That was the signal.
35
The four-legged blur tore across the hardwood. Eden the coyote distracted the surviving Ghosts just enough for me to hit another in the head. A third one had me dead to rights, until Roark burst from the office and sprayed the hallway down with automatic gunfire.
Flecks of paint, plaster, and chunks of oil paintings flew in the air as he tore the Ghosts apart. One survivor dove to the floor, rolling through the storm.
I drew a bead and got him in the throat.
At the end of the hallway, toward the wide stairs, Eden yipped, indicating the coast was clear. If the media had been murmuring before, the throng was now in an outright panic. I stepped over the bodies, shedding the wig and the blazer as I went.
I loosened the baggy blouse as I headed down the stairs, Roark trailing behind. On the third floor, which doubled as Malcolm Roark’s art wing, a small contingent of curious personnel had set up shop, complete with cameras.
They backed away from us, trying to hide behind the Roman sculptures.
“Always good to capture history,” I said. “Rather than be it.”
Their hands shook as the feed broadcast live. I had no idea what the people of Phoenix—or the world—would think. But surely this had to be better than a CEO who thought the best way to help the bottom line was to destroy Santa Fe.
He hadn’t done it alone. Those sitting on their hands, allowing life to pass them by, had enabled it to happen. But I couldn’t point fingers. Twenty years ago, I was still a mercenary, wandering from town to town. True, I’d helped Kalos stop Isabella Kronos from taking control of the world.
But then I’d drifted on the wind, blown about like a spare tire. Once useful, I rusted away from disuse until the inevitable capture. So maybe I had Malcolm Roark to thank for who I’d become.
Bending me, but never breaking me.
I followed Eden down the next two flights of stairs and rushed into the backyard. Most of the media were huddled near the bridge, whispering to one another whether or not they should cross over into the Tributary.
A single guard was holding them at bay.
Eden yipped, getting everyone’s attention. The guard was distracted enough for me to hit him in the head from a hundred yards.
Still had it.
The crowd fell silent and parted to allow us through.
“No one follows,” I said to the terrified people, not stopping. Not that they seemed to have a mind to do so. “The entrance might collapse.”
Truth be told, I didn’t know what would happen.
But I had one last goal: destroy the Tributary.
Eden stopped near the on-ramp and sat down, panting heavily. I gave her a scratch on the ears, and she growled. Then she shifted back, eliciting a stunned gasp from the crowd. I had to wonder if that would be tomorrow’s front page headline, with the true lead buried somewhere next to the classifieds.
It didn’t matter. The thankless jobs were almost always the most important.
I glanced back at Roark.
“You ready?”
“Just following your lead.”
We charged through the rift, diving into what remained of the brilliantly blue sea.
36
The swim to shore was refreshing, even with the waters being depleted by MagiTekk’s resource pillaging operation. The fresh water didn’t sting the cut in my hand. As I emerged onto the sand, staring at the gleaming city on the hill—now marred by MagiTekk’s towering aqueducts and tunneling equipment—I almost felt hopeful.
The pockmarks and age spots slipped away from my skin like ink, the restorative water cleansing away the disguise—which, all things considered, had technically been a minor curse. I squeezed out my brown hair, and Roark came up behind me. He touched me lightly on the shoulder.
“I must say, you look much better now.”
“Keep it in your pants, buddy. We have a job to do.”
“I might even show up to our next date.” Roark tagged along behind as I jogged into the lush forest.
“Who said you’d get a second chance?”
“I thought we all deserved one.”
“We’ll see about that.” I watched the final age spot disappear from the back of my hand. The cut had even started to heal. Impressive stuff, this water. And we weren’t even close to the source. Recalling how our progress was stymied the last time by the fallen bridge, I charted a different course.
This time, we’d take the opposite shoreline.
Making good time through the ancient city of the dead gods, I followed the sun’s path through the winding sandstone streets. I felt good enough to run. A light sweat caked my brow.
We entered a large plaza, like you’d find in a European city with a rich history. A dormant fountain sat at the center, covered in moss.
This was going to work out. Everything was going to be fine.
Until Roark screamed, “Above us,” and I looked up just in time to see a snarling woman in a short skirt and a cowboy hat leap from a nearby rooftop. Odessa’s agility was impressive. I rolled over the rough cobbles, toward the central fountain.
Heat surged off her in waves as she landed nearby. Her black magic tugged on my soul, feeling like a tight fist around my heart.
“You can’t attack us,” I said, watching the demoness advance in the broiling sun. What I’d do for my shotgun right about now. “The Blood Oath.”
“Not directly, no.” The magical noose tightened, like she’d lassoed my insides. The cowboy hat was slung low over her eyes, the brim reflecting her eyes’ amber glow. “But I am good at finding loopholes. Like using your souls to fuel my magic.”
I watched Roark sneaking up on the demoness, pistol raised. About twenty yards away, however, she held up a hand, and he simply froze in place. I felt a tiny shard of my soul disappear.
Briefly staring into the abyss of emptiness before rocketing back into the here-and-now, I let out a halting breath. Odessa smiled and clapped her hands. Technically, this wasn’t an attack. We were simply immobilized.
“Well, you two can have a blast by yourself. Some Ghosts will probably be through here eventually. Or you’ll starve.” She shrugged, brown hair swaying the light breeze. “Either way, I’ll be free of you both.”
The barking report of a gunshot echoed off the crumbling sandstone rooftops, bouncing around the plaza like a pinball. Odessa spun on her heel and flung a fireball in its general direction. I didn’t feel my soul flake off, and from Roark’s expression, he hadn’t either.
Which meant there was someone else out there.
Kalos’s salt-and-pepper hair popped out from a crenellation. The .45 boomed again across the mossy plaza, a bullet hitting Odessa with a solid thud. She stumbled like a drunk toward the fountain, the cowboy hat spinning off her head. The wound was enough to loosen the effects of the freezing spell.
I rolled along the ground and pushed off the worn stone, seizing the opening. It’d be the only one we got. Demonesses weren’t exactly easy to kill. I reached for the knife at my waistband, my own blood barely dry upon its edge, and leaped, jamming it into Odessa’s skull. The amber light flickered out of her eyes and her powerful aura vanished, leaving a magical void.
She buckled to the cobbles, facedown, her dark blood seeping through the cracks. Her short skirt billowed softly in the wind. I took the blade out and nudged her warily with my sensible shoe.
No movement.
“Thought you two could use some help,” Kalos called down from his vantage point. “Saw your little broadcast on television and figured we’d join the fun.”
“Congratulations on not being a soulless husk.”
“Prince Martin’s not a bad guy.” Kalos’s head disappeared from the crumbling window. Footsteps clamored through the ruins, until the half-demon finally emerged at the outskirts of the plaza. He walked a little slowly—it seemed we all were doing that, these days—but was otherwise no worse for wear. Definitely not Vanished.
Argos darted down t
he stairs in another house, going too fast in his excitement. A dappled black-and-white furry dervish tumbled out behind Kalos. After he pitched end-over-end for a few seconds, a patch of thick moss finally stopped the border collie’s momentum.
He lay flopped on his side for a moment, then rose and shook himself off in that way that dogs do. Trotting delicately, he made his way over to Odessa and gingerly sniffed her corpse.
“Dead,” he said with authority, like it was breaking news.
“I think the brain trauma did her in,” I said.
“You can never be too sure.” Argos puffed his chest out, his sharp snout set in a serious expression.
“Words to live by.” I glanced over at Kalos, his shoulders hunched. Clearly still recovering from being bitten by the Vanished. Without supernatural blood in your veins, the healing process was even slower. “I’m flattered you two showed up, really.” I bit my lip, then launched into the pertinent question. “But why’d you really come back?”
“You know why.” Kalos let out a deep sigh, his .45 glinting in his hand. I looked at the gun warily. “Our mission hasn’t changed.”
“We’re not creating any gods.” I put my hands on my hips. There were enough problems lurking in the shadows without our group pursuing different ends. This Realm was being reduced to an ash heap. That was final.
“Let’s not argue, Ruby,” Kalos said. “There are still hundreds of soldiers in this city.”
I shot Roark a begrudging look, who nodded quickly. Fine. We could debate what to do with the source later.
Until then, we all had the same goal.
Survive long enough to actually find it.
37
Turned out, the Realmpiece’s directions were dead on—provided you were on the right side of the bridge. Following the blazing sun led to a grotto inside the mountain. Pockets of essence glowed along the walls, reminding me of the Realm Rifts. Unlike the Rifts, however, these were naturally occurring formations.
This place was rife with magical energy. It thrummed from every crevice. Water ran through the center, the pool clear and deep.
I passed my hand through a golden light, feeling its warmth trickle through my aching fingers.
“We’re getting close,” Kalos said. “You feel it, don’t you?”
“I do.” Vegetation and shrubbery dotted the interior of the grotto, growing on pure magical energy. Argos stopped and took a bite from one of the flowers, then flicked his ears back when he saw me watching.
“It’s a bad habit,” he said lamely, still trying to chew on the sly.
“You do you, buddy.” Behind me, Roark stifled a laugh, which made Argos look even more sheepish. But there was something to be said about accepting your nature. After all, you couldn’t be anyone else.
What I originally thought was a grotto extended deep into the mountain. But the light inside didn’t dwindle. If anything, the glow got brighter, the lush plants growing thicker as we headed deeper within the mountain. Around us, the air tingled with infinite possibility.
A loud crack cut through the tranquility, followed by the rat-a-tat of a drill bit hammering at the walls. Our surroundings shook as we shared uneasy glances. Our party of four wasn’t alone in experiencing the majesty of the Tributary’s source. MagiTekk was already mining it for all its worth—on Malcolm Roark’s orders.
Ready to transport it back to headquarters, for use in creating more super soldiers.
I raised my finger to my lips, taking the lead. The group fell in line behind me, except for Argos, who I picked up and handed to Kalos. The dog wasn’t a warrior, and his splashing footsteps might as well have shouted our arrival to whoever lurked deeper within the grotto. Many years ago, when I’d first met him, we had tried to set a forest trap for an alpha werewolf.
He had been enthusiastic, but useless. Our plan had been, needless to say, unsuccessful.
Clutching the pistol, I followed the magical glow further into the cave. Now, the essence strands wove together through the air, like a kaleidoscope of wisps painting a brilliant picture. I knew they weren’t my own, since I was still feeling the suppressive effects of Aiko’s blue vial.
I whispered, “Do you guys see this?”
“It’s incredible,” Argos said with a low, affirmative growl. “This energy might be as old as time itself.”
I stopped abruptly, peering beyond the rainbow display. On the walls, in brilliantly bold color, were the same pictograms from the catacombs. In awe, I silently followed the glowing strands of essence, following the story of Ragnarök and the Tributary.
I reached the panel that predicted the Realm’s reopening—and the barbarian hordes flowing in. Peering next to it, I found one final carving that had been absent in the catacombs.
“It’s a story of rebirth,” Argos said behind me. I saw the border collie’s snout poking through my legs. “Rising from the ashes long after Ragnarök.”
“A prophecy?”
“More a hope.” Argos edged further through, studying the final panel up close. “That one day, far in the future, someone would finally right the wrongs of that awful time.”
But it still didn’t answer the main question.
“How?” I brushed my hands along the glowing cracks. The magical energy tingled on my fingertips but no ancient wisdom or messages flowed through my veins.
Argos said, “Someone will know the way.”
“That’s it?”
“The gist of it, yeah.” Up ahead, MagiTekk’s industrial extractors pounded away, strip mining the source for its precious water. Each thud intensified in magnitude, like the person running the machines was in a hurry to get things done.
Walking in silence along the bank of the clear, cool pool, we continued onward.
Up ahead, the magical glow died, replaced by manmade floodlights. The grotto-like tunnel opened into a brilliant cavern stretching high up in the air. Drill bits and equipment glinted like assassins’ daggers from the craggy rafters, slicing into the ancient rock at odd angles.
Then I saw it.
The source.
A fountain upon a pedestal embedded in the far wall. Right at our level, perfectly accessible without climbing. Surrounded by teeming flowers and life that even MagiTekk’s grinding machines couldn’t kill, it looked positively radiant.
But everything was too good to be true.
For Malcolm’s voice cut above the pulsating drills.
“I guess we don’t have a deal, then.” A grenade bounced along the bank, rolling up to my feet.
And then I dove into the perfect water as the world shattered around me.
38
A cold wave crashed over me as I swam to the opposite bank. I blinked away the mist. I could sense the source’s infinite possibility as I tasted the droplets. Far more powerful than what flowed into the forest stream below.
Unfortunately, my own source of power had vanished into the pool. For the pistol was gone.
Another explosion rocked the cavern. Rocks fell from the ceiling, peppering the shore. I huddled in a ball, debris falling around me. I heard the machinery whir to a grinding halt somewhere above.
Malcolm yelled, “Don’t stop, you fools!”
But the drills didn’t restart. Maybe his lackeys had realized the truth: that this operation would enrich Malcolm Roark, but would do little to change their own lives. Or it could have been that everything had been destabilized by the explosions.
Pushing myself off the shore, I saw Malcolm darting down, hopping from rock to rock like an agile goat. His tailored suit nor the recent bullet wounds slowed him. Indeed, he seemed more powerful than before, if that was at all possible.
I spotted the knife on the opposite bank and plunged back into the water to retrieve it. My weary bones felt soothed, the water whispering for to me to stay.
But I had to get the blade.
There was no sign of Roark. Kalos and Argos had washed up near where we had entered, by the tunnel. I couldn’t tell whether the
y were still alive or not. Clambering up the muddy bank, I scrambled for the knife, feeling the familiar hilt in my hand.
Malcolm landed on the opposite shore with what seemed like a seismic impact. His suit was torn from the bullet holes, the blood still wet on his shirt. But no entry wounds dotted his skin.
His silver hair slick with sweat, an angry, vengeful expression twisting his stern jaw, he looked like the Malcolm I knew.
Only more so.
“You could’ve stopped this, Ruby.” Malcolm clenched and unclenched his fists, the sinews and bones crack with raw power. “When they all die, it will be on your head.”
“They’re not going to die.” Using some reserve of adrenaline and energy I didn’t know existed, I charged into the source with a ragged cry. Malcolm stood his ground on the opposite shore, watching me swim across but making no effort to meet me in the water.
I stumbled up the bank and swung the knife at his head. He sidestepped the blow and launched a hard, flat palm into my solar plexus. I reeled into the cavern’s rock face, temporarily stunned, barely hanging on to the knife. Gasping for air, I limped around to face him.
Malcolm hadn’t moved.
“You cannot win.” He removed his bloodied suit jacket and loosened his tie. “I have planned for this day for over twenty years.”
“I bet it didn’t end with a knife in your throat.”
“It always ends the same,” Malcolm said. “With absolute power.”
Throat raw, I summoned a feral scream and charged again, this time slashing for his ankles. He jumped backward, dodging the blade once more. I hurtled by harmlessly, and he tripped me, sending me to the rough ground. The blade clattered from my grip, falling into the pool. With a sinking feeling, I watched as it disappeared into the clear water, leaving me unarmed.
Malcolm finally moved from his post, striding over to hoist me up by the collar of the loose blouse. I bit him on the hand, and he punched me in the face.
“I told you I’d watch you die slowly.” His hands wrapped around my throat. I could feel the hatred, the years of killing, in his rough thumbs as they cut off my windpipe.
Ruby Callaway: The Complete Collection Page 54
