The Myth Manifestation

by Lisa Shearin

  Most concerning was that our comms had also been affected. No comms meant no way for our people to call for help when the next emergency happened. And Kenji’s new delegate badge system had also been hit. The part of the program that allowed him to track the delegates around the hotel wasn’t working. The rest of it was fine, just the tracking was affected. That was suspicious as hell.

  Some delegates were angry because they didn’t know what was going on; others were frightened for the same reason. Just because most of the guests inside the Regor Regency were considered monsters by the people outside of the Regor Regency didn’t mean they weren’t afraid. They were.

  Unfortunately, some of the guests were topping their fear with an extra helping of fury.

  Things could get ugly soon.

  There were slightly more than a hundred delegates and their support staff inside the hotel, with the same number of SPI agents and commandos. I didn’t know how many hotel staff Rake had working tonight, but considering the importance of the welcome reception, it had to have been most of them.

  And none of us were going anywhere.

  I pulled my phone out of my clutch bag and checked it again. Still no signal. I had a feeling that dark magic terrorism wasn’t covered under my service contract.

  Rake had sent his portal mage to the basement to see if the portal was still operational, and had dispatched Gethen and two of his security team down to the parking garage. Mago and Dakarai were with Vivienne Sagadraco and her four SPI guards. There were gates that closed the hotel garage off from the street, but they were wrought iron, not solid.

  They were solid now.

  “Gethen’s magic can melt or drill through iron in seconds,” Rake was telling us. “Not anymore. The open spaces between the bars are solid, substance unknown. Nothing he has tried will penetrate it.”

  “Add bullets to the list,” Ian said. “Sandra used the largest caliber her team had. It ricocheted back at them.”

  I had an idea. “How about your spear?”

  Ian’s scowl deepened. “Ineffective.”

  “How about your sword?” I asked Rolf.

  “Likewise.”

  Okay, now I was worried.

  Ms. Sagadraco had called a quick meeting of our diplomatic staff. These agents knew the delegates in their areas of expertise like no one else. While SPI and Rake’s security team had the market cornered on battlemagic, I’d heard that some of the delegates were experienced in pushing the boundaries of what magic was believed to be capable of, and others were no slouches in unleashing extreme violence when the situation called for it.

  Our situation didn’t call for it yet, but Ms. Sagadraco was thinking ahead. When you were in trouble, more brainpower and muscle was always a good thing. Involving the delegates would have the additional benefit of getting them to work together. Relying on each other to survive could make previously frosty relations turn downright snuggly.

  “Did we get an SOS off to headquarters?” I asked Ian.

  “Negative.”

  I could tell when my partner considered a situation on the verge of going full-on FUBAR—he started reverting to military-speak.

  “Moreau met with Ms. Sagadraco earlier this evening,” he continued. “He’d originally planned to be here for the reception, but the boss nixed that. She wanted him to stay at headquarters.”

  Ian didn’t need to say why. We both knew the answer to that.

  In case an incident like the bukas or worse happened again, we needed a command structure in place on the outside to keep any knowledge of what happened in here from leaking out there. What was good for secrecy could turn out to be bad for survival. No one could get out, and we assumed the same was true for anyone trying to get in, but we had no way to ask anyone to try. Alain Moreau was my and Ian’s manager at SPI. He was a several-hundred-year-old French vampire, and Vivienne Sagadraco’s second-in-command. While Ms. Sagadraco was here for the summit, Moreau would be in charge of SPI’s worldwide operation. With the total communications blackout, and all ways into and out of the hotel sealed, he’d just had more heaped onto his plate.

  “He has to know by now that we’ve got a problem.” Ian glanced at his watch. “And I was supposed to call Kylie at ten o’clock.”

  Kylie O’Hara was SPI’s director of media and public relations. She and Ian were also in a pretty serious relationship. Some men weren’t exactly dependable on the whole “I’ll call you” thing. Not Ian. If he said he’d call at ten o’clock, you needed to send out a search party at ten-oh-one.

  SPI had to be aware that we were trapped. That hours had gone by since we’d been trapped inside the hotel said they were as clueless as we were as far as dealing with whatever had trapped us, but there was no group of people I trusted more to be able to get us out. Ms. Sagadraco had spared no expense to recruit the best magical, paranormal, and scientific minds into the SPI fold. Between the magical brainiacs in the hotel and the collective genius of SPI, we would get out of this.

  Eventually.

  A familiar, hyena-like cackle came from behind a potted palm to my left, next to the front desk.

  I sighed. We didn’t have hyenas. What we did have was a rogue grimtog.

  The little bastard was back.

  The cackle was answered by the same sound in a higher pitch from behind the concierge’s desk to my right.

  Another one?

  And from the closed coffee shop next to the café. Oh, come on.

  The entire dwarf delegation emerged as one from the pub. Their eyes flicked left, then right in perfect unison. They had their game faces on.

  Ambassador Soren said something grim in Dwarvish as he led the way to the elevators.

  “What did he say?” I asked Rolf.

  “They’re going to their rooms to get their spears. It’s time to go hunting and appease the beer gods.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It said a lot about our situation that no one minded twelve heavily armed dwarves going on a beer-skunk hunt to restore the hotel’s karmic balance.

  It said even more that no one told them that a grimtog-tainted keg and the wrath of their gods had nothing to do with our problem. Rolf vouched for the dwarves’ hunting skills to Roy and Sandra, and as far as the two commanders were concerned, the more armed professionals roaming the hotel halls, the better.

  There was no way out of the hotel, and the delegates now knew it.

  They were asking a lot of questions.

  We didn’t have any answers.

  To their credit, no one was panicking. Yet. These were supernatural beings. They weren’t about to be concerned by a little rogue hocus-pocus. Problem was, trapping us in the hotel wasn’t merely rogue; it was malicious. Even worse, not only did we not know who was behind it, we had no idea how it had been done. However, it was a five-star hotel. Under normal circumstances, not being able to leave would be an ideal vacation, not cause for a mass freak-out. And aside from Rake’s ribs and a few banged-up commandos from this morning’s incident, there hadn’t been any serious injuries.

  Someone was playing, and we were the toys. Only now it appeared they’d taken it one step further. Some of the toys had had their batteries removed.

  Magic wasn’t working, and what little did work wasn’t working right.

  I leaned in close to Rake. “The bukas and the grimtog, and just now with the doors. Are those the only times recently that, as a mage, you haven’t been able to . . . uh, function properly?”

  I promptly found myself on the receiving end of an indignant and mildly horrified stare.

  I spread my hands. “What?”

  “I assure you that I am functional in every way.”

  “Even magically?”

  “Yes. With the rather humiliating—and inexplicable—exception of those events.”

  Rake wasn’t the only one who’d been embarrassed at being shown up by a beer skunk. The dwarf ambassador had been taking some heavy ribbing from his delegates. He was determined to turn his
spear into a grimtog shish kebab.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Of course, I . . .” Rake stopped and thought. Then his expression froze.

  Uh-oh.

  I lowered my voice out of consideration for my goblin maybe-boyfriend. “Have you tried any magic except with the bukas, the grimtog, and the doors?”

  Rake stood tall and proper. “Excuse me for a moment.”

  He went behind the front desk to the inconspicuous door that led back into the hotel offices. I guess to check certain things, a man needed a little privacy.

  I stood there for a few seconds and then began softly whistling.

  Minutes passed. I glanced down at my watch. Five minutes had passed. Still no Rake.

  I didn’t take that as an encouraging sign.

  Seeing Rake’s face when he came back told me I’d been right. I didn’t want to be right.

  He looked angry and more than a little embarrassed.

  I chose my words carefully. “Since the dwarf ambassador and Gethen are having similar . . . difficulties, I think we need to let Ms. Sagadraco know.”

  Rake nodded wordlessly.

  And that was the first time I’d ever seen Rake Danescu blush.

  The delegates had been asked to return to the ballroom for the time being. Their assigned SPI diplomats were staying close in an attempt to soothe any frayed nerves or budding anger. We had enough problems without making more. And to ensure the delegates’ continued collective happiness, the hotel kitchen and waitstaff were working hard to keep the food and drink coming.

  If the delegates had been human, we would’ve had a full-blown crisis on our hands. Humans were addicted to their gadgets. All forms of communication were down. No phones or Internet meant no social media or contact with the outside world. Most of our delegates had never heard of any of those things, or if they had, their world didn’t revolve around them. Being trapped inside the hotel was the extent of their concern.

  They also didn’t know about the bukas, and while the grimtogs were ugly as homemade sin, ruining one keg of beer hardly qualified them as dangerous.

  The delegates and SPI diplomats were being guarded by Sandra and Roy’s teams. The Scandinavian commandos and Rake’s security people were searching and securing the hotel. In my opinion, being locked in was about as secure as you could get, though secure didn’t equate with safe in this instance. We didn’t know what might have been locked in here with us besides grimtogs.

  Our commandos had ditched the formalwear and were now wearing their work clothes of battledress uniforms with body armor.

  And guns. Lots and lots of guns.

  But while bullets (silver or otherwise) could put down a lot of things, much of what our commandos encountered on a daily basis needed good cold steel to make sure that once down, it stayed down. SPI’s armory didn’t have bladed weapons that were standard issue. Each commando had personal preferences, and depending on their past monster combat experience, their choices could get downright exotic. The Scandinavians liked their swords, battleaxes, and telescoping spears, while our people leaned toward long knives, curved hatchets, and machetes. After battling grendels together under the city, there’d been some cross-pollination, weapons-wise.

  I’d made a quick trip to my room and changed my LBD for a BDU as well. Yes, I was a seer, but many an occasion had called for me to accompany our commando teams, and when I did, I wanted to keep all the pieces and parts that’d been attached to me when we’d left headquarters. I now had my own gear.

  I’d just gotten back down to the lobby and was looking for Rake.

  I was near the closed coffee shop when I heard his voice—and Gethen Nazar’s. They were inside and speaking in low and intense tones. Fortunately, the coffee shop didn’t have doors. The only thing separating it from the lobby was a velvet rope. I sidled up to the wall, getting as close as I dared, and proceeded to do what everyone did when they wanted to look casual.

  I checked my phone.

  Yeah, there was no Internet connection, but there was plenty I could still look like I was doing while I listened in.

  I’d been around Rake long enough to have learned to listen and listen well. Okay, eavesdrop. He’d promised Ms. Sagadraco months ago not to withhold anything from us that we should know. But with goblins, “anything” was relative. Considering that we were locked in a hotel with pop-up monsters, I wanted my “anything” to be absolute.

  “I followed them after they spoke with you,” Gethen was saying. “And had Parl continue to do so when I sensed the electrical charge right before we were sealed in.”

  “And?” Rake asked pointedly.

  There was enough of a pause from Gethen that I knew what was coming, and actually felt bad for the guy.

  “The governor and Miss Jakome stopped briefly at the bar, then the incident with the doors happened, and when Parl looked back, they were no longer there. He lost them.”

  “Lost them?” Rake snarled.

  I jumped when something hard hit the other side of the wall from where I was hiding.

  It had to be Rake’s fist.

  “They have not returned to the room the governor was assigned,” Gethen continued. “I have our people looking for them, but nothing yet.”

  So Gremien Pivaine and his henchwoman Dagara Jakome were at large.

  Great, just great.

  “Find them,” Rake ordered. “Now.”

  “Yes, Lord Danescu.”

  I was long gone before either one of them exited the coffee shop. There’s no shame in eavesdropping, only in being caught.

  When Rake emerged, I was approaching from the opposite direction. “There you are,” I said, going for a tone somewhere between cheerful and not guilty.

  “Lord Danescu?” called a voice from near the front desk.

  A goblin woman briskly approached us. She was tall and slender, and was wearing a dark suit that looked tailored to fit her every inch. I recognized her as Rake’s hotel manager. I couldn’t remember her name, but her elegant gold nametag read GENVIEVE.

  “Sir, I have the inventory you requested.”

  Rake gave her a sharp nod. “Proceed.”

  Genvieve launched into a full and efficient accounting of supplies and how long they would last: everything from food and drinks to toilet paper and cocktail napkins. She assured Rake that the hotel had enough of everything to last five days. Longer, if the kitchens started cooking creatively now.

  I was impressed. Either she had military experience, or goblin hotel managers naturally behaved like survivalists.

  “Let’s not start rationing yet,” Rake told her. “Until I instruct otherwise, our guests will continue to enjoy the full services and cuisine that those who have stayed with us before have come to expect. As to alcohol, have the bartenders continue to serve guests as usual, but tell them to be even more alert to intoxication. If there is a complaint, notify me and I will deal with it personally. I want our guests happy, not hammered.”

  We found Vivienne Sagadraco in a small sitting area in the front corner of the lobby, a pot of tea on the table next to her. The Regor Regency and every being inside were being held hostage, but that wasn’t going to stop her from enjoying a cup of tea. The boss did some of her best thinking with a pot of Scottish breakfast tea. Genvieve hadn’t mentioned the hotel’s tea supply, hopefully because Hell would freeze over before they ran out.

  Dakarai Enric was seated to her right, and Mago Benares had stationed himself behind the goblin ambassador’s chair. Dakarai was drinking tea with Ms. Sagadraco. Mago appeared to be alert for anything that needed killing.

  Leaning against a column by the goblin ambassador was an unexpected and welcome surprise.

  Vladimir Cervenka.

  He was Yasha’s friend, and after his help in saving Ian from the Fomorians, he was a friend of mine. He was a hundreds-of-years-old vampire and his name was Vlad. I just loved that.

  Vlad had shoulder-length white-blond hair, ice-blue eyes, rugged f
eatures, and basically looked like a mountain man. Or a man mountain. Big guy, Vlad. He was paid for his muscle, but anyone hiring him disregarded his brain at their own peril.

  And his heart. Just because it didn’t beat, didn’t mean Vlad Cervenka didn’t have one.

  He and his team of vampire mercenaries had done a great job that night on Bannerman Island, so I hadn’t been surprised when Alain Moreau had begun hiring them when SPI needed specialized vampiric help. The vampires in SPI’s employ didn’t have the underworld contacts that Vlad and his people enjoyed. Having allies who were deeper undercover than any of our agents could ever be was an invaluable asset.

  A nice guy, Vlad.

  Just because someone was a vampire who considered you food didn’t mean they weren’t good people.

  “I asked Mr. Cervenka whether he and his team were available to join us this week,” the boss was saying. She made it sound like she’d invited them out to her house in the Hamptons. I was pretty sure her human neighbors wouldn’t have approved.

  Me? I was thrilled.

  “That you’re here tells me you said yes.” I flashed a quick smile and did a little hand clap. Then I thought how that must have looked. “Don’t take that the wrong way, ma’am. Our teams walk on commando water.”

  “No offense taken, Agent Fraser. Considering our present circumstances, I am glad Mr. Cervenka and his people are here. Though now he might be feeling otherwise.”

  My smile promptly vanished. Vampire mercenaries trapped in a hotel. With us. That was one thing Genvieve hadn’t mentioned—blood for our vampire commandos. Roy and Sandra wouldn’t have depended on the hotel to provide for their people. They would have brought in their own supplies. Had Vlad done the same? Or had he assumed his folks would be able to go out at night to hunt?

  “I thought nocturnal reinforcements would be a prudent idea,” Ms. Sagadraco was saying. “To allow our teams time to rest. After all, we are in a place full of rooms with beds. It would be nice to make at least occasional use of them.” She raised her teacup to her lips. “Though now. . .”

  She left “no one sleeps” unsaid.