by O J Barré
**
Today was the first trial run. Azi stood to do the honors. His fingers flew over the keyboard, initiating the first phase of Project Takeover. The Los Angeles, Paris, Istanbul, Jakarta, and Osaka feeds went live simultaneously. He studied the overhead screens broadcasting the action.
On four of the five screens, the Connector-beings lurched and arched. Something was wrong. The UnderEarth Connectors writhed and moaned. Azi twirled the knobs and buttons on the console. When nothing changed, he hit the kill switch.
But it was too late.
One by one, the Connectors went still. Flat lines showed on every monitor, save that of the Fomorian. The Connector attached to their first target, Shalane Carpenter, was still alive. But its vital signs were failing.
“Call a medic!” Azi yelled to the nearest assistant. “The Fomorian is alive, but needs care.”
Switching the feed to that of the Targets, he saw that they were all dead too—except for the one attached to the Fomorian. With shaky claw, Azi hurriedly placed a call to Paris.
Within minutes, he had contacted all four centers and had confirmed the worst. The new Connectors and Targets had all perished. His Fomorian and Shalane Carpenter were the only survivors.
Baffled, Azi stared at the being on the onyx slab, then up at the screens. What had gone wrong?
**
Shalane gazed out over the sea of people and forgot what it was she was supposed to say. Alarmed, she waved like a beauty queen instead. Amid another round of frenzied applause, she renewed her connection with Archangel Michael. Then her eye twitched, and the pain sharpened, an ice pick scrambling her brain.
Forgetting everything but the twisting agony, Shalane pressed her hands against both sides of her head. A wave of nausea struck her, and she pitched forward. Then her body went rigid, and Shalane collapsed in a heap in the middle of the stage.
**
Yanked out of sleep, Patty fought back. The Draconian warrior dragged her by the scruff of her neck into the light. Only she wasn’t Patty. She was Nergal. As pain shot through her, she roared and flew into a rage. Backhanding the assailant, Nergal watched the Draco fly through the air and bowl over two others diving to attack. Inanna downed two more with a machete in one hand and a sword in the other. Where had she gotten those?
Nergal wheeled and caught a Draco by the throat and yanked hard, gratified by the crunch of the worm’s windpipe ripping away in his claws. On the street, several soldiers marched Magdalena away at gunpoint. Nergal lunged after them.
Inanna screamed, a blood-curdling cry of terror and pain. Nergal swung around in time to see a lance skewer Ishkur. Only one Draco carried a weapon like that. Mot. Maw’s arrogant brother.
Inanna screamed again. “Nergal, duck!”
He dove for the pavement and came up on the defensive, raining blow after blow upon three of Mot’s henchman. He had to get to Magdalena. Over the thuds of his fists and the grunts of his targets, excited chatter filled the streets. Dracos and Ceruleans, Fomorians and Jacquadis emerged from the nearby buildings.
“Kill, kill, kill,” they chanted.
Patty shivered awake. As the horror of what she’d witnessed washed over her, she sat up in bed, heart pounding. Wrapping her arms around her sweat-drenched shoulders, she rocked back and forth trying to push the sights and smells out of her mind.
She gulped air and looked around, trembling. Patty was in one of the many guestrooms in Latoya Cloud’s mansion on Sunset Boulevard. But the sight of the lizard-man with a spear stuck in him was all she could see. Sobbing, Patty rocked and cried.
The Vortex
Emily rested comfortably in a-Ur’s talons, grateful not to be in pain. She had watched until Khenko’s boat disappeared. Now, with each flap of a-Ur’s mighty wings, dread grew in Emily’s gut. A fuzziness enveloped her entire body, and her head felt thick. They must’ve entered the vortex.
One moment, her body felt it would burst its very bounds, the next, it was being sucked into her center, squeezing the meat, and the life, from Emily. The atmospheric pressure assaulted her eardrums, and her teeth ached as if she had a mouthful of aluminum. The air dragon pressed on.
Straining to look down, Emily thought she caught a glimpse of Ooschu. Or was it Talav? It was hard to tell them apart from this distance.
Then the pressure changed. The wind swirled, forming a gale. It gathered upon itself and doubled around, swirling and flip-flopping back and forth. Emily held her breath, anxious to reach their destination. a-Ur had warned her to stay focused on that, so she didn’t end up somewhere else. She repeated the name to herself. Beli Castle in Wales. Beli Castle in Wales.
They flew into a thick cloudbank, and the world disappeared. The air was close and filled with unshed water that gathered on Emily’s eyelashes and curls. Then her stomach was in her throat as they plummeted into an air pocket. a-Ur gained control, but they encountered another, and another, dropping lower and lower.
Frantic, Emily peered down at the ocean, sure they would crash. All she could see was rain-laden fluff. Steeling herself, she braced for impact, but they were yanked skyward by a powerful updraft, and she chomped down hard on her bottom lip. Extending his wings, a-Ur soared higher.
From this vantage point, Emily could see their surroundings. And almost lost her breakfast. They were in the clutches of a powerful maelstrom, so large the revolutions weren’t evident as such.
“Take heart, little wren,” a-Ur’s voice rang in her head. “We’re nearing the heart of the vortex. Soon we shall be on our way to Beli, and I will let go.”
“No! Don’t you dare!” Emily cried, terrified of being at the mercy of quantum physics.
“Aye, child. You’ll be fine. I must.”
The pressure increased, and Emily’s ears popped. Around and around in wide circles a-Ur rode the whirlwind, clutching Emily in his talons. Below them, it swirled deep into the ocean. She saw Ooschu and Talav, then pods of dolphin and whales.
“Long live Awen, she who hails from Druantia,” the mammals chorused, before swirling out of sight with the dragons.
Lightning flashed, and for a moment, Emily got a three-sixty view from bottom to top. The funnel was so enormous, the dragons and sea creatures appeared small. Then the maelstrom collapsed upon itself with a loud, sucking explosion.
Expecting to be crushed, Emily held her breath. Lightning flashed, and the resounding boom split the cyclone apart at the seams. Ozone saturated Emily’s senses as a brilliant pink hue suffused the passageway that opened before them.
Only Emily was no longer anchored in a-Ur’s clutches.
She panicked for a moment, then realized she was supported by something else, something Emily couldn’t see or touch. But she felt its presence. A lively, breathing, playful essence that pulsed all around her, carrying her through one looping passage after another.
No longer afraid, Emily marveled as the pink morphed to iridescent blue, then canary yellow. Wondrous awe filled her with an indescribable ecstasy. She twirled like a feather in all directions, alone, riding a pipeline of fluffy gauze.
She didn’t recoil when her mother’s face appeared on a snake’s body, so large it extended back into the tunnel. “Dear child, please forgive me for everything,” her mother said. “I am sorry and wish to make it up to you. Your companions are safe, and will meet you at the mouth of the giant.” Then, Alexis Mayhall vanished.
In her place, Da’s smiling face appeared. “I am with young Brian, little wren. We will join you soon. Stay the course.” And he, too, faded away.
A raven appeared, Bran the Elder—both Lugh and Brian’s totem. Flapping mighty wings, Bran lit on Emily’s shoulder. “Be brave, little wren. You have come a long way since that night in the park. The prophecy is nigh. Keep the faith, young Awen. The Elders are with you, cheering you on.” Then Bran flew off into the clouds.
The pressure against Emily’s ears let up, and the air changed. No longer did it reek of ozone, but salt and sea. A grassy marsh
. A gritty bog. The edges of the tunnel thinned and wavered. But she saw no sign of her dragon Keepers.
A loud screech split the sky, and an unfamiliar drake roared into view. It bore down upon Emily, blazing-red scales telegraphing death and doom. Terror bloomed in the pit of her stomach, and her limbs went weak. It was Draig Tienu.
The dragon roared again, and fire poured from its jaws. The pathways shimmered with dragon fire—effervescent oranges and fervent, unrelenting, crimson flames that consumed the very air.
With an abruptness that made Emily gasp, the wormhole burped and spit her out into the blackness of space. Terrified, she hung, motionless, and weightless.
Where was Beli? Her Keepers? The earth?
Mystified
The sight of the Atlantean Center greeted Khenko as he rounded the bend from Settler’s Cove. His head throbbed from last night’s rum. His heart thudded for fear of having left someone at the Vortex, then calmed with the conviction that all was well. His work in the Bahamas was done, and it was time to go home.
What once was the worst thing that could happen to Khenko, now filled him with anticipation. The morning was bright, with spring in the air, and his step. He bounced up the stairs to the kitchen and whipped up a smoothie, adding cacao and coconut butter for a pick-me-up.
Wandering to his bedroom, Khenko was surprised to find Randall sleeping soundly, one leg outside the covers, and an arm flung over his face. A memory stirred in the cobwebs of his mind, then slipped away.
Why couldn’t Khenko remember?
At the sight of his party clothes crumpled on the floor, and his leather thongs upside down with Randall’s, he had a flash of being at Manny’s pig roast, raking in the pot, staggering back to the Center, and skittering up the stairs with Randall after a wild sow frightened them both.
He remembered looking for someone in one of the bedrooms. His passenger from that morning? Hurrying to the room, Khenko poked around. The bedclothes were rumpled and the sheets slept in. Someone had been here. Heart thumping, he opened the drawers, checked the closet, and desk. Nothing. Not one damn thing to tell him who had slept in the bed.
He raced to his office and rifled through the mess on his desk. There was a receipt from Randall’s boutique for a pair of women’s linen pants, two shorts, two women’s blouses, some undies, and tank tops. He also found a receipt from Madame Bouvee’s and another from the hair salon. All were in a manila folder with nothing written on the label. There were also several sticky notes and sheets of folded notebook paper, but these were all blank.
This was getting weirder and weirder.
Plopping down in his desk chair, Khenko opened the laptop and powered it up. He combed through his desktop and document files, including his daily journal. There were entries for every day for the last months, but no mention of anyone staying at the Atlantean Center. He opened his calendar and likewise found no notation. Nothing about a guest named Awen.
Khenko queried the name. There were lots of hits, including a definition: inspiration, inspired thought, flowing spirit. Another said it was the originating substance of the universe, as in “the word”. There were also mentions of the rays arcing up or down from the sun, and a symbol drawn by druids. But no mention of a person named Awen.
Hearing a toilet flush, Khenko hurried to the women’s bathroom. No one was there. Frustrated, he wandered down the hall, poking his head into each of the bedrooms, scanning for signs of habitation. He jumped when Randall exited the men’s bathroom.
“Morning, handsome,” Randall said, grabbing Khenko’s butt. “I had a blast last night. That was one helluva party, and you raked in some dough. Did you count it, yet?”
Khenko wagged his head. “Was anyone here with us last night?”
“No baby, it was just you and me.” The swarthy man grinned and rubbed his forehead. “At least I think so. To tell the truth, I’m a little fuzzy on the details. We were pretty sloshed. But I don’t remember anyone else.”
“Me neither.” Shaking his head, Khenko went to the kitchen and looked around. Nothing seemed different. But he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d had since coming-to at the Vortex. Someone was missing. Someone important.
“Go home, Khenko. Your time here is done.”
His head snapped up. “What did you say?”
Randall’s black eyebrows cocked. “Me? Nothing.”
“You didn’t just tell me to go home?”
Randall laughed nervously. He took Khenko’s hand. “You are home, baby. Are you okay?”
Unease filled Khenko, and he laughed it off. But whose voice had he heard?
“I have to go to Princeton, Randall. Right away.” Surprised at his own pronouncement, Khenko blinked foolishly. The words were not his, but he knew them to be true.
Pain flashed in Randall’s eyes, squeezing Khenko’s heart. But the resolution had taken hold. “I’m sorry sweetie, but something has come up. My family needs me.”
“Right now?” his partner cajoled. “I was hoping you would make a batch of your famous coconut pancakes.”
Khenko’s mouth watered. He opened the cabinet for pancake fixings. “That, I can do. Then, I need to run into town to take care of a few things before I leave.”
He would ponder the matter of the disappearing guest on his way to make arrangements for the Center. At the least, it would require maintenance during Khenko’s absence. If they could rent or sell it all the better.
A pang of sadness washed over him. The Atlantean Center was his island baby. Of course, the market sucked, so neither of those scenarios were likely.
Ladling batter onto the hot skillet, he thought of the folder of receipts and blank messages. He turned to Randall and felt another pang. His friend-with-benefits slumped in the chair, morosely staring out the window.
“Do you remember me coming to the boutique yesterday?”
“When we made plans for the pig roast?” Randall perked up. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I have a receipt for lady’s trousers and tops. And underwear.”
Randall’s eyes widened. “Now that, I don’t remember. In fact,” his face scrunched, then his head wagged slowly, “nope. I don’t remember you buying anything.” His voice lowered suggestively. “You bought women’s undies?”
“No.” Khenko chuckled. He flipped the pancakes and popped the syrup in the microwave, then spooned coconut butter into a serving dish and put it on the table between the plates and utensils Randall had set. Scooping the pancakes, he slid them on a warming plate and poured three more. “Will you watch these for me?”
Randall nodded and stood to prop against the counter.
“Be right back.” Khenko hurried to his office and retrieved the mysterious folder. Carrying it to the kitchen, he picked the receipt for the boutique from the others. Handing it to Randall, he flipped the pancakes and watched his friend’s reaction.
The olive features creased in puzzlement. “The register code is mine. But I don’t remember making this sale. Or ringing it up. And I certainly don’t remember you shopping for women’s things.” His eyes met Khenko’s. “This is very weird. What’s going on, dear?” Fear flickered in the earnest black eyes and found a reflection in Khenko’s.
Puzzling the mystery, Khenko flipped the pancakes on the warming plate and carried them to the table. “What indeed?”
**
His trip to town yielded mixed results. The real estate office wasn’t open yet, so he made the rounds to the other stores whose receipts he held. The answer was the same at each place. Shifting eyes, raised brows, and, “No. No lady. Just you, Khenko.”
Until he entered Madame Bouvee’s. The wizened owner ducked behind a shelf and edged toward the back of the store.
“Wait,” Khenko begged. “I need your help. Please. My friend is missing.”
The woman hesitated, visibly wavering, as if uncertain of what to do. Finally, Madame Bouvee moved from the shadows like a reluctant wraith and glided to Khenko. Her dark, beady eyes
peered from the wrinkles, seeking an answer, rather than questions.
Khenko held out the receipt for the booze and herb. “I came here with a woman yesterday.” The proprietress ignored the slip and kept her eyes on his. “Madame Bouvee, the woman has vanished. A woman named Awen. Just Awen. No last name.”
He hadn’t meant to tell her so much. But she was Khenko’s last hope of solving the mystery. When her shriveled hand clutched his forearm, Khenko jumped. Then the crone sagged against him and the light went out in her rheumy eyes.
Alarmed, Khenko held the frail woman up. The eyes rolled back in the aged head and the crone gurgled. Then, just as quickly, her sight returned and the bright eyes stared into Khenko’s. Her nails dug into his forearm.
“She is beyond my sight, young stork.”
Khenko’s jaw fell open. How had she known to call him that?
“I sense your Awen has moved on to another land.” She sniffed and looked away. “I am told you should, too.” Madame Bouvee let go her death-grip and turned to the register. “Is there anything in the store I can help you with?”
“That’s all? She’s gone? Forget it?” Khenko’s volume rose with every word.
The owner stared at him for a moment, then dropped her gaze. Head down, she shuffled to the back of the emporium. Hand to the curtain, she turned and said, “Khenko, you must speak of this to no one. The Awen’s life, as well as yours, depends on your discretion.” With that, the wizened woman disappeared behind the heavy drapes.
A weight lifted from Khenko’s shoulders. There was a woman. And her name was Awen. He wasn’t going crazy. For a moment, he felt better. Then another thought squeezed the wits from him. He had left her at the Vortex. He had to go back.
Hurrying to Randall’s boutique, Khenko rushed through the front door and nearly knocked over a departing customer. Apologizing profusely, he made a beeline for Randall, who was dressing a mannequin.
Dragging his lover to the back of the store, Khenko gushed, “There was a woman. I have confirmation. But I can’t talk about it.”