by Jane Cousins
“Now.”
She found her hand grabbed by Cullen as he yanked her across the slippery tiled floor with surprising strength, flowing to his feet with liquid grace as Patricia struggled to get to her own feet and out from under the table. There was no point in resisting, and the man seemed to know exactly where he was going. Zagging to the left, then right, further right, grabbing Patricia’s shoulder and yanking hard, leaving her with no choice but to keep running in a crouched position. Which was lucky as a hanging pot, gouting flames, swung by directly across their path. Bent over as she was she passed beneath it so close she could feel the blast of heat dry her eyeballs momentarily. That was lucky.
She noted out the corner of her eye Erik was clutching a metal chair in one hand and in the other, Cara, as he herded her towards the Children’s Wing archway, doing his best to shield his meld mate as they ran.
Another booming detonation sounded, the chains holding the pot plants up had either become entangled or melted. The second explosion causing Patricia’s ears to ring loudly, as dirt pelted her back, hot and stinging.
Then she was through the archway leading into the nearest Wing. Patricia yanked her hand from Cullen’s hold and slipped to the left, bringing her fist down hard on a bright red button. Instantly a thick iron gate slammed down over the archway, cutting them off from the central domed room, followed by a series of loud dull thuds as iron plates descended to cover every window.
Instantly the Wing was nothing but pitch black, not a flicker of light to be seen. Shit, Patricia’s hand travelled blindly down over the wall until she found the panel of lighting switches. Flick. Flick. Nothing. Damn. She sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. Great. Just great. She’d initiated the Library lockdown, which according to protocol meant twelve hours before the steel shutters and door would retract. The electricity was out. It was pitch black. And she was stuck in here with Lester Cullen, of all people.
Hmmm, speaking of whom. It was completely uncharacteristic for the man to be so quiet. He had made it through into the Historical Wing, hadn’t he? “Cullen?” Yes, she was sure of it, he’d been the one pulling her along. “Cullen?” Did he really think now was the time to play a practical joke?
“Here.”
Hmmm, his voice sounded a tad strained. “Are… are you alright?”
Cullen laughed softly under his breath, even to him the sound was false. “I don’t suppose there is any chance of some light?”
“Not currently, no. And given the entire Library is in emergency lockdown mode for twelve hours I don’t see that changing anytime soon.”
“Then, I’m afraid I have a problem.” That was painful for Cullen to admit. Sure, he’d been trained in scenarios where there was a complete absence of light. But there had been a multitude of other factors present for his senses to concentrate on. Smells and sounds that allowed him to orientate himself. But here, now, other than the faint smell of furniture polish and crisp paper there was little to nothing for his magic to work with. He was effectively powerless for the first time in his life and it was disorientating and a little scary. Damn, had he always been so dependent on his magic? It was galling at this late stage and in the company of this particular woman to discover such a weakness.
“Problem? What sort of problem? You’re not going to have me believe you’re afraid of the dark, are you?”
“If only it were that simple.” He didn’t dare move. He’d had no chance to assess his surroundings before they had raced in here and the iron shutters had slammed down.
“Talk to me, Cullen.”
“I’m effectively blind here.”
Patricia waited, expecting more information, but he didn’t choose to elaborate further. “Um, you know I can’t see anything either, right?”
“Yes. I’m aware. But for me, the lack of any other input to compensate for the darkness is sending my magic into overload. I’m in hyper search mode trying to pin down vectors, exits, risks, and threats. I need something… like a sound to help me determine the dimensions of the room. It would help orientate me and maybe calm the surge.”
“It’s a big Wing, enormous. What if… what if I gave you something tactile to concentrate upon?”
“Like what?” Cullen heard Patricia step closer to him, starting as a hand came out of the darkness to slap against his arm, then grip it. Instantly his senses calmed.
“Is that better?” His reaction startled even him, her touch, it was a lifeline and he was man in storm tossed seas, he reached out blindly wanting more. “What the hell do you think you are doing?” Now Patricia was the one sounding strained.
“Sorry.” He was going to Hell, Cullen was so not sorry.
Patricia waited a beat, ignoring the hot flash that seared through her lower extremities. “Would you please remove your hand from my breast?”
“Yeah, about that. I’m not sure if I can.”
“Excuse me.”
“My magic, it’s calmed.”
Grrr, the man had to be kidding. “Seriously?” She reached down, grabbed his hand and moved it to her shoulder. “There, I’m sure that will work just as well.”
“Maybe, but it’s not half as much fun, Trix.”
Oh, he really was infuriating. And she did not miss the feel of his hand cupping her breast. Nor was there a low throbbing suddenly keeping time with her heartbeat centred between her legs. “Now what am I suppose to do with you?” They couldn’t remain standing like this, touching, for twelve hours.
Cullen’s chuckle of amusement was low and gravelly. “It’s only been five minutes and I’ve already gotten to first base, I’m sure we can think of something.”
“And I’m out.” Time to teach Cullen a lesson. Patricia knocked his hand away from her shoulder and took two steps back. “Let me know when you are ready to behave.”
Cullen should have felt cut adrift without her touch, but if he kept all of his senses focused on Patricia, the sound of her breathing, the smell of her perfume, he could at least orientate himself on her. Knowing she stood two feet away to his right was comforting, and as always in her presence, strangely arousing. Hmmm, and now he had twelve hours to work his way into her good graces. Thank the Fates.
Grrr, Patricia was mentally railing at the Fates. Stupid idiots. This situation was ridiculous. She was locked in here with the wrong man. Just how was she going to survive twelve hours in Cullen’s company without killing him with a heavy tome or encyclopaedia?
She wondered if Great-Aunt Alma had a complaints box, because if so she was totally writing a letter as soon as she got out of here. But first, she just had to get through the next twelve hours without murdering Cullen, which would be beyond messy. Pity she hadn’t factored new carpets into this year’s budget.
Chapter Six
“Better?”
“Much.” Cullen stepped forward, his gaze locked, assessing. “What is this?”
“This is the room permanently reserved by the Krell Spawn Plane Re-enactment Society.”
Cullen slowly paced around the literally frozen tableau that had commanded his attention from the moment he’d entered the smaller room. Not that it was that small, the centrepiece had to be the size of half a basketball court. And around the edges of the room were desks, chairs, comfy sofas, and white boards covered with notes and calculations. “Where do I know that name from?”
“Your calendar, probably. You’re scheduled to lead next week’s meeting.”
“Of course.” Cullen crouched down so he could get a better look, it was amazing. The detail so intricate. Depicted inside the ten inches of what looked like a sheet of glowing ice was a miniature sized horde of tens of thousands clashing in a bloody battle. He thanked the Fates that Patricia knew the magical word to light up the large icy depiction.
“Beer?” Patricia had moved to the small refrigerator located in one of the far corners. Delighted to find some fruit, and what looked like relatively fresh left over pizza in there, plus bonus, the beer. Might as well
drink it while it was still cold.
“I’d love a beer.” Cullen accepted the bottle absently, his attention still captivated by the frozen tableau. The thousands of tiny figures were fascinating. Some were grouped together, clearly engaged in hand to hand combat. Others lay dead, or dying. There were foot troops and mounted troops. Archers at the rear launching huge spears. Their arrows forever frozen in mid-air. Catapults located further back on either side, small figures surrounding them, in the process of loading them. “What’s with all the coloured lines?” He noted that hundreds of figures had thin red, amber or green laser lights either radiating to or away from them, generally linked to one or more other figures.
Patricia took a sip of beer and moved to stand next to him. “The Krell Spawn War waged for over forty years. The entire campaign took place during white out blizzard conditions. Until one day, for no explainable reason, the whole plane was flash frozen by approximately forty feet of ice. This, is an exact replica of how things remain to this day.”
Cullen was finding it hard to take it all in. His magic instantly vectoring angles, terrain, weapons, combatant strengths and weaknesses.
“The little laser lines are the Society Members attempts at trying to understand who did what to whom. The red lines mean there is still major contention, though a theory has been postulated. The amber lines mean there is growing support for the theory. Green means that all Society members agree on the kill.”
“Wow.” Cullen circled the outer rim of the room, studying the data scribbled on the white boards. “How sure are they on the specifics of the representation, the details?”
“One hundred percent. Grandpa Gard created a series of hi-tech laser drones and sent them in to map the Krell plane. This is the result.”
“How long have they been squabbling over this?”
“I believe they just celebrated their forty-fifth anniversary.” Patricia rolled her eyes, thinking of the copious number of nights she had sat in this room playing mediator. The Society Members were nothing if not passionate.
“That’s longer than the war itself.”
“Tell me about it.” Patricia sank down on the nearest sofa, releasing a sigh. “Do you think the others made it out okay?”
“Yes.” Cullen took a seat on the same sofa, turning slightly to face Patricia. The magical white glow lighting up the icy Krell Spawn tableau made her skin look flawless and her eyes glitter with copper sparkles. “I can confirm Erik and Cara made it into the Children’s Wing with a few seconds to spare before you activated the emergency protocol.”
“And Apep’s men?”
“The warrior was long gone. I don’t know about the other two.”
“Damn, I hope they are alright. Getting this first meeting with Apep organised is going to be difficult enough without a body count blackening our name.”
“I can’t help but think they deserve everything they got. What were they thinking? Cara is the Chaos Focus, right? It’s like they wanted to cause trouble.”
Patricia frowned, she wanted to dismiss Cullen’s accusation but… “Maybe they weren’t aware of the ramifications of their actions. After all, they rub shoulders with Gods and demi gods, all who have their powers under control.”
“I find it hard to believe. I only had twenty minutes after I received your meeting invite to do some research and it was readily apparent that every one hundred years or so one of Apep’s descendants is born, designated the Chaos Focus. They lived short, sometimes very short lives and were generally killed thanks to some natural calamity. You trying to tell me Apep, even dead, didn’t notice his ancestors turning up with tales of floods, fires, landslides, and meteors falling from the sky? And that didn’t clue him in to the potential dangers of startling the Focus?”
Patricia took another sip of her beer, giving herself a moment to think. “High tea, huh?”
“It was all I could come up with on the spur of the moment.”
“Well, it will be easier for you to arrange than an eighteen course banquet, that’s for sure.”
“Me?”
“Yes, my assistant, remember?” She very much enjoyed throwing that word in his face.
“You don’t think you might be over-scheduling me, just a tad?”
“Are you complaining? Reneging on your commitment to the Library?”
“Never. I’m just wondering where I’ll find the time to fit everything in.”
“Come now, you can’t be all that busy, not if you can find time to stream-line my entire Research Department and put in to place a whole new process approach.” Patricia raised her bottle in his direction. “Cheers for that.”
“Ah, I wondered when we would be getting around to discussing the changes I made. Look, I was just trying to improve efficiency and ensure that critical priorities are being addressed in a speedy fashion.” The bland look on Patricia’s face was at odds with the tiny sparks of copper shimmering in her eyes. “And, okay, I may have overstepped, but in fairness, I was just thinking of you.”
“Me?” Patricia was genuinely surprised. Here she thought Cullen would be crowing about how he’d improved her out-dated system. Demanding some sort of credit for it.
“Come on, you know you are a bottle-neck.”
“Excuse me?” She had been accused of being many things over the years, but being a bottle-neck wasn’t one of them.
“Look, I get how important the Research Department is. But you’ve been letting the junior staff members use you as a crutch for way too long. You’ve trained them. Time to kick their insecure butts out of the nest and let them fly or go splat.”
“Problem is, if they go splat they do so in the safety of the Library while someone out there, possibly a close relative, will be the one to bear the brunt of their mistake.”
“You can’t protect everyone. That burden is unfair to you. And you are not doing any of the junior staff any favours. Everyone needs to make mistakes, learn what that feels like. The horrid pit that explodes in your stomach when you suddenly realise you missed or misinterpreted something and you pray, you pray real hard that the consequences of your actions don’t end up getting anyone hurt. And you have an epiphany, you never, ever, want to experience that feeling again. So you become more diligent. You put into place checks and counter-checks. You step up.”
“That sounds personal. I take it you were never a banker or an insurance agent?”
“Is that the rumour? No. I am… was, an analyst for a government agency.”
“I assume you don’t mean the Agricultural Branch?”
“No, it required a little more intelligence than that.”
She was surprised he was dropping such a blatant clue, this man who so closely guarded his privacy. Cullen had been a spy? Well, well. “The time when you got it wrong, what happened?” Funny, by the dim light of the Krell campaign tableau, it seemed easy to just chat with Cullen like he was person, not an adversary.
“I was just starting out and I was cocky, thought I knew everything. Let’s just say I learnt from my mistakes.”
“Yeah, I’ve been there. I know that horrible pit in the stomach feeling. Where you just want to claw back time so you can take back the mistake, fix things.”
“Exactly.” Cullen finished his beer and got to his feet, heading for the fridge. “Want another?” He grabbed two more bottles from the dark fridge, grateful for the insulation that was still keeping them cold. “You know you can’t protect the junior staff members forever, they deserve the opportunity to sink or swim. They’ll never learn otherwise. And until you give them free rein, they’ll know you don’t trust them.”
“You get how annoying you are, right?”
Cullen settled back on his end of the sofa, shifting, trying to get comfortable. His side throbbed reminding him that all the recent running around hadn’t helped his cracked rib. “Pardon? I thought I was being very helpful.”
“Please, back when you were working for the… not-Agricultural Branch, if someone had just tur
ned up one day and started making blanket changes to your processes-”
“I made things better, more efficient, go on, admit it.”
“Hmpfh. And if that person, who isn’t your boss… in fact, let’s say it’s the guy who empties out the waste bins every evening. If he sidled up to you and started pointing out everything he thought you were doing wrong, wouldn’t you get a little… aggravated?”
“You’re equating me with the janitorial staff?”
“You made that leap. I’m just proposing a hypothetical situation.”
“Well, if that is the case, the janitorial staff at the not-Agricultural Branch all have advanced weapons training and at least two masters degrees, so I would probably listen to what they had to say and take it on board.”
Annoying, aggravating, answer for everything, thinks he so cute. Patricia twisted the top off her fresh bottle of beer and took a large gulp. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, you were the one who engaged the emergency lockdown protocol, you should know.”
“Not here, here. I mean here, in the Southern Sanctuary. Are you really retired… from your Government job?”
Mmmmh, how much to share? It wasn’t a question Cullen ever found himself asking. Mainly because other than his immediate family he trusted no one, but this was Patricia Bennett. Surprisingly he found he didn’t want to fabricate a suitable nonsensical response, he wanted her to know the truth, to know him. “There was an incident. In London. Two years ago. Someone sent a team to dispose of me. I took umbrage at that and returned the favour.”
“Someone tried to have you killed?” It was a terrible thing, but didn’t really explain why heated seething rage raced through her veins at the idea of Cullen being hurt, killed.
