Lucius Daemon roared out a laugh that brought another chill to Jude’s spine. Stark looked confused for a moment, then joined in imitation of his boss.
“If you’re thinking of feeding my life force into the system, that won’t work,” said Jude, feeling the sweat beading up on his forehead, wondering if there was a way around the spell he was talking about. He had already mumbled the words and set the patterns in his mind. If they killed him here he would haunt this place forever, especially keying on his killer, possibly even following the killer around. There should be no way to circumvent the spell, and banishing his ghost would only be a temporary fix, as the spirit would find its way back to the Earth, pulling whatever energy it needed for its purposes from the grid. It was a spell that the mage aristocracy really didn’t want the common people to know, for good reason. Jude knew the spell because of his training in contacting the spirit world. But if Daemon knew a way to counter the spell it became less of a threat than Jude intended it to be.
“Oh, but I have an idea that will work,” said Daemon, glancing over at Stark. “And your spirit will not be giving us any trouble, now or in the future.”
“I don’t know what the hell you were thinking, Parkinson,” said Stark, grinning down at Jude. “To come into the most secure facility in the city, thinking you could just dance in and out without anyone noticing.”
“It seemed to work, for a while,” said Jude, grimacing.
“It might have worked, if you hadn’t have tried to impersonate Mr. Daemon there,” said Stark, glancing back at the powerful man. “You should have studied your character a bit more. Some people got suspicious when you actually treated them with some respect.”
“Enough of this, Stark,” said Daemon, his face reddening. “Dispose of him in the manner we discussed.”
“Yes sir,” said Stark to the Archmage’s back as Daemon left the room. Stark stared at Jude for a moment. Jude tried to remain calm, to not give the psychopath what he wanted. But he felt as afraid as he ever had, and he knew that Stark could smell the fear on him.
Two beefy men entered the room and walked up to Jude, looming over the chair. Stark pulled out a knife and walked behind Jude, squatting down and cutting one of the ropes that bound the Detective to the chair. He walked back around and nodded to the two toughs, who reached down, grabbed Jude by his arms, and pulled him to his feet.
“We are going for a ride,” said the tough on the right, a broad shouldered black man. The man on the left, a heavyset white guy, grunted, then let out a short laugh.
Jude thought about struggling as they led him to a bank of elevators, but decided to conserve his strength for something that might actually be of some use. It was obvious to him that he wasn’t going to fight his way free while trussed up. They were not too rough with him as they moved him toward the elevators and into the cab. Just businesslike, like he was a piece of furniture that needed to be moved quickly and efficiently. And then disposed of just as efficiently.
They rode the cab up, into the aboveground building and the long trip to the top. Jude looked at the men who were taking him to whatever doom they had planned. The two toughs were expressionless. It was just a job, for which he was sure they were well compensated. Stark seemed to be enjoying himself, looking at Jude with cold eyes and a broad smile. Jude had always hated elevators, the cold silence in which the passengers rode, ignoring each other as if they were wearing veils of secrecy. This was worse than that. He wished he was invisible to these cold men who were leading him to death.
After what seemed like fifteen minutes, and was probably only five, watching the dial go through the hundreds of levels to the top, the door of the elevator opened onto a landing that was walled in by windows on all sides. Air rushed out of the cab and Jude felt his ears pop. He became short of breath, forcing himself to breathe faster, realizing that the air up here was thinner, that they must be near the top of the mile high tower.
“Come on, and watch your step,” said Stark, looking from Jude to the glass doors leading out of the elevator landing. “We wouldn’t want you to fall. That first step is a doozie.”
The toughs steered Jude through the door. A strong wind blew in from the right, and Jude shivered from the reduced temperature. Jude looked at the railing that surrounded the open space, wondering if the men would push him over that barrier to fall the almost mile down to the streets. They made no effort to steer him that way, but moved him straight up the platform toward the far end.
“If you kill me I’ll haunt you forever,” he said to the toughs, making sure they remembered the consequences. “You can’t be paid enough for that to be worthwhile.
With the sound of turning engines an airship rose at the end of the platform. Men on the gondola threw ropes toward the platform, where another pair of men waited. Those men grabbed the ropes and pulled them onto pulleys, then cranked the ropes while the airship was moved closer to the platform. They winched the gondola in tight to the platform, then locked the pulleys in place.
“We’re going to find a nice quiet place you can haunt,” yelled Stark over the driving wind. “And something worth haunting. I’m sure you’ll find the trip fascinating.”
The toughs pulled Jude along. Jude looked for a way out, but the only means of escaping here was to go over the side. Something he was not willing to do, not at this time. He calmed his mind and prepared what spells he had, readying himself for whatever opportunity might arise.
The toughs hustled Jude into the gondola and pushed him down into a seat. Jude looked out and up to the large globe of light on top of the Daemon building, shining a hundred feet further into the sky. The light brightened as he watched, storing the energy of the lives harvested in the subterranean portion of the structure. He cursed under his breath at the injustice of killing innocents, and at the men who were going to kill him to keep that knowledge out of the hands of the public.
The ground crew uncranked the ropes from the pulleys, then tossed them to the airship crew. The door to the gondola slid shut and the airship drifted away from the building. The vibrations from the engines increased, and the airship turned away from the tower and started on its way South.
“So,” said Jude, attempting to keep his voice from cracking, and failing. “Where are we going?”
“Someplace really dry,” said Stark with a laugh. “Someplace where you can have some peace and quiet. And rest in peace.”
Jude didn’t like the sound of either of those. He tensed his muscles and released, seeing if he could get any slack in his bonds. He worked his fingers in the ropes and couldn’t tell if that had done any good. It didn’t seem to have. Just as he was about to try a spell another man came into the compartment and took a seat on the opposite bench, looking intently at Jude. Jude gave the man a questioning look and got a smile in return.
“Don’t try anything magical,” said the newcomer. “I am a trained Mage, and I am here to watch you. And to stop you.”
Jude grunted a reply, knowing that when the time came he would risk pitting himself against the man anyway. But the time had not come, and the airship continued out over the bay, its own string of powerful lights shining to illuminate the night.
The airship forged on for hours, or so it seemed to Jude, who did not have access to a timepiece. At one point something very large flew by, a thing bigger than any natural flying creature. The airship had bucked and turned, and the thing had screeched out in the dark before moving on.
“One of your future playmates,” said Stark, looking out the window with a worried expression. “But he’s going to have to wait for a moment.”
“So you’re going to dump me in the dead lands?” asked Jude, glaring at the Magara agent, feeling a chill run up his spine. “That’s still killing me.”
“Not really,” said Stark with a nasty smile. “You’ll be in decent shape when you hit the sand. We’re not going to push you out from too high, after all. Then some Shadow will take credit for ending your life, and you’
re welcome to haunt it as long as you want.”
Jude looked back at the man, his mouth falling open. That would circumvent the intention of his spell. They would not kill him, not in the strictest sense. They would take the actions that led to his death, but they would be free from any burdens his spell could lay on them.
“In fact, I think it’s time we started you on your way,” said Stark, standing up and walking to the door to the cockpit. He opened that door and leaned in, saying something to the crew. The bottom seemed to drop out as the airship moved downward.
A crewman slid open the outer door, looking out into the night. He looked back and nodded. The heavyset white tough stood up and pulled Jude to his feet, then pulled him toward the door. Jude tried to dig in his feet, but was pushed around like a child.
Now, thought Jude, saying the trigger words to a spell. The ball of force radiated out from his hands, shredding the ropes that had them confined. Jude stifled a cry as the ropes burned into his flesh as they were ripped away. The tough looked at him, a glare of anger on his face, and grabbed Jude’s right hand before the Detective could bring it up.
This was a time that Jude wished he had a repertoire of spells, like a real battlemage. He had only learned a few in his time in the military, and maybe another couple while he was learning and practicing forensics. He didn’t have much to throw. He only knew a couple, but he knew those well. He reached into himself and drew power from the airship’s system, raised his left hand, and sent the tough into the wall. The man dragged him along, maintaining a tight grip on Jude’s wrist. Jude brought his left hand into the man’s face in an open hand strike, adding a force blast at the end.
The tough’s head smacked into the wall. Blood spurted from his nose and dripped from his ears as his eyes went blank. His grip loosened on Jude’s wrist and the Detective jerked it away, turning from the stricken man and assessing the situation in the cabin.
He didn’t like the snap assessment he had made. Stark was reaching into his jacket, grabbing at something to draw out. The other Mage was mumbling some words and raising his hands in Jude’s direction. The black tough was moving toward him with outstretched hands, while a crewman was picking up a metal bar, obviously to use as a weapon.
Jude snapped a ball of force at the other Mage first, sending the man back into a wall. The Mage grunted and lost his spell, giving Jude a moment of respite from his attentions. Jude snapped his left hand and sent another ball of force into Stark, lifting the man from his feet and sending him into the cabin ceiling. Stark landed back on the floor with a huff of expelled air, and then scrambled to grab a seat frame to keep from falling from the ship. Jude reached inside for one more shot as the tough grabbed at his shirt. The ball hit the tough in the stomach and lifted him into the air, to fly with a scream from the airship and fall away.
Jude glimpsed a flash of black in the light, just before huge claws snatched the tough out of the air and into the darkness. The man’s screams faded quickly.
Jude didn’t have any more power left. He made a motion toward the crewman that made the man flinch away, then looked back over at the Mage. The man was coming to his knees and saying words of power. Jude ran toward Stark, hoping he could get to the agent and use him for cover. Just when he was about there the cabin shuddered with a thunderous roar and Jude’s muscles twitched and spasmed as electricity flooded his body. He cried in pain and stumbled, his muscles losing all their strength. Before anyone could stop him he fell through the door and into the night.
Chapter Eighteen
Lucius Daemon was sitting in his office, high in the tower, dictating to a zombie hand. The hand was suspended in the air, pen gripped in fingers as it flew across the paper, taking Daemon’s words down. Daemon had his chair turned away from his desk and was looking out the floor to ceiling window that gave a view of the city below. The brightly lit cityscape always fascinated him, all those millions of people down there making it through the night. Daemon felt a wave of pride that his company was the one that provided that security. That would continue to provide security for as long as they could tap other planets of their living resources. His thoughts were interrupted by the tone of an incoming communication.
“Daemon,” he said into the air, opening the channel, turning in his chair. The small scale figure of Yvette appeared on the desk. The small simulation of his wife looked over at the zombie hand which went still as the dictation ended, and she gave out a wide smile.
“Enjoying my present, I see,” said the powerful necromancer, looking back at her husband.
“It beats having to memory wipe a living person every time I compose something not for general consumption,” said Lucius with a smile. “And what do I owe the pleasure of this call to?”
“You may not think this is too pleasurable when I tell you the news,” said his wife, her eyes flashing.
“The Council again?” asked Lucius, feeling his anger rise. “What the hell do those fools want us to do? Sacrifice half the population so the rest can go on?”
“I would like to feed some of the Council into your sacrifice chambers,” said Yvette with a tight smile. “Best possible use for them. But I met with Harold Jansen and Klarri Klondike, and they say they are being pressured by the Chief of the Council to change their votes.”
“And?”
“So far they are still resisting,” said Yvette. “Voting their consciences.”
“I wonder why I don’t feel confident when other mages vote their consciences,” said Lucius with a small chuckle.
“Maybe because they don’t have one,” said his wife with an answering chuckle. “But seriously, some of the Council members want to go public with this.”
“The idiots,” growled Lucius, slamming a hand on the table. The zombie hand jerked, then moved away from the table to seek cover in the drawer where it dwelt when not in use. “The public outcry will be deafening. They may even demand the resignation of the Council.”
“Which we can’t allow,” said Yvette, echoing his own thoughts. “We are the best chance they have of making it through these times. The lesser mages that would take our places couldn’t do half the job.”
Daemon thought of what might come if the public demanded their resignations. Martial law, the army marching in the streets and putting down riots. It would be bloody, but the Council would prevail, and guide the idiot public through the hard times whether they wanted that guidance or not.
“I’ll call for a special session of the Council,” said Lucius to his wife, calming his own anger. “We need to hash this out and make sure we’re all on the same page. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” said Yvette, sending her own determination over the link. “That’s why we get along so well. We’re always on the same page. I love you. Don’t stay up too late. Whatever it is you’re working on, it can wait. Night.”
“Night,” echoed Lucius as the connection faded. He thought for a moment about the battle ahead in the Council. He thought he had the votes to make his policies stick. He might have to call in some favors, but that was OK. With a thought he called the zombie hand back to him, preparing to send out the notes he would need to get his point across.
* * *
Lieutenant Jerry Caldwell was happy that his shift was over. The man worked the three to eleven shift each work day. Normally it was a quiet shift. Tonight there had been excitement enough for everyone, with that damned cop penetrating security and getting into the sacrificial chamber. He expected that there would be hell to pay for that mishap. Lucius Daemon was not a forgiving man. He paid well, and was loyal to his employees. But he was not forgiving.
I'll just have to deal with that tomorrow, thought the Security Officer for Daemon Corp. He thought he might come out of this with a promotion. After all, he had alerted Stark, and then Mr. Daemon, to the presence of an intruder. Who knows what might have happened if that asshole had gotten out of the building with what he had seen.
Something moved, out in the almost empty em
ployee lot. Caldwell started for a moment, wondering what could have made that noise. The environs of the building were among the cleanest in the city. There was no garbage out there, no rodents to move around in it. Daemon’s wife made sure of that. And no one would think of committing a crime here. Still, Caldwell patted the automatic holstered at his side, taking comfort in its presence.
“What's going on, Lieutenant?” said a voice from behind.
Caldwell almost jumped before he recognized the voice. “Dammit, Marsha,” he growled turning around to glare at the Security Sergeant and the Officer with her. “Don't sneak up on a man like that.”
“Didn't think I was sneaking,” said Marsha Abrams, elbowing Mike Schneider in the ribs.
“You know what I meant,” said Caldwell, looking from face to face as another Officer came out of the building and joined them.
A couple of civilian employees exited the building and stopped when they saw the cluster of security personnel.
Probably wondering what's going on, thought Caldwell, looking back at the civilians. “I heard something coming from the parking lot. Something moving about.”
“What do you think it was?” asked Abrams, coming up beside the Lieutenant. “The boogie man, or goblins?”
“I don't know, Sarge,” said Officer Bennett, moving up beside them and looking out over the lot. “With all this stuff going on, who knows what might be out there.”
“It's nothing,” said Caldwell, shrugging his shoulders. “Probably just my imagination.”
As soon as the words left his mouth Caldwell knew he was wrong. As soon as he knew he was wrong the wind picked up, and dirt and sand filled the air, carried from surrounding areas. Out of the wind came the swirling red vortex. And then the slaughter began.
* * *
Lucius Daemon looked over the devastation that had been the entry plaza of Daemon Corp, his heart sinking. The employee parking lot was a ruin of smashed vehicles. That paled in comparison with the torn apart bodies of almost a score of employees, scattered across that plaza. They were in so many pieces it was impossible to tell where one began and the other ended.
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