by Ryk E. Spoor
“Do you recall,” he said finally, “how we discussed the changes in the world, and how I felt that you might equally be called the center of these events, as much as I?”
“Yeah, hard to forget it; that was the first time we started really going into details about the world.”
“Well, I must amend that. I believe that there is more to these events than I had yet imagined. You stated once that you did not believe in coincidences. I, also, do not believe in coincidences of such great improbability.”
He looked out the window into the city-lit night. “I think it is time I begin to seek out the meaning behind these events . . . before it is too late to see what the outcome may be.”
CHAPTER 54
Home Security
“But of course, Jason. Indeed, I would be honored. How long will it be?”
I considered. “I’ve put a ‘price no object’ priority on it, and with my various contacts smoothing the way, I figure our new house should be finished in about three months.”
“Then think no more of it, my friend. Your possessions may remain here until that time.”
That was one small load off my mind; I knew that with the moderate-sized wedding Syl had planned we’d still end up with a sea of presents. It seemed that the public actually cared about what happened in my life—my fifteen minutes apparently hadn’t quite come to a close—and so there were likely going to be some attempts at gatecrashing and certainly gifts from all over the place. This ignored people who wouldn’t be at the wedding but that one or the other of us knew well enough that we’d be getting something from them. And Christmas wasn’t all that far away either, so there might be more gifts before it was all done.
“You did say something about increasing my security?” Verne prompted.
“Hm? Oh, yeah. You remember that I had Jeri’s people provide you with cover at Miss Lumiere’s party?”
“Naturally. I could hardly forget it, when it was the first time I had dared appear at so public an event in many years.”
“Well, I arranged with the same guy to provide security for both of us—top-level security systems.”
“That would be this ‘Jammer’ person?”
“Yep. They agreed that it was in our best interests to maintain maximum security, so sometime before the wedding, the Jammer will be by to help out. Put up with him; he’s younger than I am, and he has that wiseass geek attitude that I mostly outgrew, but he’s the best of the best.”
Verne smiled tolerantly. “Jason, I assure you that I can ‘put up’ with any temperament. Geniuses are often immature or asocial in many ways. For a greater degree of security, I will have no objections. I will of course emphasize, in my own way, that they are to not leave any special privileges for themselves in the systems.”
I grinned. “I rather thought you might. And someone like you will probably get through his hide.” I saw Kafan going by the doorway. “Hey, Kafan! Is the senator coming to the wedding?”
He smiled. “Paula says that you’d have to lock the doors to keep her away. And she’s bringing Seb—I mean, Jackie—and little Tai!”
I smiled back. Legal wranglings could be murderous, and establishing truths in court almost impossible, but Paula and Tai Lee Xiang had found a way to cut through all the potential barriers. Tai Lee knew, by scent that never lied, that Paula was a devoted mother who loved children; and Paula, from long experience in judging people and promoting children’s rights, could tell that Tai was a loving parent. She also saw Tai and Genshi together often. Once the two recognized the other as someone who genuinely cared about the well-being of their children, they were no longer adversaries, but rather allies who simply had a complicated problem to work out. The storybook tale of the orphans’ father returning was bound to come out soon; in fact, Paula was laying the groundwork for the press releases already. The stories would be of a fait accompli, not of a potential legal firestorm. “That’s great. I’m looking forward to meeting them myself.”
“Master Jason, is this list from Lady Sylvia the most accurate?” Morgan inquired as he entered, carrying a sheet of paper.
“I think so. Yeah, that’s the current guest list. All the ones in red have confirmed. The names in black are people we expect to attend but haven’t gotten confirmation for.” It was Morgan’s concern because we were having the wedding and reception here, on Verne’s extensive grounds.
“Very good, sir.”
Suddenly, there was a shout from down the hall, followed by a voice: “Hey! Let me go!”
Verne smiled and leaned back in his chair as Camillus entered, carrying the Jammer in a move-along hold. “Is this the young man you expected, Jason?”
I raised an eyebrow at the Jammer. I should’ve expected he’d try something like this. “Caught so soon? Yes, Verne, but he’s kinda disappointing me.”
The Jammer flushed. “I’d like to know just how you managed to catch me at it, since I know for damn sure not one of your alarms went off.”
Verne gestured, and Camillus deposited the Jammer in one of the chairs. “Mr. Locke—”
“How the hell do you—oh, Wood.”
“To an extent, yes, but I have my own sources. You are Ingram Remington Locke, former resident of Long Island. I know a great deal about you, Mr. Locke.”
That got the Jammer’s attention; he knew that Achernar had mentioned his last name, but not his first. “Damn.”
“As I was saying, Mr. Locke: you are apparently suffering under the misapprehension that my security is only technological. While you are correct in that none of my electronic security systems notified anyone of your presence, I was able to sense you once you entered my demesnes. I then notified Camillus of your whereabouts and the direction in which you were moving, and he was naturally then able to capture you.”
The Jammer rubbed his arm and glanced at the door through which Camillus had left. “Naturally. Well, if you’ve got that kind of warning, I don’t know if you need anything more.”
“Oh, assuredly I do,” Verne said. “I do have to rest, and during that time, my senses are less sharp. There are also various ways in which my senses can be eluded that would not evade properly designed technological security. Magic is not inherently superior to technology, merely different. I would be very pleased if you were to design a top-of-the-line security system for my home. I will not offer you money, since I am sure that is not a major consideration for you; rather, I offer the challenge of making such a large, old, rambling estate secure enough to meet your own exacting standards.”
The Jammer laughed. “Okay, Dracula, you’ve got me pegged pretty well. My friends sent me out here to do a job, but damned if you didn’t go and make it look fun to do, too. I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but I’m going to keep trying to get in here without you knowing.”
Verne ignored the vampire witticism and nodded. “I expect no less. In fact, I would demand that you try everything at your disposal to enter this place unbidden, so that any flaws which may exist can be fixed, either with your techniques or my own.”
“Then can I get up and start working?”
“By all means.” As the Jammer rose, Verne said, “However . . .”
The Jammer froze; Verne’s tone had shifted without warning, to something cold as winter ice, and his level gaze impaled Locke. “Let me make one thing clear, Mr. Locke: your work will remain exclusive to me in this instance. You will have no ‘backdoor’ codes, no special privileges, and no records, after the fact, of the work. This will also be true of Jason’s home. I am aware of the way your sort of person thinks, and I warn you that I will not be amused if I discover anything in my or my friend’s security systems that appears in the least suspicious. Is that understood?”
The Jammer was a shade paler. “Understood, sir,” he answered.
“Very good, then.” Verne’s voice had returned to spring again. “Carry on.”
I watched the Jammer leave. “It’s amazing. When I was younger, I didn’t believe that crap about peop
le with a ‘force of personality’ that you could actually sense. The past year or so has made me a believer. You’ve shaken him up pretty good.”
“My sense of the matter is that he has already encountered someone with a similar force of personality.” Verne commented. “Someone whom he respects and thus associates with my own exhibition in that arena. But I agree; we will not need to worry about him inserting unwanted material in our security.”
“Good. Because, lord knows, I’ve got enough to worry about right now . . .”
CHAPTER 55
They Never Knock
I looked around the office one more time. It was a little intimidating to realize that I wouldn’t be back here for quite a while and that when I came back, I’d be married. We’d be spending our wedding night at Verne’s before setting out on our honeymoon.
Everything looked in order—ordinary, even, and I found that startling in and of itself. When I’d first moved in and started WIS, I would have laughed at the thought of vampires and werewolves. And now I knew things far stranger were real. It seemed somehow strange that my office still looked ordinary.
I turned back towards the door and jumped back with an inarticulate yell, yanking out my pistol at the same time and pointing it dead-center at the towering apparition that stood there.
It looked like a man—but one that topped seven feet in height. He wore some kind of robed outfit, mostly blue and brown and gray, and a peculiar five-sided hat which had symbols on it that I couldn’t make out. The hat shadowed his face, so while I could see white hair and a sharp-edged chin, I couldn’t see anything else clearly. One hand gripped a staff as tall as he was, an elaborately carved staff with a complex crystal headpiece that chimed when he moved it.
And despite the utterly outlandish appearance of the figure, I was struck first by the eerie feeling that I’d seen him before.
“Who the hell are you, what are you doing here, and how the heck did you get in here?”
The vaguely visible mouth turned up in a smile. The answer was in a very deep, resonant voice that reminded me of a cross between James Earl Jones and Charlton Heston in his old Moses role. “I am Konstantin Khoros, Jason Wood. I am here . . . to see you, mainly. See you separate from others, in isolation, for only thus can a man be understood as an entity unto himself.”
“Does that also make you incapable of knocking?” Despite my anger, I lowered the gun. This guy didn’t seem interested in threatening me, and he also didn’t seem to give a damn that I had pointed a gun at him in the first place.
He chuckled. “Not incapable, no. But in this case, it served my purpose better to not do so. An old friend of mine contacted me recently, and as I suspected, it was you who set him on the path that would lead him to do so.”
There weren’t too many candidates, and given this guy’s outlandish garb . . . “Verne?”
Khoros nodded. “He spoke to me of coincidences and miracles, and I could hear that he was much changed since last we had spoken. I had wondered what would become of him, the day it began for you. I am pleased to see the results are all I had hoped.”
The day it began . . . I suddenly remembered that day, and the very first hint of strangeness, an impossible image out of the corner of my eye . . . “That was you? You were watching me then—before I even started—”
He shook his head, and the staff chimed faintly. “Not before you started; for already you had the photographs taken by Klein in your possession. I guessed where such an event would lead.”
“More than I could have guessed,” I admitted.
“I have had somewhat more practice than you at these things,” he said, and began to turn. “Tell the Sh’ekatha when next you see him that I have the answer I have sought, and the answer to all his questions that can be so answered is yes; as for his other questions, there are no coincidences, and I have entered the endgame.”
“Why the heck don’t you tell him yourse . . .” I began, and trailed off as Khoros disappeared in a chime and a shimmer of golden light. I stared for several minutes. “Dammit.”
It took only a couple of moments to dial up Verne’s house and get him on the line. “Yes, Jason? What can I do for you in this most hectic of times?”
“I just had an unexpected visitor. Tall guy with a weird hat and a staff.”
He was silent for a moment, then I heard him sigh. “Khoros.”
“That was the name he used, yeah. Verne, he’s been watching me since the day I started working on Klein’s photos.”
“I . . . see.” Another pause. “I will be there momentarily.”
Since he could travel with the speed of a whirlwind, it literally was moments; I’d only just hung up the phone when a breeze swept out from the doorway and Verne materialized from thin air.
“I guess I should get used to that,” I remarked. “Khoros disappeared from the same place a few minutes ago.”
“Yes,” Verne said, eyes distant. “I can sense his magic—unmistakable, when he allows a trace to linger. He wanted me to be able to verify it was him.”
“Why wouldn’t he talk directly to you? You called him up, didn’t you? About Ms. Lumiere?”
“And young Mr. Ross, yes. What exactly did he say?”
“Several things, none of them very informative. He did leave a message specifically for you.” I made sure I had the phrasing right. “He said that he had the answer he had sought, that the answers to all your questions which could be so answered was yes, and that as to your other questions, there were no coincidences and he had entered the endgame.”
Verne’s eyes widened and he muttered something in the ancient language that I now knew was Atlantaean. “And he has been watching you that long?”
“Yeah. I actually saw him that night, it was just so quick I figured it was a trick of the light somehow. What did he mean by all that, and is he always that much of a . . . twit?”
Verne gave a snort of laughter. “He was somewhat less of a . . . twit, as you put it, in the old days. But he has been searching ever since the Fall for answers to a specific set of questions, and that search . . . obsession would not be too strong a word to apply to it. It now seems he has found those answers, and that all that has happened is either part of, or is being bent to, his ultimate goal. A goal, I hasten to add, which is a worthy one. Of his methods . . . I say less.”
“All that has happened? What ‘all’?”
“Possibly literally everything of note that has happened since you received those photos—Klein’s attempt to frame me, Carmichael’s ill-advised kidnapping, Virigar’s return, Kafan’s involvement with the Project, the appearance of your client Mr. Ross, and our encounter with Danielle Lumiere.”
“What? He couldn’t possibly have set that all up himself, and if he did, he’s a murdering bastard, but you don’t seem to view him that way.”
Verne smiled sadly. “I would be inclined to say that he did not in fact set it all up, but that he did know much of what was going to happen, and in some fashion it serves his purpose. You have undoubtedly heard of some people called ‘chessmasters’—people who manipulate events and other people to cause results that might be impossible to achieve by working directly?”
I nodded.
“Understand, then, that Khoros is one of those, only playing in a grander game on a scale that even I do not truly comprehend. He has been doing this since the Fall of Atlantaea.” He caught my glance. “Yes, Jason, he is one of those few survivors I mentioned. And no, I do not agree with his tactics in many cases. He is no longer the man I knew then. He is still on the side of good, understand; but he is, himself, no longer a good man.”
“How does that work?”
“He believes that the end does not justify the means, but that the means may be necessary for the end. That is, he will do or allow things that in no sense should be considered good, and these are not justifiable or defensible to him. Yet they must be done, in his view, to achieve a vastly greater goal.”
“A goal tha
t’s taken him this long to reach? How the hell can he live with himself if that’s the case?”
“I do not believe,” Verne said, after a moment, “that he intends to live with himself once the task is complete.”
“And do you know what that task is?”
Verne nodded. “In essence . . . to shatter the Great Seal, and bring to justice the ones behind the destruction of Atlantaea.”
“By himself?” Given that the demons who’d taken down the ancient civilization had literally rewritten continental geology, the thought of one person trying to oppose such forces was mind-boggling.
“I suspect . . . something more complex, something involving your young friend Xavier, Ms. Lumiere, and others. But in the end, yes, I think he will take a direct hand. Somehow, Jason, you are part of those plans. As am I.”
He shook his head. “And I do not know how all this will end.”
CHAPTER 56
Vows and Threats
“Ready, Jason?”
I took a deep breath. “All set.” I wasn’t nearly as nervous as other grooms I’d known; my nervousness was only an echo of the proposal now. I was more excited than anything else.
I walked up the sunlit aisle, lined with flowers—incongruous against the browning grass of winter—that ran between the rows of chairs on Verne’s back lawn. Many people had wondered why we were having an outdoor wedding in winter. Syl wanted a wedding in the light, and what she wanted, she was going to get. I strongly suspected, however, that the unseasonably warm weather in the last week was not accidental, but due to intervention by a certain priest of Eönae.
Verne, of course, was Best Man. I saw my mom and dad—Mom’s hair still clearly blond (maybe dyed, but I’d never dare ask), Dad’s a distinguished gray—both smiling broadly. Sylvie’s mom sat just across the aisle from them, and was already dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Why do so many people cry at weddings? Jeri Winthrope was also near the front, leaning back in a relaxed pose as she waited for the vows, having already sat through Father Turner’s quick little introductory sermon; Morgan was next to her, straight as a ramrod in his proper butler manner. Kafan was with his three children and Paula, looking happier than I’d ever seen him. I saw Camillus and Meta a row back, along with several other members of Verne’s household who I’d only glimpsed on occasion.