The Fourth Channel (Kari Hunter Series Book 1)

by Jen Kirchner

  “That’s fair.”

  When I go to The Floor, I always return to the last place I left unless I write new coordinates with my blood. I typically didn’t like to do it because it involves stabbing my finger and rubbing the cut on the dirty linoleum. Besides, teleporting my soul around The Floor takes a lot less time and effort. But I didn’t want to return to where the Styx nearly killed me, either. I was going to have to suck it up.

  I grabbed Stubby from the panic room. I stuck the knife into my finger. Using notes from my map, I drew the coordinates for the safe zone. They turned black and locked into place.

  “Don’t touch the water,” I warned them.

  Mikelis nodded. I gestured at them and sent their souls away from their bodies. A gray shadow slid around each physical shell. I waited until their soul cords wound down around their legs and disappeared into the floor. Then I stepped onto the coordinates...

  The Floor was still and serene, and the Styx flowed silently within the boundaries of its stone bed, as it should. On the opposite shore, the souls of the dead appeared to be undisturbed. From this distance they were indistinguishable from one another. The ferryman waved at me and gestured at his boat. I shook my head and waved him off.

  Grandpa and Moons walked along the shore of the Styx, each studying the calm, black water intently. I had brought them here many times before, so this place was no surprise to them. Mikelis, on the other hand, stood absolutely still, away from the water, wide-eyed with wonder. When he noticed me watching him, he smiled sheepishly. Someday, when we didn’t have more urgent matters, I’d give him the tour. Maybe I could even teach him to teleport around. But not today.

  I walked to the edge of the Styx—close, but not so close that the water might lap up over my feet. I beckoned Mikelis over and pointed at the river. Grandpa and Moons joined us, standing on either side to watch.

  Mikelis’s first gestures were small and simple, as if only to test the reaction of the water. Nothing happened. It just continued to flow by, undisturbed.

  He tried again. Smoke billowed up around his legs and feet and swirled around his arms as he gestured, more dramatically, with forceful, jabbing movements directed at the Styx. Spells overlapped each other; just before one ended, another began. Spell script punched the air boldly, as if each symbol were followed by an exclamation mark. I was fascinated by the sight; I couldn’t look away.

  As the spells continued in rapid fire, the glassy waters of the Styx broke and rippled. Black, jagged peaks dotted the surface. The current beneath quickened, flowing more swiftly than I had ever seen. Mikelis and the Styx continued their dance, their violent movements quickening and becoming more grandiose. In what seemed like a final movement, both of Mikelis's arms came up, his hands poised and fingers curled awkwardly. The Styx reacted likewise, its angry, pointed waves jabbing the air like swords, growing ever higher, until their sharp tips were over our heads.

  Mikelis lowered his arms. The peaks of the Styx dropped back into the river and the surface turned to glass. The river stopped flowing and mulled in the rocky crevice. Far down the river, I thought I saw a darkened ball riding along the surface toward us.

  A silent tremor vibrated beneath my feet. I grabbed Mikelis's arm and pulled him back from the edge. I was surprised that it was so easy; on The Floor, he had shed most of the heft of his immortal body and was now just like me, a similar necromantic soul.

  The ball grew closer, looking more like a cancerous lump as it neared. I remembered the tentacle that had come up from the Styx, and I readied my hands, prepared to send everyone back up to their bodies if the water attacked.

  The lump of water stopped in the center of the Styx directly in front of us. We all froze. My heart stopped.

  Slowly, the lump elongated, forming a tentacle that bobbed in all directions, as if searching for the necromancer power that had provoked it. I brought my hands up. Grandpa, Moons, and Mikelis were scattered around me, and I couldn’t send them all back up at the same time, so I sent Grandpa and Moons first.

  The tentacle shot straight at me.

  Mikelis’s experience with unexpected attacks kicked in, and he reacted faster than I did. His hands flew up, gesturing quickly to repel the coming attack. The tentacle exploded into a thousand droplets of water, arced outward, and sprayed back toward the river. Then it regrouped and came back for an attack.

  The tentacle raced toward us. Whatever spell Mikelis had cast had a lasting impact, because it hit an invisible barrier at the edge of the river. Again, the tentacle fractured into black droplets, but this time, after being repelled, it turned back across the water. It raced up the ridge and through the line of souls, toward the afterlife and the thousands of magic powers that lived beyond the white tree.

  I was the last to arrive back in the lab. Grandpa and Moons were in the corner whispering and gesticulating. They looked upset. Mikelis, on the other hand, looked distant. Thoughtful.

  Kari?

  I turned around and faced Stubby, who was still lying on the counter.

  One of your spheres has been disconnected from The Floor.

  Not surprising. I grabbed the knife and ran into the panic room. I set the knife inside the box with the others, then pulled open the top drawer. It was filled with spheres. I grabbed the first egg carton and popped open the lid. They were all glowing, which meant they were connected to powers on The Floor.

  Kari?

  “Yeah, Stubby?”

  A second sphere has been disconnected from The Floor.

  My heart dropped. “Two spheres? Can you tell me which ones?”

  No.

  “Is that because you don’t want to tell me or because you don’t know?”

  If you had used me for those powers, instead of Mouth, I could be more helpful.

  I set that carton down and grabbed the next one. I flipped it open. They were also all glowing. This was going to take a while. As I set it on the floor behind me, Mikelis appeared in the doorway.

  “Did you talk to Luucas?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I told him what happened. He’s asking me to come help with something he found in Thaon’s apartment.”

  I stood up and faced him. “What could possibly be more important than this?”

  “He found the voodoo talisman used to make the unauthorized community in LaPorte.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re right. You’d better go.”

  “I’ll be back later,” he promised.

  I let Grandpa and Moons keep to themselves, conspiring with each other in the hall. I was too busy digging through spheres to worry about them anyway. I needed to find out which powers the Styx had taken. It didn’t help when Brad called ten minutes later and screamed that one of his spells wasn’t working—the same one he used to destroy Suzanne’s voodoo rock.

  That was bad news, too. The first channel only had a few offensive spells to begin with. Now Brad wouldn’t be able to defend himself against Ruairí. I could hear Marcus and Heraclitus in the background, so I figured they were staying with him to provide protection, but I was worried it wouldn’t be enough.

  I told him to come over and look through the symbols notebook to see what kind of spell he wanted. He said the walking-through-walls power would make a fine substitute. I said to forget it. He said he was coming over to convince me. I said not to bother. He said he would have a large iced mocha in his possession and he might give it to me if I changed my mind. Then he hung up.

  I continued to look through my spheres until I found the two powers the Styx had stolen. Of course, both powers were in the last drawer. Brad had been correct about one of them—it powered one of the first channel’s primary offensive spells. The second power manipulated water, though no channel had spells attached to it.

  I dragged out the map and my symbols notebook and made notes about the change. I told Grandpa and Moons and let them pepper me with questions. When they were satisfied, they returned to their corner. I decided to call Luucas, just so he’d be a
ware.

  “Do you know how many conservators are first channel?” he shouted.

  Before I could say I didn’t know, he hung up.

  Brad took his own sweet time, showing up nearly two hours after his call. He was escorted by Heraclitus and Marcus, and was holding an enormous cup with a long, clear straw. The lid was rounded and held an enormous amount of fluffy whipped cream. He hugged Grandpa and Moons, then got out of the way for immortal formalities. While the greeting ceremony commenced, Brad sidled over to me. He lifted the cup, put the straw in his mouth, and sucked up a little of the contents.

  “Mmm,” he whispered. “Delicious.”

  “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously.”

  “Of course I am. That’s why I got the extra-large size.”

  “That spell isn’t going to defend you against Ruairí O’Bryne.”

  “I can run into a bank vault where he’ll never get me!”

  “And what about oxygen inside the bank vault?”

  He looked thoughtfully at the ceiling while he sucked up more mocha. “Good thinking. I’m going to need an oxygen spell, too.”

  He lifted the cup again, but I grabbed the straw and bent it away from his mouth. “And then I have to tell Luucas that he has to police people who can walk through walls uninvited? No. I’m not doing that.”

  I sucked on the straw. I could tell right away that it wasn’t from a cheap joint because I am a connoisseur. The coffee was chilled, but still strong and velvety, with notes of honey, plums, and praline. The chocolate was from actual cocoa—not powder or cheap chocolate syrup. Brad must have gone somewhere fancy to get it. Clearly, he wanted to walk through walls more than I thought. It probably had to do with getting access to more swimsuit models.

  He pulled the cup away and fixed me with a challenging look. “Good, huh?”

  “Don’t do this, Brad. Once a power is added to a channel, it can never be undone. You know that.”

  He raised his eyebrows skeptically and took his mocha to the opposite side of the room, probably waiting until I had a change of heart.

  For the next few hours, I was too distracted to think about the mocha. Everyone in the room was trying to figure out where Ruairí would hide his spell. After hours of debate, I was exhausted. And, thanks to Dad’s plane finally reaching the coast and his magical presence stuffing the channel, I was also developing a massive headache. It was impossible to think with both him and Mikelis crowding me at this hour.

  When the gate buzzer rang, I was happy for an excuse to leave the room for a little fresh air.

  I ran upstairs and pressed the talk button.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s Conservator Lumi. Luucas asked me to come over.”

  “He did? Why?”

  “I’m providing protection for your cousin. I understand Heraclitus and Marcus have moved in with him for the time being, but I’m the official presence.” I could hear her smile. It was contagious.

  “I’m glad you’re here.” I went outside and inserted her fingerprint into the access spell, then I opened the gate. I waited on the porch while she parked behind the growing line of cars in my driveway. She was dressed in a pair of jeans with a dark suit coat, appropriately dressed for tonight’s concilium.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said.

  “It’s no problem. If Ruairí O’Bryne shows up, we’ll be ready.”

  “Do you think he will?”

  “It’s definitely a possibility.”

  I led her into the house. As we reached the family room, my landline rang. I pointed to the open bookcase and the stairs to the basement. “Go on down. Just follow the noise.”

  I answered the phone. When I spoke, I heard my voice faintly echoing from the speakers in the open panic room below. “Hello?”

  The Irish-accented voice that answered was so weak and pained it sent a shiver down my spine.

  “Hello, Kari.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  I was caught off-guard by Ruairí’s call. How does one converse with a psychopath?

  “Hi.”

  There was an awkward pause. Maybe he had expected me to be a little more dynamic in my response. To be honest, I was a little disappointed too. It was going to be hard to top my performance during our first phone call.

  I tried again. “Big surge tonight, Ruairí. You’re lucky to have made it.”

  If he was amused, he didn’t let on. Maybe he didn’t have the strength for emotion. “You must be disappointed.”

  “Not really. I need you to stop the spell that’s draining The Floor.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “For one thing, it’s killing a lot of people. The next time it goes off, it will kill you too.”

  He snorted. “Why do you care?”

  “I’m trying to appeal to your ego and sense of self-preservation, but apparently you don’t have either.” My frustration started to show as my voice got louder. “And it isn’t up to you to decide when people live and die.”

  “Who decides, then? A bus? An airplane? A disease?”

  I sighed. “Finally. You admit you’re a disease.”

  He attempted an angry snarl that fizzled. “Call me whatever you like. You are no different. If you had the opportunity to kill me, you would.”

  “No way. My knives would be so excited you’d hear them before I got near.”

  The line went silent. He hadn’t hung up the phone, but I could tell I had offended him. Good. “Ruairí? Hello?”

  “I do not hear knives,” he sniffed.

  Now it was my turn to be surprised. “I thought you were a necromancer? A quasi-one, at least.”

  “I am a necromancer!”

  “Okay, I’m sorry. You’re a necromancer… and…” I was drawing a blank. What does one say to deranged killers? No wonder Mikelis resorted to blowing everything up.

  “I do not gain instruction from knives, so there is no need for me to hear them.”

  “That actually makes a lot of sense.” Ruairí was only a half-necromancer, so there were certain things he’d never be able to do. Creating knives and being in their company was something he would never experience.

  Lucky bastard.

  “So that’s why you wanted the Ker’Mortan Dagger—to kill Mikelis? The final sacrifice that could make you the necromancer you’ve always wanted to be?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “I do not have to explain anything to you.”

  “Hey,” I said, “you called me—and probably not to say anything important. You’re probably laid up in bed, receiving reports that I’ve got a party at the house, and you’re itching to know what’s going on in here.”

  His tone softened, but I could still hear the irritation. “I have been kept abreast of your whereabouts. Mikelis was wise not to leave you alone this afternoon.”

  “Yeah, he knows you too well for that.” Now that Ruairí sounded calm, I decided to try talking about the Styx again. “You have to stop that spell, Ruairí.”

  “Give me one good reason as to why I should.”

  “Because that spell is set to wipe out every immortal in a single shot.”

  He paused. “I do not believe you.”

  “The spell controlling the Styx has become too greedy. When there aren’t any necromancer powers to take, it siphons the other channels’ powers. The other powers don’t regenerate like necromancer powers do. Once they’re gone, they’re gone. Your eternal life is granted by very powerful magic, Ruairí. One day the Styx is going to take the wrong power and erase your species in a matter of seconds—including you.”

  His voice dropped to a low, weary grumble. “I do not care anymore. Look at what I have become. I would welcome an end to this madness.”

  “If that’s what you want, I’ve got a room full of people who’d be happy to do it for you.”

  He laughed caustically.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grandpa appear at the top
of the stairs. He pressed one finger to his lips and walked to me. He stood very still, staring at the phone in my hand. Blue runes flickered in the air. I watched them twist and weave, being drawn over me with an unseen hand. I glanced through the tangle at the target—Grandpa was trying to view Ruairí over the phone. If he was lucky, he could get an idea of Ruairí’s location.

  I realized Ruairí hadn’t said anything in over a minute. “Ruairí? Are you still there?”

  “Yes,” he snarled, “and I may not have every ability you do, but I do have necromancer sight.”

  The receiver crackled and the blue runes above me wavered. My nose itched. The runes turned a sickly green color. My vision swirled. Ruairí’s voice called to me in sing-song. “I can see you.”

  New runes flashed in the air; the black of a necromancer’s spell, but edged with a green glow. An unseen hand grabbed my throat and threw me to the ground. A polluted fog of green and black particles swarmed around me, constricting my chest and throat. The more I struggled, the worse it became. I thought my ribcage was going to collapse beneath the pressure.

  An earthquake rippled beneath me. There was shouting. Spells flew at me from every direction—first, second, and third channel—as everyone in the room tried peeling back Ruairí’s assault. It was helping, but not fast enough. Darkness filled my vision, with a tiny pinprick of white light at the center. The light grew bigger until it looked like a tunnel. Panic took over. I started flailing, trying to back away from the light.

  A shock wave burst through the room and swept over me, silencing every spell, including the voodoo symbols, which dissolved into nothingness. I rolled away from the receiver while gasping for breath and holding my aching sides.

  I felt heavy, purposeful footsteps approaching. My eyes cracked open. My hair had fallen haphazardly around me, but through the mess of dark curls I saw a choking, black cloud filling up the room. As it dissipated, I saw that the cloud wore a pair of men’s black leather shoes and wrinkled suit pants with tasteful pinstripes.

  I rolled onto my back and followed the pinstripes upward. The jacket that accompanied the pants was missing. The white shirt, once crisply starched and ironed, was wrinkled and had a couple of extra buttons undone at the top. The sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. The gentleman looked to be in his late twenties, though his outward appearance was very deceiving. He had smooth, olive skin and thick, black hair that curled slightly around his face. The left side of his hair was flattened where he had slept on it during his flight. His deep, brown eyes studied me before moving to the discarded phone.