Korendil was not a Great Mage, not as innately talented as the Bard, but Terenil had taught him a few tricks, in the years before caffeine and depression had claimed the elven prince. Such as how to escape from a locked cell, if necessary. But a trick for breaking out from a cell ought to work for breaking into a cell… He touched a fingertip to the lock, and willed the door to open, the bolts to slide back. A soft click, and he turned the knob, opening the door to look within.
It was quiet, and dark. He stepped into the small room, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Someone was huddled on the floor against the far wall, not moving.
“Beth?” he called quietly.
The figure did not move. Kory held out his hand, calling light, and a soft glow filled the room.
“Beth?”
Kory.
He was staring at her, those leaf-green eyes reflecting the light in his hand. He was so handsome… and so far away, outside of her skin, too far for her to touch.
She was cut off from everything, everyone, smothered in fear and darkness. Just like when she was two and she’d followed her folks out into the dig, and the trench they’d abandoned had collapsed, burying her. Dirt had filled her mouth, like this thick darkness—suffocated her, just like the darkness was doing now. One of the grad students had seen her hand and dug her out; he’d known CPR…
But there was no friendly grad student here, and Koiy didn’t know CPR, and anyway this darkness was thicker and more treacherous than dirt.
She wanted to say something to him, but the silence within her head was too loud, drowning out everything, her thoughts, her words. Somehow he didn’t seem to see it, the thick darkness pressing in all around them, closing her in, pinning her against the wall. Even with the light in his hand, she could see that the light itself was being eaten by the dark ness, becoming part of the screaming in her mind that wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop. She felt the tears welling up again, and wrapped her arms more tightly around her knees, trying not to cry.
He knelt next to her, touching her face. With another surge of horror, she realized that she couldn’t feel his hand, couldn’t feel anything. All of her body was numb, lifeless. She was dead, only her heart hadn’t figured that out yet; it was still beating somehow, a wild, erratic rhythm.
I need to tell him about the darkness, Beth thought, desperately. I need to tell him about how the room is pressing against my skin, that there’s no air to breathe, no way to escape.
She opened her mouth to tell him, and the voice screaming in her mind filled the room with sound, and it wouldn’t stop, it wouldn’t let her go…
“Beth?”
She was staring at him, not saying anything. Something was wrong. He didn’t understand. She should be glad to see him; he’d come to take her away: Why was she looking at him that way, and not speaking? She recognized him, he knew that, but why wouldn’t she say anything?
She was sitting strangely, too, all curled up against the wall. He’d never seen Beth sit like that… usually she sprawled out on a couch, or draped herself over a chair like one of the stray cats he occasionally brought into the house for milk and conversation. He saw that she was trembling as she tightened her arms around her knees.
Hesitantly, he reached to touch her face, a gentle caress. Her eyes stared at him, unblinking. She didn’t smile or laugh the way she usually did, when his fingers brushed against the ticklish spot on her neck.
Something was very, very wrong.
Then she began to say something, and Kory smiled in relief. If she would just tell him what was wrong, then he could do something—
She screamed.
The shriek pierced Kory like a knife. Panic closed his throat as he tried to calm her and got no reaction, not even recognition in her eyes. He didn’t know what to do, if there was anything he could do… the sound seemed wrenched out of Beth’s throat, ending in deep sobs that shook her entire body.
He did the only thing he could think of He sat down on the cold plastic floor beside her, and held her until her body stopped shaking, and she closed her eyes.
He thought she might be asleep. At least she wasn’t screaming. But if she woke again, with that animal-like fear filling her eyes—what was he going to do?
He wished desperately that Eric was with him, to help him understand what was happening to Beth, to help him figure out how to help her.
One thing was certain… Beth was sick. This wasn’t like the other human sicknesses he had seen, with Eric lying in bed for several days, his nose very red, and coughing frequently. Or the time that Beth had lost her voice; she’d only been able to speak in a funny hoarse voice that made all of them laugh. He knew those sicknesses; even elves were touched with Winter Sickness, though very rarely.
This was something different. He’d never seen one of the Folk with this kind of sickness, unable to talk or move. Even the friends that he’d lost to Dreaming, they had just slipped away into a last sleep, never to awaken. Beth’s sickness was something he didn’t understand, something he’d never seen before. She needed a healer, like Elizabet or Kayla—
But the first thing he had to do was take her from this strange place with their clearances and too many guns, and back to San Francisco. Once back at home, with Eric, the Bard might be able to help her—or they could go fetch the healers.
A good plan of action.
But before he could move, the door slammed shut. Kory looked up, then stood up carefully, trying not to awaken Beth. He crossed to the door, trying the lock.
It wouldn’t open. He glanced down at the orb of light in his hand, and sent it into the lock, to open the door for him again.
Nothing happened.
“Damn, that’s impressive,” a voice on the other side of the door said thoughtfully.
Kory glared at the door and the unseen person behind it. Without eye-contact, he would not be able to get the human on the other side to help him. Rage burned in his heart as he realized that this must be the person who had put her here in the first place—perhaps even the person who had given her this illness. I must get out of here, now! Beth is hurt, sick, and no one is going to keep us locked up!
He hurled his will at the door, a magical blast that should’ve broken the door in two.
Nothing happened.
Beyond furious, Kory flung himself at the door, pounding on it with both hands. After several seconds of futile effort, he stepped back, considering the situation.
A sound from Beth, and he turned. She was lying on her side, crying again, and hitting her fist against the floor. He knelt swiftly beside her and caught her hand, afraid that she would injure herself, and pulled her gently into his lap. He tightened his arms around her, truly afraid for the first time since they had left Los Angeles. For the first time since he had awakened in the Grove, he was alone and helpless.
Eric, something is very wrong with Beth, and we cannot leave this room, and I do not know what to do…
Warden Blair hid a smile and listened to Smythe babble. The security guard was sweating, now, and Blair enjoyed making people sweat. “No, sir, I can’t explain what happened. Yes, you’re correct, he didn’t hit me physically, but something knocked me out. I don’t know whether he had a gas canister concealed on his person, or it was some new kind of weapon, or…
“Enough with the excuses, Smythe,” Blair said tersely. “So, this is the sequence of events… Wildmann at the gate reports a caucasian male intruder, long blond hair and green eyes, roughly age twenty-five. She says that he is polite to her, but tries to walk into the installation. She hits the red button, fires a warning shot, pulls the shotgun on him, and he vanishes, right in front of her eyes. Just disappears into thin air. Somehow he gets into this building, lobby security reports nothing, and he gets past the elevator security system as well. Then the guy waltzes in here, you can’t stop him, he breaks into one of the rooms… which sets off the alarm, something you weren’t capable of doing…” Smythe flinched visibly. “… and then Harris l
ocks him in there, with one of our patients, using the new security system.”
“Well, if he pulled some kind of trick on Wildmann, then maybe that’s what he did to me,” Smythe said faintly.
“Or maybe you and Wildmann are both equally incompetent.” Blair pointed at his office door. “Get out of here, Smythe. Go find something useful to do, like collect unemployment.”
The young man’s eyes widened. “You can’t fire me!”
“I just did.” He touched his intercom button. “Harris, please come to my office immediately.”
The young man clenched his jaw and spoke through his teeth. “If you fire me, Blair, I’ll go to the newspapers. I have a friend at the Chronicle, they’d love to hear about this project. I know that not all of the patients are here voluntarily, I know that you tricked some of them into signing the consent forms, some of these people aren’t mentally competent enough to sign a consent form—”
“Don’t bother,” Blair said, cutting off the torrent of threats. “If you talk to the press, you’ll be in more trouble than you can possibly imagine.” Blair leaned forward, elbows on his desk, narrowed his eyes, and smiled. “Keep this in mind, Smythe. I can find you. Anywhere. You know that’s the truth. If you try and sabotage this project, I’ll find you. And I’ll bring Mabel with me, or one of the others. You remember what Mabel did to Dr. Richardson, right? You were the one to find him, as I remember.”
Smythe’s face was as pale as the whitewashed concrete walls of Blair’s office. “All that blood from his nose and mouth ... she didn’t just kill him, I could see his brains oozing out through his ears… you wouldn’t do that to someone, sir!”
Blair’s smile widened.
A knock on the door interrupted them. “Come in,” Blair said, enjoying the sight of the young man’s bloodless face. Harris walked in, glancing curiously at Smythe.
“Escort Mr. Smythe out of the complex,” Blair said quietly. “He is no longer employed with Project Cassandra.”
“Of course, sir.”
Smythe swallowed awkwardly, and spoke. “I’m not scared of you, Blair. You—you wouldn’t do that deliberately to someone.”
Blair met his eyes and held them. “Do you really want to find out?” he said softly.
After a moment, the young man broke eye-contact and shook his head. Blair noticed with satisfaction that his hands were shaking as well. Harris walked him out, closing the office door behind him.
Blair leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on his desk. idiots, he thought. I’m surrounded by incompetent idiots. Even Harris, who lost that kid today in San Francisco. He still can’t explain how the kid got out of a dead-end alley. Fools.
Then he smiled, thinking about his latest… patient. Someone who can get through our top security systems, show up thirteen levels underground in a complex that’s supposed to be impervious to the best terrorists and foreign agents in the world… I want to take this one apart. I want to find out what he can do, find out how to use him.
I’ll need a good leash on this one, though. Probably the girl; that seems to be what brought him in here in the first place. She’s useless to me right now, anyhow. And she may be ruined completely—I underestimated the effects of her claustrophobia.
And then there’s the other boy. He registered even higher, a bright light shining in the darkness of San Francisco. We’ll get him, too.
I’ll prove to those bastards at DoD that we can do it. All of them that said I was a crackpot, that this could never work… they’ll see. When I show them someone who can walk through security systems like they don’t exist, or someone can ditch a top military agent like Harris in less than ten seconds, they’ll believe me then… they’ll have to believe me.
Still smiling, Blair shoved his chair away from the desk and left his office, walking down the corridor to meet his newest acquisition.
* * *
CHAPTER 6:
The Hanged Man’s Reel
“Kory? Beth?”
Eric stood in the front hallway, burdened with two armfuls of musical instruments, hoping against hope that the next thing he’d hear would be a resounding “Eric, you’re home!” from Beth, followed by a hug from Kory and a kiss from Beth. Then they’d all laugh about the weird events of the day, and probably still be laughing as they piled into the bubbling hot tub…
Only silence greeted him.
He walked down the hallway and into the kitchen, sitting down at the table and burying his face in his hands. He looked up longingly at the bottle of Black Bush on the counter, then away.
No. No whiskey. I’ve got to think, to figure this out—
It had gone so bad, so quickly. Now he didn’t know what to do. He’d envisioned disasters, figuring that their good luck was too good to last, but
they’d always been things like… Kory falling off a ladder while fixing the roof. Beth, slipping on the wet deck near the hot tub. Himself, setting the kitchen on fire while trying to make pancakes. But not this, never this.
His first impulse was to run. They’d kept a small amount of cash in the house for just that reason, in case the cops came knocking at their door one afternoon and they had to run fast. He could catch the night bus out of town with that money, be out of California and into Oregon by day break, and he’d be out of reach of the local cops. Except that blond man hadn’t acted like a cop—a local cop would’ve flashed a badge and slapped a pair of handcuffs on him before he could blink, and hauled him away in a black-and-white…
That expensive blue car. Policemen don’t drive Mercedes. In any case, he couldn’t leave Beth and Kory behind. Two years ago, sure, not a problem, but not now. They were the closest damn thing he had for family, and he wouldn’t abandon them.
The lyrics from a Faire song drifted across his thoughts: “No, nay, never… no, nay, never, no more, will I play the Wild Rover, no, never, no more…“
And I won’t, Eric thought. They’re depending on me. I won’t let them down.
Except how in the hell am I supposed to help them? I don’t know where they are, what could’ve happened to them…
What can I do?
He wanted to scream, or cry.
Instead, he set his flute case on the table, and opened it.
The flute lay there quietly against the crushed velvet, no hint of anything that had happened before reflected in the silvery metal. No sign of dragons, or elven sorcerers, or shadow-demons called up from the darkness… no hint of anything, in fact, just a simple musical instrument waiting to be played upon. Eric quickly fitted the pieces together, and played a quiet note, a long A tone. He slid down a mournful minor scale, then into a run of arpeggios. It was hard to concentrate, when his mind kept slipping back to Beth and Kory, and the dark fears that he kept suppressing, holding at bay—I’ll find them. They’re out there, somewhere. I’m a Bard, I can use the magic, I can do it. I’ll find them.
Then he began to play “Planxty Powers,” an old O’Carolan tune, one that the Irish bard had composed in honor of Fanny Powers, perhaps his lover, certainly his friend. The tune brought back a rush of memories to Eric, of sitting around on haybales at the Renaissance Faire, drinking mulled wine and playing music with friends. Of the first time he’d met Beth; how she’d flashed her ankles at him while dancing a strathspey in the Scottish show, then asked him to teach her that strathspey tune, so she could play along on her ocarina.
And Kory… how he’d come home late from the Southern Faire, to find an elf living in his apartment… those earnest green eyes, asking him to help…
I won’t fail you, pal. I’ll find you… I’ll find you…
The music wove itself into strands of light around him, bright sparkles reflecting off the kitchen windows. He called it closer, and the light danced around him. Within it, he searched for them, calling up images of Kory and Beth, casting his vision out further and further into the city around him…
The light became a glow, with him encased at the heart. A softly glowing sphere, t
hat showed him flitting images of the life of the city beyond; places they had been, places they had touched. The park, dark and mostly deserted now, shadows filling the space below the trees. The BART station near the house, as bright as the park was dark, trains pulling up to the platform in uncanny silence. The wharf, bustling with tourists. The Castro district, bustling with… a different kind of life. The Embarcadero, the Pig and Whistle where they sometimes played, the Opera House…
All of the scenes, flitting silently in, then out of focus, as his heart searched the city below for the people he loved.
Now the scenes were unfamiliar, and a little less focused; streets, houses, lawns…
Buildings, tall ones, like offices, but with a more closed-in look.
A corridor—
He caught a glimpse of Beth, and concentrated, trying to see exactly where she was. It was difficult, holding the melody and the magic, delicately reaching…
“Beth! Bethie, can you hear me?”
Blair smiled at the young boy seated next to the closed door to Room 12. Harris stood next to the door, an intense blue-eyed watchdog. “How are you doing, Timothy?” he asked.
“Just fine, Mr. Blair,” the boy replied. “The bad man inside, he’s stopped trying to get out. I guess he’s figured out that I won’t let him.”
“Good work, Timothy.” Blair nodded to Harris, who gently moved the boy away from the door. “Now let’s talk with this new fellow. Timothy, don’t open the door unless you hear my voice, okay?”
“You bet, Mr. Blair.”
Harris checked his handgun in its shoulder holster, and opened the door quickly, scanning the room before stepping aside to let Blair enter the room.
The newest acquisition to the Project was seated on the floor next to the red-haired woman. The woman seemed to be asleep, but even across the room, Blair could still sense the turmoil in her mind. The blond man looked up at Blair with eyes burning with fury.
Summoned to Tourney Page 9
