“Teleportation would be hard enough to swallow, without believing in AI.” Medusa snorted and glanced at her watch. “This has been a pleasant distraction, but you have now wasted eleven minutes of my time, and I am quite busy at the moment. I suggest you leave, or I will have you shot.”
“Nicholas,” said Rapier, “I am receiving a tactical update from Armistice Security being broadcast system-wide over the planetary communications grid. A level five emergency has been declared in the city of Los Angeles, California, subspecification: nuclear attack. Teleport evacuation of all Armistice personnel from the blast area will commence in ten seconds. Estimated time to complete evacuation is ninety seconds.”
Nick’s expression hardened. “Take me off the list, Rapier. I’ll be staying a little while longer.” He looked back at Medusa. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your real angle?”
She straightened a little. “My angle?”
“I know humans don’t need a reason to kill each other, though you’ve started to get more spectacular about it in recent decades.” Nick cocked his head. “But you knew the US government wouldn’t accede to your demands. Aren’t you even going to pretend to justify your actions?”
The terrorist stared at him in disbelief. “Are you mocking me?”
“A little,” Nick said without blinking. “I mean, you’ve gone to a lot of trouble to commit suicide and take millions of people with you. What’s your point?”
“I don’t answer to you, Boy.”
“Then who do you answer to?” Nick looked around at the armed men standing around him. “What about the rest of you? Are all of you so willing to spend your lives for nothing? Surely, you realize she intends to go through with it? She’s only held off this long to satisfy her own curiosity.”
Medusa laughed and gestured to her soldiers. “Don’t waste your breath, Nick. My men are deeply committed individuals. They know that we’re serving a higher purpose.”
As she spoke, just for a moment, Jeremy looked directly into her eyes. His awareness suddenly exploded—images and scenes he didn’t recognize but knew immediately to be true crowded together in his brain. He saw everything: from the present moment to the instant she first conceived the operation that had brought them here. Year upon year of memory unfolded before him in a heartbeat, and Jeremy finally understood just how completely he had been used.
“You unbelievable bitch!”
Nick and Medusa turned to face the interruption in surprise. Tossing his machine gun aside, Jeremy peeled off his mask and dropped it to the floor, revealing his pale skin and black hair. He stepped forward to stand between Nick and Medusa. “It’s all a lie, isn’t it?” he screamed at her. “We believed in you, and it’s all bullshit!”
The other armed men watched in confusion. Medusa’s backhand caught him by surprise, and he staggered.
“Get a hold of yourself, Harkness, and get back to your position!” she yelled.
Jeremy clenched his fists at his sides, his gray eyes blazing above the angry red mark on his cheek. “I can see what you are. You’ve been lying to us from the beginning! You said you were just going to threaten them, that the bomb was a last resort, but you planned to blow the city away right from the beginning, no matter what happened. This is all about revenge, that’s all!”
Medusa widened her eyes, and her face flushed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Harkness. Now shut your mouth and get back to your post!”
“Why didn’t you tell us about your family, then?” Jeremy asked. “The police killed them both, and now you’re just trying to make the city pay. There’s no noble cause here; there never was!”
Medusa turned white with rage and pointed her shotgun at Jeremy. “One more word and I will shoot you dead.”
“So kill me. But I won’t die for you.” Jeremy set his jaw defiantly. “My eyes are open, and I am not afraid.”
Medusa met his angry stare. “Fine. If that’s what you want.” She pulled the trigger just as Nick moved between them in a blur. The shotgun blast threw Nick backward into Jeremy’s chest, knocking both men to the floor.
Nick stood, his shirt now bright red and dripping. Jeremy watched in disbelief, unable to catch his breath as he lay on the floor.
“Stay down,” Nick said with a grim expression. He raised his clenched fist, and a bright orange light surrounded his hand. Then he hurled the ball of light at the bomb, which erupted in sparks.
Medusa screamed in rage before flipping open the remote on her arm and pressing the switch inside. Nothing happened. Howling, she shot Nick in the back.
Bright red stains bloomed across the back of his white shirt. Then he turned and snatched the gun out of his attacker’s hands, snapping it in half and tossing the pieces at Medusa’s feet. As she fumbled in her jacket for a handgun, Nick bent his knees and jumped backward, launching himself upward and into a graceful somersault in the air. As Jeremy watched, Nick came to rest about fifteen feet from her, suspended in the air about eight feet above the stage. Recovering from their shock, the rest of Medusa’s soldiers opened fire, but Nick ignored the bullets even as they struck him. His hands clasped in front of his body, Nick turned in a tight pirouette, spinning faster and faster as a tracery of brilliant lines blossomed around him, weaving itself into a cocoon of multicolored light. All at once, he stopped dead, facing the audience. He snapped his arms straight out from his sides, and the bubble of light expanded, washing over the terrorists still shooting at him. As the light touched them, they collapsed. The light continued to spread in a spherical wave until it eventually breached the confines of the room, armed men dropping like flies in its wake.
Jeremy lay where he was, huddled on the stage, untouched by whatever force had felled the others. Most of the audience, he saw, had snatched the opportunity to escape, trampling their erstwhile captors as they fled.
Nick lowered his arms to his sides and dropped to the floor. Walking to the front of the stage, he peered down at Medusa’s prone form and shook his head. Turning back to Jeremy, he held out his hand. “You can get up now.”
Jeremy scrambled to his feet, ignoring the proffered hand, and looked uncertainly around the stage at his fallen comrades. “Are they dead?”
“No. Just unconscious. Give them a few hours and they’ll all wake up with splitting headaches.” Nick pulled his shirt over his head and held it at arm’s length to inspect it, blood-soaked and full of holes. He sighed. “I really liked that shirt.” Balling it up, he then tossed it on top of the still-smoking bomb.
“How did you do that?” Jeremy stared at Nick in shock. “You’re covered in blood, but there’s not a mark on you.”
Nick shrugged. “I heal fast.” He scratched nonchalantly at his stomach. “But I’m not going to be able to go through a metal detector for a few days until I metabolize the bullets. I mean, damn, what are you people using? Steel-jacketed ammo?”
Jeremy nodded silently, his eyes seeking any sign of the bullet holes that should have riddled Nick’s chest.
“Ah, well then, make it a week.” Nick knit his fingers together, making a triangle out of his thumbs and index fingers. A soft green glow spread from his hands to envelop his body, then faded, leaving him standing fully clothed again, cleansed of bloodstains. He was now wearing white slacks tucked into white leather boots and a collarless, white, long-sleeved shirt with a Maltese cross embroidered over the right breast in silver thread, overlaid with three concentric circles in gold. “So, Harkness, is that your first name or your last?”
Jeremy continued to stare at him. “Last. My first name’s Jeremy.” He swallowed. “What are you?”
Nick smiled in approval. “That’s a good question, and probably the smartest thing you’ve said all day.” His eyes flickered to something unseen behind Jeremy. “Time to face the music.”
CHAPTER 2
The air behind Jeremy shimmered, and a third man appeared on the stage. He was dressed in a gray outfit, similar to Nick’s in design, and over the t
op wore a canvas vest embroidered with a logo—a blue sword surrounded by a circle half filled with white. Black leather bracers on his forearms each held a sheathed dagger. His wide, dark eyes silently expressed his amusement as his gaze raked over the fallen terrorists and the scorched bomb casing.
“Hello, Nicholas,” he said, and his chiseled features relaxed into a wide grin.
“Scott.” Nick gave him a crooked smile. “What brings you up here?”
Scott scratched idly at his chin. “Well, every gun-toting human for miles around just passed out. Your work, I believe?”
“Just something I’ve been working on.” Nick shrugged. “A souped-up version of standard Neural Shock, targeted at any human carrying gunpowder.”
“I figured that out as it passed me. Nice design. Well, after that, there didn’t seem to be any further need to keep out the Special Forces soldiers who were trying to storm the building, so I decided to see how you were getting along.” He nodded in Jeremy’s direction. “Looks like you missed one.”
“I thought I might need a witness.”
Scott’s voice hardened. “Is a witness really going to help your case, do you think?”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Why did you set the range so high? You knocked out police and soldiers all around the building, as well as the terrorists inside.”
“I didn’t have time to recalculate the parameters of the spell, so I had to stick with the original one-mile radius.” Nick’s voice was matter-of-fact.
Jeremy started at that, his gaze snapping from Scott’s face to Nick’s. “Spell?”
Scott ignored him. “You set it for a one-mile radius, with yourself at the center, and targeted it to incapacitate humans carrying firearms. What was it designed to do, take out an army?”
Nick was eloquently silent.
“I see.” Scott sighed. “Nick, I love you like a brother, but if I let you just walk out of here after this debacle, then they’ll hunt you down and kill you without mercy.”
“I know. Do what you have to do, Scotty.”
Scott was silent for a moment, lost in thought. “Quarrel,” he said finally, “bear witness.”
“Forensic recording enabled,” said another disembodied voice.
Scott stood straighter. “Armistice Security judicial proceeding initiated this time and date, Special Agent Scott Maxwell Phillips Consul Luscian presiding.” He looked at Nick. “Citizen, please state your full name for the record.”
“Nicholas Magister Luscian.”
“Nicholas Magister Luscian, the available evidence indicates you have engaged in multiple counts of the willful exercise of magic with hostile intent upon human beings without their consent. Do you challenge this interpretation of events?”
“No.”
“At the time of your actions, were you aware that they would constitute a class-one offense, punishable by immediate and final death?”
“Yes.”
“You are hereby charged with multiple counts of class-one breach of Armistice. Your unconditional surrender is required under article one of the Rules of Engagement.”
“I surrender.”
“The court finds sufficient evidence present to sustain a directed trial order of summary execution. Do you have anything to say in your defense before sentence is passed?”
Nick folded his arms and stood his ground. “I claim justification under article three of the Rules of Engagement.”
Scott scowled at him. “Acting in protection of life only applies to self-defense when your life is actually in danger. There is no weapon in this room sufficiently powerful to kill you, with the exception of the nuclear device itself, and you had ample opportunity to escape before detonation.”
“Not my life,” said Nick. He pointed at Jeremy, who watched with fascination. “I was protecting his.”
Scott glanced at Jeremy. “Article three doesn’t apply to defending humans.”
“He’s not human.”
Jeremy’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“I think he’s one of us. More specifically, I think he’s one of you,” Nick said.
Scott turned to Jeremy and scrutinized him. “I see no evidence of the Gift.”
“You’re looking in the wrong place.” Nick shook his head. “I believe his Gift has been silenced in favor of an alternate configuration.”
Scott’s eyebrows shot up. “The Celtic mutation?”
“So I believe.”
“Do you have any idea how long it’s been since the last confirmed case of the Celtic mutation coexisting with the full Gift?”
“Fourteen years.”
“And you think you found one of our Lost Brothers just in time to give you a pretext to prevent the massacre of the city of your birth? Isn’t that awfully convenient, Nick?”
Nick shrugged. “Coincidence.”
Scott gave him a calculating look. “Present your evidence.”
“While I was speaking to the terrorist leader, I conducted an active scan of all minds in the building in case an opportunity to intervene arose.” He looked at Jeremy. “A few seconds after I touched his mind, Jeremy demonstrated high-order telepathy. He performed a deep read on his leader, which revealed her true motivations—revenge for the murder of her family in a gang-related crossfire with police almost ten years ago. I had already independently verified that motive by my own deep read.”
Jeremy stared at him, eyes wide.
“His latent ability most likely responded to the direct touch of another mind,” said Scott, continuing to ignore Jeremy. “But telepathy is predominantly a function of human genetics and is not exclusive to those with access to the Gift, silenced or otherwise. The court dismisses your argument.”
Nick took a deep breath. “The Neural Shock spell I released was targeted at any human carrying a firearm. Jeremy is wearing a pistol on his hip.” All three men looked at the holstered weapon on Jeremy’s belt. “I did nothing to shield him from the spell, and he escaped its effects entirely.”
Scott considered that. “The court reserves judgment until such time as the parameters of the spell are reviewed in detail and an alternate explanation is excluded. Present your next argument.”
Nick met Scott’s eyes defiantly, straightening to his full six feet. “The last thing he did before the bullets started flying was quote the last line of the Words of Binding.”
Jeremy frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Scott pointed at him. “Please state your full name for the record.”
“What are the Words of Binding?”
“State your name, please,” Scott repeated.
“Jeremy Kenneth Harkness. What is he talking about?”
Scott spoke a few words in an unknown language, and then translated. “My eyes are open, and I am not afraid.”
Jeremy’s face paled and he clenched his fists at his sides. “That’s nothing.”
Scott stepped closer, maintaining eye contact. “They were the last words you were going to speak in your mortal life. Obviously, they have some meaning to you.”
Jeremy set his jaw. “It doesn’t matter.” The words are mine. No one can have them.
“My best friend is on trial for a capital crime, all because he saved your life. Don’t you think you owe it to him to be honest with me?”
Jeremy looked at Nick, who was watching him intently. It finally penetrated that he had come close to dying only a few minutes before. He sagged at the revelation, too shocked to censor his words. “It’s just a kid’s oath I made up, part of a game of make-believe I created in my head after my parents died. I never told anyone about it.”
“Will you tell me the rest of the oath?” asked Scott.
“No,” Jeremy spat.
“Because it means too much to you to share.” Scott’s voice was gentle. “Even if it was a kid’s oath. Even if it was just make-believe. It’s still vitally important to you, isn’t it?”
Jeremy said nothing, just scowled at him.<
br />
“Jeremy, I was born human, but I carried a powerful inherited magic called the Gift. It’s a hereditary spell woven into various bloodlines worldwide for tens of thousands of years. It only comes into its full power when inherited from both parents and then remains dormant until a very special set of circumstances awakens it. Nick believes you have the Gift but that it has been interrupted by a genetic mutation that arose in the human population of Ireland about three thousand years ago. It short circuits the Gift and diverts its power into human psychic abilities, such as telepathy, precognition, and telekinesis. The Celtic people referred to this phenomenon as Second Sight.”
“The Sight?” Jeremy’s eyes widened. “But that’s just a myth.”
“Do you have any Irish ancestry?”
Jeremy swallowed. “My mother’s family was from Dublin.” He shook his head. “No, this is crazy. I don’t believe you. You guys are trying to run some kind of scam on me.”
“Jeremy, when the Gift is kindled, it triggers a cascade of physical enhancements that magnify combat abilities, such as strength, agility, and endurance. Then it activates a preprogrammed sequence of memories and abilities attuned to the personality of the Gifted, turning the human into an instant soldier with all of the skills necessary to fight a war that has been raging in the shadows of this world for more than thirty thousand years.” Scott placed his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “The Gifted person stops being human and becomes a Sentinel.”
Jeremy stepped back, out of reach. “No. No, that isn’t possible. Sentinels are just in my imagination. I made them up. They were like knights in armor, but with magic.”
“That’s a fair description.”
“It was just a game,” Jeremy shouted. “It wasn’t real!”
“It was never a game, Jeremy,” Scott said with infinite patience. “It was a race memory from the remains of the Gift. A memory of who you were meant to be.”
“I don’t believe you!” Jeremy raised his fists and stepped forward to attack.
“I am a Child of the Twilight,” Scott said quietly.
Jeremy froze in place.
“I hold the line against the darkness, from the setting of the sun until the dawning of a new day.”
Sunset: Pact Arcanum: Book One Page 2