by Siegel, Alex
He began working algebra problems in his head. Mathematics was absolute truth, and a formula was either right or wrong. There was no room for judgment or chaos. It was a good way to expel the influence of sorcery from his mind. He felt Keene fighting back, but Andrew was on firm ground now. With his enormous talent and Tonya's intensive training, he could break through any illusion, even one cast by a master sorcerer.
Keene began to reappear. He was a vague blur at first, but then details emerged. He was standing near the marble machine a few feet behind Charley. He was clenching his jaw so tightly, his cheeks were shaking.
Andrew stood up and walked over to Keene.
"Let her go," Andrew said.
"No." Keene snarled.
Charley cried out, rattling Andrew's composure. For a moment, he lost focus, and Keene vanished again.
"It's hard to protect the woman you love," he said. "Ancient instincts take hold, and you become just an animal defending its mate. To beat me or Blake, you'll have to be a man, not a beast. You must master the chaos that dwells within us all."
Andrew regained his focus and was able to see Keene again. The master sorcerer abruptly gave up on the illusion of invisibility, and Andrew could perceive him normally without effort. Keene's energy was also revealed, and it looked like a black thunderstorm swirling around him. Ordinary eyes couldn't see it, but to Andrew's inner eye, the storm was an intimidating apparition.
It was time for Andrew to go on offense. He tried to peer into Keene's mind but immediately hit a wall. Keene's mental defenses were strong.
"You have to do better than that, kid," he said.
Andrew narrowed his eyes. He could've punched Keene in the stomach or something to break his concentration, but that wasn't the point of the exercise. Andrew needed to show Keene what a war mage could do.
"There is that troublesome anger again," Keene said. "It's a good thing we're just practicing, or I would've killed you by now."
Andrew clamped down on his emotions. He began to apply relentless pressure to Keene's mind by hitting him with wave after wave of frightening illusions. Andrew projected the idea Keene's flesh was riddled with worms. Andrew flooded the chamber with burning lava. He sucked out all the air to create a hard vacuum. He made the roof collapse, crushing everybody below. It was enough to send a normal man into screaming fits, but Keene just grimaced.
"Not bad," he said. "Not bad at all, but these are just generic images, easily shrugged aside. You have to get into my soft underbelly. Find something that will upset me in particular."
"But I don't know you," Andrew said.
"That's not completely true. You know a few things about me."
Andrew tried to remember what he could about Keene. He was the chief psychiatrist at the Avanessian Institute for Emotional Health, a mental hospital. He dealt with insane people all day long. He had probably heard a thousand horrors stories, imagined and real. It would be very difficult to rattle him.
An idea occurred to Andrew. It was a nasty, unethical trick, but it would definitely work. This is how sorcerers fight, he thought.
Andrew recalled his memories of Keene's former apprentice, Serkan. He had been a young man, only a few years older than Andrew. Serkan had had thick eyebrows and a pleasant, round face. He had liked to wear nice, long scarves even when indoors.
Andrew created the illusion that he was Serkan. The projection was more complex than the ones Andrew usually attempted, but he was motivated.
"You failed me," Andrew said in Serkan's voice. "I was in trouble, and you didn't notice. Blake controlled my mind. The mighty Keene, master sorcerer and member of the Sorcerer's Tribunal, didn't lift a finger to save me from disaster. I died along with dozens of innocents. Blake is still at large."
It was a powerful image with a potent message. Keene's mental defenses wavered, and he completely lost his grip on Charlie's mind. She scrambled to reach the far side of the room.
Andrew took full advantage of the opening. He hammered Keene with an image of Serkan after his death. Andrew had seen the corpse firsthand, and the memory was still vivid. Andrew followed by showing Serkan rotting in the grave. That illusion was more fanciful, but Andrew drew upon all the horror movies he had seen.
Keene dropped to his hands and knees.
"Stop!" Tonya yelled. "Enough! It's over."
Andrew relented.
Keene staggered to his feet with a dazed expression. He mumbled incoherently, went to the door, opened it, and walked outside. Andrew sensed his energy moving away.
"Is he OK?" Andrew said.
"Sure," Tonya said. "He just needs a few minutes to settle down."
"I didn't mean to hurt him so bad."
"Don't worry about it. He expected to take a beating today. You were brilliant."
He smiled, but he had mixed feelings.
Charley came over and kissed him lightly on the lips. He tried to hold onto her, but she slipped away from him. He speculated she was still shaken from her experience.
"Thanks for saving me," Charley said, "but next time, could you work a little faster? I was hurting."
"I'll try," Andrew said, "but I was fighting a master. It wasn't easy."
"I know." She gave him another quick kiss. "And you really were brilliant, although what you did to Keene was pretty nasty."
He turned to Tonya. "Am I ready for Blake?"
"Not yet." She shook her head. "You showed some weaknesses that we need to work on. Keene didn't have to lose. You're getting closer though."
"How much longer?"
"Another couple of weeks maybe. Then you'll have to pass a final exam."
Andrew raised his eyebrows. "What kind of exam?"
"More realistic than today."
"How is that possible? Keene and I were really going at it."
"But you stopped short," Tonya said. "During your final exam, the fight won't end until it's over."
He gasped. "Who will I fight?"
"I don't know yet. The BPI hasn't told me. Now sit down. We have to get back to work. Andrew, your focus was terrible this morning. You had no game plan. You have to be one hundred percent intellectually engaged right from the start. I'm going to use delusions to put you into scenarios where you'll have to think quickly. Charley, you'll be with him. Work together and work fast. Got it?"
Andrew and Charley nodded.
He was suddenly in the cockpit of an airplane. A snow-covered mountain loomed directly ahead, and if the plane didn't turn soon, it would crash. He grabbed the control wheel and pulled back. It broke off in his hand.
"Oh, crap!" He looked at Charley who was seated in the co-pilot's chair. "What now?"
She grimaced.
* * *
Blake looked through a pair of binoculars at the headquarters of the Bureau of Physical Investigation. He didn't dare to get any closer. He wasn't aware of technology that allowed the BPI to detect sorcerers at a distance, but that didn't mean the technology didn't exist. The BPI liked to keep its best cards hidden especially from sorcerers.
The headquarters building was just two stories tall but very deep and wide. Brown bricks covered the exterior, but he knew the bricks were just a façade. Behind them were thick, solid walls made of reinforced concrete suitable for a fortress. Some exposed beams hinted at the strength of the structure. Slot windows were so heavily tinted, he couldn't see through them.
A line of trees screened the building which was set well back from the street. Only a small, blue sign indicated who occupied the place, and in Washington, such signs were very common. It certainly didn't look like the home of a powerful government bureau, and that was by design. Only sorcerers and victims of sorcerers had to deal with the BPI.
Blake had been inside a few times. The Sorcerer's Tribunal met in headquarters, and he had gone there for his trial. The most interesting parts of the facility were deep underground behind layers of heavy security. Headquarters was designed to keep out renegade sorcerers even if they were using mind-co
ntrol. Remote-controlled weapons and surveillance cameras meant guards didn't have to get near visitors. The interior was divided into compartments with checkpoints in between. Daily blood tests were mandatory, and there were probably many other security measures Blake didn't even know about.
He wasn't planning to go inside anyway. He had an entirely different plan in mind.
"Be ready to move," Blake said.
"Yes, sir," his companion replied.
Blake glanced at the man in the driver's seat. He was another member of the small team of assassins that was working for Blake these days. The man had pale white skin and blue eyes. He was missing his left ear, but a leather hat partially concealed the disfigurement. Even though it was the dead of winter, he was wearing a T-shirt which showed off muscular arms covered in tattoos.
Blake looked through his binoculars again. A woman in a blue business suit walked out of BPI headquarters. She strolled through a parking lot full of cars, reached the sidewalk, and continued down the street.
"There!" Blake said. "Carefully follow that person."
The driver started the car and drove north. They passed through a quiet, suburban neighborhood near Washington, DC. Beautiful old homes with generous front lawns looked like a scene from a movie. Every house had a two-car garage at the end of a long driveway. The trees were magnificent.
Blake and the assassin followed the woman to an office building with a brown exterior. A sign for a "Metro" station was above a door, and the woman went straight to it.
Blake nodded. He had known the subway station was nearby, but he had wanted to confirm that members of the BPI used it.
The driver pulled over to the side of the road. Blake got out.
"I'll call when I need to be picked up," he said. "It could be several hours."
"Yes, sir," the driver said.
Blake hurried over to the Metro station. He went inside and took an escalator down. The clean, spacious interior of the station impressed him. The arched ceiling was made of concrete blocks which formed an interesting grid pattern.
He paid for a ticket and went to the train platform. He found a seat in the center where he hoped plenty of travelers would walk past him. He took a paperback novel out of his pocket and pretended to read it.
The Russian Eye was in a pouch under his shirt. He tapped into its power and began to read the minds of people nearby. He didn't go deep. He just wanted to know what they were thinking about and who they worked for. He was looking for members of the BPI.
This part of the plan was a big gamble. The special energy used by sorcerers caused the brain to release metabolic byproducts which lingered in the blood. Agents who failed their blood test weren't allowed into BPI headquarters, and if the circumstances were suspicious, the bureau inquired further.
Blake hoped his light touch wouldn't leave much of a trace behind. By the time the agents returned to work in the morning, the chemicals would be washed out of their system. He didn't think the test was very sensitive anyway, but he didn't really know.
It took an hour for Blake to find a suitable target. His name was Max. He was a man in his thirties wearing a cheap, blue suit. His head was full of numbers, and clearly, he was some kind of accountant. He lived alone. He had just come from headquarters after a long day of drudgery.
Blake stood up. When Max stepped onto the next train, Blake followed him. Max sat on a hard plastic seat, and Blake sat next to him.
Blake took the opportunity to probe a little deeper into Max's mind. Blake discovered Max never took the BPI blood test. He was in the administrative section instead of operations. Paper pushers never went into the secure areas and weren't as carefully monitored. Blake could use as much sorcery as he liked on Max.
Blake found some other useful tidbits. Max was terrified of being buried alive, and that fear would give Blake all the leverage he needed to control Max. The accountant also had remote access to BPI financial records from his home using a secure line.
Several stops later, Max got out of the train. Blake followed and began to exert control over his victim. Max kept his eyes forward and walked a little stiffly.
They strolled through another residential area. Blake stayed as close as he could to Max without getting their feet tangled up. They didn't say a word to each other.
During the walk, Blake asserted increasing control over Max's mind. Blake broke down any resistance he encountered until Max became hopelessly enslaved.
After a ten minute journey, they came to an apartment complex made of red brick. It was three stories tall and had a Colonial architecture. Brown wooden shutters hung on the sides of the windows. Blake and Max went inside.
They walked up to Max's apartment and entered. It was a nice little place which was the perfect size for a single man. A big television hung over a fireplace. The kitchen was part of the living room, and the granite countertops matched a granite coffee table.
"Go to your computer," Blake said. "I want to see all BPI expense reports sorted by location."
Max nodded. He went to his computer and logged in. He needed a special gadget which provided a one-time password to get into the BPI accounting system.
Blake looked over Max's shoulder. Documents and spreadsheets began to pop up, and the grids of numbers made Blake's eyes glaze over.
"That's a lot of expense reports."
"The BPI has around a thousand employees," Max said.
Blake frowned. "OK. Let's try a different tactic. Search for expenses related specifically to child care, like toys and clothes."
Max clicked on his keyboard. After a few minutes, he brought up a series of reports. Blake leaned in for a closer look.
"These are from Aurora, Nebraska. Never heard of it. What's there?"
Max used his computer for a moment. "A foster home run by the BPI."
"Wonderful," Blake said. "That's exactly what I was looking for. Can you find out the names of the kids?"
"No. All I have are the expenses."
"That's fine. The next thing I need are the locations of all known seams."
Max stared at Blake blankly. Blake realized Max probably didn't know anything about sorcerers or seams. That information was on a need to know basis even within the BPI.
"You'll have to do some analysis," Blake said. "Look for odd locations where agents have filed lots of expense reports over a long period of time."
The biggest seams had resident sorcerers to guard them, but there were more seams than sorcerers. Permanent teams of BPI agents protected the small to medium-size ones. Blake expected it was very tedious duty. An agent could spend a decade working in a remote location without ever drawing his gun. Blake intended to exploit the weak security around the smaller seams. The Russian Eye wasn't potent enough for some jobs.
"That will be some work," Max said.
"I understand," Blake said. "Go ahead."
While Max typed on his computer, Blake went to have a snack. He opened the refrigerator and peered inside. The selection was sparse but typical of a bachelor. Blake settled on a container of yoghurt flavored with strawberries. He grabbed a can of vegetable juice for his drink. There were bottles of beer, but he never drank. Alcohol clouded his most powerful asset: his mind.
Max finished his analysis after an hour and printed out a list of fifty locations spread across the United States. Blake knew there were only half as many sorcerers in the same area, so a good number of the locations had to be poorly guarded seams.
"That's all I need from you for now," Blake said, "but I may call on you again in the future. Give me your number."
Max had a dull look in his eyes as he wrote a number on a piece of paper.
"Thanks." Blake took the paper. "Don't tell anybody else about me. This conversation will be our secret."
Blake left the apartment. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.
"Sir?" a man answered.
"I'm ready to be picked up. Here is my address..."
Chapter Four<
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Blake looked out the window at Aurora, Nebraska. The BPI had probably chosen the town for its remoteness and isolation, and they had done a good job. Aurora was a pimple in the middle of a vast, flat nothing. The surrounding land was divided into a perfectly regular grid of farms. The highway was dead straight out to the distant horizon. There wasn't even a slight hill to break up the depressing monotony.
The town consisted mostly of tract housing with no architectural embellishments. Blake saw few homes taller than one story, and they were small. Like living in cardboard boxes, he thought.
One of his men was at the wheel. Blake rode in the back seat, and his inner sight was at full sensitivity. He was hunting for young sorcerers.
He detected a glimmer of energy. "Up ahead!" he said. "On the right."
The energy guided Blake to an isolated house at the end of a road. The pink walls had simple wooden siding, and gray shingles covered the roof. White shutters on the sides of the windows were a homey touch. The house had an "L" shape, and he guessed it had enough space for three bedrooms if they were small.
He detected five sorcerers inside. Their energy signatures were weak and disorganized. He assumed they were children without any training at all.
The house was a foster home run by the BPI. Orphans with talent were kept here until they were old enough to become apprentices. The general rule was kids had to be at least sixteen years old to cast spells safely, and some masters wouldn't take an apprentice until he was eighteen. Sorcery required mental discipline that youngsters simply didn't have.
Blake knew a way to overcome that obstacle. He could turn any raw talent into a fully-trained sorcerer in a couple of weeks. Of course, there was a steep price to pay for cutting so many corners.
"Wait for me," Blake told the driver.
Blake zipped up his coat and stepped out of the car. There was no snow on the ground, but the dirt was frozen so hard, it was like walking on rock. A blast of arctic wind stung his ears and his nose. He pulled a ski cap down to his eyebrows.
He hurried over to the house and knocked loudly. After a minute, a woman opened the door. Her brown hair was frazzled, and she had circles under her eyes. Her yellow shirt had a big stain down the front. Blake sensed no sorcery in her.
