Hayden made his way inside and scanned for Vivian. He didn’t see her anywhere. He walked to the cashier, a blonde guy wearing a pledge pin on the lapel of his black polo. “Hey, man, do you know where Vivian went?”
The cashier nodded. “Uh, yeah. She, uh, clocked out and went home. Said she was dizzy and light-headed. Left out the back.”
“Thanks.” Hayden slapped the counter and jogged down the short hallway, past the bathrooms, and the storage room to the rear exit. He shoved the crossbar down and threw the door open, stumbling into the employee parking lot just in time to see a small blue coupe turn the corner. He cursed and walked back inside.
Chapter Eight
Deckard slumped in his chair. Only the ticking of his antique grandfather clock disturbed the silence. The morning light slanted in through the thin curtains, painting the room in wan shades that only served to deepen the shadows. It fell on Renaissance art, Japanese calligraphy scrolls, and a pedestal supporting an authentic Spartan helmet. And on the box Hayden had recovered.
The box sat on the table, lid lifted like a waiting trap. The cloth lining had been carefully removed and set aside. Darkness swallowed the interior of the tiny wooden shape, but the secret it contained blazed in Deckard’s mind. A tiny ring of inscribed magic with one purpose: to create an opening, a puncture in the world. An elegant, precise, vile, and impossible object.
And it had been used.
His thoughts chased one another in a maddening circle. He should have known. But how could he? Everyone with the knowledge had been killed on an island kingdom thousands of years ago. He could have done it, perhaps, in time. But this wasn’t a question of ability alone. Who would want to do it? Who had the will? Why would you wake the Worm?
Only two people now living possessed trained access to the Axiom. Himself and...Hayden. But the boy couldn’t touch the power necessary. He’d hurt himself trying, burn himself out. He hadn’t mastered the skills. Unless…
The boy sat on the couch, tapping his foot nervously. His short legs only let the toe of his shoes reach the floor. Deckard smiled at him as he brought a chair over and sat down on the other side of the coffee table.
“You seem upset today, Hayden. Do you need me to go get your mother?” The lad shook his head, sitting up straighter, but still looking at the floor.
“No, sir.”
“Okay, then. Tell me about last night.” Hayden looked up, guilt and uncertainty in his bright grey eyes.
“It was the same.”
“You had the nightmare again?” The boy nodded his head, wiping at his eyes and looking away again.
“Can you tell me about it? Sometimes, just talking about it can remind us that it was just a dream. Do you think you can?”
“I think so.”
“Alright. How does it start?” Hayden shifted, sniffling. Deckard waited.
“I’m outside. It’s nighttime, but there are clouds. I can’t see the stars.”
“Where are you? Do you see trees? Buildings?”
“Atlantis.” Deckard’s blood ran cold, but he forced himself not to react. The boy still looked away. Deckard kept his voice smooth.
“Atlantis? How do you know?”
“I don’t know. I just know it. I’m in Atlantis and there are people coming to get me.”
Deckard took three slow breaths before asking. “What people?”
“They look like angels, with glowing swords and spears. They come down from the sky.” Hayden started to sob. “They want to hurt me for what I’ve done, but I don’t understand. I didn’t do anything wrong!
“The leader stabs me with a spear and I fight, but he’s so fast and I can’t move.” The boy clutched at his stomach. “It hurts so bad! And then the sky starts to get bright and it burns.” Hayden broke down and turned away, burying his head in his arms on the sofa and weeping.
Deckard moved to the other side of the sofa and cautiously reached out to squeeze the boy’s shoulder. The boy continued to shake quietly under his hand.
“Hayden, listen to me. It was just a…” Deckard cleared his throat and took a ragged breath. He steeled himself for the lie. “It was just a dream, Hayden. It can’t hurt you here unless you let it. And you were brave to tell me about it.”
Hayden straightened up, wiping ineffectually at the tears. He looked up at Deckard, his skinny face blotchy and red. “Is God mad at me?”
Deckard blew out a breathy laugh. Then he smiled and looked at Hayden, shaking his head. His voice was low, rough with empathy for this tiny bruised soul. “No, son. He’s not mad at you. In fact…Can you keep a secret, Hayden?”
Hayden nodded his head and looked at Deckard with so much hope it almost broke him. “Yes, sir.”
Deckard turned his left hand, palm up, and held it out between him and the boy. He reached into the Axiom and called up a morsel of power. Light sprang into being over his palm, a tiny galaxy of distinct motes spinning lazily. Hayden leaned back, staring at Deckard in awe.
“Hayden, would you like to make the nightmares go away?”
The boy looked at the sorcery at work in Deckard’s hand, then up. The light in the boy’s eyes was fierce.
“Yes, sir. I’d like that.”
Deckard flung himself to his feet in disgust. Hayden didn’t know about the boxes. Couldn’t know. It was impossible. Wasn’t it?
He looked at the innocuous and insidious little prize sitting on the dining room table. He needed more answers.
Deckard swept to the foyer and snatched his coat off the rack. He donned it as he moved to the side door and plucked his keys from the peg. A wave of his hand lowered the wards he’d placed. A murmur of power unbolted the locks.
In moments, the house was secure, and Deckard backed his Volvo out of the carport and onto the street. He put it in drive and turned toward Grady Memorial Hospital.
Chapter Nine
“I’ll be graduating from his program. Yeah.” Hayden took a swig from his water bottle and tried to gulp quietly while he let his mother ask a few hundred questions that boiled down to “Is that really a good idea?”. Sweat made his t-shirt and gi pants cling uncomfortably to his skin.
“Well, it’s been ten years, and I just think I’ve learned about all I’m going to from Dr. Riss.” A polite knock at the apartment door distracted him from his mother’s response.
“Mom, I need to go. Someone’s at the door. Love you. Yeah, I’ll see you soon. You too.”
Hayden hung up the phone and dropped it on the end table. He mopped at his face with a gym towel he’d strung over his shoulders and unlatched the door.
“Yeah?”
Marcus Wolfe smiled down at him. “Mr. Lucas, you’re a tough man to find.”
Oh, crap! “Mr. Wolfe! What brings you to…” Hayden glanced past Wolfe to see two suited guards he vaguely recalled from the rally. One was a giant of a man, bald and stern, with his feet planted and arms crossed. The other was thinner, with rangy limbs and a shock of curly brown hair. He leaned against a wall with a bored expression, suit jacket open, and shoulder holster bared. “...here?”
“I wanted the opportunity to talk to you if you have a minute?” Wolfe glanced inside.
“Uh, sure thing! Come on in.” Hayden moved out of the doorway, and Wolfe strode in.
“Thank you,” Wolfe said. Hayden shut the door on the guards, who hadn’t moved, and turned to find Wolfe taking in the little apartment.
A small eating nook to the left of the door held a square table and four chairs, scuffed but serviceable. The galley kitchen contained appliances from the nineties and a cracked laminate floor.
A half-wall separated the kitchen from the living room, where Hayden had shoved a second-hand futon. An old CRT television stood on a reclaimed entertainment center that was mostly filled with books and dust, rather than electronics.
A short, carpeted hallway ran right from the door and led to the utility closet, ¾ bath, and a shoebox of a bedroom.
Wolfe, though he had sever
al inches on Hayden, could have crossed the living room in three good strides. Embarrassment crept up on Hayden as the soon-to-be city councilman took in the motley home furnishings with his hands in his grey designer suit pockets.
“You know, when I was in Athens, I lived in a place like this with two other guys. Didn’t even have a couch, just a bunk bed.” Wolfe chuckled and turned back to look at Hayden. “I guess privacy is a necessity for you, though.”
The sweat froze on Hayden’s skin, and he prayed his face didn’t betray him. “Sir?”
Wolfe ignored him, thumbing over his shoulder at the sliding glass doors leading onto the tiny porch. “I noticed that this opens onto the sidestreet. Guess it makes it easier to leave when you’re…out.” He made an Up-Up-And-Away motion with his hand, arching an eyebrow.
Wolfe stared at him, and Hayden knew he was trapped. He pasted on his best “confused in class” look. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Wolfe.”
Wolfe smiled. “I admire your tenacity, Mr. Lucas. Hayden. May I call you Hayden?” He stepped closer and lowered his voice a bit. “Never go into politics, Hayden. You have a lousy poker face. I saw you. Running across the street, flinging that force field.” Hayden flinched and nearly launched an instinctive counter when Wolfe held out his hand.
“I wanted to shake the hand of the man who saved my life.”
“I, uh…” Hayden took Wolfe’s offered hand in a clammy palm and blew out a breath. “You’re welcome. But I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“That was an incredibly brave thing you did, Hayden. You should be proud. And our city should be proud of you.” Wolfe withdrew the handshake and wandered over to lean on the corner of the table. “I know you don’t know me yet, so you don’t know if you can trust me, but I give you my word I won’t say anything without your approval.
“You are exactly the kind of person this city needs, Hayden, and I want to make it the kind of place where you don’t have to sneak out in the middle of the night to use your gifts. I want you to help me with that. Come work with my campaign.”
Hayden blinked. “You tracked me down to offer me a job?” He pointed at the front door. “Don’t Thing 1 and Thing 2 take care of security?”
Wolfe smiled like his namesake. “I can’t unsee it, now you’ve said it. I’ll have to get them matching shirts for Christmas. Yes, they handle security, but that’s not what I’m looking to hire you for.
“I need able hands and agile minds to help with the campaign clockwork. In ‘tracking you down’, I talked to a couple of your professors. They said you were bright. Hathaway, in particular, spoke highly of you. But, as I understand it, you need a capstone internship for your business degree.
“Come work with my finance manager. It’s grunt work, and it doesn’t pay amazingly, but the hours are flexible. It’ll fit the bill for your degree and connect you with some influential people. Plus, it will give you the opportunity to trust me and to see the good work we’re going to do at the Elevation Clinic. What do you think?”
Hayden looked at Wolfe, wheels spinning. This opportunity was golden. Some pay to finish his degree? Deckard had already provided a private scholarship cake, but this was the icing and the sprinkles. He’d have a heck of a recommendation letter for whatever he went on to. And if Wolfe successfully softened the public’s views on Primes, it would help immensely with his work as Arclite.
“I’ll...have to think about that, sir. I’m honored, of course, but I need a little time.”
“Absolutely.” Wolfe reached into his jacket and pulled out an embossed business card, which he placed on the table. “But while you’re considering, think about this: One of these days, Archon is going to retire. Someone is going to take his place. I think it could be pretty beneficial for said replacement to have the trust and support of the future mayor of Atlanta, don’t you?”
Wolfe stood and walked over to shake Hayden’s hand again. “I’ll leave you to your day. Thank you again, Mr. Lucas, for your help. And tell your...coworker thank you from me as well, okay? He’s been a hero to a lot of people.”
“I’ll pass that on,” said Hayden. He smiled as he opened the door.
“You do that,” said Wolfe, waving. He gathered up Things 1 and 2. Just before he closed the door, Hayden saw him turn to the large man and ask. “What size shirt do you wear, Rawlston?”
Hayden clicked the locks closed on the door and stood there in shock. Wolfe knew. Not only that, but he was willing to help.
He had to call his mom back. She’d never believe him. Or she would, and then she’d move just to vote for Wolfe in the election. He’d have to talk to Deckard, too, about…
“Crap.”
Deckard was going to kill him.
Chapter Ten
Deckard stopped at the nurse’s station and plucked a card from his wallet. He had several credentials to choose from, under differing names, all real. The only upside to his enhanced longevity was that it gave one plenty of time for esoteric pursuits. The downsides included watching societies struggle to re-learn so much of what had been lost, watching friends wither and depart, forgotten, until apathy ate away your hope.
Deckard shook his head and berated himself. Getting morose, old man. Leave old wounds in the past, where they belong.
The nurse looked up. Her curly black hair was pulled back into a tight knot, and she hadn’t bothered to hide the streak of silver in it. Thick rimmed glasses sat on her nose and her mouth had a slight downturn at the corners, as though she’d tasted something sour and the flavor had never left her. “Can I help you?” she drawled.
Deckard held out his chosen card. “I’m Dr. Deckard Riss. I’m a clinical psychologist. I’m here to interview Noah Wilson. Can you tell me which room he’s in?”
The nurse took a look at the embossed business card with all the letters after his name and gave him a once over. Slacks, loafers, button-down shirt, sweater vest, no tie, no clerical collar. He threw in a benign smile to help her complete the picture.
She gave him a quick, professional flash of a smile and handed the card back. “Of course, Dr. Riss, one moment.”
Keys clattered as she commanded the computer to retrieve the appropriate record. Deckard often wondered what the archivists of Alexandria would have done with modern computing. Kusthenos would have salivated at the opportunity. Deckard sighed, breathing in and out slowly to clear his head of ghosts. Be here.
“I’m sorry, doctor, but it looks like that patient was transferred to another facility. I show he was discharged early this morning.”
“Does it say where?”
“A private medical facility. I’m afraid that’s all I can say.”
“Of course. Can you tell me who authorized the transfer? APD will want to know who got their wires crossed when my bill lands on their desk.”
“I’m sorry, sir, you’ll have to check with them.” The nurse’s face was the avatar of bureaucratic inflexibility.
“I see. Well, thank you for your time. Good day.” Deckard’s mind churned as he made the short walk back to the elevator and punched the call button. He did have contacts at APD, and they would know if their prisoner had been transferred, but it might take time. He’d have to reach out to Rhiannon. There wasn’t a computer system built she couldn’t infiltrate.
His phone buzzed in his pocket just as the doors to the elevator opened. He fished it out as he stepped into the elevator car and blinked in surprise at the number. He accepted the call and lifted the receiver to his ear.
“Hayden?” Deckard pushed the button for the lobby. “I’m glad you called, actually, I…”
Deckard’s stomach dropped through the floor, and the blood left his face. Hayden’s voice echoed again in his mind. “I’ve been made.”
“Who?”
“Marcus Wolfe.” Deckard closed his eyes and fought back a curse.
“My house,” he ordered. “Twenty minutes.” He hung up and shoved the phone back into his pocket.
> Damn that boy! There wasn’t time for another crisis. The elevator door closed quietly, trapping Deckard in a box with his own dark thoughts and pulling him down.
Stefani watched the elevator doors close, then picked up her own phone from under the charge station desk. She dialed a number from memory. The phone rang three times before someone picked up.
“It’s me,” she said quietly. “You wanted to know if anyone came for Chains. A psychologist came in. Dr. Deckard Riss...”
Deckard opened the doors to the parking deck and walked to his car. The stormy clouds of his own thoughts so consumed him that he didn’t notice the two men until his keys were in the car door.
Hispanic, young, and wearing similar clothing, one wore a gold chain, the other a red ball cap. Tied kerchiefs covered their faces, and they moved with the hungry aggression of feral dogs. Gold Chain held a pistol and Red Cap a knife.
“Yo, gramps!”
Deckard flicked his eyes upward and sighed inwardly at the number of cameras covering the second tier of the parking deck. He’d have to be more subtle. Feral dogs didn’t understand subtle. He turned toward them and pulled power from the Axiom.
It was like sucking a drink through a cracked straw. Energy spilled out on the way in, and he had to pull harder to get what he needed. Deckard pushed a twinge of fear to one side and stayed absolutely still.
“Is there a problem, young man?”
Gold pointed the pistol at him as he walked closer. “No problem, geezer, so long as you empty your pockets. Watch, wallet, phone, and keys. Now.”
Gold stopped even with the bumper of Deckard’s car, while Red moved into the alley between the Volvo and its neighbor to relieve Deckard of his valuables. Deckard watched Red approach, knife winking in the sterile fluorescent light. He stopped out of arm’s reach.
“You heard him, Gramps. Hand it over.”
The Last Archon Page 4
