Luckily she’d landed near the bed. She could use it for support. As she gauged the distance to it, her eye was caught by something on the wall above the headboard–a tiny patch of rainbow. Not yet ready to get up, she stared at it for a moment. On the carpet, one of the amethyst crystals was sparkling with refracted sunlight. It was acting like a prism. Livvy paused.
The leather pouch in the drawer. The painting behind Ursula. The murals. Livvy stared at the rainbow patch. The shining crystal in the sky. Why is that so familiar?
“The stone,” she whispered.
Without knowing how she’d done it, Livvy was on her feet. Unbalanced, she plowed into the bed but pushed off and ran to the walk-in closet.
“The books,” she said, flipping on the light inside.
She’d amassed over a hundred trying to glean any morsel of information that would help bring her mother back from the dead. More excited with every second, Livvy threw the cabinet doors open. She could picture it in her mind’s eye–that same image–the one Nicole painted. Nicole who painted the Multiverse. Nicole who’d never set foot in the Institute. Though Ursula sold the paintings, she’d never been to the Institute either. Only Livvy had seen them both.
Her hands shaking, Livvy pulled one book down after another. She knew that painting. It’d been familiar from the start. Though her heart was pounding, the pain was gone. Her fingers riffled through one book after another, tossing them to the floor, until she grabbed the one on alchemy. In the index at the back, her finger ran down the alphabetical listing.
There!
She opened to that page number, almost tearing it. Stunned, she nearly dropped it.
“By all the gods,” she whispered as she sank to the floor, the book in her lap.
There it was: the same image Nicole painted. The same one the Siberian shamans were painting. A shining light was suspended in the sky over a luminous mountain landscape.
Livvy read the caption, “The Stone of Alatyr.”
She didn’t recognize the name, but she scanned the text on the opposite page. It was believed to turn base metal into gold, crystals into gems, and–the reason she owned the book–it turned humans into immortals. Using it, a shaman might live forever, trading a passion for life with the lengthening of it. Livvy could hardly believe what she was reading. The Stone was kept safe in the kingdom of Shambhala, hidden in a special case.
“Shambhala,” she muttered. “Otherwise known as the Multiverse.”
She turned the page. According to the text, the people of the Altai believed the Stone was pan-dimensional. It had to be kept in Shambhala; otherwise its immense power shifted the magnetic poles of the earth. A small black and white engraving in the center of the text depicted the lines of magnetism. They erupted from the top of the stone like a fountain spewing forth symmetric jets of water. Then they looped outward in a semi-circle, before returning along a curve to the very bottom of the stone. The sweat from Livvy’s hands curled the book’s paper as she pictured the arcing, yellow grid lines and remembered the landing at LAX. That had to be it: a magnetic field. No one saw it but her because she was the Lightning Shaman, a living source of electricity. Ironically, because the lines flew up and out, standing next to the Stone was safe. It was only where the lines descended and intersected with the earth that she would pass through them.
“Wait,” she muttered. It wasn’t just her. Min’s baby would feel it as well.
Livvy lowered the book. She’d seen a rock–one of incredible beauty and, she now realized, great power. She’d also seen the case. It all fit: the quick rise of the Siberian shamans, a magnetic field, and Little Odessa. The crowd of shamans Dominique had seen were networked through the field in the Underworld of the Altai.
Livvy realized the cell phone was ringing in her back pocket. She fumbled for it. It was SK!
“SK, I’ve figured it out!” she exclaimed, holding a hand over her chest and the returning pain.
“Liv,” he said.
It was just the one word, but there was something awful in his voice. Her skin went suddenly clammy.
“What?” she said, gripping the phone.
“It’s Ursula,” he said.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
SK EXITED THE stairwell into the underground parking garage. The door automatically shut behind him with an echoing thud. Liv had been as shocked as him. Ursula was lucky to be alive. The 9mm slug had passed through the back of her upper arm, missed the brachial artery, and grazed the outside of the sixth rib. She’d been very lucky–if you could call getting shot lucky.
As SK made his way to the tandem space for his unit, he pulled out his keys and heard a car door open. The sound caught his attention. No one had followed him from the stairs. He hadn’t heard a motor running. Nor had the gate just closed. As far as he knew, he was alone.
Had someone been sitting in their car?
At the security gate that led to the street, a dog barked. Though SK couldn’t see it, something in its tone alarmed him. Another dog started to howl. SK looked behind him down the long aisle as he passed the trunks of cars. Though he couldn’t see anyone, he was sure there were footsteps, and they were growing louder. He picked up the pace.
Was someone in the other aisle? Why would they sit in their car and then head away from the exits?
SK wasn’t going to wait to find out. He ran. He repeatedly thumbed the unlock button on the remote. The taillights of his BMW coupe flashed and the alarm chirped. He collided with the side of the car, grabbed the handle and yanked the door open. He could hear footsteps running, falling hard, getting louder. Pulling on the steering wheel, he took the big step up and landed with a huff in the driver’s seat. He slammed the door and hit the car lock.
Or at least he wanted to. Instead, he hit the window button and it slid down a few inches.
Something hit the side of the car.
He used the remote to lock the doors. The locks chirped closed just as someone tried the handle. A loose fist thrust through the window, knocking him in the temple.
SK scrambled over the center console and into the passenger seat and got a look at his pursuer. There were two: the men who’d been on the sidewalk outside Mayet’s, the big men with the polo shirts and aviator sunglasses. This time, though, they had a tire iron. Luckily, the window wasn’t open far enough or the man’s arm was too big, whichever way you wanted to look at it. He was trying to reach the armrest and the locks. Using the car key like a dagger, SK reversed his grip on it and swung. Though it was only a glancing blow, he connected with the man’s wrist. The pursuer yanked his hand out, yelling something in Russian. His partner had come to the passenger door. SK had just started to move away when the tire iron landed. With a sharp recoil, the right angle head of the lug wrench simply bounced off. The man swung it again, but the impact had no effect on the safety glass.
The man on the driver’s side reached in again as his partner pounded the window. It might be safety glass, but how much could it take? SK hit the red emergency switch on the back of the remote. The car alarm blared in the confined space, the headlights flashed off the wall in front, and the doors locked again. Both men paused but only for a moment. The one behind him ramped up the beating on the window. Unless someone came to investigate the alarm, they weren’t going to stop. And who was going to investigate a car alarm in L.A.?
Wait. SK took the phone out of his pocket. No reception.
There was a tiny clinking sound from the window behind him. A small white crack had appeared in the center.
“Damn,” he muttered.
SK jammed the key in the ignition and started the engine. He should have thought of this before. He didn’t need to sit in the driver’s seat to drive. The controls were all on the wheel. The beating on the window went into double time, and the thick arm strained through the driver’s window. SK released the parking brake and threw the gearshift into reverse. Behind him, the window shattered, raining down cubes of glass. SK twisted the gas, cranking it all th
e way up. The tires squealed as the car launched backward.
From the passenger seat, SK used the knob to spin the steering wheel hard. The man on the driver’s side was dragged until SK jammed on the brakes by thrusting the gas lever forward. The car skidded to a stop, but the man continued to sail backward. Out of the corner of his eye, SK saw the guy with the tire iron. He was swinging it through the window. SK slammed the gearshift into drive and cranked the gas. The tires squealed again and the car lurched forward. Without looking, SK hit the garage door opener on the visor. As he spun the wheel left and screeched around the corner at the end of the aisle, he could see the security gate. It was slow–grindingly slow. There was no way it would open in time. He hit the brake, skid to a stop, and checked to his left. The man with the tire iron was running–taking a short cut through the cars. SK turned back to the gate.
“Come on,” he muttered, watching it slowly rise. “Come on!”
Only then did he see the dogs he’d heard earlier. It was a pack, maybe a dozen animals, including a couple of big ones. The dogs dived under the bottom of the gate, frantic and clawing. Once free, they charged down the ramp, straight at SK. He scrambled into the driver’s seat as cubes of glass pressed into his hands and knees. The man with the tire iron was crossing behind the car. The snarling pack was so close SK could hear their jaws snapping. The gate wasn’t high enough yet, but he couldn’t stay put.
As he seized the gearshift, a blur of fur and teeth sailed past the passenger window. SK threw his arm up in front of his face in a futile attempt to ward off their gaping jaws. A piercing scream erupted from somewhere outside the car. SK was a moment before he realized it wasn’t a dog. It was human. Then it cut off, replaced by sounds of whining and growls. Though SK lowered his arm, he didn’t see anyone–or any animal–at the windows or in the mirrors. But he could see the security gate was almost high enough.
He gunned the engine and the BMW shot forward. With a deafening shriek of tortured metal, the bottom of the gate scraped the car’s roof. Sparks rained down, but SK didn’t let his hand off the gas. The smell of burning rubber filled his nose. He shifted gears and twisted the gas again. The car surged up the ramp. He was out.
CHAPTER FIFTY
LIVVY WAITED OUTSIDE her building at the top of the circular driveway. She checked her phone. SK should have been here by now.
Where is he?
As she peered down the street, she noticed a police car pull through the intersection not half a block away. Under other circumstances, she might have only glanced at it, but something caught her eye. The policeman was looking at her. Under the best of circumstances that wasn’t unusual. A woman alone at night, even in this part of the city, especially with bright white hair, drew attention. But there was something more in his glance, something longer.
The police car emerged from the intersection and turned into the driveway. She cocked her head at it. They’re coming here? She took a couple steps back. Is there an emergency inside?
The black and white came to a screeching stop in front of her, headlights on and engine running. Both doors flew open and the officer on the passenger side jumped out. He drew his gun.
“Gods!” Livvy muttered, jumping back.
“Down on the ground!” he yelled.
Is he looking at me? She searched frantically all around her. Who is he talking to?
“On the ground now!” he yelled. He was pointing the gun at her. “Now!”
“Wait!” she pleaded, holding out her empty hands. “There’s some mistake!”
“On the ground!” he yelled back, cautiously advancing. “Get down!” Both hands gripping the gun, he was keeping his distance. “Now!”
Livvy stared down the black barrel of the gun. It loomed like a train tunnel. Involuntarily her knees buckled and she crumpled to the sidewalk.
“All the way!” he yelled, inching closer. “I won’t say it again! Get down!”
“Down!” his partner shouted. “On the ground!”
Livvy fell on her stomach, hands stretched forward on the cement.
The driver rushed her. It felt as though he were kneeling on her back. She actually heard the spark pop. The officer paused and muttered something. Then rough hands jerked her arms behind her, and her wrists were pinched together. She heard and felt the metallic clatter of handcuffs.
“Got her,” said the driver.
• • • • •
SK pulled into the circle and peered into the lobby. Well lit at night, it was clearly empty. Nor was it hard to see through the passenger window, since there wasn’t any glass. Once he’d gotten outside the parking structure at his condo, SK had considered calling the police. Instead though, he’d driven here, breaking every traffic law on the way. Something wasn’t right.
He held the phone to his ear as he peered into the lobby. Liv didn’t pick up. Only her voice mail message came on. He hung up again.
Where is she?
A knot instantly formed in his stomach, but then he realized the lobby wasn’t empty. The doorman was there in his dark gray suit trimmed with red piping. An older Hispanic man with a white mustache, he came trotting out. He’d been about to lean on the car door when he realized the window was gone. He pulled his hand back but stooped down.
“If you’re looking for Ms. Lawson,” he said. “She’s not here.”
• • • • •
Public drunkenness, Livvy thought. That’s ironic. Even when she’d drank, it was at home.
She stared at the little, vertical window in the cell door. This had to be the longest ten minutes of her life. The policewoman had said ten minutes, but it had to be more than that already. Livvy paced back to the door in three steps. The hallway outside was empty.
Public drunkenness.
Once the shock of the arrest had passed, she’d realized there’d been no booking. There hadn’t been fingerprints or a mug shot, and most of all there’d been no blood test. She paced back to the wall.
It hadn’t taken deep thought to conclude who was behind this. “Sidirov,” she muttered.
He hadn’t gained control of Little Odessa without having help. She thought of him at the Institute and how Brad had shoved him away–how Brad had rescued her. She winced at the pang in her chest as she grasped the pendant, rubbing it between her index finger and thumb.
A policeman she didn’t recognize passed the window, but Livvy went back to it anyway. She watched him for a moment, but the narrow view didn’t amount to much. She stared at the empty hallway.
They never even asked my name.
She paced back to the wall. The glaring white holding cell was the size of a bathroom.
Ursula’s been shot and, for all I know, I’ll just be kept here. Or maybe I’ll disappear. She stood still. Can that really happen?
She paced back to the window. There she is: the policewoman who’d said ten minutes. Livvy backed up. There was the jangle of keys and then the bolt in the door unlocking. Without entering, the policewoman opened the door.
She was a couple inches shorter than Livvy but stocky. She wore her hair in a tight bun and looked thick around the middle, but Livvy realized it was probably a bulletproof vest. The woman stood there, one hand on the butt of her holstered pistol. Livvy watched her hand.
Is that really necessary? No sooner had Livvy thought it though, than she caught herself. None of this is necessary.
“You can have a phone call,” the policewoman said. “There’s a pay phone at the end of the hall.”
A pay phone? Livvy thought, but she didn’t question it.
They’d taken her belongings before they’d put her in the cell. Without her phone, there was no one whose number she knew. SK’s wasn’t even listed. Livvy nearly tripped as a quick, shooting pain erupted in her chest. She shuffled past the woman and tried desperately to think of whom she could call. But it always came back to the same person. She gripped the pendant hard.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
THOUGH SK PULLED in fr
ont of an empty meter on the curb, it was way past the posted time for tickets. Not that he cared at this point. It’d taken him an hour to even figure out where Liv had been taken. As he parked the car across from the small but well lit police station, it occurred to him he might kill two birds with one stone. He could report the assault and post bail for Liv. Assuming bail was set. Although the bail bonds service he’d parked in front of looked closed, its phone number was displayed in a neon sign with the words “24 Hours”.
Post bail, he thought, shaking his head. This whole thing is ludicrous.
He was just releasing his seat belt when the glass door to the station opened, and Liv came out.
Wow. That was good timing.
But the smile that had formed on his face froze when he saw who held the door for her.
SK’s mouth formed a soundless “what?” as he stared. Brad put his arm around Liv’s waist and Liv…she smiled at Brad and did the same.
SK’s stomach plummeted and a wave of revulsion swept up his chest. “Oh gods,” he muttered.
Hands gripping the steering wheel, he pushed his back and head into the seat. He wanted to hide. He wanted to duck out of view, but a horrified fascination riveted him. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense!
They walked the short distance to Brad’s car, illuminated by a single street light. The car unlocked with a chirp, and Brad walked Liv to her side of the car.
“Liv?” SK whispered.
No, he thought. I’m not seeing this. It is not what it seems.
But when they reached the passenger door, instead of opening it for her, Brad spun her to him.
Shaman, Lover, Warrior: An Urban Fantasy Thriller (Olivia Lawson Techno-Shaman Book 5) Page 17