Demon Accords 05.5: Executable (20 page)

Grit.  Sandpaper and glue in the eyes
, maybe? Those were my first thoughts, that someone had stuck glue and sandpaper in my eyes.  I got them opened, then immediately wished I didn’t.  The light seemed excessively bright.  I could hear water lapping against a flat surface.

My mouth tasted like crap, copper, and chemicals, and it was bone dry.  After a moment, I tried movement.  It worked, but not well. My head hurt—a lot. Nonetheless, I managed to push myself upright and look around.  The floor was cool and felt like plastic.  It was colored a dark gray and polished smooth… and surrounded by water.  Fifteen feet of water between the edge of my platform and the walls, which also appeared to be plastic or synthetic, except with symbols and runes carved across every inch.  My platform was a perfect circle, and the walls curved to match.  The room was large, maybe forty or fifty feet in diameter, cylindrical and with a ceiling that was twenty feet overhead.  The lighting was… odd.  Flat translucent plastic sheets set flat into the ceiling, gleaming brightly.

“Your head likely hurts,” a voice said.  I spun about and looked up, almost falling and puking at the same time.  Fifteen feet above me, a clear window looked down into my… cell?  The blonde reporter woman was standing there, looking at me.  Next to her stood a shorter, dark-haired, dark-eyed female with heavy Goth makeup and a whole lot of tattoos. The blonde was smiling, the brunette studying me intensely.  “It’s an unfortunate side effect of the darts.  I’ve never had to put two darts into someone before, not even Caeco, but Krista here says that your kind is often resistant.”

“What, eh, kind is that?” I asked, voice raspy. 

“Dry mouth huh?” she asked, leaning forward and pushing a button.  Air whooshed behind me and when I turned, a bottle of water shot up a foot and a half from a small hole that had appeared in the platform.  The hole closed with a smaller
whoosh
as the bottle fell and bounced into my legs.

“It’s a variation of the air tubes that banks use for their drive-thru windows.  No power near you.  The lights above are fiber optic, bringing you light without power.  Your platform is floating on eight feet of water and as you, no doubt, can tell, made from plastic.  Recycled, no less. The rim is silver, as pure as modern technology can make it. Krista tells me that the runes carved in the walls will block you from any Earth or Fire-based energy.  If you had an affinity for Air or Water, we could change the cell to use stone and fire to isolate you, but based on your little display the other night, we feel this arrangement will keep you snug.”

The Gothy girl snorted, arms folded over her chest.  The blonde, no doubt Caeco’s nemesis Miseri, looked over at her with annoyance.  “Krista thinks this is vast overkill.  She doesn’t believe for an instant that you could have the level of power that I think you have.  Something about males never being very strong in the Art, is it?”

A long
, cool pull of water from the bottle washed my throat and gave me time to think.

“Craft,” the girl corrected. 

“Right, Craft.  But
I
saw what you did and I don’t really care what her history tells her.  Hence your palatial surroundings.”

“I’m not sure what worries me more… the fact that you mistook my pieces of burning magnesium for witchcraft or that you actually come across witches powerful enough to warrant all this,” I said, waving my hand at the cell before taking another drink. 

The blonde agent frowned.  “Don’t dissemble, Declan.  I know full well you are a witch, and I saw what you did with the lightning.”

“The lightning?  Miss Miseri, ma’am, has Krista here explained about males and magic?”

Her frown became a thundercloud while the woman next to her was looking resigned and maybe a bit disappointed.  Perfect. 

“I’m a highly trained observer, Declan.” She raised one hand and started ticking off points. “Your peers in that charming New England town are all afraid of you, one of them going so far as to name you a freak.  You lit and projected four pieces of magnesium with nothing more than your mind.  And you very carefully directed lightning strikes against my men.”

No matter what I said, she was never going to believe me.  But that was okay because the one I had to convince was standing next to her, frowning.

I sighed and looked down at my hands, still holding the half-full bottle of water.  “Ma’am, I don’t know what she’s been telling you, but I don’t think there’s any witch that can control lightning,” I said, frowning at the witch next to her, who frowned back.  “Wind, yes.  Shake the ground, maybe.  Move water, yeah, I’ve heard of that.  Throw flame, not burning metal, but actual flame, yeah.  But a male witch who can control lightning?  Could I have a puff of whatever you’re both smoking?”

“He’s right. I told you,” Krista the witch said.

“He’s lying.  And you’re falling for it!” Miseri said, angry.  Then her tense features smoothed out and she came to some decision.  Abruptly, she turned and left the room, dragging the witch with her.

Half a minute later, a panel whooshed open in the wall, revealing the two women standing in the opening on the other side of fifteen feet of water. 

“Do it, just as I said,” Miseri directed, standing back to let Krista move forward.  The witch was younger than I had thought.  Maybe mid-twenties.

“A waste of time if you ask me, but what the hell. I never pass up a chance to play,” she smirked.  Waving one tattooed hand, she started to chant.  The surface of the water in front of her pulled up, forming a water bump, then a water mountain, before the pinnacle of water pulled away from the rest and formed a giant upside-down teardrop.  The megadrop rose up in front of the witch, who never took her eyes off me.  The water formed a ball the size of a big orange. She made a guttural sound and the ball split into two smaller, tangerine-sized, spheres.  Then she pushed both hands in my direction and air moved, my hair fluttering in the sudden breeze even as both orbs shot my way.  I tried to duck, but like little guided missiles, the water balls smashed into me from two different directions.  The water was cold, and my t-shirt was now soaked.  A shiver forced its way down my spine.  When I looked back, the girl had two more balls of frigid water circling her, and her smile was one of genuine delight at my condition.  She flicked her hands again and this time, I tried harder to dodge them, but her skill was undeniable.  One hit my head, the other my crotch, making me double over in reflex.

“Oops, someone had an accident,” witch girl said.  She definitely had a mean streak. 

Two more icy orbs shot my way, weaving and twisting around me as I stumbled back.  One hit my legs; the other, my back.  I could feel the earth telling me we were underground. Even Krista’s runes couldn’t stop that basic knowledge from seeping in.  The water was probably ambient ground temperature, say fifty-eight degrees or so, and now my t-shirt and jeans were soaking wet.  My pants had been damp when I awoke, no doubt from the storm.  But now, I was shivering.

I understood Miseri’s simple plan.  A Fire witch in control of her (or potentially his) faculties would never freeze to death. Aunt Ash had helped out with people lost in the woods, and I knew from hanging around the search and rescue people that hypothermia could kill people at forty degrees.  Water could do it faster.  So she was trying to force me to heat myself.  It would accomplish two things: prove I was a more powerful witch than Krista currently believed, and drain my magical reservoir of power, leaving me less of a threat.  Not gonna happen.  I’ve been hiding who I am since I could walk.

Straightening up, I was just in time to catch a soccer-ball-sized water orb that knocked me right off my feet.  Because I had backed up as far as I could, it also knocked me off the platform and  into the water.  Water balls are one thing, immersion in fifty-odd-degree water is another.  My body seized up for a moment at the shock of it, then I flailed my way to the surface and grabbed onto the platform.  Muscles protesting, I pulled myself up onto the plastic circle and started to shiver like I meant it, my body attempting to heat itself back up.  When that failed, it would begin to shut down the bloodflow to my extremities, hoarding its energy to protect my vital organs.  Now would be the time when a fire witch would use their ability to generate heat, and so I did.  Just a little, enough to almost dry my clothes.  Instantly, I felt better, the warmth flowing from inside to out.  My shivering stopped and my clothes began to steam slightly.  Then I did the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  I stopped the flow of magic and sealed my reservoir shut.  It left me still damp, but at least it was a warm wet instead of a cold one. 

Miseri stood in the open door, lips compressed in a flat line, decidedly unhappy.  Krista looked shocked.  As well she should be.  Fire witches are rare. Males able to claim affinity for that skill are one in several million.  A male who could generate heat at a junior witch level was almost unheard of, although Aunt Ash had told me of a male witch (she won’t call us warlocks) who had strong affinity for fire and headed a well-known circle in the Carolinas.

“Come on, kid.  Don’t you want to dry off?  You can do better than that,” Miseri said.  Krista looked at her like she was insane.  The blonde agent caught her glance.  “He’s faking.  He can do a lot more than that!  I saw him channel multiple bolts of lightning into four targets at once!”

My initial burst of warmth was fading, the moisture in my clothes cooling back to air temperature and taking my body’s warmth with it.  I dropped back to the cold plastic surface, my face splashing a little in the puddle of water that spread out around me.  This part was easy.  In my current state, I could project exhaustion like an Academy Award winner.

“Fan him!  If he wants to be dry, then dry him!”

“You realize that you found a fire-based warlock, right? One who can dry his own clothes while exhausted and cut off from Power? Do you really want to kill him with exposure?”

“Listen to me:
he is faking!
  And you’re falling for it.”

I closed my eyes, so I missed the gestures that the Goth girl undoubtedly made… the ones that caused the air around me to swirl.  Any remaining warmth in my clothes was gone in an instant, then I started to get cold again.  The shivering came back, twice as hard, but only lasted half as long.  My hands and feet were numb and I was tired, so tired.  Inside me, the pool of power that promised warmth begged to be let out, but I crushed it down, cemented it shut, used every trick I had learned from playground bullies and every condescending adult I had ever wanted to punish but didn’t. 

My shivers ceased, hypothermia having gained a solid foothold.  Focused on locking down my power and instincts, I ignored the suddenly loud discussion, although I did note the sudden drop in wind and the addition of a male voice to the mix.  But by then I was too sleepy to care, too tired to do more than wonder what had become of Caeco, and I drifted into a confused, slumber-like state.

When the little bastard stopped moving, Miseri realized her tactic had failed.  His determination was admirable and effective.  Now he had convinced both Krista and Director Hasta that he was a valuable and rare specimen, but much less dangerous than she knew him to be.  Points to the boy. 

So rather than look like an obsessed maniac, she acceded when Krista refused to use her own considerable powers to cool him further, especially when Hasta arrived and heard her report of his rare and valuable skill with fire.

“If you are right and he
is
only a fire user who is less powerful than, say, Krista’s equivalent, then why do you suddenly care?” she questioned the witch and the facility director, neither of whom she had ever worked with before.

“Agent Miseri, your reputation in the organization is well known, and the fact that you captured both the bioweapon and this young energy user is a fantastic accomplishment.  But you really need to further your knowledge of Krista’s kind.  The boy is hugely valuable, but not for his own power.  Rather, he is a rare piece that the truly high-ranking of his kind will trade enormous resources for.  Explain it to her, would you, Krista?” the dapper-looking man had said.

“It’s like this.  The gene for witchcraft is carried on the X chromosome.  Males that carry it can ensure that any girl born of them will have a strong chance of being talented in the Craft.  Combined with a known female witch, and you are guaranteed strong young witches.  But males are generally weaker in the Craft themselves.  This one is strong.  His children will be stronger still if he is matched to the right witch.”

“You’re saying he’s valuable as breeding stock?  Like a champion racehorse?” Miseri asked.

“Exactly,” Krista agreed. “Witches would line up for a shot at this one.  I wonder what his pedigree is?”

“Does it matter?” Miseri asked.

“Of course it matters!  Knowing who his parents are could increase his value immensely,” Director Hasta said.  “Krista, see if you can find out, will you?”

“Yes sir.  But I think I’ll get him a blanket first.  Wouldn’t want our prize stud there to die of exposure,” she said, glancing aside at Miseri.

They were both fools.  The boy was playing them like a fiddle, but so be it.  As long as she had Caeco back, she couldn’t be bothered. She still wanted to know what her wayward test tube warrior was doing with a young warlock.  She left them, heading for Caeco, thinking hard.