The wizard produced the ticket stubs he’d collected in Detroit and tossed them after the woman. “You forgot these,” he said as he wrenched the machine’s central control unit free—the part that was the proprietary secret of Dr. Pietro Walther. It was the only piece that Cerci could not reconstruct on her own. He tucked it under his arm and began heading for the exit.
“Stop him!” Screamed Sam.
Wiltshire rolled to his side and tried to get to his feet, himself punch drunk and his firearm lost somewhere in the shadows after the initial assault.
Both Wulftone and Zurrah shifted into their Lycan forms. They looked at each other, both surprised that they’d summoned whatever internal grit was necessary to make such a transformation. The werewolves launched themselves at their enemy.
Shandra picked herself up off the floor and roared as she joined their charge, hefting her battle-hammer.
Sisyphus threw a bolt of energy at her, but she deflected it with her mystic hammer. It splashed against the mallet head like a ball of water and she continued charging after him.
The wizard gripped his kophesh and both of the werewolves flew off their feet, flung into the distance at opposite ninety-degree angles, each smashed aside by a wall of force. Sisyphus used his blade to block the Veritas soldier just in time; he caught her hammer against the ancient blade.
They traded blows. Either would have been lethal had one of them connected.
Whap! The wet impact of steel on flesh echoed in the shadows.
Sisyphus screamed and stood erect. One of the steel bars cut from Jenner’s cell protruded from his torso. Carved sharp from the angle it was trimmed to, it penetrated the wizard’s shoulder where the young man had thrown it like a javelin.
Shandra wound up and smashed her hammer at Sisyphus, intending a killing stroke. It recoiled off an arcane force-field that Sisyphus threw up just in time. The hammer hit so hard that it shattered the energy wall and flung the hammer aside, knocking Shandra backward.
The werewolves howled in the distance as they righted themselves. Wiltshire spotted his nine millimeter and scrambled for it. Panic washed over the invading wizard as he realized his enemies stood a chance to win.
Sisyphus returned a blow for a blow and blasted Jenner with a bolt of pure energy. It sent him reeling off his feet.
Summoning arcane powers, and feeling the distinct drain on his energy caused by his wounded shoulder, Sisyphus poured all his remaining energy into one final blast. The shock-wave of pure force knocked everyone from their feet and a crest of fire blasted behind it, emanating off the thaumaturge like an expanding ring of fire.
Everything near and behind the heroes burst into flames.
Jenner coughed and rolled to his knees, ignoring the smoldering mark that charred his chest. “After him! We can defeat him!” He got to his feet and realized that most of his comrades were still down.
Wulftone and Zurrah were the first to rally to Jenner. “We’ll catch him if we can. Get everyone out!” They sprinted towards the tunnel where Sisyphus had escaped.
Sam was up next. He scooped up Cerci and helped her up.
Cerci’s eyes widened when they focused enough for her to see the destruction. “No—he can’t get away! That part he stole is the only way anybody can create one of these without Doctor Walther’s help.”
Sam put her arm around his shoulder and helped her move away from the flames.
Wiltshire snatched the page from the Codex Gigas before the fire could destroy it. He rolled it up and tucked it away within his jacket and then hefted two of the sacks stuffed with cash.
“Really?” Sam spat. “You’re saving the money of all things?”
Wiltshire scowled, ignoring the billowing smoke. “Lots of things this money can buy, like parts to rebuild the machine and travel to steal that part back. The kid was right. We can totally take this guy—but we’re gonna have to catch him first.”
Cerci coughed on a lungful of sooty air. “He’s right… and I don’t need the part… I just need Walther’s notes. I know where his lab is, now, and I also know the password he uses for everything. The guy was a pro wrestling nut: Tombstone Piledriver. Just sneak in, get the notes, and get out.”
Jenner picked up a bag of cash in each hand and headed towards the tunnel. “No.” His voice burned as fierce as the flames behind them. “We’ve got to finish it. Sisyphus has to die.”
None argued with him.
Shandra grabbed the remaining bag of valuables and headed after them.
Together they cleared the tunnel and found the lycans staring at the distant helicopter in the sky. Their shapes melted back to their human forms.
“He got away,” Wulftone said. “Probably on his way to the airport. He could be anywhere in the world in a few hours.”
“No,” Cerci insisted. “I think I know where he’s going.”
“You’re all gonna go after him, right?” Wiltshire asked.
Shandra nodded. The others agreed.
“I’ll have to catch up with you all, then.” Wiltshire turned over one of the sacks of money he’d rescued. “I think you’re all better equipped to locate your friend now, but if you haven’t found your missing werewolf in a week or so, feel free to call me; I’m in the New York City phone book. I’ll get an Uber to drop me at the airport. I’ve got to finish my other mission first and play another angle or I’ll have more strigoi showing up in my apartment.”
Sirens blared in the distance as the fire took hold of the building and crept up the side of the dome. Wiltshire thumbed his phone and summoned a ride.
***
“Your truck is different,” Claire said from the passenger seat of the Peterbilt.
Rob gave her a thin lipped scowl. The make and model were the same, but little differences stood out to her. She’d silently cataloged all the details of the truck’s interior the last time she’d been taken hostage inside it.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Right after handing you off a couple years ago, someone stole my truck.” He put a hand on the shifter and changed gears. “I had to get a new one.”
She took small pleasure in that fact and knew it had been destroyed in Nebraska. “So you’re still with the Heptobscurantum?”
Rob nodded.
“And they still want to kill me in order to cause some kind of Armageddon?”
He shook his head and relaxed as he talked with her. “You know, the same old guys that used to be in control of the organization are having something of a power struggle. I don’t think they know what they really want, even. There is more energy and guidance coming from the ground level these days.”
Claire gave him a skeptical look. “And what level are you a part of?”
He winked. “I’m all in on the grass roots side, baby.” He explained as he guided the truck around a slower patch of west-bound traffic. “I think the brass was a little miffed at being left out of the whole Pyramid, Kith-Koth Awakening thing with the goat-man. I dunno. Details are light… I really only get rumors, but there hasn’t been much news from the Seven, lately. Heck, I don’t even know who’s a member anymore. I do know that Jacob Sisyphus has been mostly MIA, lately, with him working on personal projects. And the new guy, Percival Wainsmith, has been hard to pin down, too.”
“You think the whole cult is fragmenting?” Claire asked.
He nodded, but did not look at her. “Big schism. Lots of infighting. I think they’re more content to snipe each other and posture against this Red Order group that have been harassing them lately… some kind of Vatican influenced enemy or something.” He shrugged. “It’s about time the Church figured out their war was real.”
Claire nodded slowly. “And you think that turning me over to them will somehow bring peace in the midst of that? Peace through destruction, right?”
Rob finally turned to look at her. “No. I do not.” He trailed off and then stared ahead. “The Seven have left the true path and there will be a reckoning. Their devotion to the agod has so
ured as they’ve each been consumed with private pursuits rather than the mission.”
Claire sat in silence and waited for more information. Rob didn’t seem like he planned to hurt her, but she didn’t want to press her luck. She ventured a direct question. “Are you going to give me to them?”
Rob said nothing for almost a minute as he drove. Claire could tell that he was deep in thought, weighing his own desires against the goals of the Heptobscurantum’s cause.
The semi braked slightly and Rob switched lanes, letting the truck slow for an exit that read Houston. Rob tossed Claire his cell phone. “Call your father and get a location. I’m dropping you off once you have a location.”
“Thank you,” she said, dialing his number on the verge of tears. “You won’t regret this, I promise.”
“I just hope I never hear about it, Claire. To be clear, this never happened. Got it? I’m doing this one for old time’s sake, not because I’ve been thinking about quitting the Heptobscurantum or anything like that.”
Claire nodded, certain that Rob was probably lying—he wouldn’t likely go back to the cult after a betrayal like this. She pushed the button and dialed. “Dad?” she said after hearing his voice.
“Clairebear?” She heard sirens in the background. “Claire, where are you?”
“On my way to Houston. I’ll be there soon. I just need to know where I can meet you.”
Chapter 19
The private jet carrying Jacob Sisyphus had gotten the wizard airborne as quickly as he had arrived. Limitless money and cultic devotion afforded him many sorts of luxuries, such as prompt take off and departure times.
Sisyphus sipped an expensive scotch while the medic he’d arranged for tended to his wounds. The doctor, pulled straight off the emergency room floor for an obscene amount of cash, stitched the wound and promised him he’d be healed up soon and would retain full mobility.
“Thanks, Doc,” Sisyphus said. “It’ll probably be even quicker than you expect. I have certain… factors that will speed up recovery. Now just kick back and watch an in-flight movie. Staff will get you a bottle of Cristal and a wagyu steak. You won’t arrive home till this time tomorrow, but I’ll take care of you.”
A stewardess escorted the medic to a private part of the plane so Sisyphus could conduct his business away from public eyes. He checked the clock on his cell phone and groaned. As comfortable as the private jet was, he’d really become accustomed to the instant travel speeds afforded by Walther’s rift generator.
Sisyphus hooked up a battery supply to the data box nestled within the heart of the contraption he’d just stolen. He sent whatever information he could gather, including a full array of photos, to his science team waiting for him back in Germany.
The wizard removed a piece of red dyed wool that had been woven into a strand of yarn. He tied it around his finger and let it dangle straight down, using it as a medium to detect falsehood.
Taking another sip of scotch after the task completed, he dialed a phone number. There was one man Sisyphus thought might have access to secret knowledge of the Venus Oculus—the mirror he sought above all else. He knew that other members of the Seven were collectors, like himself.
The other line opened. “Good afternoon, Mister Sisyphus,” Percival Wainsmith said. “It is so good to hear from you.”
Sisyphus grinned as the red strand bent to the side, as if a breeze had moved it. He knew the divination was working; Percival had lied. The string returned to normal as Wainsmith continued talking. “Word is, you are jet-setting around the world as of late. I did not think that you took so crude a form of travel.”
“Har, har, Wainsmith,” Sisyphus said to his fellow Illuminati member: the ruling council of the Heptobscurantum. “I need some help finding an arcane item I am interested in obtaining.”
“Ah! Have you become a fellow collector, then?” Wainsmith asked.
“Something like that. The artifacts I chase tend to have a greater purpose beyond mere pride of acquisition.”
“I can understand that, and would assume nothing more,” Wainsmith stated.
Sisyphus wasn’t sure if the fop was trying to insult him or not. He never really could—but it didn’t matter… it wouldn’t matter as long as Sisyphus got his mirror. “The item I seek was held for many years by the Scholomance. A magic mirror.”
Wainsmith spoke with a lilt that indicated he was smiling. The man took particular joy in knowing more than someone else or in being needed by another—especially if the needy person was powerful. “There are many magic mirrors in the world, my friend, and a group as revered and long lived as the school of Solomonari are likely to have possessed many magic mirrors.”
Sisyphus tried to play coy. He wanted to hedge his bets that whatever information he could glean would help him acquire the mirror, and do it faster than Wainsmith. He assumed Wainsmith might try to find it before Sisyphus had the chance—collectors were like that: knowing an object was desired increased their need to own it. “They possessed a mirror that would grant a single wish to any who possessed it, but only once every one hundred years.”
“Ah!” Wainsmith said, “The Venus Oculus. I have read of the mirror and know much about it.”
“Do you know where it is?” Sisyphus asked. He would know if the slippery Wainsmith lied or not, so long as he answered directly.
“I do. After the Scholomance released it, the piece was taken in a raid by the Red Order. That was nearly two hundred years ago. They whisked it away to one of their holding facilities for powerful, arcane artifacts where it was locked away yet deeper after the object proved too tempting for some of their poor detectives.”
Sisyphus hissed at the mention of the Red Order. He noticed that his red string had not moved since the beginning of the conversation. “Where is it now? It would bring me extra pleasure to pillage one of their stockrooms.”
Wainsmith chuckled. “They no longer possess it. A few years ago the facility holding it met an untimely end. The piece was sold at auction to a man who purchased it for a bargain; few knew that it had gone up for sale. The Red Order simply failed to send someone to retrieve the mirror… or to warn the new owner that the item could extract a steep toll if used. These things happen, sometimes. You know how it is… personnel shortages and what not. Pretty common when the job consumes life and death in a struggle against the paranormal. Would you like an address for the new owner?”
Sisyphus snorted. He was afraid that he’d just put the item on his peer’s radar, not that he feared Wainsmith at all—he could always let his fellow Heptobscurantum member collect it and then steal it from him before it could be used. “You’re not going to try to scoop this one out from under me, are you Wainsmith?”
The other Illuminati member laughed. “No, no. I do not want that particular piece. Already, I have more power than is good for me. I would not even accept it as a gift.”
“You sound like you’re scared of it,” Sisyphus scoffed. The string remained vertical.
“More like a healthy respect. That much power comes with too hefty a price.”
“All power comes with a price,” Sisyphus noted.
Wainsmith paused. “That is an accurate and fair statement. The Oculus was purchased by a Mister Miles Jecima. A sometimes-retired archaeologist who got into collecting arcane artifacts a couple years ago after a lively meeting with Claire Jones. Jecima was a colleague of her father’s.”
“Bloody Hell,” Sisyphus spat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“The address… do you need it?”
“No! I don’t need the address.” Sisyphus was certain the well-connected member of The Seven already knew why.
“As always, old friend, it was good talking to…”
Sisyphus noted that the string bent again, and he hung up on Wainsmith. He knew he needed to get that mirror at any cost. The object of his obsession would grant him anything… everything. He only needed to claim it before another could use it, but he had to find i
t first.
He checked the clock again. Nine more hours until they touched down in Germany.
His new team of occult scientists promised they’d be able to make the machine work so long as Sisyphus brought them the missing piece. Sisyphus tossed his glass tumbler aside and bit the cork off the mouth of his whiskey bottle. He’d bring them the piece. He’d already given his team ten hours notice to comb through Walther’s data and prepare for his arrival.
And they’d damn well better make the machine work as soon as I get there. I’ve got a ticking clock.
***
“I’m pretty sure that I know where Walther’s lab is… well, what was his lab, anyhow,” Cerci confirmed. All eyes turned to her. “He was a ‘Beautiful Mind’ kind of genius. But he had his things. The man was obsessively devoted to Jacob Sisyphus. I guess he grew up enamored with pro wrestling as a kid.”
The group’s two rental sedans were parked a few blocks from the Astrodome where they could watch it burn. With the doors open, the Earth-stuck rebels tried to develop a battle plan that wouldn’t be a total flop. They needed to reclaim the stolen part from Sisyphus.
“Where is the lab?” Sam asked.
“Germany. The Heptobscurantum bought a building and put us in it after Detroit. Walther and I started this. We robbed some government vaults to make sure we’d have a slush fund before the cult was strong again. He was paranoid about being shut down over operations costs… then he got close to Sisyphus and the point became moot. He was sure his hero would let him conduct the research on his own terms… I didn’t think Sisyphus could find his way out of a paper sack. It might’ve been my attitude that got me sent to Central America,” Cerci wondered.
“But how can we get there?” Jackie asked.
Cerci pulled out a huge sack of money. “It’s amazing what a person can buy with a big stack of cash… we can just charter a private jet.”
Jackie’s eyes bulged when she spotted the cash in the back of the rental car. Then she noticed a few more bags just like it.
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