“That’s exactly what it is.”
Unbidden, an image formed in Steven’s mind. A point, an edge, a curved blade, all at the end of a wooden pole. The icon’s silver shimmer tripled in intensity and light poured between the mugger’s fingers.
“Turn it off.” The man pointed his gun at Steven’s head. “Turn the damn thing off.”
“Very well.” Steven raised his hands before him in mock surrender. “Pike.”
The single word fell from Steven’s lips and a flash of heat and brilliance filled the space. The pawn icon vanished from the robber’s hand, replaced with an eight-foot pole arm.
“Arrh!” The man shrieked and flung the pike at Steven. “Fucking thing burns!”
Steven snatched the pike from the air and spun to the side, sweeping the thug’s feet from beneath him with the blunt end of the pole. His assailant landed in a heap on the concrete. Steven brought the shining tip down upon the man’s pistol and cleaved the barrel in two.
“Holy shit,” the man screamed. “What are you?”
“What I am is very angry.” The voice was Steven’s, but deeper, older, wiser. He leveled the pike’s razor tip at the man’s throat. “Leave us and forget you saw any of this, or I swear we will meet again. Do you understand?”
Without a word, the robber stumbled to his feet and ran. He didn’t look back.
Steven studied the weapon resting in his hand. Strong and resilient, the pike felt light in his grasp. A low hum rose as he passed the weapon before him, the eight feet of smooth poplar culminating in a bright, silver tip that combined the best features of axe and spear. Though he questioned the utility of carrying around an eight-foot pole with a pointy tip in the age of tactical nukes, his heart raced at the feel of the wood in his hand.
Images flashed in his head, scenes from countless movies he’d seen over the years. Excalibur, Braveheart, Gladiator. Line after line of soldiers at the battle’s front, long spears dug into the ground, tips raised high awaiting the inevitable onrushing horde.
“Steven.” Ruth rested a hand on Steven’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”
He smiled. “Never better.”
8
Dragonfly
Steven and Katherine, their faces lit by the flicker of a lone candle, intertwined their fingers as they waited for the decadent mountain of chocolate that was their favorite dessert. The same bistro as their first date, they sat at their usual table, the one by the bay window. Steven made the reservation better than a month before, and despite the torrential rain pounding the roof, he had every intention of carrying through with his plan.
Katherine ran her fingers through her dark, gentle curls. The crash of shattering plates from the kitchen drew her attention. Steven slipped his hand into his coat pocket. His trembling fingers closed around the velvet box and the world narrowed and stilled. The boisterous couple at the next table faded into the background. The rushing wait staff became invisible. The pounding rain on the roof seemed quiet compared with the hammering in his chest. In that pregnant moment, he saw only Katherine and the endless possibilities dancing in her hazel eyes.
Eyes that a moment later grew wide in terror. No longer in the restaurant, Katherine screamed from the passenger seat of Steven’s car. The squall of screeching tires rent the air. Rushing high beams filled their car with light.
The events played out as they had a thousand times before.
Except for one detail.
Behind the wheel of the dark SUV, the woman in black bore down on them, her cruel smile the last thing Steven saw before he jerked awake.
Rubbing at his eyes, Steven peered around the darkened motel room. In the dim light, he could just make out the rise and fall of Arthur’s chest in the next bed. Steven rolled over and sat up, the popping of his back like the crackle of arthritic knuckles, and found Ruth seated in the large recliner in the corner staring at him.
“Trouble sleeping?” he asked.
“I’m surprised you were able to sleep at all.” Ruth took a sip from one of the hotel mugs. The aroma of coffee filled the room.
Steven yawned. “What time is it?”
“A little before six.”
He motioned to Arthur’s sleeping form. “At least one of us can leave it at work.”
“Arthur could sleep through a bomb.” Ruth chuckled. “And actually, he has.”
“What about you? Couldn’t sleep?”
“I lay there as long as I could.” She looked away. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“The house?”
“That’s part of it.” Ruth glanced over at her husband’s sleeping form. “When someone like Rex is a part of your life, you learn to prepare for the worst. Arthur and I have suspected for years it might come to something like this. Still, you can only prepare so much.” She rose from the chair, sat on the corner of Steven’s bed and patted his foot through the covers. “You were having a nightmare. Tossing and turning like the Devil himself was chasing you. You okay?”
Steven closed his eyes and a toothy grin that always used to raise his pulse flashed across his mind’s eye. “It was nothing.” His voice cracked. “Just a stupid dream.”
“Don’t ever play cards, dear,” Ruth said with a sympathetic smile. “Your poker face needs some work.”
“What are you and Arthur going to do now?”
Ruth sighed. “I suppose we’ll take the train back up to Maine and see what’s left. Find out if Nationwide covers magical terrorist attacks.”
“I’m so sorry, Ruth.” Steven shook his head. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“Stop,” she said. “I told you it’s okay. In fact, I want you to have something.” She unclasped the dragonfly pendant from her necklace. “I don’t claim to understand all you’re going through, but from what little I do know, I’m guessing you have a long road ahead of you. I have carried this dragonfly over my heart for many a year, and she has always brought me good fortune.”
She placed the dragonfly in Steven’s palm. “Amaryllis here was a wedding gift from an old friend.”
Steven examined the gift in silence. The body of the dragonfly was two inches long with a similar wingspan. The most intricately detailed piece of jewelry Steven had ever seen, its entire length shimmered with green iridescence. The four wings formed a tight X and despite their fragile appearance were quite sturdy.
“Amaryllis?”
Ruth nodded. “You might find she comes in handy if you get in a pinch.”
“I can’t possibly accept this.” Steven attempted to return the gift. “You’ve given up too much already.”
“You can and you will.” She took the dragonfly from his hand and placed it over his heart. “I don’t think I’m going to need her anymore.”
“But I don’t even have anything to hang it—” Before Steven could complete the thought, the insectile clasp gripped his shirt as if the dragonfly were alive. Ruth ran her aged fingers along the metallic wings, her downcast eyes glimmering with a hint of regret.
“Don’t you go and lose her, Steven.” She stroked the wings once more and rested her hands in her lap. “Keep my Amaryllis by your heart and she’ll keep you fine.”
The bejeweled dragonfly weighed heavy on Steven’s chest, and for a moment he imagined he saw the quartet of metallic wings flutter. He took the elderly woman’s hand, her graceful fingers cool in his grasp. “Thank you, Ruth.”
“My pleasure.” Her gaze dropped to her lap. “Steven, listen. There’s something else I need to—”
“Can’t leave you two alone for a minute,” came a half-asleep voice.
Ruth and Steven turned to find Arthur sitting up in bed.
“You silly man.” Ruth sighed, the moment passed. She climbed onto the bed next to her husband and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “We were just talking.”
“Most people at least wait for the sun to come up.” Arthur’s eyes fixated on Steven. “You get enough shuteye last night to save the world?”
&nbs
p; “I suppose we’ll all see soon enough.” Yawning, Steven shot Ruth a grin in the room’s dim light. “Any chance you made more than one cup of coffee?”
“Sir, we’ve got people waiting.” The cashier scrutinized Steven through horn-rimmed bifocals. “Cash, debit, or credit?”
With images of his various near-death experiences from the preceding twenty-four hours flashing across his memory, Steven grinned and handed her his credit card. “Charge it.”
She crinkled her nose. “And what do you want me to do with this mess you came in wearing?”
Steven glanced down his body at his new T-shirt, jeans, and boots, and slid the charred remnants of the previous night’s clothing into the trash can by the counter.
“Rough night.” Steven took back his credit card and slipped his wallet into his pocket. “Don’t ask.”
“I always tell my boys,” she said. “You need to watch yourself when you’re working with fire. It just takes a second.”
“You have no idea.” Steven turned to go when a familiar warmth radiated from his hip. As a low-pitched drone filled the air, he jerked the pouch from his belt and cast his gaze around the department store, vigilant for any sign of attack. The heat and sound lasted for another few seconds. Then, as quickly as it started, the white leather bag grew cool and silent. He scanned the crowd for a reaction, but no one seemed to have noticed anything other than a crazed man holding an old pouch before him like it was a stick of dynamite with the fuse burning.
“You all right, honey?” The cashier put on a practiced smile.
“Did you hear something?” Steven asked. “Anything?”
“Nope.” She shook her head. “So, what’s in the bag?”
He considered for a second. “A couple sandwiches.”
“You know, that thing looks like it was made a couple hundred years ago. We have lunch bags in the baggage department on the third floor.”
Steven shot her a sideways grin. “This one serves its purpose just fine.”
He headed into the mall corridor, his stomach rumbling. Hours wandering the streets of Baltimore since leaving Ruth and Arthur at the bus station had left him famished. Following his nose to the food court, he grabbed a slice of pizza and found a table. A quick scan of a discarded newspaper continued a disturbing trend he’d noticed over the preceding weeks. Out of season torrential rains and flooding in the southwest, strange seismic activity in Kansas, an unprecedented heat wave in…
Heat. The pouch grew warm at his side and the drone returned. He untied the silver cord and again slid the pouch from his belt.
“What is it? What do you want?” Steven received more than one odd look as he sat addressing the white leather sack, though it seemed no one but him could hear the pouch’s drone. He moved to an exit door near the room’s periphery and pulled the pawn icon from his pocket. Not even a glimmer of the previous night’s radiance remained.
“No glow. No pain. Can’t be the bad guys.” Steven moved to return to his table, the drone growing subtly louder with each step. “Another Piece.” He returned the pawn icon to his pocket. “That has to be it.”
Holding the pouch before him like a mystical Geiger counter, Steven headed for the center of the busy food court. The rising and falling drone reminded him of a game he played with his mother when he was a child.
Warmer. Warmer. Colder. Now warmer.
As he walked between the tables like a dowser searching for water, the locals all gave him a wide berth. A pair of security guards across the way rose from their table and moved to converge on him at the room’s center.
“Crap,” Steven muttered. “How are you supposed to use this thing without looking like some kind of terrorist?”
As if in answer to his unspoken request, an opaque white mist rose from the marble floor. The white fog encircled his body, transforming into a hooded cloak of white that hung to his ankles. Steven pulled the hood back and Ruth’s dragonfly climbed up his chest and clasped the cloak at his neck.
The two guards returned to their table, suddenly oblivious to Steven’s presence, while the worried glances he’d been receiving from the other patrons ceased, much like everyone ignored him and Grey as they walked the streets in Old Port.
Not to mention the Black Queen who stood unnoticed atop the bar before her attack.
The rest of the world can’t see us. Steven admired the pawn icon. Shield. Pike. Cloak. This thing’s loaded for bear.
“Hey, you. Move it.” Steven spun around to find a man in his fifties trying to edge past him to get to the trash can. “I don’t have all day.”
“Sorry.” Steven stepped to his left and allowed the man to pass.
Inconspicuous? Yes. He pulled the cloak about him. Invisible? Apparently not.
Steven continued his search, the drone of the pouch rising and falling with every step.
Warmer. Warmer.
Now, colder. Colder.
And now, warmer. Warmer. Warmer…
Hot.
Steven jerked his hand away from the pouch’s sudden searing heat. As he bent to retrieve it, he was nearly bowled over by two pairs of denim-clad legs moving in the opposite direction. Clutching the still warm pouch, he spun around to find a young couple hand-in-hand stepping onto the down escalator. He clambered to his feet and followed, racing down the moving staircase after them. The pouch grew warmer with each step, its drone building as Steven closed the gap between him and the young lovers. He followed the pair through the mall for several minutes, keeping his distance despite the concealment afforded by the cloak.
Steven’s best estimate put the pair in their late teens. The boy was about five eleven, well muscled, and wore a tight green T-shirt and jeans hung low on his hips. His dark-brown curls fell into his eyes. He walked with a confident swagger, not quite a man but well on his way. Despite his tough exterior, a different truth became apparent when the young man looked at the girl.
Slightly shorter than the boy despite her two-inch platform sandals, the girl’s denim capri pants and tight, yellow blouse revealed a well-toned athlete’s body with an olive complexion. She wore her hair long, her lustrous brown locks kissing the small of her back. Her brown eyes revealed more spark and discernment than he would expect in someone so young.
The pair stepped into a shoe store and headed for their respective sections to check out the selection. Steven saw his opportunity to determine which of the two the pouch was keying in on. Before he could take a step, however, the boy’s cell phone went off. One look at the flipped up display and his expression went cold.
“Lena.” The boy’s shouted voice was filled with pain. “It’s Carlos.”
Lena’s gaze shot across the store, the color draining from her face. She rushed to her boyfriend’s side, tears welling at the corners of her eyes as she read the text. Shaking, she pulled the boy to her and held him tight. Steven looked away, guilty for intruding on such a private moment. He was distracted no more than a second, and when he again looked in their direction, they were gone.
Steven ran out into the main corridor and scanned the crowd, spotting the pair heading for the escalator. The boy jogged up the moving staircase while Lena trailed a few steps behind. Steven launched into a dead sprint, knowing full well he would never find them again if he lost them in the crowd. He hit the escalator a second before Lena stepped off at the next floor. Thwarted by a throng of pre-teens, he reached the next floor in time to glimpse Lena’s dark tresses vanish behind a door leading outside.
Steven weaved through the shoppers like a professional quarterback and made his way out into a deserted parking deck. He closed his eyes and listened, for what he wasn’t sure. As he headed up the stairs to the next level, the distinctive sound of a motorcycle rumbling to life echoed through the space. Seconds later, Lena and the boy zoomed past on an arrest-me-red Honda, the roar of the engine still quieter than the deafening whine of the pouch.
Steven sprinted for the stairs, puffing as he took the steps five and six at a
time in a desperate effort to outrace two teens on a rocket with wheels. He exploded out of the ground-level doorway and headed for the street, dodging between rows of parked cars only to arrive at the main thoroughfare in time to see the two teens ignore the light and speed out of sight.
“Brilliant.” Steven plopped down on the sidewalk, panting. The pouch quiet and again cool to the touch, he sat there for a minute until his breathing slowed to normal and the pang in his side resolved.
“I’ll never find them now.” Steven’s fingers rested on the pouch’s cool leather. “Unless…”
Steven turned back for the door he’d come through. Pulling the pouch from his belt, he rose from the sidewalk. The white leather sack hummed as he passed it across the door twice in a large X and a familiar silver shimmer appeared at the door’s edges.
“All right, pouch.” Steven’s eyes narrowed. “Take me to the boy.”
9
Emilio
The pouch flashed white-hot as Steven opened the door. Rather than the sprawling parking deck, the door opened onto a hospital ward. A metal sign with the word EMERGENCY emblazoned in backlit scarlet letters hung from the ceiling.
This is going to hurt.
Steven stepped through the door and into the fluorescent light of the hallway. Fatigue assaulted his limbs as though he’d run a marathon. Kicking the door closed behind him, he leaned against a wall and slid to the floor. Grateful he didn’t pass out again, he barely had time to catch his breath before another door at the far end of the hall burst open.
With whatever strength he had left in his legs, Steven curled into the wall, narrowly avoiding the wheels of the oncoming stretcher hurtling past him through the double door leading into the emergency room. His cloak still wrapped around him, the trio of blood-covered paramedics barely acknowledged his presence as they passed.
One navigated the unwieldy gurney down the wide hallway while the other two pounded away on the patient’s crimson-soaked chest and squeezed bag after bag of air into the man’s lungs. The tube projecting from the bloody pulp that had been the man’s face was stained red inside and out, the rusty fluid from his lungs advancing and retreating with every forced breath. The paramedics pumped at his chest, his ribs crunching like broken twigs.
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