Summoned Chaos (13 page)

My guts rolled over again. “Has my family been talking to you?”

“No, but I spent years studying the human condition. Don’t take this the wrong way, but your reaction to the cross in the sanctuary and the way you tensed up when you mentioned your physical therapy tells me that there may be more than just scars of the flesh.”

I tried to speak, but found no words. Either he was startlingly perceptive or I was telegraphing my feelings. But the last thing I wanted right then was to get into a deep conversation.

The pastor put a hand on my shoulder. “Listen, I’m not pressing, okay? If you ever want to chat, give me a call. I can’t promise I’ll be any help, but sometimes all you need is just an ear to listen.”

“I appreciate the offer,” I said, trying to smother the tension building in my chest. “But I’m good.”

“I understand. Thanks again for meeting with me.”

We shook and he escorted me out of his office. I waved to Meredith, then walked quickly to the Gray Ghost, slamming the door, and breathing deeply once inside the quiet interior. I inhaled several more times, rubbing the tingling in my palm and slowing my heartbeat.

When my insides finally calmed, I called the Research Library. The lady on the other end confirmed that my Wizarding credentials had been approved and I was cleared to use the facility to the fullest extent possible. A sense of victory swept through me and my shoulders relaxed a little. I thanked her, hung up, and immediately checked the traffic between Frederick and D.C.

Deciding that I wasn’t in the mood to deal with the congestion of the Beltway, I punched the address for HQ into the GPS of my phone. Betty the Navigational Bitch coughed up several routes. Ironically, it would take me less time to wind down through Leesburg, then take the Toll Road, than it would to take the highway. Betty acknowledged my preferred route in her sexy, mechanical voice, then guided me down the first of many small, two-lane roads.

* * *

I was sitting at a red light a few blocks down the road when Andrew called.

“Hey. Any word?” I asked.

“Not yet. I passed the number from the text message to some resources of mine, but so far all they’ve been able to piece together is that it came from a burner phone.”

I gripped the wheel tighter. “Which means we can’t trace it.”

“Not exactly. If the phone was purchased with cash, then it will be almost impossible, but a credit card will give them something to work with. They’ll need another day or so to be sure. In the interim, watch yourself.”

Dammit. I had been hoping there’d be a trail of breadcrumbs. It was far worse operating with the unknown than it was having a target upon which I could focus my anger. Whoever was trying to rattle my cages was still operating in the shadows and I wanted nothing more than to hunt them down and rattle them a little myself.

“What are the chances this is a harmless threat?”

Probably a stupid question.

“No threat should
ever
be considered harmless. If this person was willing to write those words, then it’s better for you to assume that they’re willing to act on them.”

“Lovely,” I grumbled as goosebumps popped up on my arms.

“Just keep your eyes open. You’ll be fine once we get you to New York.”

I hit the horn as a car cut me off. “Uh, won’t New York be the opposite of safe?”

“We’ll be pretty mobile during the talk-show circuit, so it’ll be harder for someone to track you. Also, while we’re up there, I’ll have one or two of my contacts check into the threat. If someone tries to follow us to New York, they’ll know about it.”

“Whoa, your contacts are that good?”

“Marcus, I’m exceptional at my job. Do you really want to know the details of how I do it?”

I smirked. “Nope.”

He laughed. “Good. It’s better that way.”

“So aside from constantly looking over my shoulder, is there anything else I should be doing?” Hopefully my sarcasm wasn’t as visceral as it felt when I asked the question. Andrew either didn’t pick up on it or was professional enough not to acknowledge it.

“Yes. Practice the speech I’m about to send you for the ball and pack for New York.”

I stretched, fighting the knot that was forming in my back. “Neither of those sound like a good time.”

“I know this is hard on you, Marcus,” he said, patiently. “This might be nothing, but you can’t be too careful. Keep a wary eye and I’ll see you at Union Station the day after tomorrow.”

“Will do,” I replied and we hung up. Unable to shake off the tension once again, I fired up some Huey Lewis to drown out my frustration.

The Ghost and I were headed down the long hill on 15 north of the Potomac when another vehicle whipped over the double-yellow line. It passed the semi behind me, then accelerated to catch up. It was a basic white van with tinted windows similar to the ones parked outside my house. It came at me like it had every intention of driving up my tailpipe.

“Friggin’ media,” I growled and stomped the accelerator pedal. The Ghost lurched forward, increasing the distance between me and the paparazzi. The van drifted away, then started closing the gap.

“Seriously?” I muttered, glaring at the rear-view mirror.

The Ghost careened down the hill, nearly rocking onto two wheels as I jerked it around the first massive traffic circle. The van snapped across the double-yellow line and sped up, pulling alongside me. I tried to see who or what was behind the wheel, but the tinting was so dark I could only make out the silhouettes of the driver and passenger.

Whomever was trying to get the picture deserved a good one. I offered them the One-Finger Salute. My playfulness vanished when the van swerved into me.

Instinctively I veered away, crossing onto the shoulder and passing a car in my lane. The van hit the brakes, so I punched the gas to the floor. Once clear of the car, I pulled into my own lane again.

I reached for my phone to call the cops, but it wasn’t on the seat, nor did I see it on the floor. Glancing back up at the road, I shouted in surprise when I almost plowed into the trunk of a minivan. I whipped around it, breezing past the shocked faces of the family inside, and barreled down the road with my heart in my throat and both hands glued to the wheel.

I hit the second traffic circle well over the recommended speed limit, cutting off an enormous farming tractor that was slowly pulling into traffic. The driver berated me, then continued to pull out. Brakes squealed and a horn blared as my pursuers screeched to a halt. The van jerked around the tractor, but I increased my lead, crossing the small, metal bridge over the Potomac at the bottom of the hill.

I reached land once again, blasting into the Commonwealth of Virginia like a gray rocket. Highway 15 made an immediate left turn and I snapped the wheel to avoid pancaking myself against the stone face of the mountain.

Unfortunately, the Ghost was built for sex appeal, not for nimble maneuvering.

I hit the brakes, but the back tire slipped into the small ditch that ran along the side of the road. The rear quarter panel crunched against the mountain. The impact threw the front of the Ghost sideways and the rest of the right side slammed into the wall with so much force, it bounced off like a metal super-ball.

My stomach floated into my chest as the Ghost lifted into the air. The vehicle spun once before gravity brought it back to earth with a bone-jarring crash. My head banged against the driver-side window, cracking the glass. The Ghost bounced several times, before rolling across the pavement and bumping against a tree on the other side.

My head hurt more than my worst Skilled hangover as the world spun on its axis. I was vaguely aware of shouting near my car. I wobbled my head sideways. A man was struggling to open my door.

“That’s a lot of blood,” he said, turning white as warm liquid ran down my face. I wiped my forehead, then reached for my seatbelt.

“Whoa, stay still.” He tried to keep me in place, but I pushed him away.

“‘nother car,” I mumbled through a thick tongue.

The man caught me as I stumbled out of the Ghost. Steam poured out of the hood.

Several cars had stopped, their occupants exiting to come provide assistance. I tried to wave them back, but the van hurtled into view, tires squealing. It too tried to make the turn, but crashed into the mountainside nearly head-on. The front end collapsed with a shriek of metal.

Screams erupted from the motorists around me as both passengers flew through the windshield, crumpling against the stone wall like rag dolls.

The van was launched up on end before crashing back down onto the pavement. Coolant flooded the street, filling the pavement with rivers of green liquid.

With the exception of the guy who’d come to my rescue, everyone around me stared in horror at the grisly scene. The everyday hero, however, ran over to the destroyed vehicle. He knelt, peering around the front, but recoiled in horror. He staggered away from the carnage, then vomited into the grass.

Concerned for both my helper and the victims in the van, I staggered across the street. The man hurled again as he leaned around the front of the vehicle.

I nearly threw up as well.

The grass was littered with cameras, bags of equipment and a shattered tablet. Glass covered the ground, glistening in the pools of coolant and blood.

The faces of the shattered bodies were barely recognizable, but there was no mistaking the long feather braided into Tessa’s blond ponytail.

“Why?” I whispered to the bodies as the world continued to spin. As I pulled away, I saw a tremor. Hope that they were somehow still alive changed to horror as the skin on Tessa’s face sagged. Her perky breasts slid down her chest and her clothes rippled until all that remained was the hairy, yellow corpse. The second figure shuddered as well, returning to its original form.

“What the hell?” I muttered, staring at the mangled bodies of Mimics.

Chapter Ten

Putting the “Search” in “Research”

The bright light hurt my eye, stabbing at it with unrelenting fury. I winced, but forced it to stay open. The light moved to my left pupil, causing it to tear up. Finally the mini-sun clicked off.

“All good,” the doctor said as I rubbed the spots from my vision.

“So I’ll live?”

“For now, yes. You’re very lucky, you know that?”

I put a hand to the tender spots on my head. “Not sure I agree with you there, Doc.”

The woman arched an eyebrow, then glanced at my chart. “Mild concussion, superficial facial lacerations, and sprains to both wrists. Those all may be painful, but don’t forget that you walked away from the crash. The people in the van didn’t.”

“Those weren’t people,” I muttered, still angry and confused over the presence of the Mimics. What the hell were they doing coming after me?

She fixed me with a severe glare. “Well, whatever they were, they’re on ice now.
You
, however, get to go home to your family.”

I blinked, startled by her admonishing tone. But she had a good point and I cursed myself for taking my luck for granted.

“Sorry,” I said quietly.

She relaxed slightly, then slid my chart into the plastic folder thingy mounted on the door. “Take care of yourself, Mr. Shifter.”

“Thanks, Doc,” I said, but she was already gone.

I dressed, then dug through the small bag of personal belongings on the counter. Thankfully, my phone had survived the crash.

The “nurse” appeared a few minutes later with a wheelchair. A huge man in crisp scrubs, he was built like a bear with hands the size of catcher’s mitts and skin as dark as midnight.

“What are you doing up here?” I asked with a grin.

The man smiled as he helped me off the bed. “Escorting your sorry, broken ass down to the lobby.”

“You’re supposed to stick to dead bodies.”

LaDell Edgars, the local coroner and my good friend, laughed. “Considering how badly banged up you are, you’re close enough.”

“Fair enough. But I can walk. No need for the chair.”

LaDell crossed his massive arms. “Hospital policy. Sit, or I make you.”

I reluctantly eased into the chair.

“It sucks that it’s taken a major car crash for us to get together,” he said as he wheeled me down the hall.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” I replied, feeling guilty. “It’s been a busy few months.”

“So I’ve heard. Sounds like it got really interesting recently.”

I grunted. “You could say that.”

We stopped at an elevator and LaDell pressed the down button.

I twisted to face him. “Any chance I can see the bodies of the other victims from the crash.”

“I never got them.”

That was odd. “You always pick up the unusual stiffs.”

The coroner scowled. “Apparently some of your own people were waiting here to recover the bodies. As soon as my boys arrived, they were ordered to shove the bags into a Skilled van. Stiff-armed me on the paperwork too. Something I should know about?” he asked in a low voice.

Red flags went off in my mind. The Council usually didn’t care who stored paranormal corpses, so why the sudden interest? And why all the secrecy?

The only explanation that made sense was that there was evidence of some sort
on
the Mimics.

Because our powers required so much emotion and energy, the spells we weaved left imprints similar to magical fingerprints of the practitioner. So if the person who sent me the threatening text was the same one who’d manipulated the Mimics to kill me, there’d be all sorts of proof on the bodies.

Proof that might also tie them to the attack at HQ.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” I said, burning with fury as the pieces slowly fit together in my mind. “But the randomness of this just evaporated. Someone thinks I know something and tried to take me out of the equation.”

“What are you going to do?”

I set my jaw. “I’m going to deal with it. Starting with the bodies.”

“You let me know if you find anything. The dead are my business and I hate being left out of the loop.”

“Deal.”

LaDell pushed me into the waiting room that was packed with people. As we entered, Arbent stood and walked over.

“Damn, Shifter,” he said, whistling.

“It looks worse than it feels.”

LaDell helped me out of the chair. I shook the large man’s hand. “It was great seeing you.”

“Likewise, dude. Let’s not wait till you get thrashed again to talk. Maybe we grab a beer when you get back from New York? You can tell me all about your time on Falls.”

“I’d like that,” I said, earnestly.

“It’s a date. Mind the crazies out there,” he added, glancing at the small crowd of media people that had gathered in the parking lot opposite the main door. Then he vanished back inside.

“So, you’re my ride, eh?” I asked Arbent, silently condemning him for the abuse he’d heaped upon the rattling, dented Mustang waiting for us outside. You just didn’t do that to a classic.

“Yup. Your dad wanted me to bring you to their place. Those your groupies?” he added, peering at the camera flashes.

I nodded, trying to ignore the shouts of questions about the accident. Mindful of my role as poster-boy, I waved.

“That must be fun.”

“It’s really not,” I grumbled.

He shrugged. “Better you than me.”

I glared at him.

“You can get the door yourself, by the way,” he said, walking around to the driver’s side. I creaked open the door and eased gingerly into the passenger seat. When I was belted in, Arbent revved the engine and pulled out of the circular drive of the Wellington Memorial Hospital, leaving an inch of rubber on the pavement. The media hounds snapped photos as we departed in a cloud of white smoke.

As we turned onto the main road, Arbent gave me a sideways glance. “Man, you look awful.”

“Just one of the many benefits of being a Combat Warlock.”

“Tell me about it.”

We rode in silence, listening to the clanking of the engine. I had a lot of respect for Arbent—except in the field of car maintenance. A ‘66 Fastback deserved more love.

But we’d been down that road a thousand times and bringing it up wouldn’t do either of us any good.

I decided to make a phone call instead.

“Marcus?” Andrew asked, picking up on the second ring.

“Hey.”

I heard him sigh with relief. “I cannot begin to express how relieved I am that you’re okay. What did the doctors say?”

“Just a lot of bruising and lacerations, but thankfully no concussion or broken bones. My pretty face took the brunt of the beating. My car fared much worse. I don’t want to think about the repair bill.” A small piece of me cried just remembering the image of the Gray Ghost all banged up.

“Listen,” Andrew said, bypassing pleasantries, “I’ve spoken with the producers of the
Late Nite Show
. They agreed to let Elsa appear alone, but they still want you. I negotiated for next Monday. The Council may not like that it’s after the Reformation Ball, but it ensures you have time to recover.”

Relief. Being on camera, especially with a studio audience, wasn’t my idea of a fun time, so at least the pain was delayed. It was the only good thing that came out of the accident.

Andrew took a deep breath, then exhaled. “Apparently you didn’t listen when I said to be careful.”

“Not my fault,” I said defensively. “Those things came after me.”

“I understand, but it does add an extra layer of complication to things. And before you ask, yes, my people are already covering the media exposure of the incident. Obviously it’s impossible to pretend it didn’t happen, so we’ll figure a way to spin this the right way. While I work on your official version of the story, just keep a little humor about it. Or simply avoid talking at all.”

“I
really
like the second option,” I said, relaxing a little. No communication was more my speed anyway.

“Good. Now then, you go rest up so you’re presentable. Both for the ball and for the
Late Nite Show
on Monday. I’ll call you when there’s something more to talk about.”

“Sounds good. And Andrew? Thanks.”

“It’s what I get paid for,” he said. “But you’re welcome anyway.”

I hung up. Arbent gave me a questioning look.

“My PR guy.”

“You have a PR guy?”

I frowned. “Why does everyone seem shocked by this?”

“Actually, out of everyone I know, you’re the only one who
needs
someone like that.”

I glared at him.

“You know, because you always say the wrong thing.”

“Yes,” I said coldly. “I got it.”

Arbent smirked, obviously pleased with himself. “So, what’s the shortest route to your folks’ place from here?”

“We’re not going to the Homestead.”

He scowled. “Your dad was specific.”

“That can wait, I have something I need to do first.”

“Oh?”

“First, we swing by my place,” I said flatly. “I need to pick something up. Then we’re going to HQ.”

“HQ? Why?”

I clenched my fist. “Because it’s high time I found some answers to exactly what the hell is going on.”

* * *

“This is a terrible, terrible idea,” Arbent muttered a half hour later as we walked away from the security checkpoint at HQ. Most of the debris from the initial Mimic attack had been cleared, but the contractors hadn’t fixed the cracks in the drywall or the damage to the security desk. I could feel the eyes of the two new Normal guards burning holes into our backs. I hoped that my friendly request to not log us into the system would be honored.

“You didn’t have to come along,” I said evenly. “I was more than prepared to take a cab home.”

He shook his head. “In the past week you’ve nearly been killed three times. Once by a creature from another realm and twice at the hands of Mimics.” He jabbed a finger at me. “You
need
me to come along.”

“Then stop complaining.”

Arbent muttered a curse, but didn’t argue.

HQ was a buzzing hive of activity. Like most workdays, the halls were filled with the usual array of senior bureaucrats and their desperate strap-hangers. The majority of the policy-makers were too busy with their day-to-day tasks to notice me and Arbent, but I wasn’t going to bet the farm on it. Instead, I pulled Arbent into a side hall, through a set of empty conference rooms, and down a long staircase to the basement level.

We pushed through a set of large double doors and into an enormous room that smelled of musty leather. Enormous bookshelves packed with ancient tomes littered the room while the heavy feeling of silence pressed against us. Near the front a plump Witch with graying, blond hair sat behind a circular desk.

“Hi, Gloria,” I said as we entered the Research Library. “Good to see you again.”

The librarian set down the massive tome she was reading. “Marcus, it’s been forever!” She grimaced when she saw me. “You look terrible. Was that from the attack?”

“Car accident.”

“Oh my, you have the worst luck lately.”

I shrugged. “Disasters happen in threes, so between the rift, the Mimics and the crash, Karma and I are squares for a while.”

“Maybe you should take better care of yourself.”

“I try, but it never seems to work.”

She laughed. “Who’s your friend?”

The fact that she recognized me and not Arbent was a testament to the amount of time I’d spent in the library the past few months. I was betting I’d logged hundreds of hours scouring the various tomes for information about Fawkes’s trial. Although, I’d been a stranger the last few weeks thanks to all the fun I’d been having with rifts.

“This is Arbent, Combat Warlock Extraordinaire,” I said. “Arbent, may I present the lovely Gloria Stein, Librarian Extraordinaire.”

“Oh you.” She batted me playfully on the arm. “So are you here to just butter me up or do you need me to pull your normal stable of tomes?”

“Actually, I need access to the super-secret stuff.”

“Marcus, you know that’s restricted access. Much as I love you, dear, I can’t risk my job to grant you such a favor.”

I grinned. “Good thing I have the top clearance level now.”

Her eyes widened with surprise. “Really?”

“Haven’t been issued my new ID yet, but you can check my records if you like.”

Gloria waved a dismissive hand. “No, I trust you.”

Never underestimate the power of Weapons-Grade Charm. Not that I’d needed it, thanks to Elder Devon, but it was nice to know I could have charmed my way into the library.