Chapter 22
I awoke with a dry mouth as a distant male voice was speaking, “–know this guy’s got friends on the council. He’ll just get off again.”
Shit. Am I dead?
“The system isn’t perfect, but Thomas deserves a trial. If he’s found guilty, they’ll kill him anyway, so what do you care?”
Bree? Was that her voice? Am I haunting her?
Of course it isn’t Bree. She wouldn’t defend you.
“That maniac is unstable,” the guy said. “The Imperium refuses to believe it, but you know him. You know he’s dangerous. We’ll tell the judges that Thomas died of the injuries James gave him.”
“And what then? Go arrest James? He’s innocent too.”
“Perhaps of that crime, but not of many others,” the man replied.
“James is not a murderer. He proved that. We’ll worry about James later. Keeping tabs on Thomas is my job. Meeting Mr. Cane is yours. You have somewhere to be, Ingram.”
There was a pause, and a shuffling of feet followed by the slam of a door.
I had no idea where I was. Darkness consumed my vision. Or maybe my eyes were just closed. I wasn’t entirely sure. Upon feeling the horrendous pains throughout my body, I at least concluded I was alive. Somehow. Even the simple act of opening my eyes took effort. I tried to look around, but felt a cloth around my head. Great. They blindfolded me. I could feel it pressed against my face, snugger on the right side than on the left.
Slipping back into a groggy sleep, I tried to focus my thoughts, but my mind kept spinning.
Think, Thomas. What are your options?
I took a breath, feeling a dull pain in my chest, and buried my head deeper into whatever it was touching. A pillow? Can’t be – I don’t sleep on my stomach. Besides, I wouldn’t sleep in a place like this.
Take a moment to think through your thoughts. You’re fine, Thomas.
Rolling over, I grunted as I put weight onto bound hands, and grunted even louder as I rolled over and put weight on my scarred ass.
Then, to my glorious surprise, the blindfold had miraculously vanished. No, that’s not right – I’d had my face against the pillow the whole time.
Think through your thoughts? Does that phrase even make sense? I’m definitely out of this fight.
I lifted my head slightly and gazed around at my surroundings. A dim beam of pale, orange light came from a small window near the ceiling. It was the kind of light that came from an old streetlight. The air smelled damp and slightly of paint. A well-used easel contained a canvas of a partially finished forest scene decorated one corner. I was on a hard bed, but whose?
I remembered James’ maddened face and grimaced at the memory. Wondering how beat up I’d gotten, I felt around for any new injuries.
My bottom. Nothing new there. There was a numb spot on my face. Whether it was an inch or a foot wide, I couldn’t tell. My shoulder was numb, and it felt like I had bulge in my head the size of something big. Clearly, I wasn’t thinking clearly, or my thoughts would be more... clear. I hoped that didn’t mean I’d lost my ability to cast. Yet even if I could think clearly I doubted that Bree would have given me enough freedom to make a focus for my magic.
I was fairly certain I wasn’t wearing a polyester bathrobe when I’d been fighting James, but that’s what I was wearing now. Polyester mixed well with lots of materials and that made it nearly impossible to figure its exact composition. I doubted there was ever a mage that could make a focus out of this stuff. The texture of the robe seemed so... so... clear? No, that word can’t fit.
My mind shot back to the easel and the hint of dried paint that still lingered in the air, and I bit my lip in frustration. This was Bree’s house. It had to be. What other painter would want me tied up?
Shit. I’ve been arrested. Again.
A new light hit the wall near the staircase for a moment, allowing me to see feet coming down the musky stairs.
“You awake?” Bree asked.
My head pounded stronger than any hangover I’d ever had. “That depends. Am I tied up in your basement?”
She stared at me like the idiot I was.
“Then I guess I’m awake.”
“Good,” she said. “The judge will be here tomorrow. They’ll hold a trial here, and determine your fate.”
“So, am I still the number one suspect?”
She didn’t respond verbally. I suspected a death glare was coming my way.
“I take it you didn’t find Kelly Freidman.”
She closed her mouth and glared.
I sat up, which took awhile. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, careful to keep my weight on my undamaged side. The mattress wasn’t on a frame or a mattress pad, so they didn’t have far to drop. Bree didn’t take chances, and a bed frame of any kind was a potential focus for a mage. I knew how to enchant most woods and metals.
“Thomas, if you admit to it, they may go easy on you,” she said.
“If I admit to it, they’ll kill me outright,” I scowled, trying to wipe my sleepy face, but instead just pulled at my bindings. “Besides, I didn’t do it.”
“Kelly Freidman did,” she said shortly.
“Yeah. I don’t know, maybe.”
Suddenly, she had me by the collar and was lifting my face toward hers. “You think I’m an idiot, Thomas?”
Tasting iron as blood ran across the edge of my tongue, I looked helplessly up at her and shouted incoherent words.
“We’ve been monitoring James Freidman for months,” she yelled.
“Get off!”
“I know exactly where she was that night,” she shoved my back down into the hard mattress. “She was in James’ apartment packing her suitcase because she knew you’d be after her. You have no alibi, and you were seen taking a package from Lance the day before the murder. That’s motive, means, and opportunity. So try that again – did you kill Emmitt Cane?”
“Package?” I said, recoiling as she gave another fierce pull at my collar. “From Lan– hold on, that never happened! Who told–”
And then it hit me. Dim wits didn’t stop it from hitting me like a freight train. I stopped struggling and just stared up at her. “It wasn’t me – it was...” I took a gamble and looked up at her. “It wasn’t Kelly, either, but I know who killed Emmitt Cane.”
She tightened her grip on my collar. “There was another murder – Jackson Something, or maybe Something Jackson. I don’t know his full name, but it was the man that Kelly Freidman was sleeping around with,” I said, my eyes fiercely determined. Her own eyes looked outranged, but she didn’t stop me. “Heard of him? Well, a ghost killed him the other day. He died first, before it went after Emmitt. Kelly told her sister, Katherine. Katherine told me. I also heard that Kelly went to the police, but why go to the police about a matter concerning Magic?”
Bree stared down, a snarl still on her lips.
“Kelly Freidman didn’t go to the police about Jackson’s murder. She went to you guys! The Guardians of the Imperium!” I said urgently up at her, struggling at the ropes around my wrists. I didn’t care if she noticed. “Let me guess. You missed out on the whole damned thing. Meanwhile, Kelly Freidman is telling your partner, Paul everything he needs to know about summoning the ghost. Kelly Freidman didn’t realize it, but she wasn’t giving him a ghost story. She was giving him a weapon. The Paul killed her to simplify things. Then, he used the knowledge to summon a ghost to kill Emmitt Cane. Who else was there the night of Daniel’s speech? Who else knew you would have your vision open?”
With narrowed eyes, she shook her head slowly.
“Up in Cameron’s ballroom,” I shouted up at her. “He realized I was digging too deep, so he planned to frame me a second time. I threw a wrench in his plans when I diverted the ghost to myself, but you didn’t see that, because standard operating procedure is for one mage to have the vision activated. The battlemage keeps his vision off, just in case someone does a blast like the one that stunned
the two of us. And later in the car, I summoned the ghost to attack me in hopes that I’d break free and run. I thought the ghost was sentient, but the moment I got out of the killer’s sight it stopped following me. I did the work for Paul by summoning it – all he had to do was keep on pumping power into it after I was done, in hopes that the ghost would finish me off. I mean, he got out and fought side by side with the damned thing. I should have realized who it was right there. He wasn’t afraid of the ghost attacking him, because he knew the ghost would go after me. If the ghost killed me, good! Everything wraps up perfectly for him – I take the blame, and get executed by a botched spell.”
“You think the killer was–” she began.
“Yes. Paul Ingram killed Emmitt Cane.” I wasn’t sure if it was a shift in the air, or the shifting pressure that tipped me off, but the back of my danger sense erupted. Yet at that very moment, I somehow felt an overwhelming surge of power pass through the room. The air became cold and dry, and the already cool basement dropped several degrees. The sudden changes made my head spin. “Shit – that’s probably a code phrase.”
She turned around, sensing the spells as well.
Gripping me tightly by the shoulder, she yanked me hard to my feet. Wearing nothing but a loosely tied robe, I dreaded the thought of another scandalous fight like the one from the night before. At least this time I had an ally. Hopefully.
I heard the Ghost of Gregory Scythe before I saw him. An inhuman roar of rage in its purest form rattled the foundation of the house. Howling like a rabid wolf upon a wounded rabbit, the spirit appeared with an insane grin.
“Untie me,” I pleaded, turning around.
She took out a knife and cut the ropes. “You’re in no condition to cast. Stay behind me.”
“I’m fine,” I said, my determination acting as strongly as any drug. I stepped toward the only exit – the stairs leading up.
“You’ll just get in the way.” she said, stepping in front of me. Then, she pulled out a pair of semi-transparent pistols. One colored light blue, the other of a rosy pink; both were only about the size of a peashooter.
However, the moment she set foot on the staircase, an erupting flame replaced the bitter chill. It started in several places simultaneously – the mattress, the easel, the full length of the wooden staircase, and even the concrete walls were suddenly laced by inferno. Anything flammable was now licked by fire. Born of magic, the flames didn’t appear in an explosion so much as a sudden uproar.
And with them came a geyser of heat. Bree stumbled backwards into me. Her hands rose up to her face, more out of fear and surprise than actual pain. By reaction alone, I grasped her arm and pulled her into the direct center of the room, mere feet from the ghost.
“Where’s my staff?” I demanded.
She ignored the question, rounding on the ghost and holding up both guns in front of her like some sort of action star. Thin spurts of water expunged out of their tips. As the water passed through its iridescent skin, the ghost let out another howl. This time, his inner-wolf screamed in agony. “Upstairs. Bedroom. My closet.”
We were once engaged, so I could picture its location with perfect recollection. It’d been a year, but I remembered the house’s layout well, which made locking onto it exceptionally simple. Focusing on the making a clone of my staff, I opened my vision.
And suddenly, it hung a few feet to my right, made of pure, silvery metal. It quivered, waiting for me to grab it.
The staff itself was upstairs. What I was seeing was the mass of the metal core. It took hours of preparation to program the spell. There were only a few mages throughout history that mastered the trick, but it was worth it. It was the spell I considered to be my spell. Holding the cloned staff was the same as like holding the staff itself, and all the spells it contained. Gripping the cold, invisible surface, I swerved it around a bit to test out its mobility.
Upstairs, the staff, arose and moved in the same manner, and got caught on something. Probably clothes, since that’s what tends to build up in a bedroom closet. Great. I’ve got my weapon, but it’s stuck pointing to the sky.
The ghost rippled to oblivion, still howling as the spurts of water ripped holes through him. The flames around the room, meanwhile, still were building momentum as I looked at Bree’s desperate face. Even a few seconds in, her precious possessions were charring as quickly as mine had. I spun desperately toward the staircase, only to find a fiery mess.
I shouted over the crackling of flame “What’s in the squirt guns?” I yelled, stepping to her side as the ceiling above heaved out a massive groan.
“Holy water,” she answered my question.
“What the hell for?”
“The ghost, dumbass.
“Right.” I said, impressed at the simple ingenuity of it. Holy water is a widely used repellent of the supernatural. Even people who don’t believe in the supernatural would likely believe in the protection granted by holy water. “So now do you think I’m innocent?”
“You activated Ingram’s spell,” she answered, her back pressing against mine as the flames closed in. “You’re still a killer if we die.”
The ghost, now invisible, let out another anger filled howl.
A crash from upstairs rattled the ceiling enough to topple the burning wooden staircase, which was our only exit.
“You think you can throw up a shield?” I asked.
“What are you–”
Another earsplitting crack cut her off. Being in a mage’s stronghold, I had no way of knowing just how many booby-traps Ingram set up. An adequate mage – take me, for example – could level a house within seconds if given enough time to prepare. I needed to act now.
You’re only one man, Thomas! You can’t fight this much fire.
Maybe it was a desperate last effort. Maybe this little quest was going to be my last. But damn it – if I’m going to die, I’m going to do everything possible before my final breath. I did a rough calculation for my equations.
I could feel my ethereal staff grow warm through my sweaty, gloved hands – ah-ha! That’s why my hands felt so weird.
“Ventus Pulsis!” I said. A minuscule break in the heat formed. The ceiling rattled, but nothing else happened.
Magic, like everything else, is bound to the laws of Conservation of Energy. In other words, if you want to move something, you need some source of energy to power it up. Lucky for me, I had no reason to hold back. Also luckily, I just happen to specialize in deals with converting heat energy into various other kinds of energy.
But to blow up a house? You’re way out of your league, Thomas. Accept it – you’ve lost.
Stretching my aching mind and shoving down the fear that invaded the equations, I repeated, “Ventus Pulsis!”
The spell had no effect. Hot, chalky dust flowed down my windpipe as smoke completely permeated the air in the room. A wave of hot energy encased one side of my face, and even as I ripped away, I could feel my skin tighten. The ghost let out a low cackle. My mind blurred, but I could still make out his oily hair and grimy features when he appeared before me.
“Ventus Pulsis!”
Nope. Failed again, Thomas.
A roar of bellowing thunder reverberated through the room as the ceiling threatened to cave in. If the smoke didn’t block my vision, the prickling pain in my eyes certainly did. By now, I wouldn’t be surprised I’d be permanently blind. I took another heavy breath. The smoke entered my throat and dulled my mind like a dozen shots of vodka.
I blocked out everything else and ignored the heat as it wrapped around me seeping into the robe and through my thin hair.
Bree fell to one knee. Her hand clung desperately to my arm as the ceiling above us cracked a third time. It wouldn’t be long now. The equations weren’t coming. Try as I might, I simply couldn’t think.
Suddenly, my mind was somewhere else entirely. I was back in South America, looking down to where my father lay before me. His shirt was dyed by blood as a massiv
e beast stood over him. I wondered distantly why Dad wasn’t in the house with me. My father will save me, won’t he? Like he tried to back in the warehouse? My father is invincible. He could get me out of here, right?
The memory of my youth drifted away as another memory came to mind. This time, I stood facing Lucian and Lara Mercer. I remembered the relief at being given a new home. A new family.
I struggled to regain my focus. To come back to the chaotic present.
Exhaustion overtook my balance, and I dropped to one knee with my palm on the ground. Where was Lara, anyway? Was she still in the middle of this mess? Was she still searching for the true killer? Or had Ingram trapped her, like he’d trapped me?
I was suddenly eighteen again, working for the Guardians. I looked down at my talisman, a symbol as well known in the magical world as a police badge was in America. No, it wasn’t just a symbol. That talisman was the one artifact that proved my worth. Despite everything I’d gone through, I could still accomplish my goals. No matter what trials I had, I could always remember how I’d overcome all my setbacks and become a guardian.
“Thomas...” I heard a gentle voice say. “Get up.”
This time, it wasn’t a memory that came to mind through the hazy smoke. It was the clear voice of Cameron Cane. I looked up, my racing mind somehow expected to see him standing in the flames.
Instead, I locked eyes on a four-foot tall child with no eyes. The same child as the one tortured in Lance’s warehouse. The flames encased the child’s body without harming him as blood trickled out his empty eye sockets.
“Now is not your time,” Cameron’s voice said, although the kid’s lips didn’t move.
The smoke. The flames. They still surrounded me. The inky soot of the room encased me entirely, as thick as death. The grim reaper’s shroud had enclosed around me, yet the calming sight pushed down the fear. I didn’t know why the child came to mind, but I knew he spoke the truth.
I’d trained my entire life to become a guardian, not so I could fight for the Imperium but so that I could help people. I lost the talisman, but the skills I learned would remain forever. I could – no, I would get us out of this.
The vision of the child faded back to reality. The white spots in my vision got smaller as I gripped the ethereal staff beside me. I cleared my mind of everything but the equations and my desired purpose, and whispered, “Ventus Pulsis.”
Light encased my vision. Real, pure moonlight. I felt my staff I held shoot upwards with the rest of the house. I imagined that the sound of being nuked was about on par with the explosion that surrounded me. The change in pressure that occurred as the spell converted all the heat in the room into one giant blast took me off my feet, flipped me over, and dropped me down onto my back. But the sight that met me next was of purest relief. It was like seeing a blue sky after a yearlong thunderstorm.
It was the sight of life, when only a moment ago you knew you were going to die. I looked up at the starry sky and watching as shards of charred wood continued to fly up.
Then, seconds later, they began plunking down like raindrops.
The heat of the fire supplied everything I needed. The blast of wind into the heavens momentarily expelled all oxygen from the room, but resulted in a pleasant breeze upon the both of us as we lay there, alive.
I’d done the impossible. I defied gravity.
But gravity decided to strike back. The wreckage reversed its direction. A three-foot long, pointed stud that launched straight up spun and fell back down, right toward me. My relief converted to amused terror. Here I’d pulled off the most spectacular spell I’d ever done – possibly the biggest anyone had ever done, only for this. The makeshift spear hissed down toward me and I couldn’t do a damned thing. I just lay there with a suicide grin on my face until it pounded into an invisible wall a few feet above me.
The wooden beam splintered into several pieces and simply hung above me for a second or two. When the pieces flopped down sideways, they hung suspended for another second. Then, they dropped harmlessly on top of me.
Bree moaned beside me.
The room looked like a burned junkyard, with the exception of the one, small hole in the center where we were.
Turning my head, an action that shot a new series of aches down my neck and back, I saw the less fortunate of the two of us – Bree.
She wasn’t bleeding, but that was about the only relief. I ignored my own numerous aches as I pushed myself up and toward her. Pounds of ash poured off me as I moved.
Lying face up, Bree’s typically strawberry blonde hair held about as much ash as a dirty fireplace. Her skin was dyed like a thundercloud, and to my horror, she hadn’t quite made it into Amberose Crater.
Charred planks of wood and soot buried both of her legs and one arm, making it impossible to determine how badly she’d been wounded. Hell, maybe she was bleeding, but for all the grime I’d never know. The only sure thing was her next destination; a hospital.
“Bree!”
Somehow, that year long bitterness we shared didn’t matter. The only thing I saw was my fiancée. I slumped down beside her mouth to listen for breath.
“Go. Find Ingram,” she wheezed.
I ignored her. “You okay? How bad is it?”
“I’ll be...” She looked down at herself and screeching out a grunt of pain; the sound made my own chest jerk in empathy. “Just go.”
A large plank of wood had nestled itself tightly against her shoulder, digging against her skin. I grabbed it and shoved it away, but as I did a large slab of sheetrock higher up the crater wall began to slide toward her. Shoving myself hard against it, I knocked it aside so it slid harmlessly down past her.
“Go!” she screamed at me.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You’re impossible,” she sighed, weakly. “Ingram is meeting with the new CEO tonight. I don’t know his angle, but I know that innocent lives are in danger.”
Scanning the rubble and trying to assess any danger spots, I snarled, “I’m not–”
“Damn it Thomas! For once in your life, you have to listen to me! People could die!”
I gripped a large plank and started to pull it off of her, but hesitated.
She’d been right a year ago. She told me to leave Lance Ruben alone. She made me promise I wouldn’t follow her brother, who we both suspected worked with Lance. I promised I wouldn’t, but I followed him anyway, where I was unlucky enough to find exactly what I was looking for.
And her brother and four others died because I didn’t listen to her.
“Go,” she said, putting her hand in mine. She had a set of keys in it.
I knew I’d hate myself if I got up and left, just as I knew that Bree would hate me if I didn’t. I looked down at her, wondering how I could consider running when she lay there, half dead. I continued pulling at the plank, but she let out a cry.
“Damn you, Thomas – if you kill me...” she trailed off, breathing careful, shallow breaths. “Go. Save them.”
I sat there for a second, half in shock. “I’m sorry.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, and let her head rest on the floor behind her.
Soot and ash rolled off my robe as I arose. Hating every step I took out of the smoking crater, I climbed up to the suburbia outside. A crowd had gathered, and in the distance I heard a fire truck siren. Good – at least they’d find her quickly. I considered running for Bree’s car, but took a second or two to think.
As I did, one of the neighbors helped me out to the lawn.
“There’s else someone down there!” I shouted to everyone, joining the crowd. The neighbors started a chorus of gossip upon the sight of me. The only thing the robe had going on for me was that it seemed casual. I figured if anyone asked, I’d say I’m her brother, or boyfriend, or something. A fire engine was already nearing the scene.
Picking a key at random, I quickly focused the tip. Then, with a breath to calm my nerves, I magnetized it to my st
aff. It wasn’t meant to pull the staff to me. Instead, when I held the other, non-magical keys above the focused one, the pull the objects created pointed me in the right direction. It wasn’t the best compass I’d ever made, but the key dangled toward the street.
Perfect – my staff was right at the curb, waiting for me. And lucky for me, it seemed completely unharmed. A bit blackened around the edges, perhaps, but the petrified wood was as firm as ever.
I continued forward, toward Bree’s black SUV. Only seconds later, I drove off, determined to stop Ingram.