Tesla & Malone - Lightning's Call - Book One

by Vincent J. LaRosa

  Denis stirred. “What? Oh, yes, of course. That sounds good.” He replied, his eyes still set with that thousand yard stare.

  Hawthorne broke out into laughter and slapped the table. Plates and silverware jumped. Several patrons nearby stopped eating to look over. He ignored them.

  “Where were you just then? Not here, that’s for damn sure! I am fairly certain you were not agreeing to me shaving my head and dressing like you, old boy.” He chuckled looking pointedly at Denis’ rumpled suit and ragged long-coat. “You’re not exactly the model of acceptable fashion, I’m afraid.”

  Denis blinked rapidly and turned back to his friend. “I’m sorry, John,” he apologized, shaking his head. “I’ve been a bit distracted today.” He took a swallow of lukewarm coffee and grimaced. “Seriously, what were you talking about?”

  Hawthorne lifted his own mug in mock salute and sipped. “Distracted today? Ha.” He smiled broadly as he set his coffee down. “You’ve been distracted for quite some time now.” He looked at his friend, closely noting the dark circles under his eyes. “You have something you want to get off your chest?” he asked with raised eyebrows and cocked head. “And you must think I’m blind,” he added.

  Denis pulled his head back. “Blind? What do you mean?”

  His friend nodded at the coat pulled tight over his right thigh. “You have that quick release holster strapped. I assume you’re carrying your Dragoon?” he asked in a lowered voice. “That smacks of tension, my friend. Are you in trouble?” he asked lightly.

  Denis glanced around the room. “It’s nothing really.” He shrugged and scratched at his jaw. “I’m probably being overly cautious. I’ve been feeling off lately and something told me to take the Dragoon with me today, that’s all.”

  Hawthorne sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. He regarded his friend for a moment before continuing. “One of your premonitions?” He brushed at his trouser leg.

  “In a matter of speaking, yeah. Been having those night terrors. More than usual.” He snorted. “Probably keeping Victoria awake, but she won’t tell me.”

  Hawthorne nodded. “She wouldn’t.” He agreed. “She really cares for you, old boy.” He rested his cheek on a closed fist. “Now, these nightmares. Is there a theme to them?” he asked.

  Denis squinted his eyes and shook his head. “Sometimes, but overall I get these images, see? Rapid flashes of things - places, people, from some other time, I think. I don’t know.” He fidgeted in his seat. “I get the sense I am looking down on events, like a ghost floating above.” He shuddered. “And then I wake up screaming and sweating.” He dropped his gaze to the table. “And that’s not the strangest part…” he murmured quietly to his half eaten lunch. He shook his head. This is too crazy, I’ve never told anyone this before, not even Victoria. I’m not ready. Not sure I even know it wasn’t a dream despite the intense realness of what I viewed. He turned a weary gaze back to his friend. “It’s been exhausting, John.”

  Hawthorne watched him for a moment, then pursed his lips. “I assume you have already visited a physician?” he gestured with his notebook. “Nothing of a physical nature is consuming you?”

  “No, nothing. I’m in great condition.” He slapped his chest. “Well, aside from the lack of sleep, that is,” he added.

  His friend nodded and then his face took on a rueful, apologetic look. “I am sorry but I have to ask—”

  Denis’ own face turned stony. “I know what you’re going to say and absolutely not, man!”

  Hawthorne held up his hands in peace. “I know, I know,” he shrugged. “But you see my position?” He straightened, leaning across the table and tapped a forefinger on the wood. “I’m your friend, I’m concerned, and if you ever need help—” He looked at his friend.

  Denis waved that away, his anger melted but annoyance still lingered. “I understand but I’m fine.” He waved his hand wildly. “Gods, you and Victoria are going to drive me insane,” he hissed.

  Hawthorne smiled tolerantly, willing to let the matter drop, then looked around for the serving woman. “I’ll see to the coffee, old boy, in the meantime settle down.”

  Denis drained the last drops of cold coffee and let his annoyance fall away. He was determined to enjoy the rest of his lunch visit before making his way to the house of his new client. He consulted his pocket watch. It was almost one o’clock. He had some time left, but not much.

  “Look, Hawthorne—” he started to say, then stopped as a figure outside the window caught his eye, making him pause. A wave of vertigo slapped him and he clutched at the table top as a staccato flash of white light obscured his vision for a split second. “What the hell—” he mumbled.

  In the background he could hear Hawthorne talking to a serving woman, the voices muffled and far away sounding. His fingers dug into the scarred wood. He looked out the window again. His vision tunneled and he blinked trying to scatter the darkness from his peripheral vision. The shallow ground fell away. The world spun and threatened to fling him off.

  Not again!

  Pausing outside the window was a young man, perhaps in his late twenties, looking like he didn’t belong there on the streets of New York City. Denis shook his head, marveling at both the outlandish garb and the stranger’s aura of familiarity.

  Hawthorne’s voice brought him back to Earth.

  Denis blinked, giving him a vacant look.

  Hawthorne pocketed his notebook then consulted his own watch. “Don’t you have an appointment?” he said, looking at Denis with one raised eyebrow. “Go. I’ll take care of this.” He waved his hand at the table.

  “Thanks, John.” He stood up again, this time with more finesse and grabbed his hat. “Looks like I’m grabbing a cab.”

  His friend nodded. “Now you have two meals to pay for next round.”

  Denis crammed his hat on his head and squared it off neatly and nodded. “I’ll see you later then.”

  He stepped out and joined the stream of people, a subdued feeling of dread settling around his chest. He shook himself then turned his attention to finding a free cab.

  Time to go back to work.

  Niko stopped walking and paused to get his bearings. He stepped closer to the window to avoid the passing people and pulled out the little hand drawn map and directions that the officer was kind enough to provide for him. The parchment crinkled in his hand.

  He held it up, scanning the neat handwriting and the crude, yet effective little map, then smiled. Very accurate, he thought approvingly. He twisted and turned to gaze across the street. There. He was close and needed to head in that direction. But first - he pocketed the map and thrust back his coat - he wanted to check his aural reader.

  The people of New York City flowed by him, oblivious.

  Niko pushed back the coat flap and unclipped the aural reader, letting the rifle bump against his thigh as his coat closed. It was a comforting weight and helped to keep him grounded. He toggled a black button, chirping the unit into life. Small lights awoke, declaring their ready state.

  For a brief moment his thoughts flashed back to his brother, Dane. He grimaced thinking that it was somehow wrong to feel comforted by the presence of a weapon. He wondered, not for the last time, what his brother would think of all of this. He smiled, then again, if it was not for the untimely death of his brother, his own presence would not be needed here now.

  Why me? That question bounced around his head with a familiar motion and then echoed back to him was the same response.

  Because there is no one else.

  One, Two, Three. He moved the aural reader in a fanning motion, slowly from left to right across the space in front of him. Several people stared. He ignored them and watched the receptors rise more than halfway. It was locking onto the trail. He pointed the device across the street in the direction the map indicated. The lights chirped red.

  He switched it off and returned the unit to his belt, turning toward the window slightly, and felt someone watching him. He raise
d his head sharply and stepped closer to the glass.

  A shaven headed man in a gray suit sat with another. His chair was turned towards the window. Their eyes locked. Niko felt the raw power of recognition jolt him. His eyes widened slightly. Could it be? This stranger was awash in blue-white fire, announcing his own latent ability. The man shot to his feet, tipping his chair back. No time to stop. Pity. Niko had come across precious few with the gift. No matter, he needed to move.

  Another time.

  Niko smiled crookedly at the man, winked and disappeared into the crowd.

  Denis stalked and staggered out into the street, searching this way and that for a carriage, trying to figure out just how the day managed to slip from his control. He tasted the bile on the back of his throat and suddenly wanted to punch something.

  He hailed an approaching cab, stepping back as it settled to a stop in front of him. Denis sniffed. All that time in the saddle riding with the Cavalry yet he remained steadfast in his dislike of the fragrance of horse. The driver pulled the brake and leaned over tipping his hat. Denis cleared his throat and pulled himself into seat.

  “I need to get to this address, quickly.” He directed, handing the man a card.

  The cabbie glanced briefly at it then nodded as he released the brake. “Will do, captain,” he replied, flicking his whip lightly. The cab jerked into motion and clattered along the cobblestone, moving briskly into the flow of traffic and down the boulevard.

  Denis settled in and rested his hand on the concealed Dragoon, wondering what the hell the day was going to throw at him next.

  Niko strode purposefully up the marble steps of the Astor Library, his eyes darting over the German, Rundbogenstil style architecture. He pulled a deep breath and counted the shallow steps one by one as he moved over them.

  Three, four, five. He moved quickly while mentally reviewing what he already knew of the Liber de Voltus. Over 400 years old, this archaic tome was penned by an old monk around 1469 in Italy. His many years of searching and research had led him here. Of course, there was a chance it was not here. A book that old, you never knew. He shuddered inwardly and tried not to think of that as he thrust open the massive wooden door and stepped inside the cool, small interior rotunda.

  He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. It was quiet and the scent of book ink and old parchment was a heavy touch on his senses.

  Breathing in the Library’s heady perfume, Niko entered into the inner chamber through the smaller doors. Massive shelving lined and crowded the stone walls. Niko smiled broadly at the sheer weight of information and knowledge contained in one building.

  “May I help you, sir?” a soft, but strong voice questioned.

  He turned toward the sound, his eyebrows raised. A short, slender young woman with shoulder length auburn hair and sharp, bright green eyes gazed curiously up at him. Her face had a classic beauty that tugged at his heart. It was a face sculpted by winds not of this City. She balanced a small armful of leather bound books in the crook of her arm.

  She looked him up and down, taking in his goggles, three piece suit, and long travel-worn and stained coat.

  He grinned at her and executed a small bow. “Yes, indeed, Ms.—?”

  “My name’s Hazel,” she said. “Hazel Carter.” She shifted her books and held out her hand.

  “Ah, yes, forgive me.” He took her hand and shook it firmly. “My name is Tesla, Nikola Tesla, but please, call me Niko.”

  Hazel smiled warmly. “Niko,” she repeated, letting his name roll off her tongue. “I like that,” she added then looked pointedly at his clothing. “You don’t look like you’re from around here.”

  He looked down at himself and chuckled softly. “Indeed, no Ms. Carter. I am just arrived here from overseas.”

  She nodded with pleasure. “Please, call me Hazel.” She pointed to the box slung over his shoulder. “Would you like to put that down?”

  He shifted the pine box and gave her a lop-sided grin. “I will be okay carrying this, Hazel, thank you.” He paused to adjust the leather strap then continued. “I was born in Serbia. I have been traveling around for some time.” His eyes searched the quiet library for a moment, then turned back to her. “My quest has led me here to this island city.”

  “Quest, is it?” she responded, cocking her hip. “That is both impressive and mysterious, Niko.” Her eyes narrowed. “And now you are here,” she added shrewdly.

  He nodded and leaned closer, grabbing her free hand. She caught her breath, startled, but didn’t pull away. She looked up at him, caught in his gaze. His eyes were so bright, so alive. She saw sadness and pain along with something else she could not define or put words to. Her eyes softened. This man has known loss.

  She took a small step forward, relaxing her stance. Her books fell to the floor scattering and echoing the room. She jumped but maintained their handhold.

  Niko gazed at her steadily, his dark eyes holding her captive in that moment.

  “Yes! And now, please,” he squeezed her hand gently and drew her close. “Your rare book collection, take me there.”

  “Okay,” she whispered softly, wondering at the ease at which she readily agreed to this strange man.

  The Eye-ling sped through the summer sky, crackling and streaming with living energy. It thrust the warm air aside, all but invisible to the human senses. Flocks of birds squawked with annoyance as it burst through their tidy flight formations.

  Unconcerned with the primitive winged creatures, it rocketed onward. Compelled to complete its task, the eye concentrated on the faint psychic trail the human sorcerer had impressed upon it.

  With a flash, energy ignited, and the Eye stopped abruptly, as if hitting a stone wall. It hovered and drifted slightly in the winds aloft as its gaze followed the now visible line, glowing like a silver cord, down to the city below.

  It expanded momentarily as if puffing up in triumph and it locked in on this vibration, once more speeding off, running the silver cord like a track.

  The cooler air sent a shiver along Niko’s spine and he was grateful to be wearing his coat. Hazel seemed unaffected by the change in temperature as they descended the wooden staircase. He followed her down, the oil lamp she carried surrounding her in a halo of soft golden light.

  “It’s just down here,” she said over her shoulder. “The rare book room is back along the North Wall in the section where we keep our remainders.” He nodded although she could not see him. He continued his count of each step in time with the firm click her heels made on the old wood.

  She stopped when she reached the bottom and turned to him. “Our rare book room is fairly large. Do you know what your book looks like?”

  He paused on the last step, his coat brushing her leg. He nodded once peering into the shadows. “The Liber de Voltus is a smallish, leather bound book, perhaps a half-inch deep.” He held up his thumb and forefinger. “The cover face is stamped with a coin sized bluish metallic rune.” He looked at her and shot her his lop-sided smile. “But, I don’t need to see it to find it,” he added.

  Her eyebrows danced. “Okay, Niko, that sounds crazy to me.” She retracted her head slightly. “And we really don’t know each other that well for you to make odd pronouncements like that.” She eyed his strange outfit, taking in the pine box slung across his shoulder and the dark goggles pushed high upon his forehead. His thick hair stuck out in disarray.

  “True enough, but it is also true that the book gives off an aura.” He shook his head. “I do not expect you to believe. However, I can sense this energy, these auras. Ever since I was a small boy I could do so.”

  Hazel looked at him, not sure what to think of that. She stayed silent.

  He smiled patiently. “It is better that I show you,” he pointed into the darkness.

  “Over here,” Hazel spoke in a hushed tone better served for churches and not empty basement libraries as she moved toward a heavy, iron bound oak door. “Here, hold this,” she said, handing him the lamp. “
This lock can be difficult.”

  Niko stopped and looked at her with amusement. “Why are we whispering?” he asked, taking the lamp from her. “There is no one here.”

  “What?” She stood at the door, busying herself with the lock. “Oh, I don’t know.” She shrugged but then continued in a more normal tone. “Libraries bring it out in me, I suppose, and honestly—” she twisted her head to look around. “This place feels holy.” The golden lamplight caught her wide green eyes, reflecting back the passion in her voice. “Don’t you feel it?”

  He nodded at her approvingly. “I do indeed,” he responded in a quieter voice.

  She laughed, a strong, clear sound that warmed Niko. For a quick moment he wished he was here just for the sake of the knowledge itself and not working against the damn clock to stop an evil from spreading.

  There was a sharp click. “There.” Hazel pushed open the old door sending years of dust dancing and swirling up into the musty air.

  Holding the lamp high, Niko stepped forward, the light illuminating a forty by forty foot room lined with heavy, floor to ceiling bookcases. Two large tables occupied the center of the room, books everywhere. The shelves were packed tightly and every available space on the tables was covered with book stacks of varying heights. Here and there on the floor, book piles rose like hills along the stone floor.

  Hazel stood next to him and waved her hand across the room. “See? It’s not too terribly disorganized, but there are a lot of books here.” She looked around, frowning. “I do need to get in here and catalog,” she mumbled critically.

  Niko nodded but said nothing as he held the lamp out to her. “If you please? I shall need both hands free to do this.” He held up his free hand and wiggled his fingers.