by S. C. Stokes
“Why am I not surprised?” Lara muttered.
“Oh, I dare say you will be.” The director laughed. “You see, it wasn't until we started running facial recognition software on our ambitious little thief that we discovered the truth. Seth Ryder Caldwell born May 4th, 1987, in London, England. Son of Francis and Jillian Caldwell, heir to the Caldwell fortune.”
Lara's eyes swelled to twice their size as she looked to me for an explanation.
This was the problem with secrets. When they come out, they brought with them all sorts of drama. I had good reasons for concealing my identity. Today, the Caldwell empire was a vital cog in Britain's military-industrial complex. How we had risen to such prominence was a function of good fortune, an unlikely encounter, and a forbidden love.
My family's history was a checkered one. Some of it could be found in history books, if you knew where to look. Most of it though would be better dealt with in Lara's treatise, the Hidden History of the World. Not that it would ever feature there. Some truths are best left untold. The real question was, how much did the Director know?
“So Seth, why this little soirée in our facility? Surely the son of an industrial tycoon has better things to do than steal from foreign governments,” the director asked.
“It’s not stealing if it doesn't belong to you. I’m simply returning to its rightful owner.”
“Interesting,” the director replied. “And your justification for stealing our case files? Those are classified documents, son. You’re gunnin’ for a whole world of trouble.”
“Call it a curiosity. I'm dying to see how far from the truth you really are. You are dabbling with powers you don't comprehend, Director. Best to leave it to those who know better,” I said, staring into the camera, hoping I sounded more menacing than I felt. The benefit to being a wizard among normals was a genuine lack of understanding as to how magic functioned. Vague threats tended to play on their fears.
The director was not deterred. “In the unlikely event you make it out of there alive, you must know we'll hunt you to the ends of the earth.”
“We'll see about that. You'll soon find there's few things in life as dangerous as a cornered wizard.”
With that, I picked up the phone and slammed into the receiver, cutting the call. Lifting my jacket off the desk, I threw it over the Trojan horse, blocking the camera.
“A little late for that, don't you think?” Lara asked, motioning toward the statue with her head. “Backup will be on the way. They will never let you leave.”
“That's okay. I have no intention of asking for permission.”
Lara's eyes bored into mine. She was searching for something.
“Why all the lies, Seth?”
I walked over to the chair and crouched down beside her. “Not lies. Just not the whole truth. If you give me the chance, I will tell you everything.”
“Why not now?” she replied.
I looked into her eyes, like I had so many times these past few months. Even now, she made my heart race. “We both know I'm out of time. I need to leave, or I’m not getting out of here alive.”
“Give me something?” Lara begged.
“Am I talking to my fiancée? Or Agent Stiel?” I asked. “Because I don't know her, and I certainly don't owe her anything.”
Lara gave me a hint of a smile. “Your fiancée.”
That gave me hope. “For you, I have everything to say but only time enough for three. One, my life depends on this mask. Without it, I will die a slow, lingering death after driving away everyone and everything I have ever cared about, including you. Two, the truth about the world of magic and the history you love so much, is even grander and more intertwined than you would believe.”
I rose to my feet.
“And the third?” Lara asked.
“I love you,” I whispered as I stooped over and planted a kiss on her forehead. “That last one has always been the whole truth.”
Lara’s eyes glistened, as a tear threatened to roll down her face. “What am I meant to do with that now, Seth?”
“Believe it. And give me a chance to make all of this up to you.” I lifted the duffel and briefcase off the table.
The briefcase held the key to my escape. Revealing it to Lara would put everything in jeopardy. The CIA would be paranoid enough about her loyalty without giving her a lie to keep. Whether or not she would do so for me, after today, was also something I wasn’t ready to put to the test.
“What about the wedding?” Lara called.
“We may have to relocate to a more hospitable jurisdiction,” I replied. “I have a feeling I won’t be welcome back here in time for the big day.”
“You expect me to go through with it?” Lara replied, her eyes wide.
I smiled. “Expect? No. Hope? Yes. You are the strongest woman I’ve ever met. I can’t tell you what to do, but if you think I’m walking out of your life, you are mistaken. You’ll have to throw me out.”
“Or wait for them to throw you in a dark hole,” she replied with a smirk. “You need to run.”
I took one last look at her, emerald eyes gleaming against her smooth olive skin, and beneath it all one of the keenest minds I had ever met. I hoped that today would not be the last time I saw her.
“On my way, dear. The magic binding you will fade, but best they know you couldn’t do any more than you already tried.” Focusing on the arm rests of her chair, I whispered, “Apretar.”
As I channeled power into the plastic armrests, they became more malleable. Writhing like snakes, they twisted and stretched, wrapping themselves around Lara’s wrists. It would buy a few more minutes once the paralysis wore off. More than enough time for us to clear the building.
“Thanks, Seth,” Lara muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “For future reference, I think I would enjoy magic as more of a spectator sport than a tool for your bizarre bondage fetish.”
“Duly noted.” I made for the door. As my hand touched the knob, Lara called out.
“Seth. We stole the mask too. The Inquisition is no joke. If they find out you have it, there is nothing they won’t do to get it back. You might think the CIA is evil, but they are zealous nut jobs. Dangerous zealous nut jobs.”
Great, the more the merrier.
I pushed open the door leading to the second-floor corridor. If there was one thing I seemed to have no trouble acquiring, it was enemies. They seemed to flock to me like flies to a steaming cow heap. What could I say? I had a talent for attracting the wrong kind of attention. Maybe it was the hat.
Or perhaps my predisposition for taking things that didn’t belong to me.
I made my way down the hall. The museum was quieter now. The patrons had fled.
No doubt the director had raised the alarm; reinforcements would be en route and local law enforcement would be locking down the area. Fortunately, I still had a trick up my sleeve.
“Murdoch, are you there?” I asked, hoping my comms had survived the fight intact.
“Yes, boss.” The voice crackled through the earpiece. “Just rolling in now.”
His voice was high pitched and a little edgy, which for Murdoch was more the norm than the exception. The fourth member of the crew, Murdoch was the wheel man.
Patrick T. Murdoch was a puzzle I had never solved. The olive skinned wiry Irish veteran was in his forties, highly private and at times seemed to have a few frayed wires, but when it came to vehicles, he was gifted. If it moved, Patrick could make it dance. Unlike the other members of the crew, Patrick filled his role out of duty. Hired by my father Frank, he’d been assigned as my driver and bodyguard. When I’d left England, Murdoch had followed me to New York. One would think a wizard would have little need of a bodyguard, but the incident in Rome had cured me of that particular naivety. Murdoch was easily the best thing my father had ever done for me.
“Isn’t that a touch of luck? Looks like they’re expecting me,” Murdoch said. “I’m getting waved through as we speak.”
&
nbsp; It was less a function of luck than tedious planning. We’d picked the only vehicle in the city that was unlikely to raise suspicion. There was no arguing with Murdoch, though. His superstitions were rooted deep, and that was before he’d been hired by a family of wizards.
Before his time with us, Murdoch had been a flight lieutenant with the RAF when the Hercules he was traveling on was shot down between Baghdad and Balad in 2005. When allied forces had made it to the wreck two days later, only Murdoch remained alive. Dehydrated and starving, he had given no account of how he’d survived the incident or what had happened to the two dozen insurgents found dead around the crash site.
On returning to England, he was given an honorable discharge and recommended for psychiatric care. Others might have seen a broken man, but Frank Caldwell saw a patriot who deserved more.
“Pull up to the ramp and bring it in, Murdoch. We only have a few minutes.”
“Why do I get the feeling you haven’t told Dizzy about this particular stroke of brilliance?” Murdoch asked.
“I think we both know the answer to that, Murdoch.” I descended the stairs to the main exhibition hall.
The room had been turned upside down, but there was no sign of life anywhere, only a pair of watchful cameras roving back and forth on the ceiling of the main exhibit.
Without breaking my stride, I raised my hands and chanted, “Relámpago.”
I felt the power wash over me. Lightning leapt from my outstretched palms and slammed into the camera fixtures, playing over their surface as it fried every component within the devices. As the magic dissipated, I could feel the fatigue coming. The day had already been far more taxing than anticipated, and that was without the ass kicking Lara had administered in her office.
The fatigue was one of the many consequences of using magic. Magic may have permeated the world in which we lived, but to channel that power through one’s self and manifest it was the sort of lunacy only practitioners in the supernatural would be mad enough to dabble in. Doing so brought with it a mental fatigue not entirely dissimilar from the physical one that followed a workout. It served as a warning of sorts, and at times a powerful deterrent for foolish wizards with a penchant for biting off more than they could chew. Wizards who did not heed their body’s finite limits could find themselves collapsing from the exhaustion, or in rare cases, being torn apart by their magic as their body gave out beneath the load.
I would need to rest soon, but there were more pressing matters at hand: finding Dizzy and putting as many miles between ourselves and Section 9 as we could.
Murdoch chuckled. “Well, as long as you’re the one begging the lady’s forgiveness, I have no desire to be mauled to death today.”
“I'll handle it,” I replied. I knew what I was in for, but knowing wasn't going to make it any easier of an ask.
It was our best chance of getting out before we were overrun, so it was worth the chance.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I made my way into the men’s bathroom. I found it deserted. Dropping the duffel by the paper towel dispenser, I placed the briefcase onto the sink and popped it open, revealing the final piece of my plan, the part that had perplexed Neil: slacks and a blue polo shirt.
Emblazoned across the heart was the label, 'Animal Control'.
Ripping off my clothes, I dropped them into the sink and changed into the uniform, including a navy-blue cap with animal control logo stitched into it.
I examined myself in the mirror. The outfit looked the part, and matched the other uniforms I'd seen in my time in the city.
Leaving the suitcase behind, I snatched up the duffel and headed back into the museum, only to find a handful of men walking through the front door. What drew my eye though, was the large, wheeled cage rolling along between them. The size of a small car, it would safely accommodate one angry lioness.
If only she could be persuaded to ride coach.
The men pushing the cage wore the same blue polo and slacks that I was sporting, and between them they carried an assortment of animal catching poles while the man bringing up the rear had a tranquilizer rifle slung over his shoulder.
When I raised an eyebrow at him, Murdoch simply shrugged. “I had to make it look good, didn’t I? There isn’t a man alive who’s crazy enough to try and corral a lion with those flimsy poles.”
Murdoch’s expression broke into a grin. His face had the feel of someone who had spent too much time in the sun. His olive skin was worn and leathery, and his sandy brown hair was jammed up under his cap.
“What does it look like out there?” I asked, nodding at the front door.
“Police cordon around the entrance. There’s a crowd gathering, and they are still trying to work out how a lion came to be in their museum, but apart from that, just another day in New York City,” Murdoch said. “Police waved us through happy as Larry. I guess they’re all keen for someone else to be dealing with the trouble in here.”
“Fair enough,” I replied. “Is it just the police out there?”
“For now, though I daresay your new Texan friend has likely dispatched a team.”
The comms. If anything, the clever little earpieces worked a little too well. At least I didn’t need to explain the urgency of the situation.
I tossed the duffel on top of the cage. “Not what I had in mind when we planned this little excursion, but then again, did you really expect anything else?”
“Not really, you eejit.” Murdoch shook his head. “Trouble follows you like a bad smell.”
I wanted to argue, but I would have been lying.
I went looking for our lioness. “Dizzy, time to go!”
A low growl rolled out of the West Wing. Dizzy in her lion form strode through the doorway into the main exhibition hall. As she approached, her form began to shift. Like clay being remolded under the potter’s hand, she resumed her human form, her shoulder length jet black hair flailing as she shook her head.
“Uh, uh. No way am I going to be riding out of here in a cage. I free creatures from them. I don’t get in them. I know you’re one sandwich short of a picnic, Murdoch, but this isn’t happening.”
“Adaeze, my queen, you look radiant as always,” Murdoch replied. “I would never dare suggest such a thing. You might be surprised to learn, this one was Seth’s idea.”
Dizzy turned on me, her hazel eyes locked on mine, her brow furrowed and lips pursed. She sized me up, took in my new disguise, and groaned. “You say that, Murdoch, but come to think of it, he's the only one crazy enough to think I'd go for that. This was your plan all along, Seth, wasn't it?”
“Yes,” I replied, “but can you hate me later? We're out of time.”
“Why bother with the cage at all?” Dizzy asked. “None of them saw me change. Give me another suit and we'll leave together. Blow the cage.”
“The guests saw you, Dizzy. They may not know it was you, but they are expecting a lion. If we leave empty-handed it will raise questions.”
“More questions than a lion showing up in the middle of Manhattan?” Dizzy asked.
“Yes, one anomaly can be explained away. Two is a little too convenient,” I said. “Look, Dizzy, if I could do it myself I would, but I can't shift, and we need a lion. So, please, for the love of all that is good, hop in the cage. You can take it out on me later.”
Dizzy fumed. “You'll owe me for this, Seth.”
Murdoch opened the gate and Dizzy shimmied inside.
“Of that I have no doubt,” I replied, crouching down beside the cage. “I'll have you out of here in no time. We just need to get to the truck before reinforcements arrive and everything falls apart on us.”
Dizzy nodded. “Whatever happens, Seth, you put me in here, you’ll need to get me out.”
“Relax, Dizzy. I'd sooner die than let anything happen to you.”
Dizzy managed a faint smile. “Hopefully it won't come to that, but I do see a new pair of Jimmy Choos in my future.”
I shook my head. They weren
't the first, and I was fairly sure they wouldn't be the last. I'd got us into no shortage of trouble over the years. In spite of her protests, Dizzy was a pretty good sport about it.
The shoes were going to cost a fortune but it was nothing Dizzy couldn't buy for herself. Her family was wealthy in their own right. She just seemed to enjoy making me do it.
“Damn, Dizzy. Forgiveness is getting a little expensive. One of these days I'm going to go bankrupt.”
“Not with your gifts, Seth,” she replied. “I've seen you practicing, and you're getting rather good at it.”
Dizzy was referring to my family's bloodline power. Most wizarding families openly shared their talents with the magical community, but my family was a rare exception. We weren't shifters or elementalists, clairvoyants or illusionists. No, our arcane lineage gave us the power to create something mankind had always valued. It was a gift that until my forebear's visit, had only resided with the High Priestess of the Brujas de Sangre. After what had befallen their temple, we knew better than to share our talents with the world. Dizzy was the only soul I had ever told.
“Jimmy Choos it is then, but remember the good folks outside are expecting a lioness. Don't let them down.”
Dizzy nodded and with a barely audible whisper, shifted back into an adult lioness, before stretching out on the floor of the cage and closing her eyes.
Murdoch lowered the door of the cage and together the team wheeled the cage out the front door.
A cordon of police vehicles had closed down the street at the intersection, and a dozen police corralled the patrons who had assembled out front.
Murdoch's truck was parked in front of the steps, and the team had laid steel runners up the stairs to allow them to push the cage into the museum.