“Do you really think we can fix it up?” she asked.
“Worth a shot, don’t you think?”
“Big job for two people, even with magic. How are you going to pay for the lumber, appliances?”
Hayden released his hug and stepped in front of her, running a gloved hand over his neck and smiling sheepishly. “Turns out I’m the recipient of Deckard’s estate.”
Vivian smiled at him. “That figures. Why not tell me sooner?”
“One, I didn’t find out until this past week. Two...his estate is a little bigger than a house in Atlanta.”
Vivian’s eyebrows rose. “How big is it?”
“Hard to put exact figures on it, what with the ground floor stock in several major companies, historical artifacts on loan to various museums, and the island…”
“Island?”
“...Not to mention the trust fund. Let’s just say I won’t have to worry about college loans.”
Vivian blinked at him, processing. A little smile flitted across her face as she pictured Hayden wearing designer suits and flying on private jets.
“See, this was the other reason,” Hayden scolded her, wagging his finger in mock irritation. “Now you just love me for my money.”
Vivian stepped forward and put her hands on his chest, staring into his grey eyes. “Not just for the money,” she purred.
Hayden slid his hands around her waist and pulled her into a kiss. By the time they pulled apart, Vivian’s heart thudded in her chest and her face burned, flush. Hayden’s smile as his eyes traced her features sent a thrill through her.
“Alright, Mr. Moneybags,” she teased, wrinkling her nose. “You stink. And so do I. We need to take a break.”
Hayden blew out a breath. “Okay. There’s a tiny half bath in the dojo. We can freshen up a bit in there and go grab a bite to eat.”
He lead Vivian around the ruins of the house to the little building on the back left corner of the property. He fished his keyring out and unlocked the door. Sunlight gleamed golden off the polished wood floor, pushing aside the shadows. Hayden stepped to the right and unlatched the shutters on the unglassed window, swinging them open to let in more light. He turned and pointed at a thin door along the back wall.
“Back left corner. I haven’t checked the plumbing, but the light still works back there.”
“Alright, thanks,” Vivian replied and headed for the water closet. Hayden took a few steps into the room, headed toward the weights and mats.
Orange light sprung up in a wavering wall, encircling the room.
“Trap!” Hayden cried and rushed to Vivian’s side, calling up his shield. She clutched his other arm and tried to look in every direction at once.
Pressure made Vivian’s ears pop. The wall flared once, twice, then died away. Hayden and Vivian stood together on the wooden floor and waited for the other shoe to drop. Vivian looked over her shoulder.
“Hayden?” He turned to look at her and followed her stare. The light outside had changed, taking on the rose-gold color of sunset. Worse, everything beyond the confines of the dojo looked fuzzy and distorted, like looking through frosted or bubbled glass. Hayden peered through the open window for a few seconds.
“I think it’s a shadow.”
“A what?”
“A parallel dimension, a fold of possibility right next to reality. Deckard said that’s where the armor got stored when we weren’t wearing it. I think we’re in one. Either that or we fell into an Impressionist painting.”
“How do we get out?” Vivian asked, fighting down the flutter of nervousness in her stomach.
Before Hayden answered, a hissing scrape sounded from the back wall of the dojo. They spun to see a section of the wall swing in. Bright light sprang to life beyond the new doorway.
“Get behind me,” Hayden ordered. He stepped between her and the door, calling up a sword in his right hand as he crept forward. Vivian followed him, two steps behind.
The doorway led to a set of stairs that descended a few feet before turning out of sight. Spherical sconces on the walls burned with a clean, pale blue light not unlike fluorescents.
“Did Wolfe do all this?” Vivian blurted.
“This has Deckard all over it. Stay close.” He started down the steps and Vivian crowded forward, keeping him close enough to touch. They went down a flight of four steps, turned at a landing and took four more. Another pair of sconces sparked to life as they came to a second landing, revealing another left turn and four more steps down.
At the bottom of the stairs, they passed through a small, arched hallway that ran for a few feet before opening up. More sconces lit themselves as they stepped in, revealing a rectangular room slightly larger than the practice floor of the dojo upstairs.
A large table took up the center of the space, strewn with maps and papers held down with large stones. Floor to ceiling shelves had been hung between the load bearing pillars that supported the roof and on three walls. Odd objects and artifacts rested on the shelves, twinkling in the light. Against the far wall stood a set of bronze Atlantean battle armor, scarred and dented, cradled in a stand. An empty stand stood next to it.
“Is that yours?” Vivian asked in a whisper.
“Yeah,” Hayden replied. “This is...was Deckard’s vault, I guess.”
At his words, one of the stones on the table bloomed with light. Pale orange flames drifted up from it, expanding into a curtain of energy that hung five feet in the air. As Vivian watched, the curtain folded into itself, molding into the shape of Mr. Deckard’s face. Hayden’s constructs unraveled and he stared up in shock.
“Hayden. If you’re seeing this message, then Bel-Sennek has been stopped and I am dead. I apologize for the subterfuge, but no one else can ever discover the things I keep here.
“I wish I had the time to explain everything to you, but I don’t. You’ll have to learn as you go. Here are the most important things.
“First, the Worm isn’t the only force trying to break its way into our world. Nearly every object in this room represents a possible threat to humanity. Treat them with the utmost care.
“Second, everything you need to know about the artifacts, their purpose, and the beings who created them is held in my journals on the shelf to your right. You’ll find them quite extensive. Learn as much as you can. Even limited by your difficulty controlling the Axiom, you are the best candidate to protect this trust.
“Third. The journals also contain everything you need to master Atlantean sorcery. I know you didn’t ask for this burden. You didn’t choose the abilities you have. You didn’t seek power; it found you out. And you have shown remarkable courage and wisdom in learning to use it.
“The Knights of Atlantis were founded specifically to counter the threats to our reality. Their task now falls to you. Don’t make my mistake and try to tackle that legacy alone. Ms. Hale may be a help there. There may be others with power and conviction like yours. Find them.
“Finally, I’m proud of you, boy. I’m sorry I have to leave you alone, but the truth is I’ve taught you as much as I can. I could ask for no more capable or worthy successor. Use it wisely and well. Goodbye, son.”
The image faded and the stone ceased to glow. Vivian looked to Hayden. His cheeks looked pale in the harsh light and he stared at the space where Mr. Deckard’s face had been.
“You okay?” she asked softly.
“I think so,” Hayden said. He looked over the room. “Big job for two people.”
Vivian smiled at that and took his hand. “Worth a shot though, right?”
Hayden smiled back and gave her hand a little squeeze. “Absolutely.”
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An Excerpt from Overlook
There’s more Heroes Unleashed to enjoy, dear reader! You can keep reading in the universe with OVERLOOK by Jon Mollison!
OVERLOOK
“I don’t see anyone.”
Joe glanced over his shoulder when the three young men entered the late-night convenience mart, but he had paid them no mind until he heard the menacing rumble of those four words. The undertones in the young man’s voice caught Joe’s attention. He had been standing, motionless and indecisive, before a bank of glass-doored drink coolers in the back of the shop. The menace of those four words caught his attention, and he turned to appraise the speaker. Three men had entered behind Joe, all three dangerous, if his years of experience judging potential threats in an eyeblink could be trusted.
They could.
Two of the three men worse matching low-slung jeans and nylon windbreakers that covered but did not disguise their bulk. They accompanied a third, slender and better dressed, young man who clearly called the shots in the threatening triumvirate. The big man at the entrance to the market clicked the lock shut and then leaned over to kill the power to a glowing red neon “Open” sign. His eyes scanned the aisles to verify the speaker’s pronouncement the store held no witnesses. His gaze passed over Joe, who had taken two small steps to his right to stand in front of a life-size cardboard cutout of two busty, smooth-skinned, and bikini-clad women frozen in the act of laughing and holding aloft cans of domestic beer. Joe’s own blue jeans and white long sleeve shirt looked out of place against the buxom pair, as did the wary expression he wore, and yet the three men had failed to notice his presence.
Whether blessing or curse, Joe had learned to live with his gift of eternal inconspicuousness. For all the trouble it had caused him over the years, it had also helped him get through numerous nights spent dancing on the razor’s edge between life and death.
The smallest of them had dark, slicked-back hair that gleamed in the bright white halogen lights. A corner of his mouth quirked up in a half-grin as he swaggered over to the counter to face the attendant. She responded by sidling warily to one side and clutching her daughter to her side. Her eyes gleamed with tears, and her daughter stifled a frightened squeak.
Moments earlier, when Joe had entered the store, he had interrupted a minor family drama. The woman had been scolding the girl, around seven if Joe was any judge, in the clipped and harsh tones of an Asian dialect Joe didn’t recognize. He did recognize the cause of the attendant’s ire. The girl had been tossing a ball, and an errant throw had knocked the shop’s security camera off kilter. The red logo on the side showed a bird inside a red circle, its wings stretched wide. It dangled by a single wire, its red status light blinked, but the girl’s ball had left its lens pointed up toward the faded yellow ceiling tiles. Whatever happened in the next few minutes, the only witnesses would be those already inside the store.
Joe had seen the accidental damage occur as he approached the store. A twinge of guilt plucked at his heart that his arrival had precipitated the girl’s predicament. He would have apologized and tried to explain how his talent had caused the damage, but he had learned long ago that such explanations rarely did any good. Instead of confusing them, he had simply gone about the business of stocking up on a few sugar and caffeine-laden provisions that would help him recover from his recent work.
But then the bell over the door, and the entrance of the three thugs it signaled had silenced the noise of the woman’s sharp-tongued lecture.
The leader of the three brazenly plucked a bag of chips off a rack. He leaned his elbows on the counter, crowded with glittery trinkets and racks of small impulse items, and pulled the bag open. He delicately placed a chip in his mouth and crunched down on it, savoring the woman’s distress. One of his heavy-set bodyguards cracked a door at the far side of the store on which hung a hand-printed, “No Admittance” sign.
None of the people at or behind the counter noticed Joe standing in the back corner of the shop near the drink coolers.
He waited.
No sense risking anyone getting hurt if this was a simple robbery. They could take what they wanted and go. Joe would stick around until the cops arrived to give his statement if they would take it, and then he could get back to his dingy motel room and relax.
But he didn’t like the insouciant way the leader of the three enjoyed his stolen snack.
“Please,” the woman sighed. “Mister Gutierrez.”
The man cut her off by snapping one hand up. He cocked his head to one side and crunched down on another chip. One of his enforcers circled the counter, cutting the woman off from escape. She edged back into the corner of her booth, blocking the child with her body.
Gutierrez shook his head in mock sorrow. “Ming, Ming, Ming,” he crooned.
Tears welled up on the woman’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mister Gutierrez. I couldn’t do it.”
“We had a deal, Ming.”
“Yes, but please. They were so young. I, I just couldn’t!”
Gutiérrez let her plea linger in the air. He didn’t even look at the woman. He delicately placed another chip in his mouth and crunched down on it. Only after he finished chewing and swallowing did he finally address the woman.
“They were your daughter’s age, Ming,” he said and rubbed his fingers together to flick away unseen crumbs. “But I understand. You agreed to this for your daughter. Safe passage, fake documentation, and all you had to do was hold onto a few small shipping containers for a night or two. And you tried not to think about what was in those containers behind your shop, day after day. And then, one day, when you just couldn’t ignore the furtive sounds coming from inside? You just had to take a peek. When you saw what was inside that container…” He shook his head. “Those girls. All you saw was your daughter’s face. Didn’t you?”
The woman nodded, a flicker of hope in her eyes.
He barked a short, chopping laugh. He wadded up the package of chips and tossed it at the woman, who flinched as it hit her in the belly and fell to the floor.
“Then what?” Gutiérrez sneered. “You turned them loose on the streets? How do you think your daughter would do on the streets, Ming? How would…” The young man stopped, and his predatory smile disappeared. “What’s your daughter’s name?” It was a demand, not a question.
“Jenny,” the woman whispered.
The man laughed, a guttural sound. “Jenny? Really?” He cocked his head. “Maybe if she learns the language, ditches the bowl cut, and doesn’t get into any…trouble. But have it your way. How would…Jenny…do on the streets of a strange city? At night. Where she doesn’t even speak the language.”
“Oh no,” the woman protested, “I would not simply let them loose. My church. Father Encarnacion, he –”
She clamped her mouth shut, suddenly realizing she had said too much.
Too late. Gutiérrez leaned forward, one ear cocked mockingly. “Father Encarnacion, eh? So that’s it.” He exchanged a glance with his enforcers, who nodded their understanding. The one near the door pulled a cell phone from his pocket and began poking at it with one fat finger. When he didn’t place it to his ear, Joe realized the man wasn’t making a call. He must have been searching for the church where Father Encarnacion served as pastor so that they could pay him a visit too.
“Please,” the woman pleaded as the second enforcer took a step toward her. “I’ll do anything.” Silent tears streamed down her face, and the words spilled out of her in a rush. “You want me to run the drugs, okay! You want the street women out front, I do that.” She looked around in desperation. “I take you in the back, you do whatever you want to me. But please, Mister Gutierrez, not the children. This I cannot do!”
Gutierrez chuckled and hopped over the counter. Looming over the woman he sneered, “It’s not up to me, Ming. I’m a lot like you. We’re just little birds flying around in a great big
sky. Your job was to sign for that container and hold the goods. My job was to come around and pick them up. My job is to deliver the goods to the final customer. How can I do my job if there aren’t any goods to deliver? Can you tell me that, Ming?”
The woman’s head had sagged. Speechless, she could only shake her head. Gutierrez put one finger under her chin and lifted it up, forcing her to look him in the eyes. She swallowed hard, shaking with the effort of not breaking down completely in front of her daughter.
“You made a brave choice, letting them go,” the punk murmured. “You are a very brave woman. I respect that. Of course, if you knew the sorts of men you and I work for…if you knew them like I know them…you would not ask me to do this thing.”
He abruptly stood back a step. “But don’t worry, Mamacita,” he announced as he turned away from the attendant. “I think I have a solution.” He put his hands on the counter and hopped back over it.
Gutiérrez nodded at the enforcer, who sidled past him and lunged at the clerk. With a powerful shove, he pushed the woman aside and snatched the child from behind her back. As the woman begged for mercy and clutched feebly at her daughter, the young girl screamed in panic. Their protests went for nothing. The big man wrapped his arms around the young girl, who kicked and sent the contents of the counter scattering in a multihued clatter.
Joe sighed and patted the thumb drive in his pocket.
He had work to do, but this was more than a simple robbery. He couldn’t let this slide.
Joe used the noise and commotion to cover his approach. He plucked a full bottle of liquor from the shelf at his side and brought it around, backhanded, with every ounce of strength he possessed.
He felt the impact as the bottle smashed into the temple of the thug at the door. Alcohol sprayed across the nearby shelves and drenched Joe’s arm and the man’s jacket suit as the thug toppled into the aisle.
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