Summoner of Storms

by Jordan L. Hawk

  Sean looked back at the pictures on his desk. “I hope John can live with that.”

  Caleb’s fist curled, but he turned to the door. Listening. No copier, no country music. Just silence. “I think we’re clear. Come on and let’s get this the hell over with.”

  * * *

  John and Tiffany followed Liu down a hall lit only by a red exit sign. John’s nerves drew tight—the shuttered office struck him as oddly creepy. Most of the desks in the cube farm they passed were empty, but one or two still had cartoons pinned on the wall, or a crumpled post-it by the phone. Condiments sat on the break room table—did anyone empty out the refrigerator, or was it full of moldy sandwiches and leftover takeout? Despite the efforts of the AC, the air hadn’t cooled down yet, and the stuffy heat added to the sensation of wrongness.

  “Here we are,” Liu said, switching on the lights of the mailroom. Empty mail slots covered one wall, and the counter held scales and blank shipping forms, alongside an older model computer hooked up to a printer. Packaging material of every type lay scattered about, as if the workers left with the last box and didn’t bother to clean up behind them.

  Weird.

  “Ugh, it’s hot in here,” Tiffany said, fanning herself and giving John a pointed look.

  What? Oh.

  “I’m about to sweat to death in this suit,” John agreed. He casually removed his coat and hung it up on the hat stand by the desk. He did the same with his tie, before unbuttoning the top few buttons on his shirt and rolling up his sleeves. “Whew. Much better.”

  “I’ll say,” Liu agreed. He leaned against the doorframe, watching John with a small grin.

  Tiffany played the part of dutiful partner and went to the computer. John returned Liu’s smile and rested his hip against the desk. “Have you lived in Atlanta long, Jeff?”

  “About five years. I’m a transplant from Pennsylvania. Are you local?”

  The clatter of keys and click of the mouse came from behind him. John resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder. No need to draw attention to what Tiffany was doing, after all. “Nope. Down from South Carolina. But I visit Atlanta pretty regularly. Sometimes even overnight.”

  Liu happily offered suggestions for entertainment. He didn’t quite come right out and offer to show John a good time, but they were both on the clock. Instead, he listed a few gay clubs, one of which John had visited a couple of years back, when he and Will stayed with some friends in the city.

  It felt a little weird to stand around and flirt with some random guy, even in service to the mission. His thoughts strayed to Caleb, and Gray—who, being painfully honest, might not be sanguine with John chatting Liu up. Maybe he’d just leave this bit out later.

  How were Caleb and Gray? What was going on with them now? Had Sean stayed true, or...

  No. Focus.

  “Got it,” Tiffany said, shutting the computer back down. “Somebody on our end wrote down a nine instead of a seven.”

  Liu winced sympathetically. “And they made you run all the way down here for that?”

  “Beats the office any day,” John said, shooting the other man a wink.

  “I hear you,” Liu said. “I’ve worked some boring-ass jobs, but I got to tell you, this one takes the cake. I’m stuck out in the back forty all day, driving the cart back and forth. I brought some binoculars with me to get some bird watching in.”

  “Sounds worse than a stake out,” John agreed.

  As they followed Liu out, Tiffany leaned in close to John’s ear. “Get rid of your friend for a few minutes. I want a peek inside the hanger.”

  They stepped back out into the spring evening. “Damn, it’s almost as hot out here,” John said as Liu locked up behind them. “Wish we’d pick up some bottled water when we stopped for gas.”

  Liu obliged by taking the bait. “I’ve got some in my security hut. And a coffee maker—it might take a few minutes to brew, though.”

  “Did you say coffee?” John notched up the wattage on his smile. “Jeff, you are an angel straight from heaven.”

  A few seconds later, Liu zoomed off in his golf cart, headed back the way he had come. “I can’t believe men really fall for that bullshit,” Tiffany said.

  “Critique my lines later. What did you find in the office?”

  Tiffany’s expression turned grim, and she beckoned him toward the hanger. “I found an address. Sullivan’s Island.”

  Damn. Sullivan’s Island was right outside of Charleston. “Could you tell how many bottles they shipped there?”

  She shook her head. “It was the only address, though, and there were a shitload of records. I’m guessing they sent a lot of NHEs there over the last couple of weeks. I want to see how many are left in the hanger. That might give us an estimate of how many are missing.”

  The hanger sported a line of three big roll-up doors on the end. Padlocks hung on all of them. Even Liu would notice if they cut one, not that they’d brought bolt cutters with them in the first place.

  Tiffany led the way around to a side door. “Locked,” she said.

  “And a deadbolt.” He might jiggle open a regular doorknob using a credit card, but not a deadbolt. “Crap. Maybe there’s another way in?”

  Tiffany snorted. “Watch and learn, Boy Scout. Some of us come prepared.”

  She opened her jacket and slipped out a slim wallet of folded cloth. “Are those lock picks?” he asked in disbelief.

  “You spent your childhood playing soccer or t-ball, or whatever the hell ordinary kids do.” She crouched in front of the door and went to work on the lock. “I spent mine studying covert operations and learning to field strip an AK-47.”

  The lock clicked within seconds. Casting a glance over her shoulder, she swung it open. “Come on. Let’s see what Forsyth left for us.”

  * * *

  Caleb knew the way to Kaniyar’s—now Forsyth’s—office from here. He walked in front of Sean, past the cooling copier, the empty offices. Most of the main lights had been shut off, leaving the corridors shrouded in darkness between the occasional island of illumination.

  He’d strolled these halls a dozen times before, but they’d been brightly lit and full of people. Now he felt a little like he walked through a haunted house, somewhere once filled with life but now only holding the echoes of the dead.

  “I have never seen a ghost. I do not believe they exist.”

  Considering Gray’s first memories consisted of mud-brick ziggurats, and he’d spent most of the intervening centuries hanging around in tombs and graveyards, he’d probably know. So this life is it, huh?

  “Unless mortals pass elsewhere. They do not linger here.”

  The soft hiss of shoes on industrial beige carpet came from somewhere ahead.

  Caleb stopped. “Someone’s coming,” he whispered. “We aren’t anywhere we’re not supposed to be yet—should we keep going?”

  Sean shook his head. “If it’s an exorcist, we’re screwed. Come on.”

  They were just passing the cube farm where the rank and file agents worked. Sean stepped off to the side. “Find someplace to hide.”

  Caleb didn’t have to be told twice. As the footsteps grew closer, he ducked into a random cubicle and pulled out the desk chair. His body barely fit under the desk, his knees jammed against his chest. He tugged the chair as far in as it would go, hoping it would conceal him from a casual glance.

  The footsteps stopped. Turned. Began coming his way.

  Fuck.

  Now he could hear breathing, the rustle of papers. Damn it, why did the Specs hire go-getters with nothing better to do than work late on a Friday night? Didn’t any of these people have lives?

  The steps slowed outside the cubicle he crouched in. Had he been seen? Sensed?

  “Hey, Jim,” Sean called. “I didn’t realize anyone was still working late but me.”

  “Yeah, I had to finish up a report for Rodriguez. What about you?”

  “Stupid cold laid me up for the last few days. Now I�
��m way behind on everything. I’ll be here for several hours yet. You want me to drop those files off for you?”

  “Nah, it’s okay.”

  “No, really.” Tension strained Sean’s voice, and Caleb hoped the other agent didn’t notice. “You’ve got a wife and kids waiting for you at home.”

  “It’ll just take a few seconds.”

  “Is that the excuse you’re going to use on Sally, after she holds dinner up waiting on your sorry ass, and now it’s cold?”

  A pause, then a laugh. “Dinner ain’t the only thing that will be cold if I’m late again. Thanks, Sean. I owe you one.”

  The steps receded, and Caleb let out the breath he’d held. A few seconds later, Sean tossed papers on the desk over Caleb’s head and pulled on the chair. As Caleb scrambled out, Sean reached to help him to his feet. Caleb took his hand automatically, and the other man levered him up.

  Realizing what he’d done, Caleb snatched his hand back. “Let’s get this over with before anything really goes wrong.”

  Chapter 12

  They made it to Kaniyar’s office without further incident. The desk where her secretary normally sat looked suspiciously clear of any papers, and his computer was missing. Had poor Edward gone on the run, or was he cooling his heels in a cell somewhere? Or hell, maybe Forsyth just quietly carted him off someplace, as with Tiffany’s relatives.

  At least the door still bore Kaniyar’s name. Probably to keep from contradicting the special assignment story Forsyth put out. Was she even still out there, or did Forsyth have her locked away in a cell somewhere?

  But hell, if any of them were going to survive this, he’d bet on Kaniyar. He’d hate to be her enemy, that was for damn sure, even with Gray in his head. An ordinary guy like Forsyth ought to be shitting his pants at the thought of her on the loose and gunning for him. So yeah, Caleb would damn well assume she was out there until he had proof otherwise.

  Sean jiggled the door handle. “Locked.”

  “Let me.” Caleb reached past him and twisted the handle sharply. The lock gave way under his strength, and he pushed the door open. It wasn’t subtle, but hopefully they’d be long gone before anyone realized the office had been broken into.

  Darkness shrouded the room. Caleb could see easily, thanks to Gray’s enhanced vision, but Sean immediately stumbled into a chair. “Hold on a sec and let me get the computer powered up. The monitor will give us a little light without turning on the overheads.”

  A few seconds later, the soft glow of the monitor filled the room. Caleb waited impatiently until the log in screen appeared. “Here,” Sean said, passing him the thumb drive.

  According to Tiffany, the program on the drive would crack Forsyth’s password and get them access to his files on SPECTR’s data servers. “How long do you think this is going to take?” Caleb asked as the drive came to life and began to do its thing.

  Sean shook his head. “No telling.”

  The minutes ticked by heavily. Caleb inspected the office, but its spartan appearance offered little of interest. Kaniyar wasn’t the type to put up pictures of her kids. Did she have any? A husband? He didn’t have the slightest idea, let alone what might have happened to them if they existed.

  Caleb slid open the desk drawers one at a time, in case there happened to be something of interest inside. Say, a folder labeled “Forsyth’s Evil Plan.” But he found nothing even remotely interesting, just the usual junk like rubber bands and dried-out pens.

  The ventilation units hummed in the distance, the only sound in the silent complex. There must be security guards patrolling, though. How often would they come through and check on things?

  “Wish I could light up down here,” Sean muttered.

  “Don’t—we can’t risk drawing attention.” Not to mention Caleb didn’t feel like sneezing his head off. Jesus, how long was the damn program going to take?

  The computer chimed softly. The log in screen vanished, and a desktop came up. Sean hurried around the desk and leaned over Caleb’s shoulder. “There—go to his files and start copying.”

  Caleb dutifully clicked through. A list of folders came up. Most of them bore labels like Expenses or Time Sheets. Once again, nothing conveniently titled My Evil Plan.

  “Drakul,” Caleb read, and hurriedly marked it for wholesale copying. It might not tell them anything about Forsyth’s scheme, but Caleb wanted to know what the guy had on him and Gray.

  Another folder caught his eye as well. “‘Baikal.’ Why does that sound familiar?”

  Sean shrugged. “It doesn’t to me.”

  Caleb started to scroll past, hesitated, then went back and marked it for copying anyway. Something about the word nagged at him, even if he couldn’t remember where he’d heard it before. Then he went into Forsyth’s email and set the program to copying everything from the last three months. With any luck there would be something incriminating in one of the messages.

  “How long is this going to take?” Sean groused.

  Caleb pulled up the progress bar. “Just a few more minutes.”

  The door swung open behind them, and too late Caleb realized it had blocked out the sound of footsteps approaching. He spun the chair and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

  * * *

  The hanger’s side door opened onto a vast, shadowy space. Echoes ran up to a far-off ceiling, and the heavy scent of dust and old incense filled the air. Despite the trapped heat of the day inside, John felt suddenly cold.

  He reached out blindly along the wall, first to one side, then the other before finding the light switches. For just a second, he hesitated, unsure he really wanted to see this. Some of the bottled demons held here were ones he’d exorcised. Ones he’d condemned to an imprisonment, which might be nothing to them...or might be the horrific torture of solitary combined with sensory deprivation.

  Steeling himself, he flipped on all the switches at once, like ripping off a band aid.

  High overhead, enormous fluorescents buzzed to life one by one. The sterile, white light revealed an enormous room making up the entirety of the hanger. A few wooden pallets lay to one side, but otherwise the only contents of the room were row upon row of steel shelves, stretching high overhead like the skeletons of metal dinosaurs.

  Each unit bore a marker indicating its row. The shelves were categorized by number, and each one bore a plethora of smaller labels for individual slots. No doubt a master list somewhere identified each and every bottle: Row 52, Shelf 8, Slot 73 - ghoul, Charleston SC, exorcist John Starkweather, case file 6823-B.

  Spirit bottles were small, no larger than a beer bottle. Every shelf could have contained twenty, every unit ten times more. A hanger of this size might store thousands of NHEs with room to spare.

  The shelves held only dust. Forsyth had taken every last bottle.

  * * *

  “Don’t move!” the guard barked. “Hands up, now!”

  Sean let out a hiss but did as ordered. Caleb followed suit. Damn it! They’d been so close. If only he’d paid more attention to their surroundings instead focusing on the computer screen.

  The guard flipped on the overhead light. “Back away from the desk and come around this side. Nice and slow.”

  Caleb nudged Sean into movement. As they moved to the front of the desk, the guard kept his eyes on them, but thumbed on the radio at his belt. “This is Walden. I’ve got two intruders in the—”

  Caleb didn’t think, just acted. He sprinted across the room faster than any human could move, Gray rising up to help him. His TK slapped the gun free of the guard’s startled hand. Before the man could react, Caleb’s hands closed on either side of his head. Short hair bristled under Caleb’s fingers, and the guard let out a startled intake of breath.

  Caleb twisted once, hard. The wet crack of bone sounded, loud as a gunshot. The guard went limp, head flopping to one side as he fell. The smell of piss stung Caleb’s nostrils.

  God. He’d never killed anyone directly. Gray had always bee
n in control before, whether they fought demons or Forsyth’s goons. His hands shook, and the remnants of his last meal clawed at the back of his throat.

  “It was necessary. He would have given us away.”

  Yeah. I know. But it still feels wrong.

  “Walden?” the radio squawked. “You still there? Report!”

  No time to freak out—it would be only minutes before someone else came to investigate. He turned back to the desk, to find Sean already at the computer, yanking the thumb drive free. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Sean said, slipping the drive into his pocket.

  As they exited the office, the overhead intercom clicked on. “Alert. Possible intruders in the building. All personnel return immediately to your assigned areas to await the all-clear.”

  Sean swore and broke into a jog. Caleb stretched his longer legs to keep up. “Now what?”

  “The elevator will be on lockdown. We still might get through this, if we head to my office right now and pretend we’ve been there the whole time. There’s nothing to implicate us. Maybe—”

  They rounded a corner, and Sean bumped into a woman who seemed oddly familiar to Caleb. “Sorry, Agent Hale,” Sean said.

  “No problem. Did you hear—” Her gaze went from Sean to Caleb, and she froze.

  Hell, now he remembered where he’d seen her before. She’d been one of the exorcists at RD who’d run the tests on Gray.

  Hale spun and ran, shouting at the top of her lungs. “The drakul! It’s here!”

  Shit.

  Sean started after her, but Caleb grabbed his arm. “Let her go—it’s too late.”

  Sean swore and drew his Glock. “We’re trapped down here.”

  “Not yet. Follow me.”