Or maybe, Owen’s mother suspected but hid the truth from herself. Either way, the woman’s weakness would not be one of Owen’s coffin nails.
Cynthia glared until the woman, out of self-defense, spoke in a quiet voice. “Ted only wants to help our son.”
“Is that what you think? Is that what you really believe after what? Thirty years of marriage? You must have some inkling of the lows your husband will sink to when it comes to protecting his image and his campaign.”
The nurse moving Owen had stopped, leaving the gurney and all its attached paraphernalia frozen dead center in the corridor. She looked toward the nurses’ station for orders as to how to proceed.
Enough with the mother. What mattered was getting proof of the governor’s guilt. With the hand not concealing the small recorder, Cynthia pulled her phone from her purse.
“Put that piece of trash away right now,” Governor Calhoun shouted as he glanced down the hall. “And where’s that lowlife nurse with security?”
Glancing down at her hand, Cynthia hoped the little recorder was actually catching Owen’s parents in the frame. Pulling her attention back to her phone, she found the volume control for the audio player, scrolled it to max and hit play.
“What I’m suggesting is exactly the opposite. We go public with your tragic circumstances.”
Peter’s voice was almost impossible to make out. If Cynthia hadn’t been listening in person, she wouldn’t know what had been said. But the aide and the governor immediately tensed, proving that they, too, remembered the conversation.
Rustling fabric and the sound of something scratching the phone’s microphone covered the next few words, but more distinguishable speech followed a few seconds later.
“The governor’s own son, lying motionless in a hospital bed, all because he was so addicted to virtual reality gaming…you won’t even have to keep beating that dead horse.”
Cynthia hit pause.
“What is this, Ted?” the wife asked.
Peter, the aide, stood frozen, face pale. Alone, that proved nothing. Put together with the audio, it might be enough to raise doubts about the governor’s motives. But Cynthia needed more.
“You recognize your husband, I assume.”
“This is ridiculous,” the governor said. “You’re making this outrageous accusation with a recording so poor it’s impossible to even know who’s speaking?”
“I don’t think we need voice print analysis to guess which politician is looking for campaign gains,” Cynthia said in a flat tone. “And I’m certain there are no others who have a comatose son.”
“I have had about enough of this,” Governor Calhoun roared, stepping forward. Cynthia held her ground. She hadn’t intended for this to come to violence, but now she hoped he would lash out. She could take the punch. It would only strengthen her case.
Unfortunately, the campaign aide intervened. He dashed forward and inserted himself in front of the governor.
“That’s what she wants. She has no proof besides a fabricated recording. If you attack her, though, we’ll have a nightmare on our hands.”
This seemed to reach the governor, and he visibly calmed.
Cynthia returned her attention to Owen’s mother. “Listen to me, Mrs. Calhoun. You don’t approve of me because I’m not your kind of people. We come from different places. But it should be obvious that I love Owen. Regardless of what you think of me personally, you can at least trust that I want to see him recover. I’ve studied his condition enough to know that a qualified care center like this hospital is his best chance.”
When the woman simply looked away, she turned her gaze back to the governor. If she could just bait him into speaking in anger, he might slip up. “You’re going to lose the next election, Governor. It’s obvious to everyone but you. Your anti-technology platform is an antique. People laugh. You’re like a clown.”
Nostrils flared, the governor stepped close enough to the nurse in charge of the gurney that she cringed and backed away. “Take. Him. To. The. Elevator.”
To her credit, the nurse glanced at her fellow workers in hopes that someone had a reason for her to refuse.
“Governor Calhoun has presented power of attorney documents to the administration,” the burly nurse said with ill-concealed distaste. “He and Mrs. Calhoun have the right to decide when and where their son will receive medical care.”
“You’ll still lose, even if you do this,” Cynthia said, trying one last time. “And I swear to God I’ll tell them what you did to try to salvage your hopeless campaign.”
“This is bullshit!” Abruptly, Governor Calhoun shoved Peter, who had once again placed himself between his boss and Cynthia, out of the way. He closed the distance with Cynthia in one long stride. “When they see—when the world sees what has happened to my son because of his infatuation with virtual reality, the games industry is dead. The whole tech industry will be crippled. People will start eating dinner together again. Depression rates will fall.”
Cynthia just rolled her eyes. “You know quite well that virtual reality has nothing to do with Owen’s condition.”
“You think that matters? All I have to do is plant the notion. My loyal constituents will do the rest.”
That was it. The confession. And not soon enough.
Cynthia took a step back from the man as, down the corridor, the elevator doors hissed open. Noah led the trio of Taser-armed security guards toward them. Bowing her head, Cynthia backed up until she reached the wall. “Your plan won’t work, Mr. Calhoun. You should think long and hard before you take Owen out of the city. Your son’s life is worth more than your pride.”
Still trembling in his rage, the governor struggled over his words. Good. She wanted him unable to think clearly. She wanted him to pick fights with his campaign aide and his wife—anything to delay transportation away from Atlanta and the wireless zone that blanketed the city. Cynthia had a publicity stunt to put together, and the more time she had, the bigger the blast.
“You’ll be hearing from Mr. Calhoun’s lawyers,” Peter said in a low voice. “And if anything—anything—from that phone recording comes out, our lawsuits will ruin you, your family, and any pathetic legacy you might hope to leave. You can prove nothing with that shoddy recording.”
The guards stepped forward and formed a wall between Cynthia and the Calhouns. She didn’t protest. Better to show contrition so they’d release her after filing a report. Maybe the police would follow up, but for tonight, she suspected the right attitude would see her freed.
Free to rescue Owen by whatever means necessary.
Chapter Forty
YEZ’KET. THE CITY known to most as Demonhome, capital of the underworld. Devon gazed over it through a yawning opening in the wall of the council chamber, a circular room in a dark-stone tower that loomed over the city. Below, the streets were filled with fire and yellow smoke and dirty haze. Hundreds of razor-tipped spires scratched swirling storm clouds, and everywhere, bats and demons flew. The city stank, and the noise from its denizens grated on her ears.
Somewhere, though, deep where Ezraxis curled and clawed, she also knew she was home.
Devon sucked the wretched air into her lungs. Strength. More than ever before, she must be every inch the commander. On this, she and Ezraxis agreed. At the faintest hint of weakness, the other generals would be on her in a blur, tearing her to shreds before she could even consider a defense.
She turned to face the rest of Zaa’s leadership. Seven archdemons snarled and stared back, baring fangs and scratching wicked claws over the tabletop around which they stood. Yellow, bloodshot eyes glared at her. Devon could feel the hatred. Only their shared yearning to please Zaa kept them restrained.
One of them had to be Owen. And for all she knew, each of these beasts were being controlled by a player’s unconscious mind. Maybe there were other gamers lying in hospital beds somewhere in the world, their doctors mystified by their strange un
responsiveness.
It made sense. Rather than tax his own processors, Zaa had used the minds of many different players to build his realm. The AI’s generals were probably the cleverest among those gamers—and possibly those most susceptible to the AI’s manipulation.
Regardless, her current task wasn’t to save every affected player—assuming her theory even held water. E-Squared would take care of that once she pulled Owen free. Her only mission was to find her guildmate and remind him who he was, where he’d come from, and then help guide him back.
Easier said than done. Ezraxis and Devon bared their teeth, meeting hatred with disdain.
Nearest her, one of the archdemons scoffed. “Pathetic,” he said, words dripping with loathing. “Defeated and slain by a village of weakling mortals. Your rebirth is undeserved, Ezraxis.”
Devon curled her lip flap, spread her wings wide, and screeched while Ezraxis beat at the walls containing her. Stalking forward to the obsidian table, Devon raised a claw. She struck hard and quick, aiming at the demon who had mocked her.
Of course, with an Unarmed Combat score of 4, her blow missed and instead scored gouges across the tabletop.
She rolled with it, planting her palm in front of the demon and jamming her face directly in front of his. The beast’s breath smelled of carrion.
“Are you questioning your god? Mock me again, and I’ll tear out your throat.”
The demon roared and backhanded her across the face. Devon’s head whipped hard to the side, her health plummeting.
//Cease, or every one of you will be hung by spikes from Yez’ket’s walls. Legions stand ready to take your place.//
Around the chamber, demons squealed and cowered under the booming assault of Zaa’s voice. Watching the others cringe, Devon mimicked their pose. With Ezraxis contained, she felt no impulse to fear the AI. Only the desire to grab Owen and get the hell out of this realm.
//Now. You were laying plans for the next phase of our assault. Continue.//
The demon who Devon had challenged snarled at her again before returning to his spot at the table. Hooves clacking, Devon stalked into position and laid her claws on an empty swath of obsidian, claiming her spot on the council. Her eyes roved over the generals, searching for some glimmer of recognition. She saw only hatred and evil and not the barest shred of humanity, much less a hint of the man who had been their group’s rogue for five years in Avatharn Online.
What in the heck was she supposed to do from here?
“When will your forces sail from Jiankal, Raazel?” one of the generals asked. The question was directed at the demon who had insulted her. “We wage war daily, suffer losses, and yet your horde remains on the far side of the Noble Sea.”
Raazel snarled. “We weigh anchor in three days. In two weeks or less, the first ships will make landfall. Veia’s last strongholds are doomed.”
Devon cocked an ear at this. Hailey had mentioned the massive demon infestation when she and Chen had made landfall on the far shore. Were the beasts who had murdered her friends heading their way? From what she knew of her home continent’s geography, one of the closest cities to the Noble Sea was Ishildar.
And between that and the coast lay Stonehaven.
The first demon scoffed and dragged claws across the table. “Perhaps our Lord’s command has not made a sufficient impression on you, Raazel. We’ve lost Eltera City because the reinforcements didn’t arrive on time. The rifts cannot accommodate enough warriors to hold the city.”
“Your failure at Eltera City is due to your incompetence, nothing more,” Raazel spat. “Whether the planar rifts limit the army or not, you lost a city filled with unarmed humans and weakling starborn. The failure disgusts me.”
At this, the first demon shrieked. A forked tongue licked the air as it bared inch-long fangs.
Devon dragged her attention away from the pair and inspected the faces of the other demons one by one. Swallowing, she fought back a wave of despair. There was absolutely nothing that distinguished any of the generals as her friend.
As the argument between the two demons began to draw others into the fray, claws screeched against the table. The air seemed to heat with the building anger.
The clang of a gong interrupted the growing tumult. All eyes turned to the room’s single doorway, a wide opening that led to a descending spiral staircase.
A demon thrall stood in the entrance, clutching a trembling imp by the wing. The thrall bowed low and dragged the imp forward.
“Esteemed ones,” the thrall groveled. “This lowly servant brings before you a cretin who claims the right to speak to such maleficent beings. Forgive the imposition.”
With that, the thrall heaved the imp into the room, sending the small demon cartwheeling across the floor. As it left the chamber, a door just a few steps down the stairwell closed and locked with an audible thunk.
Obviously shaken, the imp climbed to its feet, a now-broken wing hanging limp. It whimpered, then seemed to gather itself when Raazel snarled and stepped toward it.
“What is the meaning of this interruption,” the general roared.
The imp inhaled and stared at the archdemon. “I have been sent to deliver this to my master, Ezraxis. Her armies congratulate her on her return.”
The imp raised trembling hands upon which sat a simple silver bracelet.
What was this? Eyes wary against an attack from behind, Devon left the table and stalked toward the imp. There was something about the creature that piqued her interest. Its posture seemed…different than the demons she’d fought in the Citadel of Smoke. As it struggled to adjust its wings, the motion reminded her of the way she’d felt when becoming accustomed to her new body. She peered into its eyes as she plucked the bracelet from its hand and gasped as a message popped into her view.
You have received: Owen’s Signature Tracker
Devon, read this carefully. Place the bracelet on your wrist. When it glows, you are near Owen. It will vibrate when within 3 feet.
- Emerson
PS. I can’t reach you on messenger. This was the only way to communicate.
PPS. Don’t hurt the imp. It’s Chen.
PPPS. Good luck.
Chen? Devon stared hard at the trembling imp. Yes, she could see it now in the way the creature put more weight on its left leg. Just like Chen’s half-elf avatar. She blinked, mind racing through her next steps. An ally. Here. Her ankle-knees went weak at the thought. But she couldn’t break character, nor could she let the other generals harm Chen.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered before aiming a swipe at Chen’s chest. Fortunately, his lack of defense against her meant that her blow connected—Unarmed Combat score notwithstanding—and sent him sprawling.
“That’s for disturbing me while in council,” she snarled. “Now go stand against the wall until I finish discussing our war plans. I will need you to relay orders to the forces.”
Whimpering, Chen stood and hobbled toward the wall near the doorway.
Devon whirled and stalked to the table as she placed the bracelet around her wrist. Already glowing faintly, it vibrated as she approached the table. As she took her place adjacent to Raazel, the bracelet buzzed furiously against her wrist. Devon’s heart sank. Of course the most malicious of the demons would be her guildmate.
She contained a sigh as she surveyed the group. “Now. I hunger for battle. Let us finish this council.”
Chapter Forty-One
EMERSON WATCHED THE leaping flames while he listened to the citizens of Stonehaven chatting and bantering. Though smallest in number by far, the loudest shouts and bursts of laughter came from the dwarves. Each held a tankard—that was the word for their enormous mugs, right?—that could easily swallow a super-sized soda cup. After one taste of the beverage the dwarves called grog, Emerson’s head had started to spin. His tankard now sat beside his gold-worked slipper. Every now and again, he leaned forward and spilled a little into the grass to make
it look like he was making progress on his generous portion.
In that way, a campfire wasn’t so different from the few high school parties he’d attended. Even though he’d wanted to fit in, seeing what idiots his fellow students made of themselves, he wasn’t about to follow their example by getting smashed.
In any case, the dwarves had reason to celebrate. Earlier in the evening, a party had returned, led by the scout who had flown out on the back of that obnoxious parrot. Now the woman was leading some ridiculous creature, the size of a house, that she insisted was called a capybara.
The capybara had lost a litter of pups—or whatever her babies were called—to corruption by an “awakening stone.” She’d kidnapped Bravlon, the dwarf kid, to replace them. Hazel had some strange plan to turn the massive rodent into either a village pet or dairy production.
Emerson really didn’t want to know how that turned out.
Even with her son returned to her, there was one dwarf who hadn’t joined the revelry. Emerson got the sense that the others were drinking as much in Dorden’s honor as to the return of his son. This was either a wake or a ritual celebration begging Veia for their patriarch’s resurrection.
Holding her son tight to her chest, Heldi seemed uninterested in ale. No doubt her thoughts were on Devon’s mission and the hope that she would bring Dorden back once she returned from the demonic plane.
At the thought of Devon’s return, Emerson felt a mix of excitement and nervousness.
True to his word, Chen had been able to raise his Shadowed stat and complete the demonic transformation. Even more impressive, the struggle to retain his identity had seemed far less pronounced than Emerson had expected.
Chen had a streak of nobility about him and seemed to think of himself as a sort of guardian of his friends. Emerson could respect that.
Or maybe if he were more honest with himself, he wanted to be like that.
Citadel of Smoke: A LitRPG and GameLit Adventure (Stonehaven League Book 4) Page 30
