Rocked by Love (Gargoyles Series)

by Christine Warren

  Knox licked a schmear of cream cheese off his thumb. “Efficiency demands the nocturnis gather a crowd of humans together in one place. Once they strike, even if they are able to disguise the truth as some sort of natural disaster or terrorist action, the human authorities will descend and cut off their opportunity for another attempt. It must be all at once and quickly abandoned.”

  “Oh, crap.” Kylie felt a quick clutch of fear. “What about Patriot’s Day? It’s coming up in just a couple of weeks, and there’s the history there with the bombing.”

  Dag frowned. “What is Patriot’s Day?”

  “It’s a state holiday here in Massachusetts to commemorate the American Revolution. It’s the anniversary of the first battles of the war on April 19, 1775. The third Monday of April every year is the observance. There are historical reenactments, schools are out, and that’s the day they run the marathon.”

  “With the bombing,” Wynn said, her eyes widening. When the Guardians continued to look confused, she clarified. “The Boston Marathon. It’s an annual road race through the city. From what I understand, there are tens of thousands of runners entered, and several times that many spectators. A few years ago, a couple of terrorists set bombs near the finish line. Three people died and a couple hundred were injured.”

  “That is not the kind of death toll the Order will be seeking, not if they wish to raise enough power to summon the Unclean one, as well as to return the Defiler to full strength.” Knox shook his head. “It is a brutal fact, but a fact. They will require dozens, or more likely, hundreds of deaths for that kind of black magic.”

  Now that she heard the facts, Kylie’s stomach unclenched, and she nodded reluctantly. “You’re right. Achieving that at an event like the marathon would be a massive undertaking. The route actually goes through like eight different towns. The runners will be scattered all over the course, and spectators are spread out all along it as well. It seems inefficient to try to strike in a place that will not get the results they want. Their best bet would be the finish line area, but the security there since the bombing is insane. I’m guessing the nocturnis are too, but that seems like banging their heads against a brick wall.”

  Dag grunted. “Agreed. We must consider other possibilities.”

  “I wish we even knew when they planned to strike,” Wynn said. “Then we’d at least have a frame of reference.”

  Kylie frowned. “I’ve been through all of Ott’s notes so many times, I can quote them by heart. He didn’t know when the attack would come, but he knew it was in the works. He left the Order before the meeting where Carver outlines the plan. His notes read to me, though, like he thought it was coming soon. There’s a real sense of urgency in them.”

  “But does that mean tomorrow, or six months from now?” Wynn asked. “Remember, we’re dealing with a cult that’s been around thousands of years. Time means something entirely different to these people.”

  They all went quiet for a moment, each mulling over the problem for themselves. It was a few minutes before Kylie ventured, “You know, maybe we’re looking at this from the wrong angle. Maybe our approach shouldn’t be to try and pick a date or an event out of thin air. Let’s try a little deduction.”

  Wynn laughed. “What did you have in mind, Sherlock?”

  Kylie set aside her soda and turned to her computer. Her fingers flew over the keys as she typed and talked at the same time. “We need to start using what we already know about the Order and how they operate. I mean, the Guild has been watching them for, well, ever, right? And you’ve known about them your whole life, plus you’ve come up against them personally a couple of times recently.”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure I’m following you.”

  “Okay, let’s think about what the Order wants.” Kylie paused in typing and looked at her friend expectantly.

  “You mean total global apocalypse.”

  “Well, sure, that. But why do they want it? Why enslave yourself to a bunch of Demons who see you as nothing more than a convenient tool or a late-night snack?”

  “Power,” Dag growled. “The nocturnis seek power, and they believe that if they remain faithful to the Seven, they will be granted power in the wake of their rising.”

  “Exactly,” Kylie said, “but after reading Ott’s notes, I have to say it’s not just power. From what he wrote about, I think they want more. I think they want to be feared, and to watch the havoc they cause. It’s sick, but I honestly believe they get off on it.”

  Knox nodded, his face grim. “That would not surprise me. Cruelty and sadism can be methods to raise power, but also to heighten the emotions of the victim. If the soul is in distress, it becomes a tastier treat for the Darkness.”

  “Right. So, if we operate on that understanding, it would make sense that whatever big bang the Order has planned, they’re going to want to watch it happen. Especially the ones who planned it.”

  “Like the Hierophant.”

  “Yup. This is where we have to take a little leap of faith, so if we work for the moment on the assumption that Carver is the Hierophant, we could take a look at his public schedule and see if anything coming up looks like the kind of opportunity the Order would want to take advantage of.”

  Wynn looked dubious. “Do you really think he’d be so obvious as to pull that kind of stunt when the date and time are listed on his public schedule?”

  “I think everything Carver does is listed on his public schedule. The man can’t take a leak without reporters there,” Kylie drawled. “The guy has made statements in the past that the constant media scrutiny is a burden he tolerates for the sake of the causes he supports. But no one can put up with that kind of twenty-four-seven attention without slipping up now and then, not unless they secretly like the spotlight. And Carver never slips up.”

  “It would fit neatly with the theory that the Hierophant will want to see the effects of his plan,” Dag said.

  Knox added, “And would point to the utter lack of conscience of the leaders of the Order.”

  “I don’t think that was even in doubt.” Wynn grimaced and drained her tea.

  “It’s also a great way to hide in plain sight. If the Order knows that the strike will happen at a public and highly publicized event, they can risk coordinating along public channels,” Kylie said, pulling up Richard Foye-Carver’s Web site and downloading his public events schedule. “All they have to do is keep the language neutral and they can skate by without notice as any other interested participants. Just leave out the words ‘demon,’ ‘apocalypse,’ and ‘mass murder,” and they’re golden.”

  Wynn frowned. “That sounds … disturbingly practical.”

  “It is an avenue we cannot afford to ignore,” Knox acknowledged. “Without any idea of where and when the strike might happen, we are helpless to prepare even the most rudimentary defense.”

  Kylie let the others continue the discussion, the words droning on in the background, while she scanned the information on the screen. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what she was looking for, but she hoped she’d know it when she saw it.

  It would have to be a large event, something open to the public. She suspected the Order would want large media coverage to up the fear and hysteria that would be generated, though the presence of reporters was never in question where Carver was concerned. She also had the niggling feeling that it was coming up soon, perhaps not tomorrow or the next day, but certainly within the next few weeks.

  A jolt of something sizzled through her when she saw it. Electricity, awareness, magic, she didn’t know what to call it, but she absolutely felt it. All the way down to her bones. Maybe because she read it on the computer, her mysterious power made the seemingly innocuous information mean more to her, but whatever the explanation, she had no doubt that she had found the fateful day.

  “It’s not Patriot’s Day, but it’s close,” she said, and felt all eyes turn her way. “The following weekend, in fact. The Carver Foundation World Congress on
the Environment, Hunger, and Global Activism.”

  Wynn hurried to her side and peered at the screen. “Right here in Boston, April 23 and 24, at the Hynes Veterans Memorial Convention Center. You really think this is it?”

  Kylie nodded. “I’m certain. Don’t ask me why, but there’s not a doubt in my head. It hits all the criteria—first, numbers. It says they expect more than five thousand people to attend from all over the world. All those people will be concentrated in one place for the event. The media will be swarming because of Carver, the topic, and the chance of other prominent world figures attending. The topic is so philanthropic that emotions will be running high, and there will be a huge outpouring from the public if anything tragic happens there. It both feeds the Demons and feeds Carver’s need to appear in public and be adored. I know this is when they’ll strike.”

  She met her friend’s gaze and watched while Wynn digested her words and nodded. “Okay. I buy it.”

  Knox rose and began to pace. “It is a starting point. We should still perform our research to confirm.” When Dag snarled at him, the other Guardian held up a calming hand. “I do not doubt your mate’s sincerity, nor her intuition, but we cannot afford to be careless. I believe Kylie is correct, but we will use our research to verify and to gather further intelligence.”

  Kylie flashed the room a grin, a surge of energy filling her. She had a mission, a method, and a goal in sight. “Grab me a flashlight, boys,” she crowed, cracking her fingers and settling in at her computer. “I’m going dark.”

  * * *

  Kylie enjoyed the dark and dangerous aura of the deep Web as much as the next person, but the truth was most of what lurked out there was about as sinister as your average university bulletin board. A little sex, a lot of rock ’n’ roll, and maybe one or two part-time pot dealers. The darknet, the dingiest corner of the deep, did play host to illegal activity and immoral adventures, just the kind of thing to interest the cultist who wanted everything.

  Or, you know, a bored NSA agent with an arrest quota.

  Its reliance on anonymity made the users of the darknet feel safe in doing things they wouldn’t want to come to light (pun intended), but the rub was that as soon as what was discussed on the Net was put into action in the real world, that anonymity disappeared. When you actually started to do stuff physically, people got the chance to see you doing it and figure out who you really were.

  Kylie was counting on that, and kept it as a mantra in her mind while she began to slowly and carefully follow the threads of the nocturnis’ plans for the April conference.

  Knox and Wynn elected to return to Chicago for a couple of weeks. With the group fairly certain that whatever was going to happen wouldn’t happen until late in the month, hanging around twiddling their thumbs together seemed less than productive. Wynn could work more and better magic in her ritual room at home, and Knox could train and prepare from anywhere. They would return once they had all agreed on their plan to foil the Order, and in plenty of time to set themselves up.

  Before leaving, Wynn had dragged Kylie away from the computer long enough to give her a few short lessons in what it meant to be a woman of power. Apparently, no one intended Kylie to get away with being a supernaturally gifted hacker and nothing else. Since she knew she had magic inside her now, Wynn fully intended to show her how to use it.

  She had to learn to feel it first. Wynn showed her how to turn her attention inward and look for the spark of the power inside her, the little buzz that always lived in the corner of her mind. And here for all these years, Kylie had thought of it as the mark of undiagnosed ADHD. No, Wynn laughingly contradicted her; that was magic.

  Once she found the spark, she got a lesson in how to nurture it. How to blow on the tiny flicker and bring it to a small, steady flame, then how to pull on it and let the power in it seep through her until it waited, tingling, in the tips of her fingers, ready to do her bidding.

  Wynn, though, wouldn’t let her bid it for bupkes. No, teacher witch told her that for now, she needed to concentrate on just learning to recognize the magic and calling it to her command. Anything more advanced would have to wait until they had some real time to concentrate and work together.

  Just the idea made Kylie grimace. It was like those three horrible months when her mother had forced her to take piano lessons all over again. Kylie had wanted to rock a little ragtime and the stern, humorless teacher just had her practicing scales over and over and over until the very sound of them made her teeth ache.

  At the time, giving up had felt like being released from prison, but to this day, she couldn’t play more than “Mary Had a Little Lamb” on the piano. Wynn assured her that taking the same path with magic practice would undoubtedly lead her at some point to singeing off her own eyebrows. At the very least. So Kylie promised to practice.

  Wynn and Knox’s departure left Kylie and Dag alone in the house, which worked out better than she had expected. Her new live-in-the-now philosophy kept her from getting too worked up by analyzing everything that happened between them, and she had to admit the sex continued to rock her world.

  That pun she had not intended, but she couldn’t deny its applicability.

  Trying to discern the details of the Order’s plans proved to be slow going, but if nothing else, her crawl through the deep Web was turning up some really interesting reading material. She’d known about the deep forever, and used it herself for her more … well, actually, her less officially sanctioned projects, but she had never thought of what a perfect place it was for magic users.

  Part of that probably stemmed from the fact that, like most people, she had never believed magic existed. Now that her eyes had opened to that particular world, she found that the anonymity and discretion offered by the deep allowed people all over the world to discuss something that users of the surface Web would have either mocked or tried to copy, with potentially disastrous results.

  Kylie got to listen in on a group of ceremonial magicians in Europe discuss the effects of days of the week on the quality of raised energy. She watched a Yoruba priest from Benin counsel a young practitioner in South America on the basis of Oshun’s passion for honey. She even saw a witch in Ireland sending out an enquiry on the sudden uptick in seismographic activity in her area and what magical causes might be underlying.

  She freely admitted that she understood almost none of it, but just seeing it all fascinated her and opened her eyes to how much she needed to learn. Especially if she had any intention of sticking with this Warden gig for the long term.

  Right. Still not thinking long term. Move it along, Kylie. Nothing to see here.

  The problem she ran into fairly quickly was that the short term seemed to be taking. For. Ever.

  Every day, she hunkered down in front of the computer and played cyberspy, taking short breaks here and there to run through the magical exercises Wynn had taught her. It quickly evolved into a routine that kept her semisane while still allowing the gremlin of tedium to niggle her brain stem. Meanwhile, Dag seemed to be turning her basement into some sort of arsenal-slash-dojo.

  Where he was getting the weaponry she occasionally caught him hauling through her hallways she still hadn’t managed to figure out. When she asked him about his pet project, he only told her that a warrior must train in order to keep himself prepared and ready for battle, and that a Guardian always had access to the tools he needed to perform his duty. From this cryptic nonanswer, she deduced that something about a Guardian’s magic allowed him to create the weaponry out of thin air, the same way he seemed to be able to do with his clothing. Of course, when she asked for a model Millennium Falcon to add to her collection, all of a sudden his power had limitations. Sandbagger.

  Actually, the way he explained it to her, and the way she pretended to understand, was that while each Guardian was in and of himself magical, a Guardian could not work magic. He could not wield the power in the way a witch or a Warden could. In other words, he had magic flowing in his v
eins, but he could not cast a spell the way Wynn could and the way everyone told Kylie she would eventually be able to manage. If she kept practicing.

  When she told him that sounded like a cop-out and rolled her eyes at him, he retaliated by kissing her senseless, and she wound up being thoroughly taken on top of her own kitchen island. She enjoyed every darn minute of it, but oy! That granite was cold under her bare skin.

  Every day or two, Kylie tore herself away from either her computer or her Dag to touch base with Wynn and share any details she had gathered on the Order’s planned attack. So far, she had managed to narrow down the most likely time for the strike to occur at either the opening banquet on Friday night, at which Richard Foye-Carver would personally welcome attendees and outline the goals and structure of the weekend’s events; or the keynote address, delivered of course by Carver, which would cover the topic of corporate responsibility for the climate changes now affecting so many of the world’s people.

  Carver and his speechwriters made it all sound so noble and altruistic. Frankly, it made her a little blechedich.

  Wynn, in turn, reported their findings to the other Wardens and Guardians, who had placed themselves on standby in case reinforcements were needed on the day of the attack. Kylie hoped that by the time the date rolled around, they’d have a much better handle on what needed to be done and why.

  Finding out the nature of the attack was the problem currently driving her crazy. Her initial theory of some kind of a bomb had been dismissed by the others as unlikely, for the simple reason that it sounded too mundane for the nocturnis, who tended to favor dramatic acts of black magic, dark ritual, and supernatural chaos. Planning a mass murder cum Demon raising at a modern American convention center already stretched the boundaries of (im)propriety for them. Underground caverns, defiled woodlands, and abandoned buildings all ranked as much more traditional choices.