by Lisa Shearin
Last, but certainly not least, it was hot. Last night’s fire hadn’t been normal. It’d burned hotter then, so it was hot now.
I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, turned away from the street and its crowds, and stepped behind one of the remaining walls for enough peace and quiet so I could work. I squeezed my eyes shut against the drying heat and did my best to block out the other distractions as I opened my seer senses.
I didn’t send out any psychic feelers; I was merely still, leaving my senses open to whatever lay in the rubble beneath my boots.
Gradually, I became aware of a low, pulsing hum.
I opened my eyes, my attention drawn to the outskirts of the search area. Only one investigator was searching there.
He was glamoured like the other supernatural NYPD investigators, but I couldn’t see through his disguise, as I could theirs. It shifted and flowed, and as I stood still, watching and listening, the briefest of openings gave me enough of a read to know that he was not merely a goblin, he was the goblin.
Last night, he’d been angry. Now he had anxiety and desperation piled on top of that.
And the vague impression of Rake was still there, though this guy was obviously not Rake, since Rake was in bed at SPI HQ.
I froze. “Gethen,” I whispered. He wasn’t far away, but he wasn’t close, either. I was counting on his goblin hearing right now.
Gethen’s head was down as he searched and moved carefully through the rubble. At my whispered call, he stopped, but he didn’t lift his head, instead cutting only his eyes toward me.
Good. He knew something was wrong.
I flicked my eyes toward the glamoured goblin.
Who was now standing straight and tall and staring at both of us.
Crap.
Things went entirely too fast after that—those things being Gethen and the goblin. It was all over before I could even get my clunky boots to move.
The goblin hadn’t been able to see through my glamour, but when I’d opened my seer senses, it’d must have been like waving a red flag at a bull. The two of us were behind a wall, visible to no one except Gethen. The goblin gathered his power in an instant, and everything went into that slow motion that gives you a sneak peek into what it was going to feel like to be reduced to a damp spot on burnt ground.
An acid-green fireball raced toward me. I knew I couldn’t dodge in time, and if I tried, it would merely dodge with me like a heat-seeking missile. Just before impact, Gethen dove in front of me, hands out like a soccer goalie. A red glow was radiating out from them like twin shields, not only blocking the fireball, but sending it back at its launcher. His shoulder clipped me, and we both went down in a tumble of ash and soot.
Just before he would have been incinerated by his own fireball, the goblin touched a cuff on his wrist. There was a blinding flash of light, and when I could see again, the goblin was gone.
When he vanished, so did the fireball.
I lay sprawled in shock.
Gethen helped me to my feet. “Is that who you saw last night?”
I rubbed my upper arm, which had taken the brunt of my less than light landing. “Yeah. That was him. Thank you.”
Ian and two of our agents ran around the wall to where we were. Ian didn’t have his gun out, but there was a golden glow coming from beneath the collar of his windbreaker. Lugh’s Spear had sensed the trouble and the goblin who had brought it, and it wanted a piece of the action. Maybe next time. I had a sinking feeling there was going to be one.
Gethen released his grip on my arm. “She had a visitor,” he told Ian.
“The goblin mage from last night,” I clarified. “Seems he’s looking for the same thing we are. We need to find it. Now.”
*
At first, it looked like just another hot spot with its orangey-gold glow.
Gethen crouched next to the light flickering from beneath a pile of blackened boards, his hands held out in front of him as if he were warming them against a fire. “It is magic most alien.”
Ian and I joined him. Whatever was under those boards glowed like fire, but it didn’t radiate any heat.
“Is it safe to uncover it?” Ian asked Gethen.
“I am not sensing any malice.”
“You talk about it like it’s alive,” I noted.
“Life takes many forms, Lady Makenna.”
The three of us put on gloves and carefully cleared the boards away to expose a crystal, its interior flickering with what looked like tongues of flame.
He softly hissed what I’d come to recognize as his go-to Goblin cuss word when a situation took an abrupt turn for the worse.
“You recognize it?” Ian asked him.
“Oh yes.”
“Is it dangerous?” I whispered.
Gethen actually winced. “That depends.”
6
When you worked for SPI’s labs and were out in the field, you were always prepared to contain and carry. Whether it be organic, inorganic, or some funky thing that had been spawned somewhere in between, these folks had to bag it, tag it, and get it back to the lab without setting off a catastrophe of Biblical proportions.
Our lab techs’ motto: We are professionals. Do not try this at home.
There wasn’t much that fazed our lab field teams, and they were brave to a fault. Still, right now, since they were dealing with a crystal that might have been responsible for bringing a house here from another planet, there was a silent round robin going of: “You touch it.”/“No, you touch it.”
Our people would have picked it up eventually. To their credit, they even had the containment box open and ready. But before they could choose their sacrificial lamb, Gethen Nazar simply reached around them, picked up the rock, and shoved it in the box.
As per procedure, the lab techs thoroughly explored the immediate area surrounding any newfound strangeness. Very often the much-needed answers to some life or death questions weren’t found in the object itself, but in what was around it. Since the entire site was going to be scrubbed clean, no one was going to risk leaving anything important behind.
They had taken photos, lots of photos, before they’d done their round-robin of passing the crystal buck. Those photos included the crystal and what surrounded it—a rectangle of what appeared to be metal that had been burnt down to slag.
“Size-wise, it looks like a piece of carry-on luggage that’d been laid on its side,” I pointed out. “The little ridge of slag is even rounded where the corners would be, and it has the outline of what looks like a handle. Do your people have little suitcases on wheels?” I asked Gethen, only half kidding.
“No, we do not.”
The crystal had been in the exact center, resting on top of what looked like a thin layer of the same slag. There had been nothing on the crystal itself. After we’d cleared away the debris, the crystal had been pristine, as if the flames inside the stone had burned away any ash that had attempted to sully its flickering perfection.
Gethen had hinted at it being some form of life.
I was starting to agree. If flickering could look smug, this thing was entirely too pleased with itself.
*
Getting the body and crystal back to SPI headquarters without the press tracking us like a pack of bloodhounds buzzed on Red Bull was quite the trick. Since the ambulance had gotten away with Rake and Tulis last night, one of the network affiliates had dispatched a helicopter and cameraman to track any vehicle their person on the ground told them to follow.
The SPI van, disguised as one from the city medical examiner’s office, drove into one underground garage, activated its “cloaking device,” popped invisible out the other side to quickly cross the street into one of the private parking garages that hid the entrance to headquarters, and the press was successfully foiled again.
We were on the receiving end of an even bigger surprise once we arrived on the third level of the headquarters com
plex where SPI’s labs were located.
Rake was waiting for us, and at his side in a wheelchair was Tulis Minic, conscious and looking none the worse for wear. I knew mages could make short work of healing themselves, but dang. Then again, this was the guy who had killed a Khrynsani mage, then shoved his soul into a necklace while he’d been trapped inside a burning house that’d been brought here from another world.
Despite his mild-mannered appearance, if that didn’t make him a badass, I didn’t know what would.
Since Dr. Carey was hovering protectively nearby, I had a feeling the wheelchair was her doing. The mage looked like he could stand and walk just fine on his own. But then again, with goblins, looks were always deceiving, and they liked it that way.
Rake took care of the introductions—and translated for Tulis from Goblin to English as the mage spoke in a voice still raspy from smoke.
“Pardon me for not rising or shaking hands,” Rake translated.
Tulis cast a weak smile at Dr. Carey as he continued.
“My dear doctor won’t allow it,” Rake said for him. “I’m afraid I’m pushing the limits of her tolerance by even being out of bed.” He glanced down the hall to where the gurney with the body bag was being wheeled into the lab for Bert’s examination.
“I see you found him,” Rake noted with satisfaction, speaking for himself now. “When Mr. Ferguson is ready, Gethen and I can secure the room and question our deceased guest.”
Dr. Carey started to object, but Rake raised a hand. “Your concern is duly noted and appreciated, Dr. Carey. We don’t have the luxury of time. We must question this Khrynsani. I assure you that I am well enough to do what must be done.”
“We will not be taking any undue risks,” Gethen assured her. “We have arranged with Director Sagadraco for two members of my staff to be present for additional security. Lord Danescu will be safe.”
I think that last part was aimed more at Rake to ensure his good behavior than for Dr. Carey’s peace of mind.
“That my home was taken from Regor indicates there’s great trouble in our capital,” Rake said. “That trouble seems to be spreading here. We need answers now. Have you been able to contact Tam?” he asked Gethen.
“No, sir, I have not.” Gethen paused uneasily. “It is even more critical now that we reach him.”
Rake went still. “How so?”
“Buried in the rubble near the center of the house was a crystal, its interior burning with tongues of flame.”
Now I got to hear Rake repeat Gethen’s go-to word.
“We’re not doing this again,” Ian warned. “First Gethen recognized the rock, now you. He wouldn’t tell us anything until he reported to you. I accepted that. He’s reported it. That thing’s in our lab. We need to know what we brought home.”
Gethen answered for his boss. “As I said, Agent Byrne, if it is what I believe, it is not dangerous in its present state. The containment box your lab is using will be more than sufficient.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“And I am not the one to answer it for you,” Rake told him. “I know next to nothing about these crystals.”
“You know enough to know they’re dangerous.”
Gethen had cryptically requested that the lab maintain full containment on its newest guest. He’d told them there was an expert Rake would contact who would be able to tell them more about it.
“Is your cousin Tam the crystal expert?” I asked Rake.
“He’s the closest to one I know of. As chancellor to the goblin king and queen, he also knows everything that happens in Regor.”
“Around the crystal was what looked like melted metal,” I said. “Roughly the size of a wheeled carry-on bag.”
“Tulis told me what happened,” Rake said. “Two Khrynsani were seen breaking the wards and entering the back of the house carrying what looked to be a small chest. They left less than ten minutes later—without the chest. The witness reported the incident to the city watch, who alerted Tulis, who was with my parents at their house outside of Regor. Tulis arrived that night and searched the house. He found the chest in a storage closet in my study. Something in the chest was humming and glowing. He felt dizzy and disoriented as the walls started to fade, then his body did the same. He’s not sure if he lost consciousness at that point, or even briefly ceased to exist. His next awareness was intense pressure as his body again solidified, as did the house around him. He said the heat from the chest was like standing in front of an open furnace. A Khrynsani ran into the room and was surprised to see Tulis there. They fought. The fire started when the floor under the chest caught fire. Tulis killed the Khrynsani and forced his soul into his lifestone. He admits that he was then overcome with weakness from whatever had happened to him and from the smoke. Then he woke up here.”
When Rake finished Tulis’s story he was met with a whole lot of silence. I knew I’d have plenty of questions once my brain caught up with what my ears had just heard. As it stood, I had only one thing to say.
“Wow.”
“It sounds like the Khrynsani’s body we found may have come from here,” Ian said, “meaning our world.”
Rake nodded. “Tulis said that he was strangely garbed. From what he described, it sounded like jeans, T-shirt, and a leather jacket.”
“He came to retrieve the device?” I wondered out loud. “I imagine if all they wanted to bring here was the house, their agent finding Tulis inside was a huge shock.”
Rake’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Knowing Tulis, the Khrynsani didn’t live long enough to be shocked. We will find out from him soon enough.”
*
Gethen pushed Tulis’s wheelchair with Rake by his side. Dr. Carey wanted Tulis back in bed. The goblin mage wanted to see the rock that had brought him here.
We didn’t know if it had been teleportation or something like it, but there was no disputing that Rake’s house with Tulis inside had been in Regor, and then it had appeared in New York. Even if it wasn’t teleportation, that’s what we were gonna call it until a better explanation came along.
SPI’s lab mages had contained the crystal to the best of their ability, considering how little they knew about it.
So, we were all safe being in the same room with it. Unless we weren’t.
The inorganics lab was on one side of the hall, organics on the other. Both were equipped to handle, contain, and analyze virtually anything. The dead Khrynsani’s body had been taken to the organics side of the hall where Bert Ferguson’s workroom was located. We entered the inorganics lab. Though after what the crystal had done and the creepy impression I’d gotten from it, I wasn’t sure it’d been brought to the right place.
Floor-to-ceiling glass along both sides of the hall provided an unobstructed view into both labs. It wasn’t glass, but it was shatterproof, explosion proof, and every other proof the headquarters’ builders could come up with. That way, if an experiment or subject got out of control, those windows served two purposes: Keep the chaos in the lab, and let the folks in the lab across the hall know that all hell had broken loose and to call for help.
There was never a dull moment at SPI.
We went into an observation room adjacent to the containment area where the lab techs had secured the crystal.
The cause of all the trouble was about the size of a jagged softball.
It had been smug when Gethen had plucked it out of the smoking rubble, and now it appeared to be happy as an innocent clam in its new home of a clear, blast- and magic-proof cube. Whether the rock felt warm and fuzzy wasn’t the point; whether we felt safe from it was. Anything that could do what it did was as dangerous as a live nuke, and our lab people were treating it accordingly.
It wasn’t the only rock presently in SPI custody. On the other side of the inorganics lab in another ultra-secure testing area was the magetech generator, created by an interdimensional supervillain, that had taken the Regor Regency Ho
tel and its hundreds of guests into our own little pocket dimension of horrors. The power source for the generator was a fist-sized glowing blue cube. Ian had stabbed the cube with his ancestor’s spear to stop the countdown that would have resulted in… Well, since it hadn’t happened, we didn’t know exactly what the result would have been, but we were pretty sure none of us would’ve survived.
Just last week our lab geniuses had determined enough about the magetech generator to be pretty sure that it’d be safe for Ian to pull the spear from the stone, so to speak. He did, and the generator didn’t—blow us up, that is. It still had its own dedicated team of technicians working to determine how the generator had been built, how it worked, and what its full capabilities were.
Ian hadn’t said anything during the time he’d spent without his spear, but I knew he’d missed it. At first, I’d been ambivalent about my partner’s new quasi-partner. It’d been made by the master craftsmen of the Tuatha dé Danann, an ancient race of Irish gods. We’d found out a couple of months ago that Ian was the direct descendant of Lugh Lámhfhada, a legendary warrior/demigod. Ian now carried the spear that’d saved our collective bacon as a proud part of his daily arsenal. Our armorers had outfitted it with a telescoping shaft so that it would fit comfortably in its custom harness against Ian’s spine and under any jacket he wore.
I think I’d missed having that spear with us almost as much as Ian had.
Tulis took a good look at the flickering crystal, shook his head, and said a few words.
“He hasn’t seen it before,” Rake translated. “I almost wish I could say the same. I’ve never seen one, but I have heard of it—and others like it. Gethen, I believe you’re right.”
“Others?” I asked.
In our little slice of the lab, you could’ve heard a pin drop.
