Sons (Book 2)

by Scott V. Duff

  “You’ve got to be kiddin’ me!” I said. “Gramps was that influential?”

  “St. Croix was your grandfather?” Phillips asked from the front, telling us that he was listening. Not that we hadn’t expected it, but that told us he was.

  “Yeah, at some point he was, before the snake took over,” I said, looking out through the heavily tinted windows. “He was pretty much insane by the time I killed him.”

  “You killed St. Croix?” asked Phillips, peering into the mirror overhead at me.

  “Shouldn’t you know this all ready, Mr. Phillips?” Mike asked, the aggravation in his voice causing me to look in his direction. Phillips obviously didn’t know who was who among us.

  “Yes, Mr. Ferrin, I should,” he admitted. “And while I knew of these events occurring, I was not told that these were the gentlemen involved. Indeed, they don’t appear to be capable of such.”

  Kieran and Ethan chose that moment to skip the van a few dozen times forward a few miles at a time. A sharp intake of breath from the driver followed that.

  “Well, looks can be deceiving,” I said, chuckling, seeing the driver tense his shoulders. “That was us, by the way.”

  Both statements obviously confused Phillips until he looked out the front again. Then Kieran and Ethan did it a few more times. They weren’t being as careful now as they had been with me on the way to Atlanta, blurring the transitions. A second sharp intake of breath, this time from Phillips, followed this series of jumps along the crowded highway.

  “You should probably let them get their bearings before you do any more, guys,” I said calmly. “Especially since we really don’t know where we’re going.”

  “Good point,” Kieran said, nodding. I looked at his aura and saw the bright green and blue streaks running through. He was enjoying picking on Phillips and I suspected Ethan didn’t have to push too hard to get him to play along.

  A soft warbling sound rose from the dash of the van. Phillips opened the glove compartment in front of him and pulled out a cell phone.

  “That’s probably the men you had tailing us telling you they lost us,” Peter said, stretching out down the aisle.

  “Yes,” Phillips said into the phone, glaring at Peter briefly through the mirror. His ego was going to be shot by the end of the trip. The conversation consisted of a series of “yes” and “no” answers and one angry “later,” then he tossed the phone back, slamming the compartment closed.

  “Don’t be mad at us, Mr. Phillips. We aren’t the ones who didn’t explain who you were picking up,” Ethan said, a touch condescendingly.

  “And had you told us that you had watchers on us, we wouldn’t have skipped us ahead,” said Kieran.

  Neither comment seemed to assuage Mr. Phillips’ agitation.

  “How much time did you guys cut from the drive, anyway?” I asked as the driver began changing lanes to the far right.

  “Looks like about forty minutes, I think,” Kieran said softly.

  “Sounds about right,” Phillips agreed, mellowing slightly as the driver exited the highway and started the trek down smaller, state roads.

  “What’s our earliest appointment tomorrow, Mike?” I asked, hoping we could cut the evening short seeing as everyone seemed to be encouraging dissension with our primary interface to the two American councils.

  “Lawyers at nine,” Mike answered. “Then interviews from noon to three.”

  “That doesn’t seem too bad,” Ethan muttered.

  “It’ll be good to get home, though,” I said as we turned off the state highway. Another car pulled onto the road behind us, both occupants lit up the astral brightly with their auras as they closed the distance. “Mr. Phillips, is the car pulling up behind us one of yours or do I destroy it now?”

  “It’s ours,” he said quickly, as the driver made another turn, this one into a well-manicured, gated entrance, slowing and stopping for the dark-suited men milling about seemingly randomly. Both the driver and Phillips rolled down their windows and spoke softly to separate men, identifying themselves and us. This was a mundane entrance, complete with computer-operated gates and surveillance equipment. We appeared as fuzzy blobs on their screens, which they accepted without concern.

  “I should really get one of you to show me how to do that,” I said quietly, recalling that once I kicked Peter out, I showed up quite clearly on Dillon’s cameras in London.

  “It’s very simple,” Peter murmured. “A glamour variant. I’ll show you tomorrow.”

  “Ah, there’s the ward,” Ethan said as the van accelerated slowly through the gate.

  Phillips turned, again surprised by us. “You felt that?”

  “The leading edge of a massive system of wards?” Ethan asked. “Can’t you?”

  “Not from this far out, no,” he said meekly.

  “Really?” I asked, feeling the low ebb of energy with Ethan. “How far out from the house are we?”

  “About five minutes,” Phillips said.

  “So are we going to know anybody here?” I asked.

  “Harris said he’d be here,” Ethan said.

  “Ugh. I don’t know if I can handle the whole evening with Harris,” I grumbled.

  “Mingle, then. Meet people,” Peter said.

  I raised my eyebrows at him, grinning. “Thank you, Peter, for volunteering to wander the party with me, since we shouldn’t walk around by ourselves.”

  “I did not see that one coming,” Peter admitted calmly and shaking his head ruefully. I snickered, confident with the fact that Peter didn’t mean it and would’ve been at my side anyway, especially if I was alone. The countryside unfolded at twenty-five miles an hour as I watched and we rode the last few hundred feet in silence.

  Chapter 3

  The lane wound a wide S-pattern through the densely wooded area, providing an excellently controlled view of the approach to the house. Then there were the windbreaks and the breaks in the ward layers to consider. In the last curve the manor house almost burst into sight at the top of the hill. The late afternoon sun lent the house a curious rusty tint against the dark red brick of what appeared to be an Adams house with modifications to size and function. It was a power house, in more ways than one.

  The van slowed even more as we pulled into the circular cul-de-sac, stopping at the long, dark brick walkway leading to the porch of the house. Phillips got out and was immediately met by a trio of similarly dressed men in a tight huddle a few yards from the van. Watching the group, Phillips was the most obviously reactive, and he was reacting poorly to what he was being told. He ran a gamut of emotions with anger and frustration high. He demanded something and wasn’t getting it.

  “Ethan, you were our spokesman?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I was just thinking about that myself,” he said, sighing. “What was the phrase you used? ‘Let’s go kick the mule’?”

  “Yep,” I grinned as I said it. “’Cept this time, I think it’s more like a hornet’s nest, ‘cuz they’re not real powerful but there’s a lot of ‘em.”

  Ethan laughed at me as he forced the lock open and slid the door back before the driver could realize his electrical override got physically overrode. We filed out after Ethan, pausing only as long as the previous person took to clear away. It was a rapid debarkation.

  “What’s the holdup, Mr. Phillips?” Ethan asked, remaining at arm’s length away. Phillips whirled around, surprised with our approach, but we were well aware of the closing ranks of guards around us.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. McClure,” Phillips said, his face flushed briefly as he fought to control his emotions. “My associates are having difficulties in agreeing on your identification.”

  “What seems to be the problem?” Ethan asked wearily. For a blonde-hair, blue-eyed muscle god in a silk suit, he pulled it off pretty well.

  “Each of you is supposed to be an extremely powerful mage, sir, yet none of you show any magical talent whatsoever,” Phillips explained.

  “This is a well k
nown problem with them,” Mike said, sneering. “You should have been prepared.”

  “Yes, Mr. Ferrin, they thought they were prepared,” Phillips said, testily, exchanging a quick glance with one of the three men. “But their timing was thrown off. A dispatch for Marshal Harris has been made. In the mean time, they’re asking that we wait…”

  “Okay,” Ethan said looking around the yard. “Where?”

  Phillips gulped. “In the van.” He didn’t like saying any better than we like hearing it.

  “No, that is unacceptable,” Ethan said sternly. “One, it’s already stuffy in there, and two, we will not sit like sardines in a can, waiting to be attacked. Even the suggestion of it is offensive. You do realize with whom you’re dealing, right?”

  “Um,” Phillips stammered slightly, “Not exactly. We were expecting an elf among the McClures, after all.”

  “Why would you expect an elf?” I asked laughing. Peter started snickering, too, and Kieran wasn’t far behind. “I think I might be insulted, here.”

  “Who else could be the elf-king Daybreak?” Phillips asked, confused.

  “Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Pick me! I know the answer to this one!” Mike said, imitating a grade school kid anxiously getting the teacher’s attention, hand in the air and jumping up and down. Kieran lost his battle for control and started laughing outright. Ethan and Peter were thrown into snickers.

  Phillips waited a moment for calm, both from the guys and for his own, then said, “If you would just wait in the van, gentlemen, we can get this sorted out in short order…”

  “Ethan has already said no to that, Mr. Phillips,” I said calmly. “Find another option, quickly. We aren’t exactly known for our patience.” We weren’t, either—just ask Harris or Mike.

  “They’re not. Really, I promise,” Mike confirmed.

  Phillips was getting flustered again, apparently not used to not getting his way and now he was caught in the middle of two different forces, each unyielding, not giving him his way.

  “Mr. Phillips, I must admit to feeling threatened here,” I said, turning in a slow circle and seeing roughly fifty men slowly advancing on us, encircling us. “Further, I would suggest that threatening us is not a good idea.”

  “We have a large number of very important persons to safeguard this evening, sir,” Phillips said carefully.

  “Being invited, I understand that, Mr. Phillips,” I said, letting the aggravation show more heavily in my words than I actually felt. “This, though, is not security. This is threatening. Call off your dogs, Mr. Phillips, before I get angry.”

  “Sir, I can’t—” Phillips started to say, but I interrupted.

  “What’s my name?” I asked loudly, confusing him.

  “Huh?” he asked.

  “What’s my name?” I asked again just as loudly.

  “Um, presumably you are Seth McClure,” he said.

  “Yes, Mr. Phillips, that is correct. I am Seth McClure, Lord Daybreak, and you and your men have ticked me off. You have threatened my brothers and me and even though you were given ample opportunity to withdrawal, you refused. Now you face the consequences of your actions.”

  The first thing I did was take control of their wards, which was surprising easy to do with such a complex system, and set off every proximity alarm it had. Then I picked up every man within a hundred yards of us, except Phillips and the trio he argued with, and sent them to the front gate. This was a lot harder to do as they’d really thickened the atmosphere around the house to specifically stop portals. I had to push extremely hard to force the openings, though the exits were much easier. Calling for the armor, I took a three-step run and leapt high into the air, flipping once, and landing in the center of the quartet. The Day flared to full glory in my right hand, shining bright as the noonday’s sun.

  Phillips whirled around at me and froze, seeing the dazzling blade a mere inch from his throat. I held his companions in place with the Stone’s power and they fought against it fruitlessly. He visibly gulped. I said nothing as he stared down the Sword.

  “You have made a rather severe breach of Hospitality against Lord Daybreak, Mr. Phillips,” Ethan said calmly as he approached the quartet. “We accepted your invitation in good faith. You came to us. We offered several chances for you to redeem yourself. You should be thankful that Seth chose to merely move your men. Now though, he is faced with a difficult decision.”

  The front door to the house swung open hard, rattling the windows, and several people ran out. I really wanted to turn and look, but I held Phillips’ gaze at the moment. Neither Kieran nor Peter reacted badly to whomever was running up behind me, so I stayed where I was. Actually, Peter started snickering again. Ethan moved casually to intercept the newcomers.

  “Oh, God, what have they done?” I heard Harris gasp at Ethan from behind me.

  “They, in general, treated us poorly and threatened us,” Ethan said calmly, almost jovially. “And you know how Seth is about his family.”

  “We gave them several opportunities,” I said. “I’m not particular fond of killing, but…”

  “Seth, quit it. You know you aren’t going to kill Mr. Phillips as much as I do,” Harris said dismissively. “Diego, would you take our guests inside while I have a few words with our security staff?”

  Sending for the Day’s scabbard, I started slowly melting the armor from head to toe as I slid the Sword home, smirking at Phillips the entire time. When the Sword clicked into place, I sent it back to my cavern and released the quartet of men, again thanking both the Stone and the Sword for their work. When I turned around, I saw Harris, Florian, and another eight men I didn’t know.

  “Señor Florian,” I called, smiling. “So good to see you again!”

  Kieran and Peter walked past me, both glancing back at me with sly grins on their faces. I fell in beside Mike as the security quartet scattered around me.

  “You’re an evil bastard at times,” Mike whispered.

  “Wait till they figure out who’s got control of their wards,” I whispered back.

  “I told you—” Harris shouted then quieted, continuing in a hoarse whisper to berate Phillips. I suddenly felt bad for him.

  “I’ll catch up,” I said, patting Mike on the back and jogging back to Phillips. “Marshal Harris? I’m sorry to interrupt you, but may I have a moment?”

  “Certainly, Mr. McClure,” Harris said through clenched teeth, his face red and flushed. “What can I do for you?”

  “I would like to suggest that Mr. Phillips was caught between a rock and a hard place here,” I said, smiling pleasantly. “The way I saw it, his companions were resistant to compromise and that was the root of the problem. And perhaps, Mr. Phillips has suffered enough. I would hate to think that Mr. Seward, Mr. Douglas and Mr. Howard escaped unscathed from such an influential event.”

  He thought about that for a second, squinting a bit, and said, “Thank you, Seth. I appreciate your opinion. Perhaps Mr. Phillips could accompany you to the ballroom with your brothers while I have a discussion with his colleagues?” Harris turned slowly, heel to toe, on the trio of remaining men easing quietly down the path. Rather cartoonish.

  “Shall we go in, Mr. Phillips?” I asked, watching the display with amusement.

  “Yes, please,” he answered pleasantly, stepping quickly from Harris to my side and up the walkway. We were to the front door before Harris raised his voice with, “Then how does he know your names?” And yeah, I chuckled.

  “Hey, we tried to compromise,” I said to Phillips, following him through the foyer. A huge, multi-tiered chandelier hung in the center of a three-story vaulted ceiling. Above the double doors on the front was a large oval window. When lit, the chandelier would light the front walk through that window and probably be a formidable heat source as well. Phillips led me past the long sweeping staircase and down a wide hallway, stopping before what was obviously the ballroom. He looked around for someone he expected to be at or close to the door.

  “I
s something wrong, Mr. Phillips?” I asked when he looked past me, down the hallway.

  “Nothing to worry about, I’m sure, Mr. McClure,” he said exuding calm, or trying to anyway.

  “Ah, your household security,” I said, glancing through the wards to see where everyone was. I wasn’t getting a distinct picture from them, though. These weren’t as sharp as the Castle’s wards and definitely not mine. “I think they redistributed when I rearranged the front yard. It should return to normal shortly. I believe the man you’re looking for is beside the doors across the ballroom.”

  He spotted his man across the crowded room as people moved about in conversation—no ball was currently happening in the large and boxy room, half filled with black dinner jackets and half with colorful, sometimes gaudy, dresses of satin, silk, and—no, tell me it isn’t so, was that—? Yep, taffeta, in lime green.

  “Do you see your brothers?” Phillips asked, searching the room again.

  “They’re out on the patio,” I said casually, watching the people move around the room, slowly shifting their attention out to the patio as well. “Diego seems to be introducing them to someone, but it’s hard to tell through the walls.”

  “Please tell me it’s not…” he muttered under his breath, panicking slightly, then said aloud, smiling at me, “We should join them, then.”

  I chuckled at him and started walking. “Is this the political life? Presenting the exterior calm even while you’re churning in pure panic on the inside?”

  Phillips had to push us politely through the crowd, who seemed to be slightly confused by our passage. “You mean you don’t know?”

  I shrugged, saying, “This is my first political event of any kind, Mr. Phillips. I have no idea what to expect here and, as you’ve experienced, few seem to know what to expect of me or my brothers. That truly confuses me, I admit.”

  “And why is that?” he asked as we passed through the doors and out onto the patio. He was barely paying me attention as he searched over the heads of what was rapidly becoming a crush of people, presumably for Kieran since he stood taller than most. Shaking my head in mild disbelief, I decided Mr. Phillips needed another lesson.