by Ben Reeder
“What is that?” I asked.
“Breakfast,” Amanda said.
“Breakfast? That’s barely even food,” I said.
“Well, I see your brain is still deficient,” she said, but the barb in her words didn’t feel as sharp as it used to.
“Deficient?” I said around the first spoonful of scrambled eggs. “Classy, Amanda, real classy.”
“Always,” she said before taking a bite of something light green. “At least what I’m eating is actually healthy for me.”
“Hey, kiddo,” Dr. C said from the stove. “That’s your Dad’s breakfast, too.”
“You’re allowed to be archaic and unhealthy,” Amanda said. “It comes from being so old.” Dr. C laughed and I saw Amanda break a smile for a moment. He knew she was messing with him.
“Hey, Chance, have you taken a look at your aura? Maybe it’s changed since you’ve been a Were’,” Dr. C said. My eyes closed for a moment, then I relaxed and opened them, willing my Third Eye to open along with them. I almost focused on my hand, but nothing changed.
“What the Hell?” I shook my head and tried again, but the world stayed the same. “No...no, no, no, no!!” I got up and backed away from the table, trying to get my Third Eye to open, trying to force it wide. But nothing continued to happen. The world kept on being its boring looking self.
“Chance, take it easy,” Dr. C said. “We don’t know if that part is permanent. Maybe your body has to get a chance to finish the process the treatment started. There’s so much we don’t know.”
“I’m tired of ‘if’ and ‘maybe’,” I said. “And I can’t live with ‘I don’t fucking know!’ I need answers. I need something to work right.”
“For what it’s worth, your aura looks normal,” Amanda said.
“I don’t need normal, damn it!” I shouted at her. “I need to be a mage!” I pushed the kitchen door open and stormed out of the house. The gate wards let me out, and I wondered for a moment if I could get back in again. But at the moment, it wasn’t as high on my list as getting out and getting away from the house. I needed to clear my head before…
I stopped on the sidewalk, suddenly realizing I wasn’t a danger to anyone any more. As a mage, as a Were’, I needed to keep my shit together and keep my temper under control so I didn’t hurt anyone on accident. Or, worse still, on purpose. Now, the worst I might be able to do is hurt someone’s feelings. My arsenal had been reduced from spells that could level buildings, or strength that could punch holes in armored vehicles to pretty much my fists and harsh language. The world was suddenly a much more dangerous place for me. I was no longer the baddest mother in the valley...I was the guy hiding behind that dude. It was scary as Hell.
I turned to go back to the house, realizing I’d made it more than a hundred yards down the road before I’d realized how stupid I was being. I was alone and without my magick or being a werewolf, I was unarmed in more ways than one. And walking in the world I knew, that was like playing Russian Roulette. Now I understood why most cowans refused to believe in the supernatural. If they did, they couldn’t function. Still, the normal world was dangerous enough. It made me wonder how normal people even functioned in their own world. Every car coming down the street, every breath of wind, every sound was a potential danger. My feet couldn’t move fast enough to get me back to the gate. The ward tingled against my skin when I walked through the gate.
Dr. Corwin was still at the table when I got back inside, but Amanda was gone. He took a sip of his coffee, then set the mug down and gestured to my seat at the table. The other dishes were gone, with just my place and his still set with food.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said.
“Don’t be,” he smiled and picked up a slice of bacon. “You’re frustrated, tired and scared. All the training in the world isn’t enough to keep that from being overwhelming.”
“Still, that was stupid,” I pointed at the door. He shrugged.
“Not the dumbest thing either of us has ever done.”
“So...what now?”
“We still have a lot to do,” Dr. C said. “First thing is to find a way to get your magick back. And Lucas and Wanda are working another angle with Collins to try to figure out exactly what’s going on.”
“We already know it was Brad who killed Tyler,” I said.
“We know he confessed to it, but there’s a lot more going on here. Kain’s also involved in this, but we don’t know exactly how deep. I don’t like loose ends, and Kain is a big one. We need to know his angle here, why he’s involved. Because when you think about it, Brad’s not smart enough to get one of the Diné to share their secrets with him, not even an adilgashii. And he’s sure as shit not so far gone enough to become a skinwalker on his own.”
“What makes you think so? He hates me.”
“To become a true skinwalker in the Diné ways, you have to kill a close relative with sorcery and eat their flesh. That takes a level of dedication and evil that I don’t think Brad is capable of.”
“Yeah, Brad may be a dick, but he’s not that bad. And there is a connection between Brad and Kain. So, in the meantime, we work on getting my magick back.”
“As much as I know you like to hit the books, I think this is more of a lab thing.” He headed for the front of the house, then stopped as we got to the library. “Dear God, it’s like Grand Central Station here this morning.” His right hand came up with his index and middle finger extended, and he made a quick gesture with his left hand.
“Company?” I asked.
“Yeah. Cowan.” Three knocks came at the door, unhurried, sharp and at equal intervals. Dr. C and I traded a look. Three more knocks came precisely five seconds later. By then, we were at the door, and Dr. Corwin was pulling it open. Michael Cassavetes stood there, practically sweating in his cheap looking Armani suit. How he made a thousand dollar designer suit look cheap was beyond me, but he managed.
“Chance,” he wheezed. “I gave your message to your father. He wants to see you. Now.”
“He needs to kiss my ass, that’s what he needs to do,” I said. “I sent you that message days ago, and now he wants me to come running to him on his schedule?”
“I gave it to him, kid, I did. He had pretty much the same attitude you do until this morning.”
“Yeah? What changed?”
“He said it had something to do with your mother,” Cassavetes blurted.
I went still for a second, then raised a hand to point toward him. My brows knitted together, and I held my goofy looking expression for another moment.
“What about her?” I asked slowly.
“He wouldn’t even tell me, kid,” he said, his face looking sour. “But he said it was important. Look, most days, he doesn’t want to even say your name, but right now...you’re the only person he wants to see.”
I looked to Dr. C, not trusting my own feelings at the moment.
“Go, Chance,” he said. “I’ll even go with you.”
“No, beloved,” Kim said from behind Cassavetes. The lawyer jumped, and I did a double take. Dr. C just nodded like it was no big deal for her to show up out of nowhere. “I will go with him. You have things that require your specific skills. If there is any danger, I can handle it.”
“No, no danger, ma’am,” Nick said. He turned back to me and held one hand out, pleading. “Please, kid, you gotta come with me. Talk to your old man. I’ve never seen him this messed up over anything.”
“Only way he’s worried about anyone that much is if it screws him, somehow,” I said. “But I’ll go talk to the bastard.” I reached for my pocket and my keys, then checked myself when I remembered that my Mustang and most of my stuff was back at the campground where I’d parked.
“Don’t agree to anything while you’re there,” Dr. Corwin said, handing me my backpack. “No matter what he tells you.” Mike turned and headed down the steps. Kim and I followed, our paths parting from his at the gate. We headed for the garage, and her white Viper. We g
ot in, and I found myself having to adjust to the tight space while Kim pressed the start button and the car rumbled to life with a deep throated sound that made my heart ache for my own car. Still, the Viper demanded its own respect. When Kim backed out of the driveway, I could feel every pebble in the road, and when she turned to follow Mike, I was pushed against the door. With each turn, the car grumbled, like it was pissed we were going so slow. Or that might have been Kim, who was taking measured breaths and looking as if she was working at being patient. She came off of every stop like it was a personal affront, then pulled back to keep from driving up the tailpipe of Mike’s Caddy.
“Is this a new car?” I asked over the rumble of the engine. “Because I’m feeling every bump in the road.”
“It is not a luxury car,” Kim said, the first hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “It is made to do one thing better than any other.”
“What’s that?”
“Go very fast.” Her normal stoic expression brightened enough to allow a smile to creep in, then she pulled into parking area for the Golgotha Federal Corrections Center on the eastern side of New Essex. Five stories of brick and steel, housing the most dangerous criminals in the state, Golgotha was a fortress. Massive concrete walls surrounded the main building, with the administrative offices on the outside of the walls. Cassavetes ushered us in through the long, fenced in walkway to the main gates, the only way in through three layers of chain link fence and concertina wire. The innermost layer was a broad, open gravel pit. The main gate was the only way in or out, unless you could fly or dig through limestone.
The black, iron doors of the main gate rose when we stopped in front of them, the slid back down behind us. Only after the outer gate clanged shut did the inner gate rise. All of us were frisked thoroughly, our IDs checked and double checked before we could go any further. Rather than head through the heavy glass doors that led into the prison itself, we went left, through a smaller, equally thick glass door that opened into a bank of cubicles. Thick glass separated half of that room, but we kept going, through another set of doors labeled “Medium Security Visitation.” The door opened onto a room with a single table in the middle of the room. The edges of the table and the benches were covered in thick, green rubber, and everything was bolted to the floor. A yellow line ran through the middle of the room. On the far side of the scuffed yellow border, a message was stenciled on the floor. Prisoners Stay Behind Line. On our side, it simply read DO NOT CROSS. Two guards in padded body armor and visored helmets stood on either side of the door we entered through, and another pair manned the one on the other side of the room. Mike waddled to the table and sat down in the middle, patting the spot beside him. I sat beside him, and his expression soured as he moved his hand out from under me.
Moment’s later, there was a loud buzz, and one of the guards pulled the door across from us open. My father marched in, his orange jumpsuit making him look like a pumpkin. He wore cuffs on his hands and feet, with a chain attaching the wrist cuffs to a thick leather belt. Another guard followed him in, and when he reached the table, locked the set of manacles he was wearing to the table. Once he was secure, the guards moved back and retreated through the doors, leaving us in the room with my father. For all that we had what looked like privacy, we were still visible through the windows and I could see at least four cameras in the room.
“Whoa,” he said when he saw Kim. “Who are you, babe and how much do you cost?”
“You don’t want to know,” Kim said, arching one pale eyebrow. “And a minute of my attention would cost you your life.”
“Babe like you, it might be worth it.”
“What did you want?” I demanded, trying to get things back under control.
“It’s good to see you,” my father said, wisely leaving off the word ‘son.’
“No it isn’t,” I told him. “I’m the reason you’re here. Well, you’re the reason you’re here, but trying to dick Mom over to get me back didn’t help. So can the bullshit and get to the point. Don’t give me any of that crap about having time to think or getting a new perspective. I’m not buyin’. Either help me out, or shut the hell up.” I said.
“You’re right, you are the reason I’m in here, kid,” he said. “And the way I see it, you owe me for that. So, you want my help, you do a little something for me.”
“Yeah, we’re done,” I said and started to get to my feet.
“Wait,” he said. “Believe me, you're gonna want to hear this. You pissed off the Russians with your little stunt the other day. They’ve come at me in here because of it. They’re gonna come gunning for you and your mother next. There’s only one way to stop them, and that’s to hit them where they live.”
I sat back down on the cold steel bench and leaned forward. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. And if they’re coming after you, well that’s just a bonus. I’m not doing your dirty work for you any more, old man,” I hissed at him. “You want someone dead, you pay for it yourself. Besides, weren’t you the one who always said hire a pro?”
“Nah, violence doesn’t work with the Bratva,” he said. “They’ll just do something worse. Those assholes are great at putting bodies in the ground. No, with the Russians, you have to make it too expensive to ever piss you off again. So you have to hit them in two places, the wallet and the soul.”
“The wallet part I could do, but the soul...I don’t deal in that anymore. You know that.”
“They’re deathly afraid of magic, Chance,” the old man said. “That’s your edge. They deal with some nasty shit. Make them believe you’re worse And I can handle the wallet side of things.”
“Last I checked,” I looked around, “your fat ass was in jail.”
“I’m not without my resources.”
“Half your crew are singing like choirboys, and the other half are living large in extradition-free countries. Plus you lost your pet demon.”
“I’ve still got a little something up my sleeve,” he said with a smile. “And the best part is, I get rid of the Russians and take care of a few other loose ends at the same time.”
I stood, pieces falling in place in my head. “Now we’re done,” I said. “You’re trying to use me to fix your problems on the outside. Well, screw you, old man.” I headed for the door, Mike at my heels.
“Chance, please, wait,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. Before I could think about it, I had his hand in a joint lock, and the guards were pointing weapons at both of us.
“Hands off,” I told him, then looked to my father. “Don’t even open your mouth.” I let Cassavetes go, then stepped away. One of the guards grabbed the mic at his shoulder and murmured something into it. Seconds later, the door behind him buzzed, and we were out of the visitation room. The sound of my feet on the concrete floors was too loud in my ears on the walk back to the exit, the white halls suddenly filled with shadows.
Halfway there, Mike called my name, and I stopped to glare at him. “Look, kid, sorry about that back there. Your da...the old man wants you to take this,” he held out a cell phone. “Let us know if the Russians do anything stupid.”
“If they try anything stupid with me, it’ll probably make the news,” I said, taking the phone. “But don’t wait up for me to call.”
When we finally made it to the parking lot, Kim faced me over the top of her car. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“When my father was talking about taking care of loose ends back there, there was only one person he could have meant. The only person who knew more about his organization than I did was Jeremy, his butler.”
“Your father didn’t strike me as that sophisticated,” Kim said.
“Believe me, he’s not. But he wanted to at least look legit. Besides, the women my father dated weren’t big on cooking. Their skills leaned more towards shopping and cosmetics.”
“Among other things, I’m sure,” Kim raised an eyebrow. “How progressive of him. So, Jeremy is in danger?”<
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“Big time,” I said. “And knowing my father, he’s probably let just enough leak to the Russians to get Jeremy taken out of the picture. Which means I have to get to him first.”
Kim nodded and we both got in the car. “Do you know where he is?” she asked as we pulled out of the lot.
“Not yet. If I had my magick, I could scry him, easy.”
“You’re still a mage,” Kim said. “But you have no connection to draw on.”
“What?” I blurted. “How is it Dr. C can’t tell that and you can?”
“I am kitsune, I can see things even mages can’t. Most mages have a connection to magic, an astral thread that lets them channel anima through their will. For most, it happens naturally over time. Still, it is possible Trevor knows this, and simply hasn’t mentioned it. He is a wizard after all.”
“Time isn’t something I have a lot of,” I said. She nodded and opened the center console, producing a quartz crystal.
“This may help,” she said. My fingers tingled when I took it, telling me it was a charged touchstone.
“It might,” I said. “But for a divination…” I paused.
“You would still need the astral connection.” She was quiet for a moment, her eyes going to the rearview mirror a couple of times. “But now is not the time. Your father said the Russians fear magick, and he was right. Most Russians still have a strong connection to the folklore of their country. It is time we gave them reason to fear you.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“Just act like you’re still a mage.” She hit the gas, and the car surged ahead, leaving slower moving traffic behind. “Good boys,” she chuckled. I looked in the rear view mirror and saw two black sedans pulling away from traffic as well. They never closed the distance between us, but they never got too far behind either.
“They’re not exactly chasing us,” I said.