by John Corwin
We finished a circuit of the parking lot without spotting the limo.
"Don't they have a driver?" I asked. "I doubt it would be parked out here."
"It'd usually be waiting in the motor pool," he said, pointing to a line of other cars, stagecoaches, and even elephants waiting to pick up VIPs as they emerged from the Grotto. "But it never hurts to be thorough." He parked the sedan, got out.
We walked to the stables and found Oliver shoveling a massive pile of steaming poo into a dung wagon.
"G'day, guvnahs!" he said brightly.
"Hey, Oliver," Shelton said, patting the boy fondly on the head. "You seen the Conroys around here lately?"
"No, Harry. I saw Miss Ivy and Mrs. Conroy just two days ago, but not since." He heaved a shovelful of poop into the wagon.
"Don't worry about the tracker," Shelton said. "I don't think it'll work on their limo."
"Did they take their car when they were here last time?" I asked Oliver.
The boy nodded. "They came from the arch and went straight to the limousine. I think they were coming from Queens Gate."
That would've been a day or so after school let out for the holiday break, I realized. "They might not come back until school starts again in January," I said.
"Any Darkwater people lurking around here?" Shelton asked.
"Yes, there were several looking for people who match your descriptions," he said, tilting his head slightly. A few brown clods dropped from his shovel as he contemplated something. "Did you do something horrible again, Harry?"
Shelton looked offended. "Why would you ask that, kid?"
"Oh, please tell me about it," Oliver said. "I would so love to hear another of your stories."
Shelton sighed. "Stay away from those bruisers." He waggled his thumb to indicate the two of us. "They want our hides."
"You don't need to tell me that," the boy said brightly. "The one named Kassus sounded very upset."
My stomach clenched. "Did it sound like they had any idea where we were?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I saw several of the brotherhood taking the arch to different locations. I would say they're casting a wide net."
"How did you know they're with the brotherhood?" Shelton asked.
"I hear a lot," Oliver said with a grin. "Most people ignore the stable boy."
Shelton passed him a wad of tinsel, Overworld currency. "Stay out of trouble, kid. And let me know if you see or hear anything else."
"You got it, Harry!"
We walked back to the car, Shelton muttering to himself along the way. "I don't know if we should stake this place out, or leave," he said. "Man, I could really use a donut right now."
I didn't like the idea of sitting for hours in a smelly car with Shelton, but going back home would only make me feel powerless again. On the bright side, it didn't sound like Darkwater had any reason to suspect where we lived if Oliver's assumptions were true.
"Darkwater is headquartered inside the Grotto?" I asked as we climbed in the car.
He nodded. "Don't even think about going near the place. Their security probably flagged our images."
"It doesn't sound like they have pictures of us," I said.
"Nah, but they probably have drawings which will be close enough to tag us."
"I don't want to go home," I told him. "We've got to figure out something."
Shelton pursed his lips. Started the car and backed out of the parking lot. "I've got some ideas. They may not pan out, but it won't hurt to try."
I didn't argue with him.
He drove up the ramp and down Peachtree Street to a two-story building with stretched Hummers, limos, and even an elongated Lamborghini on display in a glassed-in showroom. A sign proclaimed the place as Luxury Transportation. Shelton drove to the back, parked the car, and led me toward an outbuilding without any signage to indicate what lay inside. I saw a simple service bay and gas pump to the rear of the complex.
Shelton went inside the small building and up to a counter. He dinged the bell. A short man with glasses came to the front. His eyes narrowed when he saw us.
"Harry Shelton," he said in a neutral tone after a moment's pause. "I haven't seen you in a while."
"Yeah, took a break from the bounty-hunting biz." Shelton shrugged. "This is my friend, Justin. Justin, this is Walter Lerner."
"Justin Slade," the man said.
"You know my last name?" I asked.
He nodded. "The security business has been good with everyone scared to death of you and your gang."
"My gang?" I asked. "What kind of things have you been hearing about me?"
Walter shrugged. "The vampires have their PR people going all-out to portray you as a dangerous lunatic. There are some on the Arcane Council trying to blame you for the Grand Melee incident."
"They're lying," I said in protest. "We saved their lives."
"You don't have to convince me," Walter said, propping his elbows on the counter. "That's just politics. Right now, it's good business."
I looked around the room at the blank walls, the lack of furniture. "What exactly do you do here?" I glanced at Shelton. "Isn't this a nom business?"
"I cater to noms as well as supers," Walter said. "Wouldn't be enough money in this business otherwise."
"Walter here provides secure transportation to the high muckety-mucks in the Overworld and for the noms," Shelton explained. "He sends his vehicles to places like Overworld Security and has them add other enchantments."
"Even for noms?" I asked.
"Oh, sure," Walter said. "But only things they'll never notice." His eyes met Shelton. "Why are you here? I know it isn't to socialize."
"Fair enough," Shelton said. "I need some information on the concealment illusions like they use on the high-end limos."
"Like what?" Walter asked suspiciously.
"How long do the illusions last? What kind of scripted behavior do they have?"
Walter dug behind the counter and tossed Shelton a folded brochure. "It's all in there."
"Is it accurate?" Shelton said.
"Yeah, by the Overworld truth in advertising standards."
"I need it to be accurate," Shelton said, not moving to pick it up.
Walter sighed. "It is. Anything else?"
Shelton took the brochure and looked it over for a minute. He nodded. "Yeah, does Bruce still work at the OTA?"
"I wouldn't advise talking to him," Walter said. "Not after the little stunt you pulled. He almost lost his job over that."
"It wasn't me," Shelton said. "Someone there must have overheard him talking to me and blabbed."
Walter held up his hands. "Don't tell it to me," he said. "We done here?"
Shelton stared at the man. "What the hell is going on with you? Last time we did business you seemed plenty happy, especially when I steered clients your way. Now you're treating me like I'm diseased."
The other man chewed on his inner cheek. "It's Cyphanis Rax," he said after a moment of consideration. "He's still upset about you trying to hunt him down, and now that your old man isn't around to protect you, he's put out the word that it's bad for business to do business with Harry Shelton."
"He's threatening you," Shelton said.
"Of course he is," Walter replied. "He knows who helped you track him, and he's made sure to let each and every one of us know that."
"How in the hell could he possibly know who helped me?"
Walter shrugged. "All I know is if he catches wind that you were here, it could spell trouble for me."
"Maybe we should go," I told Shelton.
He growled. "The man is dirty, Walter. I should have finished the job I started."
"You never had enough proof to lock him away," Walter said. "With your father gone, he'll probably be the next Arcanus Primus."
"Is that bad?" I asked.
Walter snorted. "Rax makes Sager look like the poster boy for ethical behavior," Walter said.
"Hey now, that's my father you're talking a
bout," Shelton said.
The other man looked surprised. "Since when did you develop a love for your old man?"
Shelton clamped his mouth shut.
"Kind of a sensitive subject," I said.
"Thanks for the info," Shelton said, and headed for the door.
"Keep my involvement to yourself," Walter called after us.
We left and ventured a few miles to a section of town with rolling terrain and residential houses. Nestled in an industrial stretch of road sat a squat windowless building with what looked like totem poles arrayed in a circle outside. The sign proclaimed it as Antique Emporium. A smaller sign on the door indicated it was closed. Shelton rapped on the door.
Seconds trickled by as we waited. I took a closer look at the poles and recognized Cyrinthian symbols etched into the dark wood. I hoped they didn't represent a deadly trap for trespassers, and edged closer to the building, as if it might offer more protection. Shelton pounded on the door, his patience clearly running low.
"Open up, Bruce. I know you're in there!" Shelton shouted.
The door jerked open. A balding man with a sizeable paunch stood there, face contorted with anger. I looked down and saw the metallic gleam of a large pistol in his hand.
Chapter 14
"Holy cornballs in paradise," Shelton said, backing away, hands held in surrender. "Take it easy, Bruce."
"Take it easy?" the man said in a growl. "You nearly cost me my job, and they cut my pay thanks to you talking to the authorities."
"Not me," Shelton said, one of his hands lowering toward the compact staff he kept in a holster on his side. "You know me. Why would I ruin a good thing?"
"Because you're scum," Bruce said, grip tightening on the gun.
Shelton's hand went back up. "Look, Walter told me Cyphanis was stirring up trouble. Saying I was bad for business. You know I wouldn't jeopardize my network of informants." He sighed. "Remember what I did for your cousin? How I got him out of the trouble he was in with those loan sharks? I put myself on the line for you. Think about it, man."
Bruce stared at him, the snarl fading from his face. He blew out an explosive breath and lowered the firearm. "I still don't like the fact Cyphanis is all up in your business, Shelton. If I'm seen talking to you—"
"Then let us inside before someone notices," Shelton said.
"I should make you and whoever the hell this kid is leave."
"This is Justin Slade," Shelton said.
"Oh, now you're really trying to get me in trouble," Bruce said. "Isn't this the same kid who wrecked the Grand Melee?"
"I didn't wreck anything!" I protested.
"Forget all that," Shelton said with a sigh. "Bruce, what if I told you I could get that nephew of yours out of Russian prison?"
Bruce's forehead crinkled. "How in the hell could you do that?"
Shelton shrugged. "I have my methods. You help us with this, and I'll deliver him to your doorstep."
I felt my own forehead wrinkle at Shelton's boast. What nephew? What Russian jail? I didn't want him getting off track and pulling a crazy stunt that could get him noticed by noms.
Bruce considered it for a long moment before waving us inside. He closed the door behind us, and led us down a hallway to a large room with an array of holographic images of the city and a number of orbs hovering above a console.
"What is this place?" I asked.
"Overworld Transportation Authority," Bruce said, a proud note in his voice. "We enforce restrictions on magical transportation. This," he said with a grand wave, "monitors traffic to make sure nobody breaks the ban on flying carpets, flying cars, and other obvious magical means."
"And you're the only one who monitors all this?" I asked incredulously.
He made a noncommittal shrug. "I rotate shifts with a few others." His eyes locked onto Shelton. "You'd better not be lying about my nephew."
"I'm not," Shelton said. "Just give me a picture of his prison cell."
"I don't have a picture of his cell," Bruce said. "How in the hell would I get that?"
"It's a nom facility," Shelton said. "Can your brother get an ASE inside?"
Bruce gave him a dubious look. "I'll ask him."
"Get me a picture, and I'll get him out."
"How is a picture going to do you any good? Don't you need a layout of the place?" Bruce narrowed his eyes. "And don't think you can go blasting in with magic. The Overworld will have your butt in a sling for interfering with noms before you can count to three."
Shelton held up a hand. "Let me worry about that. Get me the image."
Bruce twisted his lips. "Fine. I hope it isn't a mistake trusting you."
"You know my word is good."
The other man grudgingly nodded. "What do you want in return?"
"I need the tracking data from Overworld Security limos leaving the Grotto two days ago."
"You need what?" Bruce's eyebrows rose in unison. "If you're tracking Cyphanis again, you'd better think twice. Even getting my nephew out of a gulag isn't worth having that tyrant breathing down my neck."
"I'm not tracking him," Shelton said.
"Then who?"
"Best you don't know," Shelton replied. He looked around the room. "So, can you get it for me?"
Bruce nodded. "I'll need a few minutes to copy the footage onto an ASE."
We took seats in the back of the room and waited. I leaned toward Shelton. "What in the world are you promising this man?" I asked in a low whisper. "We can't break a felon out of jail, especially not in Russia."
"Sure we can," he said with a confident grin. "Especially if they get us an ASE with all the details of the cell."
"How is a picture—" The flow of words cut off as I realized what he intended to do. "You want to use our omniarch to get this man out?"
His grin widened. "I'm a genius, right?"
"You're insane," I said. "What if someone sees a magic portal materialize in his prison cell? What if we open it in the wrong place?"
"That's why we need a detailed image. If his brother can get an ASE in there, we're gold."
My stomach twisted. I didn't like his idea at all. On the other hand, it made me realize we could use the omniarch to infiltrate the Conroy residence. If we used the OTA tracking system to track their limo, we had a good chance to find out where they lived. I just had to hope they were keeping Mom and Ivy there. The omniarch might even help us overcome the hardcore security sure to be guarding the house.
Bruce returned with a marble-shaped ASE, and dropped it into Shelton's outstretched hand. "I don't know too many people in the Atlanta area who use those limos," he said. "I don't need to know specifics to know you're hunting dangerous game, Shelton. Make sure I don't end up exposed again, or I'll pull the trigger next time I see you."
Shelton flicked his hand as if knocking away the threat. "Get me detailed images of your nephew's cell, and I'll hold up my end of the bargain."
"I'll be in touch." Bruce motioned us toward the exit. "Now, get out of here before my shift relief shows up."
We left, Shelton chortling all the way to the car.
"You really enjoy this, don't you?" I asked.
"Man, I didn't realize how much I missed the hunt," he said, eyes sparkling. "We're gonna find old man Conroy and show the girls how it's done."
"This isn't a contest," I reminded him sternly. "It's a team effort."
Shelton rolled his eyes and guided the car onto the road.
"What now?" I asked as he drove.
Shelton mulled it over for a moment. "Well, we need to get back home to look over the footage. I say we go park my car back at the hideout, send a picture to Bella, and ask her to open a portal so we can return to the mansion."
I felt relieved to be going home. "Sounds like a plan to me."
He called Bella, but she and the others had apparently gone into Queens Gate to eat and wouldn't be back to the mansion for a while. Shelton nodded a lot as Bella's voice went on in muffled tones I couldn't understand
thanks to a spell Adam had put on our phones to prevent eavesdropping. Shelton made a talking mouth with his thumb and fingers as he tried to get in a word edgewise.
"How long?" he asked in a loud voice. He nodded. "Fine, just call me. We've got other things we can do." He hung up. "I love that woman, but man, can she talk your ear off."
I chuckled. "What do we do in the meantime?"
He sighed. "Depends on how adventurous you're feeling."
My grin vanished. "Nothing that will get us killed."
"We can use the extra time to stake out the Grotto way station in case, by some random chance, the Conroys show up." He gave me a sideways look. "Is that low risk enough for you?"
"I suppose," I said, feeling weight lift from my chest.
He nodded. "Maybe we'll get lucky and post the limo. The girls should be back at the mansion in a couple of hours."
We worked our way through traffic and made it back to Phipps Plaza. Shelton drove down the ramp, his pace slowed by a vintage car creeping ahead of us.
"Sunday drivers," Shelton growled. We reached the bottom of the ramp.
The driver of the car ahead turned his head sharply to the left, drawing mine and Shelton's attention with it. A man in the dark robe of the brotherhood stood against the wall, his eyes meeting ours. He glanced down at a sheet of parchment and back to us, eyes flaring with recognition.
"Son of a—" Shelton jammed on the brakes. Hit reverse, and nearly slammed into a car coming up behind us. He veered out of the way, the rear bumper crunching against the wall. Jammed the car in drive, and peeled out, completing a U-turn.
I watched as the man charged toward us, staff held out.
"Go!" I yelled as a bolt of energy splashed across the trunk, spreading out and dissipating.
Tires squealed as the sedan lurched forward, up the ramp.
"I got this thing charmed against offensive magic," Shelton said. "But it won't hold out if we take too many direct hits."
"I wish this was your pickup truck," I said, suddenly missing the extra horsepower.
"You and me both," he grumbled, steering the car up the ramp.
