A Prison of Worlds (The Chained Worlds Chronicles Book 1)

by Daniel Ruth

  I exchanged looks with Jeremy. That might be a bit tight for my schedule but if we wanted to canvas the city properly then vampire participation was vital. As I understood it, the shifter and vampire population stayed in their own territories and weren't welcome in another's except in extraordinary circumstances. I wasn't aware of any other significant supernatural presence in the city, so between the two groups we should be able to cover the entire city.

  “Okay. Where?”

  “Tower Plaza. The receptionist will let security know your there.”

  I grunted to myself. The Tower Plaza was a monolithic complex just on the other side of the Blight. The area itself was for the extremely wealthy, but it overlooked the worst part of town. Pretty much an example of contrasts. I hadn’t realized that the vampires owned it.

  “Tell him I'll be there.”

  “Of course you will be,” he said with an arrogant look. It didn't match his now blotchy and swollen face, so it was difficult to be offended, but it did do much to support my theory on his popularity.

  I scooped up the last of my dinner and walked to the door. “Perhaps I'll see you later tonight but I have a lot to do before I meet your master.”

  “Of course. Until then,” he stood up and may have tried to gracefully saunter out the door. He swayed dizzily, caught his balance, and staggered outside. I really liked those changes I made to the wards.

  As I closed the door behind him, Jeremy spoke up for the first time since our unannounced guest. “Why do I get the feeling you didn't like him?”

  “Must be your undeveloped psychic powers.” The lanky detective just stared at me a moment. “Okay, I guess I wasn't very subtle.” I brought the used plate and glass to the sink and started cleaning. “Where I come from, vampires are a lot more bloodthirsty. Not mindless, but you may call them evil,” I said quietly. Jeremy listened from the door, temporarily putting his toy down. “I know local undead aren't the same but I'll wait to see how different. The only ones I have had real contact with are a super ninja and a guy that has to have been brought over in the last few weeks.

  “It also occurred to me that our Eric was sent here to test the waters and see exactly how dangerous I am.”

  “Well, you are going to see the master of the city,” Jeremy stated.

  “Yeah, speaking of which... how screwed are we?”

  “It could be worse. Our fellow moves real fast. He is already across the city. He stopped a few times.” Jeremy handed me a paper with several addresses. “Right now he's at a Mountain High building.” It seemed today was the day to see the wealthy. Mountain High was another complex for the ridiculously wealthy. It wasn't anywhere near the Blight, and rumor had it that the private security also policed the blocks around the complex just to ensure undesirables didn't wander in and bother the residents. It was possibly the safest, most law-abiding area in the city. The irony was killing me.

  “So this is where Kingston may be?” I questioned.

  “No guarantees. However, the building he is in right now is owned by an Edward Prince.”

  “I think that makes it a good bet. I vaguely remember being proud of that name,” I muttered. Most of the specifics of my time holding Kinston's memories were gone, but some generalities remained. I really would not be surprised if he chose a variation of royalty to reenter society. “Can I bum a ride over to the area? It looks like time is going to be at a premium tonight.”

  Jeremy dropped me off at the edge of the patrolled area. I felt tiny on the street with skyscrapers rising on either side. If I looked up, all I saw was blackness; the ever-present lights of the building and streets simply blocked out anything as mundane as the stars and moon. It was early evening, and crowds still walked the streets as far above us the hum of traffic and lights of the vehicles displayed themselves prettily to the backdrop of a dark sky. Damn, I hated this part of the city.

  I had memorized the map of the city when I first arrived in the city, so it was trivial to find the address the assassin had stayed at. The guards ignored me; my dress style apparently not so low class that I drew attention. When I drew up to the building, I confess I didn't really see any difference between it and its neighbor except for the address number. Black paneled glass stretched up as far as the eye could see, and only the first few floors had windows that were transparent. At the door I closed my eyes, concentrated a bit, then I drew an imaginary circle around me and willed energy into it. I stepped up to the door and stepped through, just as one of the pedestrians walked up to the door and almost ran into me. The automated sensors detected our weight and opened to us. The men at the security counter stared at the man next to me, but their eyes almost seemed to slide away from me.

  Walking up to the security detail, I examined the man at the desk carefully while miming talking to him. Nodding in imaginary acknowledgment, I moved forward and wandered around looking for the elevator. I found a restroom before I found the elevators, and stepped inside. I stepped inside the unoccupied stall, and biting my lip in concentration, I forced my features to mimic the guard I had studied minutes earlier. On the way out, I looked in the mirror to confirm my features were mostly correct and then washed my hands.

  All of this may seem like a lot of trouble to go through when you're invisible, but there were very basic reasons for it. The technique I was using basically issues a blanket suggestion that I wasn't there. It was very useful around people, especially when most of the active psionics had long since left the city. There was a flaw to it, though. Machines and cameras were not fooled. True non-magical invisibility involves bending light and is very tiring, and yet another technique I knew to fuzz the sensors would be like poking a hornet’s nest. My ability to deflect notice was very energy efficient; however it had a relatively small radius, well within line of sight. The drawback, of course, was that a building security detail would notice a stranger roaming around the restricted floors, but they probably wouldn't notice a fellow guard. Even if the building had an AI it shouldn't notice that, unless it noticed two of us. Advanced AIs were outlawed since the Tinman War so it shouldn't be too hard. I am not a security expert, but I had talked about it a bit with Jeremy, who was. It should work and it was easier than my original infiltration method, which literally took a week and was exhausting as hell.

  I waited at the elevator until a well-dressed man walked in, waving his hand in front of the scanner. When he got off, I selected the penthouse as my destination. Resisting the urge to hum to myself, I waited for the door to open. The first thing I saw was four very well-armed men, in black suits more suited for the government, in marksmen poses aiming large handheld weapons towards the elevator door. We each froze in this tableau for a moment before the two closest ran into the elevator, frantically looking around. It would have been comical to see them practically pat down the wall and search the openings of the elevator I wasn't even aware of, if I hadn't been so busy contorting my body to avoid two rather large men in a ten-by-ten-foot room.

  I finally was able to position myself so I could exit the elevator, and had the time to examine the men more closely. They all had very well-camouflaged implants next to their ear, and wore dark glasses and the suits that the FBI were infamous for wearing... ninety years ago. As retro as their clothing was, the implant and the impressive looking energy pistols they were wielding convinced me that they may actually be good at what they did, or at least well-financed.

  Shaking my head at the spirited antics of the security group, I concentrated once more and began the more draining task of bending light around me. Now that I was on the penthouse level, there were few enough people that any surveillance would note someone out of place. A dull throb began to gather behind my eyes. Doubtless, it would become worse before the night was done.

  Prepared now, I explored the floor and found that there was only one significant door. I doubted that Kingston was sleeping in the restroom or the security room or the broom closet. That narrowed it down to the huge double doors with gold fili
gree that lead to the central area of the floor. I should have been a detective.

  The door was unlocked. I suppose that is understandable when you have security this heavy. It was also well maintained; it silently eased open the tiny bit I needed to squeeze inside and then closed with only a near-silent click. Apparently, it was noisy enough, because when I looked to the center of the room I noted a man sitting at one of the hugest mahogany desks I have ever seen. He had paused in mid-motion while signing something and was looking to the door.

  Even after almost a year, I recognized those features. They were not strong Italian features you would expect from a mobster... or at least I would expect, having been exposed to too many old-style gangster movies. No, before me sat a slightly pudgy man who appeared in his mid-forties, one who obviously had yet to partake of the rather common anti-aging geriatric drugs commonly available. His hair was thinning, but in spite of the bit of excess weight and lines that showed every bit of his age, he wasn't a small man and you could almost feel the confidence oozing from the pores. As I examined him, I knew part of what I had to do was shake that confidence.

  I silently padded over to the guest chair across from the man. It wasn't hard; my feet sank deeply into the carpet and the slight whir of the air conditioning covered up even that minute sound. I sank down and forced my features to return to my current identity. When I was ready, I dropped the forces bending light and my field of suggestion.

  “Hello Kingston, been a while,” I said calmly. The mobster scrabbled back in his chair in obvious unpleasant startlement. His first action thereafter was to lunge toward his desk, probably to summon security. I could have paralyzed him, but I need him able to interact with me. It took far more energy than jabbing his brain, but I gathered the energy to telekinetically stop him in his tracks.

  He looked at me and scowled. I could see an anger burning in his eyes, and it set his jowls to a slightly undignified quivering. There was also fear in his expression; I could sense that radiating off him, but it was almost eclipsed by his rage. Wow, he really didn't like me.

  “You...” he growled.

  “Yeah, I guess you do remember more than I thought you would.” I was almost impressed. Most people really don't recall much once I wipe their short term memory and they are catatonic for a week. “But, honestly can you be that surprised to see me after hiring an assassin to kill me?”

  “He failed,” the other man ground out.

  “Yes. Indeed he did.” I nodded in acknowledgment. I could feel him strain to escape my mental grasp. It wasn't going to happen. I could lift cars with my mind. A supernatural may be able to break my grasp and the psionically talented were slippery to hold onto, but a mere mortal wasn't going anywhere.

  “One word and my people will be in here and wipe you from existence.” I really doubted he had that kind of firepower, but it was time to lead him away from this path.

  “You can feel my grasp around you.” I theatrically clenched my fist in front of him and put on what I sincerely hoped was a menacing expression. It hadn't worked on the shifter I had captured, but I was hoping to get it right this time. “At a mere thought I can grind your bones into a paste.” I was lying outrageously at this. My telekinesis exerts force on an entire object. It was good for flinging things around, even cars if I didn't mind exhausting myself, but it wouldn't crush, cut, or twist. I suppose I could hang him from his necktie if focused on the cloth but there are limits to the mental gyrations even someone as skilled as I could do.

  The emanations of fear were fading. I cursed under my breath. Somehow I had given myself away, because his panic was leaving him. “But you haven't,” he muttered as if he had scored a point. He had a point; I could scarcely deny that if I was going to kill him, he would have been dead already.

  I sighed as I examined his aura. It looked much like it had a year ago, with an exception. “Hmm, you've changed.” He glared at me. “Last time you were a flipping loon. Cursing and spitting at me.”

  “You'll find me more of a challenge this time. I won't forget anything. I've taken precautions.”

  “Hmm, I cured your insanity but it should have returned without intense therapy.” I stared at him silently while he looked at me in shock. I had expected him to still be a lethal nutcase. I had never heard of someone with the strength of will to hold on to their sanity long enough to get help. This made things easier in some ways and harder in others.

  “It was you,” breathed in the older man. “But why...”

  “It wasn't because I loved you,” I muttered. “Your mind was too twisted to allow me to do what I needed to do.”

  “Rob me blind,” he huffed, starting to build a full head of steam.

  “Actually, you robbed you blind,” I corrected absently. “I had you transfer it to me in ways that even you wouldn't be able to trace,” I told him solemnly. “And you weren't going to do that when you were as mad as a hatter. How did you track me down? I thought you were the best. You sure thought so at the time.”

  Kingston scowled at me; his struggling was steadily getting weaker as his fear left. He was beginning to think about why I was really here. “There's always someone better. I had to hire her.”

  “Well, interesting as that is. The main issue is that you hired a vampire to kill me. And I don't appreciate that.”

  “After what you did to me you're lucky I don't send an army of assassins after you and anyone you associate with.”

  An adrenaline rush hit me at that statement. A huge emotional surge of pure anger followed. “If anything happens to them, I'll kill you and everyone in your organization down to the mail boy!” I shouted, only noticing afterward that I was half lunging out of the chair, and remains of the chair's armrest was kindling in my hands. I took a calming breathe and sat back into the chair, brushing the splinters from my hands. I had subconsciously raised Kingston about three feet in the air during my outburst. “My friends would prefer it if I didn't kill anyone.” I left it unsaid what my own feelings were.

  “You expect me to forget what you did to me,” the gangster blustered. I could feel his renewed fear radiating out from him. Apparently, my very real rage did what my bluster couldn't do.

  “No, you're remarkably bad at forgetting things,” I nodded towards him. The very fact he remembered or was able to put the pieces together to figure out that something had been done to him made him an exceptional person.

  “So why should I forget that you walked away with almost half a billion credits,” he sneered. Damn, keeping this man intimidated was almost impossible.

  I stood up and walked to the wall. I hadn't paid any attention to the room when I came in, but there was nicely framed art hung from the walls, and one side was almost completely covered in shelves and books. Naturally, I ignored the art and headed to the bookcases. I absentmindedly browsed the selections.

  “To be honest when I got here I hadn't a clue what I might offer you as compensation.” My fingertips glided down the rows of books. No occult books, but a nice selection of psychology. I haven't had time to study it since I have been pursuing the magical, but I used to love reading about the subject. Most of it was wrong, but it never hurts to see things from another angle. I pulled out a tome with an interesting title, and while I thumbed through it, asked, “But tell me. How much is your sanity worth to you?”

  I heard a gasp behind me, and turned. The floating man looked at me with the whites of his eyes showing, terror pounded at my senses. Oh, he thought I was threatening to drive him insane. I could, but that would be pointless. Crazy people are even more dangerous than sane ones. “No, I don't mean to return your insanity, I mean I provided a valuable service by curing you.”

  A hoarse laugh came from Kingston, “I wouldn't bet it was worth that much.”

  “Well, you may be a better judge at that than me,” I walked back to the ruined chair and looked up at the man. “Do you have a use for a favor from someone with my skills?”

  “In the occult?”
<
br />   I blinked in surprise. We had been obliquely talking about psionics, so that the change of subject caught me off guard. “I was considering my healing talents. I can heal the flesh as I healed your mind. But I suppose my modest skills in the occult seem to be more in demand these days.” I suppose that when modern science can literally resurrect the dead, but backing up a person's memory and reloading it into a healed body is illegal, his disinterest in my physical healing skills is understandable.

  “Just what are you?”

  “You don't think I'm human.” I smiled wryly, but didn't say any more on his question. “Well, can you?” I prodded, returning to the original subject.

  “I hardly think one use of your services is worth a half billion,” Kingston said doubtfully. I was impressed he could haggle while dangling in midair, but the very fact he was considering it meant that we may have a deal in the making.

  “Well, you can't have the money back,” I reminded him as he snorted in response. It seems the newly christened Edward Prince didn't care about the money. That either meant he was a man of principle and wanted justice or revenge... or he what he had now dwarfed what I had taken from him. Either idea was a bit ominous. Just because he wasn't frothing at the mouth anymore didn't mean he was a nice man. “What would you consider fair compensation?”

  “Ten uses of your services,” he stated.

  “Ten would keep me pretty occupied in your employ,” I shook my head in mostly imaginary disgust. The bartering had begun. “Three services.”

  “Bah, you think you’re a djinn?” Kingston snorted in disdain and I had to swallow a chuckle. “Seven.”

  I almost smiled as he exchanged one number of mystical import with another that had equal meaning. “Seven services that use my healing or occult knowledge only. I will not be used as an assassin. If I took life that lightly, you'd already be dead. In return, all transgressions are to be forgiven. No more assassins and no more threats.”

  “Agreed,” he grudgingly acceded.