The Magician: An Epic Dark Fantasy Novel: Book One of the Rogue Portal Series (24 page)

              His eyes bore into hers, causing her to take a step back.

              "Excuse me?"

              He returned to his joyful state as though nothing had happened.

              "Might be changin' the menu soon, yeah?"

              He chuckled and walked away without further conversation, wheeling the trashcan down the ramp alongside the steps. As he went he began to whistle a tune. It was familiar. Too familiar. Something she'd heard a long time ago. And the same song she'd heard just moments ago, from the boy along the side of the road. As he disappeared from her sight, she shuddered, and jogged the rest of the way across the landing, between the tables and chairs with green umbrellas, and over to the double doors of the library.

              Looking from left to right, she surveyed her surroundings. Empty. Slipping the key in the door, she turned it and opened the doors in one singular motion, closing them behind her. The library was warm, but it felt hollow and creepy without other people in it. Her footsteps echoed even though she was only wearing tennis shoes, and she shook off a chill despite the warmth of the building. The main floor hosted a coffee shop located along the far wall. The reception desks and elevator panels sat on either side of her.

              She took a few steps, and then stopped in her tracks. She could hear voices coming from the coffee shop. Only it wasn't the coffee shop, but to the side. She'd never noticed there being a hallway between the reception desk and the coffee shop, but there must have been. The voices spoke in hushed tones that grew more audible by the second, like those of several people engaged in a whispered argument. The whispers turned into fervent, low-toned mumbles, and finally to shouting.

              She plastered herself along the reception desks, fearing that if any of the members of the argument were to leave she'd be caught with a not-so-great explanation as to how she'd managed a key. She'd had half a mind to take them both keys in a last-ditch attempt to protect Connor and the others. But in her blinding rage, she hadn't cared about anything but getting away from him as soon as possible, and getting to the library. In hindsight this seemed extremely selfish, and she felt a rock of regret sink to the pit of her stomach.

              A shrill laugh interrupted the arguing voices, and as she listened it became clear that it wasn't an argument at all, but more like a party. Or a jovial meeting. She put one foot in front of the other, slowly, methodically, taking care to roll her foot from heel to toe as she moved. She'd learned that trick when traversing the woods as a child.

              Reaching the curved edge of the reception counter, she moved as quickly as she thought safe to the small corner where the desks met the wall. Only a few feet of wall left between her and the hallway, the source of the voices. Echoed shouts and laughter, screams and taunts, all mingled together and came to her in a combined contradiction. Some angry and fearful, others jovial.

              Taking a deep breath, she mustered the courage to go down the hallway. Taking a few, large steps, she rounded the corner - and froze. No corner existed. No hallway. Just a wall. As she faced the wall the voices stopped. The eerie feeling in the air that had preceded their appearance disappeared, and she turned back to the library. Still empty and dark. No voices. Nobody but her.

              Things were moving too fast. The Void had begun to encroach on their realm, putting all of them in peril. It was only a matter of time until the beings got what they came for. Only a matter of time until they would all be in the Void for much longer than the span of a dream. And even though she knew as much, it terrified her nonetheless. Fear began to transform into rage, and she headed toward the elevator bank.

              All of this was Rumsfeld's fault. She punched the up button on the elevator dial, and as the doors slid open she got inside and used her fist to punch the number five. He was encroaching on them all, and even though his kind were the reason any of them had fallen in this situation to begin with, he had taken it too far. And it couldn't possibly end well.

              The creaking of the elevator caused her to cast glances around the elevator car, and as soon as the doors opened she all but ran through them. Inspect the mirror and leave; that's all she wanted to do. To accomplish what she came here for and get back to everyone. To make things right with Connor. The passage of time and the recent events had convinced her that she'd been far too harsh with him, and it was time to set things straight. Tell him the truth. No matter how crazy it would seem to him. After everything he'd gone through - everything they'd
all
gone through - it couldn't seem that irrational.

              The fifth floor was open and, though it was filled with aisles of books and ornate furniture, it seemed barren. Odd noises filtered through the space, and she chalked it up to the building settling. She knew better. But that didn't matter. All that mattered was inspecting that mirror and, if possible, finding a way to break it. Not its glass. That would be too obvious, and who knew what that could create. But to deactivate it in a way. Make it so that it wouldn't work anymore. She used to know how, but things were so different now.

              Shaking her head free of memories, she made her way across the open space, past the tables where she and Connor had studied. Finding the corridor that led to the copy room, she took a deep breath and turned the corner.

              The mirror hadn't changed since she'd last seen it, and perhaps that was a good thing. But appearances could be deceiving. She knew that better than anyone. Casting a cautious glance around the room and seeing no one there, she extended her hand in a dramatic motion, fanning her fingers out as though expecting to receive something of high honor.

              She produced a red glowing ball of energy that swirled from within, and cast light around the entire room. Facing her palm toward the mirror she threw the ball at it and watched as it filled the glass, seeming to go beyond the glass itself.

              "What are you hiding?" she asked it, under her breath.

              As though in response to her question, the glass became animated with pictures of her mother, her as a child, the necklace that had mysteriously disappeared from their life so long ago. The portal, as she now knew it. She'd had an advantage. Her mother had known the truth all along, and hadn't been shy about sharing it with her. Connor hadn't had that. She understood the reasons, but it still seemed unfair and made her feel even worse about the way she'd treated him.

              The necklace became the focal point of the image in the mirror, and the red light began to fade, which meant there were no immediate dangers. She reached out and touched the glass, running the other hand around the rim of the mirror. Her mother's necklace sparkled in the glass, so vivid that she thought she could reach out and touch it. But she knew it was a whisper, an image from times long since passed.

              Suddenly the necklace flashed red, and she knew it meant that the discovery spell had found a source of disturbance - a threat. Before she could retract her hands, she was pulled back and felt something squeeze her neck. Looking into the mirror she saw the necklace, only this time she was the one wearing it. The necklace was cinched tighter and tighter, but as Kit grabbed at her neck she couldn't feel a necklace. She couldn't feel anything at all. The necklace - no, hands, they were definitely hands - squeezed tighter still. Her head felt as though it would explode, the veins pumped furiously in her neck, and though she grasped behind her, her flailing hands failed to find purchase on anything or anyone. Just as the world began to turn dark she saw the necklace in the mirror turn into hands and Rumsfeld standing behind her, a look of malice on his face, his hands tightening around her neck.

              Laughing, he threw her forward and she caught herself against the mirror, the impact threatening to send it to the ground. She didn't care. Her field of vision returned to normal and she gasped several times before spinning around to face him.

              "Is that any way to greet a lady?" she asked, rubbing her neck. This was not the time to lose her strength.

              "A lady, hmm? I'd forgotten about that, I suppose, what with the mouth you've adopted during your time here."

              "Oh, screw you, Rumsfeld."

              "Yes, that one."

              She rolled her eyes. "What do you want?"

              "The same thing I've always wanted, dear."

              "Well tough luck getting it. I don't give a shit what you want, and I never have. You've caused enough trouble, don't you think?"

              "And what fun would it be to stop causing it now? Stirring the pot is just the beginning. Watching the fury you've created boil over, uncontained...now that's the fun part."

              "Go back where you came from and stay there. And drag the rest of your miserable lot with you."

              "I knew I liked you the first time I met you, darling. And you, like a fine wine, have only improved over time. Strengthened, have you not?"

              He took her chin in his hands.

              "Take your hand off my face if you want it to stay attached to your body. If you enjoy the fashion statements of such famed models as Captain Hook, then keep it up."

              He laughed the same monotone laugh he'd always had, and then pushed her against the wall and came so close to her face she thought he could suck the air right out of her lungs if he'd wanted to.

              "Time and displacement have done you no favors, Lovey. You've clearly forgotten just who it is you're dealing with."

              "No, Rumsfeld, I remember
exactly
who I'm dealing with. Which is why I've made it my personal mission to ensure your days are numbered."

              "Charming."

              "Why are you here?" she asked.

              "Right to the point, I see." A bemused expression crossed his face.

              "You never waste your precious time traveling in this realm if it doesn't have to do with something of consequence. Spit it out."

              "Very well, since you've asked so kindly," he said, backing up a step and crossing his arms. "I need your assistance."

              Kit dissolved into laughter.

              "You need
my
assistance? I'm afraid that's not going to be easy to come by, given that I stand against, oh, every belief you live by."

              He gave her a calculating look, as though considering his options.

              "He has the stone." He looked down, nearly admitting defeat in the process. "And I need your help. You've always been a Mystic at heart, Dearie, now's the best time of all to prove it."

              He moved closer to her, continuing his sales pitch.

              "Join us, Kit. There's no time like the present."

              "I will never join you!" She smiled, internalizing what he'd told her. Connor had the stone. He probably didn't know what it was for yet, but that didn't matter. He would. If he had the stone, he was safer than he knew, and not everything was going against them. Some hope still remained.

              "Now, Kit, be rational."

              "Oh I'm being quite rational, Rumsfeld. And you know it. Even if I didn't have a shred of morality, or the smallest sense of right and wrong; even if I were like you, willing to throw anyone in the way of danger to save myself and appease my cowardly overlord, I would never join you now. Because you know the same thing I know. If Connor has the stone, then you're as good as dead, and your Mystic friends along with you."

              "Please, Dearest, he doesn't even know what he has, or how to use it."

              "He'll find out. He'll figure a way."

              "So what if he did? Do you really think he's going to waltz into the Void and do what needs to be done to keep us from solidifying our rule?"

              "He might not waltz in, but he
will
find out the truth. I'll make sure of that. And when he does, he'll do the right thing. I know that's a hard concept for you to grasp, but trust me on this. You should enjoy what time you have left playing ruler of the Universe. It's only a matter of time now before it all comes crumbling around you."

              She  moved forward, turning the tables with every stride, this time causing him to back up.

              "I made a choice a long time ago," she said, "when I left your lot behind. And it worked out alright for me. And though you're short-sighted selfishness won't let you see it, it's still working out. So you can figure out how to handle this situation on your own. I don't regret the choice I made, and I don't intend to change my mind now."

              "I'm sorry to hear that. I was truly hoping to avoid this."

              She steeled herself, and he threw his hand toward her, sending her crashing backwards into the wall.

              "That's all you've got?"

              She stood up, laughing, and extended a hand to the side, producing a ball of fire in her palm. She flung it toward him, and it burned his hand as he moved out of the way. He began to laugh, and threw his own punch, sending a ball of icy blue toward her. She ducked and somersaulted out of the way, hearing the crystallization behind her as the deep freeze hit a piece of furniture.