Chronomancer (Time Mage Saga Book 1)

by Mackenzie Morris

  Dean, Gin and Annette are alive. Critical condition. I don't know where you are, but things are collapsing here. Get back to Mana Glen and save us. All of Memphis is on lock-down while they look for you. You can still make this right. Don't go rogue. You know vigilantism isn't the answer. This isn't one of your crime noir films. Please, Dean. I care about you. I'm worried.

  Dean scoffed and flicked his cigarette butt into the street as a moving van rumbled past. Since when was Sasha worried about him? He had spent the past thirty years helping her with bills and making sure she was taking care of herself between boyfriends. What could she sense in him that he couldn't sense in himself? Or was it that he chose to ignore the changes? Dean was no longer the detective who toed the line and followed protocol. Not that he never challenged authority before, but something was different. For the first time in his life, Dean didn't care about his future.

  Everything he had been working towards was gone. He was a wanted criminal, an escaped prisoner, and a disgraced detective that no force would ever hire, even if he cleared his name of the assault charges. With no family aside from his sons who were working with the enemy and his daughter being held hostage by those same people, he had nothing left to live for aside from the boy who needed him. No one could save Niki aside from him. No matter what laws he had to break or how many people he had to kill, Dean made it his one and only mission to protect Niki.

  Dean flinched when the high-class Southern accent scraped across his ears.

  "The hospital across the street. He was there." Shay emerged from a side alley in a heather grey suit three piece suit with a red silk vest and matching pocket square. A thin white coat with a fur collar and golden buttons in the shape of axes kept the snow off of him. "What are you waiting for?"

  "You're late. We're running out of time."

  "I had business. I can't ignore calls from my superior, Detective. If you're in such a hurry, maybe we should get moving. Lead the way. I'll be right behind you to offer cover."

  Dean waited for a break in traffic before dashing across the road with Shay on his heels. They moved past the cars that were there waiting to pick up discharged patients and through the sliding doors. He looked around at the nurses moving through the halls and the family members in the waiting area. A woman was crying into her husband's shoulder while a doctor spoke to them with a folder shaking in his hands. Meanwhile, a man stood at a reception desk, pounding his fists against the counter and sobbing in disbelief.

  "I hate hospitals."

  "I know." Shay scrolled through something on his phone. "With me, Dean. Second floor, room 231. That's where they have him. Last known contact was five hours ago. There was a signal from this floor to the FBI field office on the other side of the city. My bet is they were letting Nikolas speak with Jackson, maybe trying to get one of them to rat on the other."

  "Or say goodbye."

  "Maybe."

  Dean followed Shay into the stainless steel elevator. He listened to the monotonous tones of the dull music that only fueled his anxiety. While it was only one floor, it felt like time dragged for an hour before the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. He ran out the moment he could fit between them then sprinted through the baby blue and cream hallways, darting around nurses until he found room 231.

  Dean slid to a stop in the doorway to the hospital room, his heart sinking with what he saw. The bed was empty. Nothing tying Niki to the room was there. It had been scrubbed clean. "We were too late. He's been moved already."

  Shay joined his side, doubled over and panting. "He had a gunshot wound."

  "Apparently, the FBI doesn't care."

  "Was Nikolas in good enough shape to be moved? If he wasn't, we could be chasing after a corpse."

  He couldn't deal with that. "Don't. I refuse to think like that."

  "What now?"

  "We find him." Dean stormed up to the second floor reception desk that was blanketed in papers and folders of different colors. He slapped his hand on the counter to get the attention of the nurse in pink scrubs who was on a computer. "Ma'am, can you tell us when the patient from room 231 was moved?"

  "Who are you to the patient?"

  "Family. I'm his dad. This is his uncle."

  She typed on her computer then paused. The nurse tucked her red bangs behind her ears. "I'm sorry, but there's been an alert placed on that patient. I can't give out any information."

  "An alert?" Shay asked. "From the government?"

  "FBI."

  There was another way to get information. "I see. What are we supposed to do, then? I can't go back to his mother without word of where he is. Do you know what that would do to her after losing her other child in a car accident a month ago? She'll be crushed." Dean held his hand to his mouth and turned to Shay. "Laura just stopped drinking every day. She had just gotten out of bed and went grocery shopping on her own. I can't lose her over this."

  The inquisitor played along. "Billy, I know. Laura is emotionally unstable. This will kill her."

  The nurse shook her head. "I'm sorry. I really am, but I can't do anything help. I don't even have the information on my computer. It's blacked out. There's a therapist on site who can help you and your wife through this. Oh, agents. Maybe you can help these two."

  Two men in black suits with purple silk ties approached from the other end of the reception desk. They walked in unison, their polished loafers slapping against the floor until they stopped two feet from Dean and Shay. They wore sunglasses inside to help hide their identities. The larger agent with the buzz cut chewed on a toothpick while the thin one with the spiked blond hair crossed his arms as if he was studying them.

  "Who are you two?" Dean asked.

  "I could ask the same thing, but I know who you are, Detective Dean Amethyst. We know everything about you." The tall blond gave a lopsided grin. "I'm Agent Arcadia, this is Agent Rein. Are you the two who have been asking about the man we took into custody?"

  "Where is he? Where is Nikolas Valentino?"

  The large agent cracked his knuckles, making his muscles ripple under his tightly tailored suit. He spoke with measured words, precise and sharp. "FBI business. If you have need of information pertaining to this case, I suggest you contact someone in D.C.. We cannot assist you any more in this matter. It will be in your best interest if you leave this hospital before we take further measures to distance you from it."

  "I don't think you heard me correctly." Dean swung the assault rifle around on its strap until it was in front of him. In a flash, it was ready and pointed at the agents. "Tell me where Nikolas Valentino is."

  Nurses screamed, diving behind the reception desk and into rooms where they shut themselves inside.

  Both agents drew pistols from their belt holsters, taking two steps back in preparation to fire. Agent Arcadia shouted at him. "Put the gun down!"

  "Put yours down first."

  Agent Rein nodded towards the terrified receptionist. "Get out of here. Take the nurses and get into a room, away from windows."

  Agent Arcadia's grin only grew. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

  "Apparently you think we are. It's two on two." Dean returned the grin. "We have assault rifles. You have pistols. At best, you shoot me first and I go down with my finger on the trigger, spraying bullets as I go. Think about it, Agent Arcadia. Tell your partner here to give us the information we want and we'll go quietly. I'm sure the big guy doesn't want to put any of these innocents in danger, huh? He really seems to care."

  The blond agent snarled and lowered his gun."Tell him, Rein."

  "Main Street. The new Main Street. They renamed it like a year ago. There's a kind of red light district, unofficial, by some shipping docks. It popped up recently. Has a lot of action. The owner of a Chinese takeout restaurant there will be able to help you."

  Shay held up his assault rifle again. "You do have a death wish, don't you?"

  "I'm not lying." Agent Rein holstered his pistol then held up his hands. "That's all the in
formation we know. The owner is an undercover agent. He knows the rest. We have secrets from each other to keep all the information from being compromised at one time. I swear, that's where our knowledge stops."

  "You believe them?" Shay asked.

  "What other choice do we have? All right, agents, put your phones on the floor."

  Agent Arcadia scowled at him. "What?"

  "Do it, now!"

  The agents took out their phones and tossed them at Dean's feet. They jumped when the hail of bullets ripped through the screens, rendered their devices useless.

  "Now, get into that janitor closet. Go."

  Shay herded the agents into the closet then slammed the door shut. "We won't have long. Let's go, Dean. Run to the car. We need to get to the shipyards before the police get involved. We can't afford to get stopped at any roadblocks."

  Dean slung his rifle onto his back, hiding it under his trenchcoat once again. He took off running down the stairs with Shay directly behind him. Despite the danger he was in and the possibility of Niki being brutalized as they ran, he smiled with the surge of adrenaline that made him feel twenty again. Just like the night after leaving the bomb at his friend's mansion, Dean relished in the excitement. His blood pumped, his heart raced, and his mind gained a new level of clarity that put his senses on edge. It was one of the things he loved the most about being on the police force.

  The icy blast of air hit him, filling his lungs with a burning fury. He raced across the street to where Shay's silver car was parked. Dean pulled on the handle. "Come on. Shay, unlock it. Shay!"

  "Calm down. How do you run so much at your age?"

  "Don't call me old. Unlock it."

  "There."

  He opened the door and jumped inside. After shutting the door, he bounced nervously in his seat and rapped his knuckles on the console in front of him. "Shay, drive. Drive to the shipyards."

  "Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to lay off the caffeine. You're going to give me an aneurysm just from being around you. I see where Nathan gets his excitability."

  "Don't talk about my son. Just drive."

  Shay pulled out into traffic and headed towards the shipyards as the snow picked up in the streetlights. "Nathan isn't like Lance. Nathan isn't a killer. He's kind and weak, but weak in a good way, if that makes sense. He's reserved and keeps to himself. Well, when he's not with Brad, that is. His fiance. They're adorable together. Lance hates him."

  "Why?"

  "Lance views gay relationships as something to be abhorred. He has some trauma from his childhood that makes him view homosexual relationships between men as evil."

  Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I know exactly where he gets that view. I didn't know he was old enough to understand what was going on."

  "Dean? I thought you were married to a woman."

  "I was, but after she died, I found myself homeless. The only way I could make money for my children was to, uh, sell myself to men on the street. I got caught trying to perform favors for an undercover cop."

  Shay laughed. "Ah. So Lance saw you get taken away from him and his siblings because of you being with a man."

  "I didn't do it because I wanted to."

  "I know. You did what you had to do."

  "Just drive."

  For a few long minutes, Dean was lost in the past. He replayed that night over and over in his mind, seeing his children crying for him as he was handcuffed and shoved into the back of a police car, never to see them again. He spent the night in a jail cell before having his dead wife's father bail him out on prostitution charges that he eventually paid a fine for.

  "Dean? Dean! We're here."

  He rubbed his face as he blinked back the fog of remorse and regret. "Sorry."

  "We should get in there. I think this is the takeout restaurant the agents were talking about. It's the only one open this time of night down here."

  Dean lit a cigarette as he stepped out of the car. He took a long drag then blew smoke into the hazy streetlights. A judgmental glance from the inquisitor made him toss his cigarette into a snowdrift. "What? I quit for twenty years."

  "Nothing. Lead the way, Detective."

  He popped the collar of his trenchcoat and pushed his sunglasses back up his nose before crossing the sidewalk and pulling open the glass door of the Chinese takeout restaurant that sat on the edge of the shipyard in a row of other restaurants and boutiques under pink and yellow glowing signs. A calico cat mewled at him before running away to hide behind a dumpster in the parking lot.

  Dean entered the warm restaurant that smelled of roasted coffee and soy sauce. One half was decorated in soft browns, burgundies, and tans with black and white photographs of nearby city parks on the walls. A barista was busy making cappuccinos behind a glass counter filled with danishes and cookies. Patrons sipped coffee while typing on their laptops. The other half was dark with red lights strung across the wood slat walls with red paper lanterns flickering on the bamboo tables. Couples dined in hushed whispers over their noodles and fried rice.

  Shay wiped the melted snow from his coat. "I'll go find the owner and question him. Someone had to see a boy being dragged in here."

  "You won't find the boy you're looking for."

  Dean turned to the table against the wall of photographs where a man in his twenties with a red beanie was sipping coffee and watching a video on his laptop. "Who are you? Why do you say that?"

  "It's all over the internet. FBI breaking a terrorist scumbag before transport to Guantanamo. Look it up. It's a viral video, being shared around the world. An uncensored version made it onto some porn sites, but even some of them took it down for being too violent for their customers' tastes. The boy you're looking for isn't gonna be the same boy ever again."

  He growled at the man. "Show us the video."

  "You got a credit card? They're charging per view."

  Shay rolled his eyes. "Dean, no."

  Dean towered over the guy with the laptop. "You've seen it?"

  "Yeah, it's uh, it's something."

  "Where was it filmed? I need details. In a house? Outside?"

  The man shrugged his shoulders. "Uh, part of it was in a warehouse or something. The worst stuff happened in what looked like a giant freezer with slabs of meat hanging in it. Ugh, what they did with the meat hook was straight out of my nightmares."

  Dean drew a short breath. "Meat hook?"

  "It was one of those big thick ones and they just shoved it-"

  He nearly vomited. "Stop talking. I don't need to know details like that. Anything else about the location?"

  "Um, there were broken down cars outside the warehouse. You could also see ships, like cargo ships when they took the man outside to a van. The men doing it, I guess FBI agents, they were wearing ski masks. They were shouting in another language, I think it was Arabic or something. The terrorist only said one word."

  "Which was?" Dean asked.

  "Mercy. That's all he said, like he was begging them to stop. They didn't listen."

  "God. I hope we're not too late. Shay, we have look all over the shipyards. He's somewhere near here that has a freezer like that. Maybe a restaurant or a fishery."

  "Don't you want to question the owner of this restaurant?" Shay asked. "That's what the FBI agent said."

  "Find him. Do whatever you have to do to get the location out of him. Anything."

  The inquisitor smirked as he strutted away into the back. "Right away."

  The man in the beanie nudged Dean in the arm. "You know the man in the video?"

  "We're trying to find him."

  "I get that, but why? He's a terrorist. He deserves everything he gets."

  "Shut up."

  "I mean, he's super hot and all, tied up like that. He'd be a catch if not for the whole terrorist bit. No wonder over fifty million people have viewed it. Thank you, FBI, for showing me my dream guy."

  Dean lunged over the table, knocking plates and glasses to the floor. He slammed the man again
st the wall with his hand around his throat and his AK-47 pressed to his face. "I said to shut the hell up or I'll make you shut up. How well can you talk with thirty bullets in your brain?"

  The man squirmed. "Dude, chill, yo. I was just saying. It was a compliment. I know a sexy guy when I see one."

  "You got off to that video, didn't you? You are a sick piece of work, you know that? That video wasn't consensual. It wasn't fiction or someone's fantasy with paid actors. That was real. That was a real young man being tortured for nothing!"

  "I get it. I get it. I won't watch it again."

  "You don't get it. You'd better be glad I'm in a hurry or I'd-"

  Shay rushed in from the back room with bright fresh blood smeared on his heather grey suit. "Dean, next door. They have a walk-in freezer. A dozen men in black left about two hours ago."

  Dean shoved the man away then followed the inquisitor into the street. "Two hours? Shay, if Niki's been in that freezer for two hours, he's . . ."

  "Stop, Dean. You can't get caught up on things like that right now. Okay? Look at me. We have a mission to do. We complete the mission, no matter the outcome."

  He looked up at the glowing green neon sign above the next restaurant's darkened entrance. Cheering came from inside. "A sports bar?"

  "It's a great cover, isn't it? Wings, fries, sandwiches. It's all stuff that can be kept in a smaller freezer, leaving the big one for other uses. Plenty of activity and loud noises from the games being shown on the televisions to cover up the screams."

  "Are sports teams even still playing with all that's going on in the world?" Dean asked.

  "They are. Humans need something to distract them from the bleakness and catastrophes. They need to hold onto some scrap of normalcy. Let's get in there. Act like you belong. Act like you're there for official business."

  "Right. Like we're with the agents who did this."

  "That's not . . ."

  "Drop it."

  Dean entered the crowded sports bar that reeked of stale beer and nacho cheese. Patrons in all manner of sports jerseys were standing around in the middle of the restaurant at tall tables, drinking and eating buffalo wings, mozzarella sticks, and potato skins while cheering at something playing on the six large screens hanging from the ceiling. Sports memorabilia lined the walls on shelves while waitresses in referee uniforms carried trays of beer mugs and nachos to the tables.