Are.
You?
Alex jogged out of the underground elevator and took in the unconscious bodies and destruction in the gigantic cavern.
She had to find him . . .
She had to stop him . . .
There was no one else left, she couldn’t let him do this, not now, when he was so badly needed outside . . .
But she knew she was going to be too late.
‘‘Grant!’’ she bellowed.
Alex was answered by distant shrieks from within the tall subterranean structure ahead.
She followed the screams.
Down the main corridor, all was dark save a glimmering, hazy light in the distance.
‘‘Show yourself!’’ a thundering voice boomed.
It was Grant.
63
The small storm surged around Grant, whipping up a frenzy of wind, debris, and demolition.
The coals of hatred had taken hold of him and he was stoking them with every ounce of energy he had.
‘‘Come out!!’’ he raged, adrenaline surging through every vein in his body.
‘‘Stop him!’’ someone shouted from behind. He heard a large collection of footsteps approaching . . .
He lashed out with a swift, spinning backhand. He was too far away for the blow to connect, but three guards flew backward anyway, their heads cracking hard against the cold, steel walls. Weapons were unholstered, but a blink from Grant later, the guns were floating high in the air above the militiamen.
‘‘I am getting very’’—Grant said with a dangerous calm—‘‘impatient.’’
On his last word, a surge of energy released from him in a wave, and everything around him—the guards included—flew backward and crashed in a ferocious display.
‘‘You have truly exceeded all my hopes,’’ said a calm voice.
A very familiar voice.
The same voice he’d spoken to on the phone in his apartment.
Before Hannah had been . . .
Hannah . . .
Grant turned to see who stood before him.
A figure was there, cloaked in shadow, just over ten feet away. But it was clearly a man, wearing some kind of business suit.
‘‘And now you are ready to face your destiny,’’ the man said again, taking a step forward.
‘‘Grant, don’t!’’ someone shrieked from behind.
Grant turned to see Alex running to catch him.
‘‘The world’s gone mad, they need you—!’’ she was shouting.
Grant spun back around to face the man.
The light from Grant’s ring poured upon his face and at long last, Grant saw— All of the breath escaped from his body and he felt weak and sick.
The fury around him stopped cold.
Alex skidded to a stop next to him, facing the other man, but Grant ignored her.
‘‘No . . .’’ he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief.
Dressed in a crisp navy suit, the Keeper was an older gentleman.
His hands were clasped in front of him, a pristine gold watch at his wrist, barely concealing a tattoo, like the ones Grant’s parents had displayed in the old photograph he’d found. A neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper mustache adorned his upper lip. He was stiff and emotionless, studying Grant’s every breath and gesture.
And he was utterly calm and unaffected by the chaos and destruction Grant had wrought.
‘‘Grant. . . ?’’ Alex asked loudly, turning toward him but keeping her eyes trained on the Keeper.
Grant was frozen, absolutely unmoving. He stared at the other man with a mixed expression of rejection, shock, and betrayal.
Grant took in unsteady gulps of air and stared sorrowfully into the face of this man who had destroyed his life. The pieces were falling into place in his mind, one by one. The snake in his mind had begun winding around and around again, and now he knew its identity.
‘‘You said he didn’t have a real name, Alex,’’ Grant said, anger rising. ‘‘You were wrong.’’
She looked at Grant. ‘‘What is it?’’
‘‘Maximilian,’’ Grant replied.
He never took his eyes off the Keeper as he extended his left arm out in front of her.
The old bracelet on Grant’s wrist peeked out from under his shirt sleeve. A sloppily-scrawled inscription was engraved by hand into the metal surface of the old shell casing. It read:
Grant’s arm fell to his side as he looked into the other man’s eyes.
‘‘He’s my grandfather,’’ Grant said.
Alex’s jaw dropped, and she glanced back and forth between them.
They plainly recognized each other, but they were also seeing each other for the first time in decades.
It was true, then.
Grant started breathing fast again.
‘‘Where is my father?’’ he asked, barely able to find his voice.
‘‘Long dead,’’ the Keeper replied calmly.
‘‘You killed him,’’ Grant spat, the whirlwind around him surging.
‘‘Didn’t you?’’
‘‘No,’’ the Keeper replied without deceit. ‘‘The coward took his own life. To keep you from me.’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘When he found out what I believed about you—what I believed you would become—your father had your mental acuity tested to see if it was true. Or even possible. The results were precisely as I told him they would be. With your mother dead, he knew that alone, he would never be able to keep you from me forever. But he also knew that with him dead and gone, I couldn’t take custody of you and your sister without exposing the Secretum. So he killed himself and cut me off. You and your sister were declared wards of the state. You know the rest.’’
Grant looked down, staggering backward a few uneasy steps. The fury around him built once more, objects and debris again swirling about the corridor . . .
‘‘You’re the reason . . .’’ he said, ‘‘that they’re gone. The reason they’re dead. The reason I had to grow up in that awful place . . .’’
‘‘Your father believed he was shielding you by taking his own life,’’ the Keeper said, still perfectly calm. ‘‘The fool had no idea how far I was willing to go to ensure that you met your destiny. Outside of my influence, you grew up and chose for yourself a life of solitude—a life you were never meant to have. Steps had to be taken to correct this.’’
Grant shook his head through a cascade of tears, eyes locked on his grandfather. The insanity of it all . . . that someone could presume to predetermine the entire course of his life and manipulate it to that end . . .
‘‘I’m going to kill you now,’’ Grant said, barely audible among the cacophony. He balled his fists and bore down, closing his eyes.
The Keeper did not react. He merely watched in silence.
The ground trembled as Grant prepared to let out another primordial surge of energy . . .
But something struck his head from behind, and the havoc around him ended as everything faded to black.
‘‘I think he’s coming around, sir.’’
Grant tried to blink.
But something was covering his eyes.
He couldn’t move.
And he was dizzy.
Very dizzy.
‘‘Sorry about all this,’’ said the Keeper, his voice oddly swirling all around Grant.
That’s when Grant realized that he was strapped in a standing position to something upright that was spinning in place.
And the Keeper was his grandfather.
His grandfather! His father’s father . . .
How was it possible?
All he remembered of this old man was a handful of visits as a young boy and old pictures he had seen once of his grandparents together. He’d never even heard from the old man after his parents died, and assumed him to be dead as well.
‘‘What’s going on? Why am I . . . going in circles?’’ Grant stammered.
‘‘I know it’s uncomf
ortable. It won’t last any longer than necessary, I assure you,’’ the old man said. ‘‘But you could destroy this entire structure with a single thought, if you laid eyes on it. Which is the precise reason for the blindfold. Your friend Hannah told you her abilities only worked on line-of-sight. She was partially right. Awareness is the real key. You could destroy an object behind you right now if you knew where it was.’’
Grant didn’t reply, absorbing this.
His grandfather pressed on. ‘‘It’s the same for all of you. Morgan can only remember facts that she’s directly exposed to. Payton can only enact his super-burst of speed against opponents that he can see. Likewise, if you’re disoriented, your powers are useless.’’
‘‘I could still let out a blast of energy in all directions,’’ Grant said, his jaw rigid, his teeth grinding.
‘‘Of course you could,’’ the Keeper replied. ‘‘But if you did, Alex would no doubt suffer the consequences as well.’’
‘‘What did you do with her?’’ Grant asked in as much of a menacing tone as he could muster.
‘‘She’s here. She’s fine. For the moment.’’
Alex watched.
Strapped to a stationary table of her own in the structure’s colossal inner chamber, she watched as across the room, the table holding Grant slowly spun.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Tape covered her mouth.
Three armed guards surrounded her, watching her every move.
Which seemed like overkill.
After all, what could she do in this position?
Let’s hope they’re thinking that, too . . . she mused.
Meanwhile, she kept her eyes trained on Grant.
Waiting for an opportunity, an opening, to put her plan into motion . . .
‘‘What is all this about?’’ Grant cried. ‘‘What have you done to me? What do you want? ’’
‘‘I want to stack the deck in your favor. Rig the game so you win. I want the Bringer,’’ the Keeper replied, as if it were obvious. ‘‘Events are unfolding very quickly, so time is short. But I’ll try to explain as best I can. Let me begin at the beginning . . .
‘‘As I told you on the phone, the Rings of Dominion—as well as the Dominion Stone itself—were hidden for millennia. Buried and sealed in a place shrouded in utmost secrecy, they were entombed. Sealed beneath the earth by the Secretum of Six. The Dominion Stone covered their hiding place.’’
‘‘What is the Stone?’’ Grant asked as he continued to quietly spin.
‘‘A marker, pointing to both the past and the future. They say it cannot be destroyed. But somehow, it was broken centuries ago by the enemies of the Secretum. Wars were fought for centuries for possession of the Stone and the rings—most especially your ring, the Seal of Dominion. Legend has it that the Seal was sought by dictators and rulers the world over, including the likes of Napoleon, Hitler, and Alexander. But thanks to the efforts of the Secretum, the Seal has been kept safe throughout history, and no one was permitted to wear it. Until you.’’
‘‘Was it the ring that caused the Shift?’’ Grant asked.
‘‘No,’’ the Keeper replied. ‘‘I caused the Shift. You see—or well, I suppose you don’t at the moment, but if you could—I’m wearing a ring myself, a ring almost as special as yours. Not gold in color but silver, with a blue stone. And the talent it gives me is the transfer of consciousness from one living being to another.’’
‘‘How can you be one of the Loci if I can’t feel you?’’
‘‘There has always been a Keeper to lead the Secretum, and the Keeper has worn the ring I now wear since the Secretum was formed. They say that it was stolen—taken—from the opposite number of he who once owned your ring. The one this ring was taken from—‘He alone knows the soul of man,’’’ the Keeper quoted knowingly. ‘‘And as the Secretum came to realize, if you can see a thing, then you can change it.’’
‘‘Why do all this?’’ Grant said, trying not to shout. His rage was resurfacing in the form of impatience. ‘‘Why bother Shifting us, if it’s not necessary for using the rings?’’
‘‘Now you’re disappointing me,’’ the Keeper said edgily. ‘‘There is only one practical application of this: anonymity. Think of it, Grant. You are the most powerful being on the planet, yet for all intents and purposes, you do not exist. Untrackable. Untraceable. A member of society, yet completely unknown by it. You’re the perfect soldier. You can do anything by simply thinking it, and no one need ever know who you are.’’
Tears formed behind Grant’s eyes once again, soaking into the cloth over his eyes.
‘‘This body I’m wearing, these people you put us inside of . . . who were they before?’’
‘‘Husks. Vessels,’’ the Keeper said with a hint of disgust. ‘‘Yours was a soldier who worked in covert ops, which is why you’re able to fight so well. His instincts remain in you. But they were volunteers, all of them. For them, it was the highest calling.’’
‘‘You’ve killed so many. You’re responsible for everything that’s happened to me, aren’t you?’’
‘‘Of course.’’
‘‘But why send Konrad and Drexel to try and kill me? How does that help you?’’
‘‘All part of the process. The apartment, the money, the car—it all came from me. Resources you needed to fulfill your role. If you hadn’t been through everything you’ve gone through, if you hadn’t learned, adapted, and grown with each new experience . . . if you hadn’t survived, then you wouldn’t have been worthy of your destiny. But I never doubted it.’’
Grant was reminded of something Daniel had told him the day they met.
‘‘Where you see random occurrences, I see a purpose,’’ Daniel had said.
Alex tensed.
Whatever else may have been happening here, this man was starting to get through to Grant. She could see it. She could practically feel the wheels turning in Grant’s head.
And there was no time . . .
High above them, reality itself was rending at the seams, falling apart. Plunging the world into ruin.
Come on, Grant . . . make a move!
‘‘So now you know the truth about how you were made. Above us is the why,’’ the Keeper said simply. ‘‘Aboveground, the surface is crumbling. A cataclysm like nothing the earth has ever seen is taking place.’’
‘‘You’re just going to turn me loose to go fight it?’’ Grant asked incredulously, his temperature still rising.
‘‘It’s not quite that simple,’’ the Keeper replied. ‘‘Destiny has come calling. But it’s still up to you to answer.’’
Grant frowned.
‘‘You must pass the final test. Prove to me that you are prepared to take this all the way. Right now, I have three armed men with semiautomatic weapons ready to fill Alex’s body with holes—’’
‘‘Leave her alone!’’ Grant screamed.
‘‘That choice is yours to make. They will obey your command. If you tell them to, they’ll fire, and you’ll be released to go perform your function. If you order her life spared, then countless others will lose their lives to the threat above. Prove to me that you’re willing to pay any price to get the job done, and this will end.’’
Grant was trembling.
‘‘I don’t care if you are my grandfather, you’re either very brave or very foolish to be making me angry,’’ he said quietly.
‘‘I have nothing to fear from you,’’ the Keeper replied matter-of-factly. ‘‘You’re powerless until I let you go. You can’t even save Alex in your current state.’’
Grant gave a calm, easy laugh and his body relaxed.
On his finger he felt the warm glow of his ring begin to rise.
‘‘I don’t have to save her,’’ Grant said. His blindfolded head slowly turned to point straight at Alex’s location across the room, and stayed fixed on her position as he continued to rotate. ‘‘I can feel her.’’
The tape ripped itself off o
f Alex’s mouth, and he heard her shout, though it seemed more in delight than pain.
‘‘Terror,’’ Alex said to the guards surrounding her, and Grant heard the men howl in fright and dropping to the floor.
Grant continued to whirl in place but he felt Alex next to him. And her ring.
‘‘We removed your ring,’’ the Keeper growled. ‘‘How could you possibly?’’
‘‘How quick the mighty forget,’’ she said, rising from the table. ‘‘ ‘A ring can only be removed after its wearer dies,’ ’’ she recited.
‘‘Hannah . . . her ring . . .’’ he whispered. He backed away.
‘‘You may not have to fear your grandson, bubbles,’’ she said, nodding at Grant. ‘‘But if you remember what I can do with one of these things’’— she held up her ring—‘‘then you should fear me! ’’
At the word fear, Grant heard the man topple, screaming and begging.
‘‘By the way,’’ Alex said, her voice closer now. ‘‘I quit.’’
Grant heard her scuffling about him and then the sound of gears clicking into place. At once, his spinning slowed, then a few seconds later, stopped entirely. Alex pulled the cover from Grant’s eyes and he forced himself to stand, despite his dizziness.
He looked up for the first time at the vast chamber they were in. Overflowing with scientific equipment and gear, as well as computer stations and huge monitors, the room was monstrous in size, stretching several stories high. Balconies overlooked their position from above. The Dominion Stone rested on an easel nearby, a bright spotlight illuminating it from overhead.
Grant approached his grandfather, who was still cowering on the floor, shivering.
Grant, too, was shaking. But not in fear.
Alex grabbed him by the arm. ‘‘We’ve got to go—’’
They were knocked off of their feet by an explosion.
Alex lost her concentration and the Keeper sprang to his feet, fingering a remote device of some kind in his hand.
‘‘That’s more like it,’’ he said, eyeing Grant. ‘‘I’ve been waiting for you to exert yourself.’’
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