“Sam and I were discussing his father.”
“You don’t seem overly concerned about this. Don’t you think we should do something?”
“There’s no point in overreacting. As a matter of fact, I think that could make matters worse. I get the sense that the dragon is as aware of my conscious state as I am of its unconscious one.”
“I don’t know. You’re always making me face up to facts. Maybe you need to do the same.”
“Speaking of which, I think we’ve discussed me enough for now.”
Mara looked up wide-eyed, faux-innocent. “What would you like to talk about?”
Ping nodded downward. “How’s the Tamagotchi doing?”
Mara reached into her pocket and pulled it out. Still cracked with a blank gray screen. “Still not working.”
“Excellent. Have you been focusing on it while we talk about my psyche?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Good. Let’s see how well you do when we are talking about yours.”
“Great, that sounds like a hoot. Aren’t you getting hungry?”
CHAPTER 24
Twisting in the booth across from Ping at Burgerville so she could glance at the menu board across the room, Mara held her phone to her ear with one hand and stuffed a french fry in her mouth with the other. Once she had finished chewing, she rolled her eyes at Ping and said, “Sam, I don’t know if they have the Walla Walla onion rings and the fresh berry shakes. It’s the middle of November. Is that when berries and onions are in season? How do you even know about their seasonal menu? You’ve only been in this realm for like two months.”
She grabbed a napkin, rubbed it on her fingertips and switched the phone to the other ear. “How about a burger and fries? A half-pound colossal cheeseburger. Is that a real thing?” She spotted it on the board. “Oh, I see it. Yes, I’ll get the largest fries. And a Coke.” She lowered the phone and tapped the screen. “The boy knows his food.”
Ping smiled and absentmindedly shook his head in amazement.
“If he keeps eating like that, he’s going to outgrow this realm by the time he’s fifteen. He says he’s going to play for another half hour, then run by the bakery and catch the bus over to the warehouse.”
“Sounds good.” Ping crumpled up a napkin and made a push-back motion from the table even though the booth was mounted to the floor. He was done eating. “So, tell me. How do you feel about your reading with Melanie Proctor?”
Mara looked annoyed, made a point of taking a sip from her drink and then said, “Why are you so obsessed with that? I told you. It was creepy.”
“There was nothing about your experience that you found informative or interesting at all? She mentioned you were a progenitor. Called you, what was the phrase? The maker of reality and—”
“Yeah, yeah, mother of consequence, maker of reality. I was there, remember?” Mara lifted another fry and then dropped it. “Those were variations of the same theme that I’ve heard from you. Maybe she picked up that stuff from the reading with you.”
“Mara, it makes no sense to say Melanie could intuit information from reading me and not get anything from reading you. Why are you being so resistant to this?”
“I can’t say I’m completely comfortable with all this progenitor stuff, but I think I’ve resigned myself to it. I understand on some level I’m stuck with it,” she said. “But, I told you when all of this began, I want to get my life back. I don’t want to make a career out of this stuff. I don’t want to be the headliner in this cosmic metaphysical freak show for the rest of my life.”
“Given the understanding of the metaphysical concepts you demonstrated earlier, I’m surprised that you persist in this attitude. How can you understand the nature of existence to the degree that you do and still be so insistent on denying the obvious? Frankly it’s a little irrational.”
“In case you have forgotten, I’m still a teenager. I’m entitled to be a little irrational. And what’s so obvious?”
“These experiences you’ve been having aren’t just happenstance. They are not occurrences that could happen to another person given different circumstances. They are unique to who and what you are. These people and events are drawn to you because you are a progenitor.”
“Everyone keeps saying that. Even my mother said it the other night, when we were meditating. I want to be left alone.”
“What you want is irrelevant. Your choice is to face up to what is coming or to suffer the consequences of your denial.”
“What do you mean, ‘what is coming’? What is coming?”
“Like you said, you were there. You heard what Melanie said. The Battle for Existence shall be engaged.”
Mara pointed the straw sticking from the top of her drink by tilting her cup at Ping. “That was a rhetorical flourish, a metaphor. There are not going to be any battles—at least not involving me. No battles, no fighting. It was meaningless, right?”
“She said you were being stalked by an adversary, a nemesis. Then that voice came out of her. I’m coming. You can’t ignore these warnings. They have profound implications for you as a progenitor.”
“What are you talking about? Who would want to be my nemesis? I’m a likeable person.”
“You need to take this seriously. I’m concerned about this Battle for Existence she said is being engaged. Your role, metaphysically speaking, is a creative one. With your abilities, you help to shape reality, to help bring about existence.”
“Yeah, so?”
“What if this adversary does the opposite? What if he brings about destruction, chaos?”
“Ping, please don’t tell me that you’re about to say there’s a metaphysical devil out there somewhere.”
“Not a devil, but there are always opposing forces in reality.”
“Yin and yang, good and evil?”
“More like creative and destructive, I would say.”
“You’re reading a lot into what Melanie said. You think this child’s voice coming out of the radio is a New Age boogeyman threatening me? I’m coming to kick your butt, Mar-ree?”
“These opposing forces are referenced in the literature I studied. They were not emphasized, but they were there.”
“Great. What am I supposed to do about it? Grab some crystals and have an exorcism?”
“Somehow I don’t think it will be that simple. The best course of action for you is to resist your natural skepticism and consider these things—events like your reading with Melanie Proctor. They may help you be more prepared if, in the future, you encounter this adversary she mentioned.”
“So you’re saying to keep my eyes open.”
Ping nodded and added, “And your mind.”
“I will try, but that’s not a lot of comfort if there really is something hinky lurking out there.”
“Perhaps we are focusing too much on the negative. Melanie did mention you were being stalked by both misery and joy. There’s at least something positive in that.”
“Great. I’m going to get the plague but survive. That’s something to look forward to.”
CHAPTER 25
Sam kept his eyes turned downward to the rough uneven asphalt as he wove through the narrow alleyways between warehouses, storage facilities and what looked like defunct factories. Streetlights were rare here, and few buildings had their own outdoor lights illuminated, making the trek from the bus stop to Ping’s warehouse a pitch-black one. Sam only had a few blocks to go, but it had started to spritz a little, and he didn’t want to slip or twist an ankle. He could hear the echoes of his footsteps bouncing off the walls around him. It sounded almost like someone was following him, making him shiver a bit. He shook it off and continued around the last corner that took him to the back of Ping’s warehouse.
Sam didn’t bother to look up at the vehicle parked next to the loading dock as he passed and stepped up to the door to enter. As his hand grasped the knob, it felt jagged and loose. It was smashed, and the door ajar. He glanced back at
the car and squinted, trying to focus on the detail of the vehicle. It clearly was not Ping’s Toyota Camry; this was a large American luxury car, like a Cadillac.
He quietly pushed open the door and silently entered the warehouse. Inside, in front of the whiteboard, stood two men, one of which Sam recognized. Galinsky, the stout, bald, goonish guy who had stopped by the bakery. He was shaking his head back and forth dejectedly, apparently in response to the other man.
“I don’t know where it all went, Mr. Vanderberg. I told you. I stopped by the ceramics store, and it was gone. There’s a bakery there now, Ping’s Bakery. When I went in, he acted like he didn’t know who I was and that everything was perfectly fine.”
“Are you telling me all that inventory is gone? Is that what you are saying?” the other man said, standing in the lit center of the warehouse floor. He looked a little younger, fitter and better tailored than Galinsky. He waved his arms around the empty space causing his camel trench coat to open and flap as he swung around. “All this stuff—dozens, no, hundreds of crates—just gone.”
“I know. I told you.”
“Did he sell everything?”
“Well, he didn’t sell it out of that bakery of his.”
Vanderberg stopped moving and glared at his partner. “Some of the inventory wasn’t regular ceramics, you know? Some of it belonged to Madrazo’s outfit.”
“I figured as much.” Galinsky’s head bobbed up and down.
“Well, we better find out what happened to it, or we are going to regret it. Some of that stuff was supposed to move up to Seattle next week and catch a boat up to Canada. If it doesn’t show up, we’re going to be on the hook, literally.”
Right then Sam’s cell phone beeped.
Galinsky reached into his jacket, pulled out a handgun and squinted into the darkened warehouse.
Sam tapped his phone and slowly backed toward the door, but his movement drew Galinsky’s attention, and the barrel of the gun zeroed in on him despite the darkness.
“You, back there. Get over here,” Galinsky said, waving with the gun. “I promise you, my bullet can get to you before you can get to that door.”
Sam held up his hands with his phone in one of them and walked toward the lit makeshift classroom. “Don’t shoot. I’m coming.”
Vanderberg stepped toward Sam as he walked into the light. “What are you doing snooping around here, young man?”
“Hey, he’s the kid from the bakery,” Galinsky said. “He knows Ping. Maybe he knows what’s going on.”
Sam caught Galinsky’s eyes and stared intently at him. “You want to put that away,” Sam said, nodding toward the gun.
Galinsky got a slack look on his face and slowly slid the gun back into his jacket.
Vanderberg snorted and said, “Why the hell are you listening to that kid, Carl? Keep a bead on him until we figure out what’s going on.”
Galinsky stared toward Sam and didn’t respond. After a moment, Vanderberg shook Galinsky’s shoulders. Galinsky wavered back and forth, swaying as Vanderberg jostled him.
“He’s not going to listen to you,” Sam said. “He’ll only do what I tell him, for the moment. And so will you.”
Vanderberg’s eyes narrowed, and he said, “Yeah, right. What’s going on here?”
Sam turned and locked his gaze onto Vanderberg. “How do you know Ping?”
For a second, Vanderberg looked defiant, but his expression slackened, and he said, “We are business partners. I supply him with discounted ceramics, and he gives me a cut of the profits under the table.”
“That’s it? Discounted ceramics? Where do you get them?”
“Stolen from warehouses all over the western United States. California mostly. Some are brought in from Mexico.”
“Why ceramics?”
“The inventory is usually kept in low-security warehouses and facilities, easy to get at, and it doesn’t spark major investigations when it goes missing. We’re careful not to take the pricy stuff, and we never take too much at a time. It also provides a good cover for moving other items around the country or even to Canada and Mexico.”
“Like what?” Sam asked.
“Cocaine, heroin, sometimes pot. Occasionally we move stolen art or jewels, but mostly things that can be molded into or hidden in ceramic pieces without drawing a lot of attention.”
“So you’re drug dealers.”
“We don’t sell the stuff. We do logistics, like UPS.”
“You mean smugglers.”
“That would be more accurate.”
“And Ping helps you do this? He’s a part of it?”
“No, we supply him with cheap ceramics, and he gives us a legitimate cover to move stuff around. He doesn’t know what we are moving in and out of this warehouse.”
A clatter came from the back of the warehouse near the door.
Mara called from the darkness. “Sam? Are you okay? What happened to the door? It looks like someone broke in.”
“We’re back here,” Sam called over his shoulder. He waited and listened to their footsteps come toward him.
Stepping into the light, Ping said, “We? Who is we?”
Sam raised a hand toward Vanderberg and said, “Ping, meet your partner in crime.”
“I beg your pardon?” Ping asked.
“He says he was using the ceramics business as a cover to smuggle drugs and stolen goods through this warehouse.”
Ping turned to Vanderberg, Ping’s dazed look melted into a look of defiance. “Is that true?”
“Tell him,” Sam prompted.
“Yes. I supplied you with cheap inventory, and you provided me with the perfect way to move things up and down the West Coast,” Vanderberg said, speaking so slowly it was almost a slur.
A few feet away, Galinsky blinked rapidly, and his stance stiffened as he became aware of his boss confessing in front of this group of strangers. He shook his head to dispel the cloudiness that had overcome him and reached into his jacket. Grabbing the butt of the gun, he swung his arm forward in a jerky backhand, striking Sam’s cheek with the top of his hand, but packing the weight of the firearm.
Sam crumpled to the ground, and Galinsky stumbled forward holding the gun before him, waving it at Ping’s chest. He looked at Vanderberg and said, “Shut up, man. Just shut up.”
Turning back to Ping, Galinsky steadied his hand and slowly squeezed his finger.
Mara raised her hands in front of her and shouted, “No, no. Don’t do that!”
Ping exploded into a cloud of gray dust that quickly engulfed them, turning the lit center of the darkened warehouse into a swirling, disorienting storm that dappled the light with its frenetic, chaotic motion, like a swarm of bees attacking. While Vanderberg and Galinsky stood dumbstruck, Mara, holding her hands up in front of her face to ward off Ping dust, crouched next to her brother. He had a large red mark spreading from beneath his left eye to his temple, but he appeared to be breathing.
Bug-eyed with panic, Galinsky turned in circles, slicing his extended arm holding the gun through the cloud of dust, looking for something to shoot. As the cloud coalesced on the periphery of the light, as it thickened and formed the outline of a man, Galinsky stopped his sweep and took aim. In an almost feminine squeal, he screamed, “I don’t know what the hell you are, man, but you ain’t right!”
He fired.
The gathering dust exploded, this time as blowback that washed over Galinsky’s body like a tidal wave that split in half and dispersed into the air around him. The assault sent him staggering for a few seconds, and then he stood his ground, raised the gun again and fired helter-skelter into the air around him. Mara ducked, crouching over Sam as a bullet whizzed past her ear. Another rang out as it pierced the metal cabinet next to the whiteboard.
Vanderberg waded through the spinning cloud, leaning forward and grabbing Galinsky’s shoulder. “Cut that out. You’re going to kill us all.”
“We gotta get out of here, man,” Galinsky said.
> Vanderberg nodded, pressed against Galinsky to turn his body toward the exit at the back of the warehouse. “Stop shooting and let’s go. Look, it’s clearing up a little.”
The cloud of dust had thinned, making it easier to see and move. As the men turned to leave, they suddenly stopped. They could no longer see the back of the warehouse. While it had been dark the whole time they had been here, they had always been able to make out some detail—the outline of the bay doors of the loading dock, the exit doors, conduit and ductwork running along the back wall. All of that was gone, blotted out by a large shifting wall of blackness that grew denser.
From the obscurity came a roar so loud Vanderberg cringed and cowered the way men do only when they know they are prey. Something in the dark snuffled, smacked its lips and ground its teeth. Galinsky shuffled backward and peed his pants. He shakily raised his gun and fired once, followed by several weak metallic clicks. Pausing for a second to stare at his hand in disbelief, he let out a mewling sound and threw the gun into the darkness.
Two glowing red eyes stared back at him, blinked, narrowed and raised up high into the air. Then a river of fire poured out of the dark and engulfed their feet.
Mara jumped up, grabbed Sam beneath his arms and slid him away from the flames. Another bellow reverberated from the darkness, and another cascade of flame fell over the men. Vanderberg’s camel trench coat was now aflame, quickly turning to charcoal. Galinsky, his head turned skyward, howled as flames climbed up to his waist.
The dragon’s head descended from the darkness, ducked below the lit fluorescents and cast a long shadow over Galinsky, who froze and trembled in place. Smoke and ash wafted up from his burning pants as the monster lowered its open maw over him, taking the top half of his torso into its mouth, biting down on Galinsky’s waist and lifting him, feet kicking, screams muffled, into the air.
Mara thought to herself, this has to stop.
And it did. It took her a minute to understand what had happened. Nothing was moving.
“You froze Time again.” Sam sat up on the floor, rubbing his face.
Broken Souls (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 2) Page 13
