Sam called from a nearby electrical hub. “Someone’s jacked into the power grid over here.” He wiggled the security panel to show that it had been tampered with.
Shandra readjusted the eyepiece over her brow. “I have a reading,” she said. “It’s not as strong as the one in Detroit, but it’s there. They are probably using it for very small, limited jumps so it has not left behind as much of a dimensional echo, yet .”
Wiltshire set his duffel down and began rummaging through his tools. “You’re probably right. About how far away is the signal?” He withdrew a heavy bolt cutter to deal with the lock and chain.
“Do you think we should wait for our backup to arrive?” Sam asked. He’d already made arrangements for help.
Wiltshire barely responded. “They’ll get here when they get here.” Before he had a chance to clip the chain, Shandra smashed it free with her hammer.
She shrugged defensively. “I thought time was of the essence.”
The detective kept his face neutral. He both hated and loved the banter—but mostly it reminded him why he was on this mission to begin with: his partner. The Scholomance had either killed or abducted Atticus and Wiltshire needed to know his friend’s fate. From what he’d learned of the strigoi, death was more merciful than the alternative.
They breached the door and kept their voices down. The loading access met a hallway junction, and they identified the power cable tying them into the grid; the entire corridor descended lower as they followed the cord and the distance and depths made any noise from the surface extremely hard to hear.
The group ventured deeper and further into the dark. Wiltshire held his gun firm and Shandra gripped her hammer. Sam brought up the rear.
They turned a corner and discovered a loading and staging zone that was lit by freestanding lights. A massive contraption sat in the middle of the area, surrounded by sleeping bags, discarded food wrappers, assorted trash, and sacks of cash, coin, and other valuables.
Wiltshire and the others pulled back into the hall. Barely discernible voices could be heard near the machine.
Shandra confirmed it was one of the gate devices. At this range, the signal was easily read. She peeked back at it; the terminal looked more like a cobbled-together collection of old parts, each interconnected to a fancy briefcase by a web of cables. The case bore the property markings of the Heptobscurantum cult.
“Let me try something,” Sam said. Before the others could argue, he stepped around the corner, put his hands up in case their targets were armed. “Hello? Are you there? I’m looking for Zurrah, Son of Zahaben, and Cerci Heiderscheidt.”
Feet scrambled somewhere in the distance, hidden behind the contraption. A flutter of intense whispers, both from Sam’s targets and from his partners around the corner, rippled through the shadowy room.
“Miss Heiderscheidt, I don’t know if you remember me, but the folks you used to work for once hooked me up to one of these things.”
“Stop right there,” a feminine voice called out.
Sam complied.
“Are you armed?” Cerci asked.
Sam turned his hands over both ways. “No,” he admitted. “But I have friends nearby, and they are. But right now, it’s just me.”
“You know I could slice you all to pieces with this machine, right? It’s stronger than a laser and nothing known to man could stop it.”
Sam casually sank to a seated position. “I’m well aware of that—remember I’ve seen it before. But I’m just here to talk,” he spoke with a warm, fatherly tone. “I’m not here to stop you, rob you, or whatever you might think. I actually came to you for help. My daughter is in trouble and I’m hoping you might be willing to help me.”
“I don’t exactly have a long track record with benevolence,” she answered back. “I’ve done nothing but hurt your family in the past… or at least help others who did.”
Sam bobbed his head. “But they aren’t here now, and I’m not asking them. I’m asking you. I also think your friend will want to help. Zurrah, your brother might be in some kind of trouble, too. Zabe has gone missing… and my daughter is his fiance.”
The heads of the two young people poked out from behind the machine. They pulled back and whispered fiercely. Finally, they both came out, but Cerci carried the device’s controls with her.
They sat next to him and Sam asked, “Why the Astrodome?”
“Her father was an Astros fan,” Wiltshire said, coming out from behind the corner and holstering his weapon. He kept his distance, but made himself visible. “He took you to a game here when you were little, right?”
Cerci nodded. “How did you know?”
“I found the ticket stub and photo. Plus, I pulled a file from your history—I didn’t have much else to go on. But your boyfriend here is another story.”
Wiltshire caught Cerci off-guard with the romantic label. “Oh, uh. We’re not officially…”
Zurrah grabbed her hand and interlocked his fingers with hers. “I’m not from around here,” he explained.
“Indeed, not,” Shandra came closer and sat down. She laid her hammer in front of her knowing that Zurrah would recognize it and understand that she was of the Veritas. “We all have different missions but we’re here because of Tay-lore.”
Cerci looked at Zurrah and then shook her head. “We don’t know anyone named Tay-lore.”
Sam locked eyes with Zurrah. “He’s a friend of my daughter and your brother. He died helping us find you. Android in service of the throne ring any bells?”
Zurrah vaguely recollected and nodded slowly. His path with the android had not crossed as often as Zabe’s had and he was taken by Nitthogr when he was still very young.
By now, even Wiltshire took a seat in the conversation circle. He laid out everything that they’d learned in the last couple days. “We’re not here to stop what you guys are doing or make you give back any of the loot, except that page you took from the Heptobscurantum vault. Honestly, you can keep all of it—on some level I can respect what you’ve managed to accomplish with your machine. We just need your help. Without it,” he punctuated his final words with a snap that echoed in the darkness beyond the light racks, “all of reality as we know it might stop.”
***
“It’s Claire,” she spoke into the pay phone in the truck stop in a remote part of Louisiana on Interstate ten. She’d decided in that moment what to call herself after the princess finally merged into a complete version of herself. “Do you have Jackie’s phone number? I assume she has a cell number after…” She began scribbling the digits on a napkin.
She thanked Jackie’s parents, Archie and Janet, and hung up. Claire had never been so grateful to see a pay phone in her life; most places had ditched them long ago. Luckily this one hadn’t been phased out yet.
Claire stacked up the coins along the counter near where the phone was attached to a cinder block wall. The campers she’d stumbled upon had been kind enough to furnish her with a quick meal, a ride to the truck stop, and whatever change they could scrounge together from the cup holders in their Volkswagen bus. It was enough for a couple phone calls.
She punched in the number Jackie’s mother had given her and waited as it dialed.
“Hello?” Jackie answered in an odd voice she reserved for using with telemarketers.
“Jackie! Jackie, it’s Claire…”
“Claire? Ohmygodforreal? Wait… Claire or Bithia?”
“Claire,” she said. “Bithia and I are… I’ll explain later, but we’re all good again. Better than good. So much has happened in the last couple weeks. Where are you guys? I’m stuck at a Louisiana truck stop of all places, and the portal gates won’t work.”
“Yeah,” Jackie said. “I talked to your dad just a little while ago. Wulftone and I are on our way to meet him and Shandra in Houston—our plane just landed in fact. Let me get you the number for the burner phone he’s using here on earth. Let me know when you’re ready.”
Claire gr
abbed her pen and napkin. “I’m ready. Go.” She jotted the digits down and then her eyes caught a familiar face leaning against the wall near her, watching her. He wore a ball cap and looked like he’d just come from a county fair where he operated the tilt-a-whirl, but she’d recognize him anywhere.
Zabe!
“I… uh… I’ve got to go. I’ll see you soon.” Claire hung up the receiver and turned to her fiance. “Zabe?”
The man shook his head. He put a finger to his lips to insist she remained quiet as he pulled up his shirt to reveal the handgun in his waistband. “I’m Rob,” he told her.
Claire frowned. She saw the startling difference in the man’s eyes. He was Zabe’s Earth copy, just as Claire had been Bithia’s. The last time she’d seen Rob, was before the Mullen Nebraska incident; he was Heptobscurantum, and he’d kidnapped Claire and turned her over to Nitthogr.
“I’m sorry, mister, you must have me mistaken for someone else,” she tried to play coy and hoped he’d fall for it. Claire started to move past him, but he pushed her against the wall, with just enough force to move her without any true violence.
“You don’t think I could ever forget you, do you Claire Jones? I know we’re a long way from high school in Minnesota, but I remember.” He winked, “Besides, I overheard your phone calls. Talk about irony, or dumb luck, or whatever… maybe it’s kismet. I dunno.” Rob put a hand on the butt of his concealed firearm and motioned for her to head towards the door. “Now let’s go.”
She growled and left for the door. Claire was smart enough to see the writing on the wall, but knew she couldn’t fall into the hands of the Heptobscurantum cult. Right before she was prepared to bolt and hope Rob had terrible aim, he put a hand on her from behind and twisted a fistful of cloth to keep a handle on her.
“I remember how fiery you were last time, and you’re not getting away from me unless I say so,” Rob whispered.
Claire sighed. She’d have to wait for an opportunity she could exploit, later. Claire hung her head and walked grudgingly towards the familiar semi-truck cab where she’d been held hostage once before.
***
Wulftone and Jackie came down the tunnel with Shandra while Cerci and Zurrah explained how Cerci had come up with the plan to steal resources from the Heptobscurantum’s suppliers. “She called it a Robin Hood thing,” Zurrah said with a confused lilt to his voice.
“I had a hunch that Caivev and her, uh, people, were just going to leave Zurrah in that other dimension. We’d become friends while at the temple and I couldn’t just leave him there.” Cerci shrugged, “So I stole the first gen model of the machine that Doctor Walther and I built. I didn’t have all the know-how to actually build the thing from scratch. Some of the data he’d always refused to share, but I knew if I had the central control node I could cobble together the rest with pretty common parts.” She indicated the briefcase that had clearly been taken from her previous employers. A system of vacuum tubes unlike anything else they’d ever seen lay nestled in the center amid warning labels reading Danger: Wundrefluvium.
Next to a wheeled IV pole where a sack of red fluid hanged, Cerci sheepishly tried to hide a cooler behind the bulk of the contraption. A large sticker on it read Property of Houston Area Blood Bank. “Once I got Zurrah out, we just kept raiding them and going after bigger and bigger targets,” she flashed a subtle smile for their accomplishments.
Once Jackie was close enough, she rushed over to give Sam a hug. She’d already been brought up to speed on the situation, as had Wulftone. “I’m so happy to see you guys.” She pulled away. “How’s the reception down here? Did you get Claire’s call?”
Sam shot her an incredulous look. “Claire called? She’s here?”
Jackie nodded. “Yes. And it was Claire,” she insisted, cluing in only those aware of the situation that there had been any issues.
Sam checked his phone. No messages or missed calls even though he had full service down here. “How long ago?”
Jackie shrugged. “Ninety minutes ago. Maybe more?”
Zurrah spotted his cousin, and Wulftone walked over and gave him a huge bear hug. He looked over the youth who had grown so much since their last encounter, he took off the leather cuff from around his arm. It bore the Vangandran wolf sigil. Wulftone latched it around the young man’s wrist. “I think this belongs to you,” he said.
The youngest son of Zahaben choked up at the gesture. He knew what it meant. It was a family heirloom that had once belonged to his father.
Sam, Shandra, and Wiltshire had already brought Zurrah up to speed on his family situation, or what they knew of it since his capture as a child.
“Don’t you need it to shape-shift?” Jackie asked.
Wulftone shook his head, as if unsure. “It’s time to take off the training wheels, I think. Zabe was able to do it without the bracer after he’d worn it a while… I think I’ll be able to as well.” He clutched arms with his cousin. “We are Vangandra. It’s in our blood.” He clapped the lad on the back and turned to Sam and Shandra.
Sam had begun another worry spiral since he hadn’t gotten a call yet from Claire. Wulftone noticed and gave him something to focus on. “Hey Sam, what have you got on our over-all situation?”
The archaeologist shook away his anxiety and put a marker to the free standing dry erase board near Cerci’s machine. He began drawing up names of those he thought the survivors could trust and their allegiances. “Let’s map out a plan,” he said.
Shandra - Veritas, Earth
Sam Jones - Earth
Zabe - missing
Wulftone - GC, Earth
Jackie - GC, Earth
Jenner - GC, Prison/Prime
Shjikara - Enemy/Prime
Gita - Enemy/Prime
“Whoa, hold on,” Wulftone said. “Gita is with the enemy and Jenner is with us… do we know that?”
Sam continued making his list, mostly so he could make sense of their situation and their resources. “You haven’t seen the video yet. It’s not pretty, but it explains a lot.” He waved to the detective who stood and activated Beta-lore.
Wiltshire introduced himself, “My name is Vikrum Wiltshire and Tay-lore was my friend. That makes it hard for me to replay this, but the details probably mean more to you than they do to me.”
As he cued up the video, Sam pulled Cerci aside and conferred privately. He flipped the marker board and used its back. Together they completed some kind of complex equation.
Wiltshire activated the video and let it run its course. They saw everything: the murder, the gloating confession, the details about Jenner and Gita that Nitthogr intended to remain secret.
Those who hadn’t seen it yet watched appalled. They stood as if in shock and Wulftone asked, “What do we do next… where do we go from here, besides search for Zabe?”
Sam announced, “We might be unable to find Zabe; we’ll need to hope that he finds us. But I think we’re going to need every ally we can get right now. I’m hoping and praying we get a call any minute from my daughter, but we have a small window to get at least one more Corpsman.”
Cerci added the last couple notes from the equation and finished punching in data to the machine’s central array. Sam flipped the board and circled Jenner’s name. “We can’t leave the kid behind.”
Heads bobbed and then a triangular gate split the air. Its seams rippled with crimson energy like chain lightning and then it expanded to reveal the inside of the prison where Jenner remained incarcerated. The equations had been close enough to open the rift in the hallway outside of the cell.
Behind bars, Jenner stared at the menacing shape that had haunted him for years—ever since his father’s abduction. Finally, he noticed the faces of friends on the other side. His face turned from rage to surprise and relief.
“Um… hey guys,” Jenner said. “It’s about time you all came to my rescue.”
“Yeah,” Wulftone said, “Sorry about that. It was a delicate situation, and it took some doin
g. We’re basically moving heaven and earth to get you out.”
“It’s that bad already?” Jenner asked, still blocked by the bars of his cell door. He guessed, “You found out about Nitthogr.”
“It’s worse than anyone realizes,” Wulftone agreed.
Jenner noticed, “I don’t see Zabe with you.”
Wulftone shook his head gravely. “He’s been missing ever since the… incident.”
Jenner scowled. “He’ll turn up. When he does, he and I are gonna have some words—him of all people shouldda known I was innocent.”
“Understood,” Wulftone said. He turned his head to something on the other side of the gate. All the earth-side heroes ran to something Jenner could not see from within his cell.
“So get me out of here already,” Jenner howled. He shook the door and roared, trapped with a row of bars between the portal and his cell. Confinement forced him to watch as his friends battled against something in another dimension—something he couldn’t see that had taken them by surprise.
Eldritch blasts zipped by like comets with telltale streaks of energy trailing behind. Jenner only had a glimpse and could not see the full picture.
Finally he saw it: the face of his hated enemy: Jacob Sisyphus. The man who had taken his father now attacked his friends and Jenner was powerless to help.
He could hear the screams and noises of battle on the other side. Suddenly the gate began moving towards Jenner. The young corpsman backpedaled, knowing how dangerous the fiery edges of the portal were.
The triangle cut through the bars as if they weren’t even there. They snapped and fell to the floor inside of the gate, clanking onto the ground on Earth.
Jenner growled, loosing all his rage; he charged forward and launched himself through the portal. The Corpsman tucked and rolled to the ground. A fraction of a second later, the portal blinked out of existence. The machine opening the rift broke apart with a loud ripping noise and a small burst of flames.
Cerci screamed as Sisyphus batted her aside. She flew several feet and skidded across the floor, knocking over one of the light sources. It erupted in a shower of sparks and darkness.
The Architect King Page 22
