Sam jogged from the shuttle station and circled around the back to the medical bay, where ambulances would drop off critical patients directly. Sam jimmied the lock while Brennan stood on guard, and after a moment the two slipped inside. The corridor was long, lined with doors, and surprisingly clean. A few pieces of ceiling tile now lay on the floor, and the electricity was shut off, but neither made the hallway impossible to navigate. Sam reached for a flashlight from his belt, but Brennan stopped his arm.
“No,” he whispered. “No light. If anyone is around, they’ll see us coming well before we see them.” In the empty hall, there was nothing to stop the light from traveling the entire length of the corridor. Sam nodded, though Brennan could just barely see the motion.
The two walked as quietly as they could with weapons drawn. They kept their sidearms holstered; even with a silencer, pistols were noisy as hell, and it would only take one fired shot to attract every Leviathug in the building. Brennan extended one hand and let his fingertips brush along the wall for guidance, while in the other hand he held a short double-edged knife. Sam carried a hunting knife, the kind that woodsmen might use. The toothed edge opposite the blade doubled as a saw for cutting through small branches.
Brennan reached a corner and motioned for Sam to pause. He wouldn’t see the curled fist that raised by reflex, but he would hear the stop in Brennan’s footsteps. Tentatively, Brennan peeked around the corner. He couldn’t see anybody in the pale gray of the darkened hall.
“Come,” he breathed, and the two moved onward. They reached a lobby with a large double staircase; one set led to the second floor, while the other set descended into the basement of the hospital.
“Even odds in both directions,” Sam said. His voice barely carried to Brennan’s ear.
Brennan agreed. “Fifty-fifty.” There was safety in numbers, but it would also slow down their search effort by half. “Split up,” he suggested. “You go high, I’ll go low.”
Sam grunted affirmatively. “Heaven and hell,” he said. “Good hunting.”
Brennan descended the stairs without another word. He made it no more than a dozen steps before someone rounded the corner just an arm’s reach away.
Reflex and training brought his knife arm swinging, and the blade plunged noiselessly into the man’s neck, slicing through the jugular. He clamped his free hand over the man’s mouth and moved with his body, gently easing the fall so that neither his gun nor body made a sound as they met the ground. Blood continued to pour as he slid the knife out and wiped it against the man’s jacket. The dead man had a semiautomatic rifle slung across his chest, but he was otherwise unarmed and unarmored. Brennan wiped the blood from his hands as well as he could.
Thirty seconds on his own and already he had run into trouble. Brennan hoped that Sam was still hidden, still safe. He took a deep breath to slow his hammering heart and then continued. His eyes had adjusted to the dark, and he could see everything relatively clearly in differing shades of black. He stalked through the empty hall, sweeping his gaze left and right with each door.
Every room he searched was eerily empty; he had grown so accustomed to hospitals being full—of gurneys, nurses, whirring machines, men in white coats, visiting families, pictures, paintings, binders full of papers—that the opposite was intensely unnerving. The pervasive emptiness of the building shook him more than anything.
One long room finally showed promise. The door creaked loudly on its hinges, and Brennan cringed; he forced it all the way open with a sharp but short burst of sound. He checked the room for more members of Leviathan, but there was no movement except for the low ripple of fluid in the two basins in the room.
Each container was the size of a refrigerator on its side and twice as tall. They were laid end to end, and there the similarities ended. One held a clear substance, and one whiff of it was enough to tell Brennan that it was bleach.
The second basin held some kind of dark liquid with the thick consistency of cold maple syrup. He didn’t take the risk of smelling it; it didn’t take a scientist to recognize the sickly, toxic odor of Chamalla.
He retreated slowly from the room, past the syrupy hallucinogen and then past the basin of bleach that purified the patches before they were infused with Chamalla. He left the door open as he ducked back into the hallway, silent as a phantom.
He took a pair of steps around another corner before his eyes were suddenly flooded with light. S
omething very, very solid smashed into him, connecting with the back of his head just below the ears.
Brennan didn’t pass out, but the temporary stars in his vision and disorientation were enough to make him lose track of time as a pair of strong arms wrapped under his armpits and dragged him.
He wasn’t carried for long, though, and he hit the floor hard when he was deposited. His arms felt like lead pipes; the same strong person who carried him grabbed those pipes and tightened a coarse loop of rope around his wrists, binding them behind his back. Even if he could have moved, he doubted he’d have the strength or mobility to break free.
His blurry vision cleared, and he looked dizzily around the room. It was barren, just another former patient’s room. Drab wallpaper peeled on the walls, and the joined bathroom was a small husk of a room without the plumbing fixtures. Hinges squealed as the door opened, and Brennan’s head snapped around to see a familiar figure stepping into the room.
It had been a while since they had seen each other, but the man still had the same college cap he had worn during their first encounter outside of Nettle’s pharmacy.
“Badgercap,” Brennan muttered. The word came out thick and slurred.
The man known as Badgercap carried a light into the room with him, which he held aloft as he leered at the captive detective. “Oho, oho, this is my lucky day, isn’t it?” he tittered. The light jittered in his grasp, and his eyes were glazed over. A lazy smile hung on his face, which twisted with scorn as he looked at Brennan. “Another detective to start off today’s body count. I had quite the success yesterday, but today is a new day, I suppose.”
“You’re high,” Brennan said absently. Even through bleary eyes, he could see a patch on the drug lord’s exposed forearm.
Badgercap opened his mouth to speak, but just then Sam appeared from around the corner, carried by the hem of his shirt. He was in the grip of a large, heavily muscled man, and his hands were bound in the same way as Brennan’s. The mountain man had a massive revolver secured in a custom shoulder holster. Muscles threw Sam bodily, and he slammed against the wall beside Brennan. The sound of his body hitting brick was thick and dull, and the air rushed out of him as he slumped to the floor.