Atlantis Unleashed (26 page)

He rested his head on top of hers and embraced her so tightly that she almost couldn't breathe. She was about to protest when she realized he was trembling against her. The internal battle he was waging must be one hell of a fight, and the worst part was that she didn't know how to help him.

There was only one thing she could think of, and it was the simplest. She slipped her arms around his waist, and she hugged him back. A violent shudder shook his body and he eased up the slightest bit on the death grip he had on her ribs.

They sat, unmoving and silent, for several minutes, and then he raised his head. “I know what I have to do. I must make a bargain with a demon and hope we don't all end up in hell.”

Atlantis, the palace

After a long, hot shower and a change of clothes, Alexios headed down the immense tapestry-lined corridor to report in to Conlan. The intricate weaving and brilliant hues of Atlantean history—scenes woven over the course of thousands of years—barely registered as he headed for the war room.

The war room. Its walls had listened in, silent and without judgment, on the plans of Atlanteans for more than eleven thousand years.

Alexios wondered if walls could laugh.

Plans, plots, never-ending meetings to discuss never-ending wars. They were all merely chess pieces in a game played by gods, and even the strongest of the Warriors of Poseidon rarely rose higher than pawn.

That pawns were the most frequently sacrificed had crossed his mind a time or two.

Finally arriving, he stopped short, surprised to see guards posted at the door. Conlan—or, more likely, Ven—must be wary of treachery that could reach into the palace itself. It was unthinkable, and yet the presence of the guards demonstrated that someone had been thinking exactly that.

“Lord Alexios,” the elder, a battle-hardened veteran, said. “Prince Conlan and Lord Vengeance await you inside.”

The other pulled the heavy door open, and Alexios entered the room, glancing up at the walls as he did so. Silent wit nesses, he mocked himself. Plaster and marble and wooden beams, shaped by tools into something of function.

Much like himself.

Shaking his head to disrupt his grim thoughts, Alexios looked around. Conlan and Ven leaned over the long, scarred, wooden table in the center of the room, poring over maps. Ven moved to one side, sliding his finger down a map and muttering something, then glanced up and acknowledged Alexios with a nod.

As Alexios crossed the room, he got his second surprise. The human woman Tiernan Butler, clad in jeans and a white shirt, her dark hair pulled back from her face, stood between the two brothers. Judging by the expressions on their faces, whatever they were discussing wasn't good.

Conlan and Ven wore simple clothing: dark shirts and pants similar to his own. Nothing in their attire shouted out the fact that they were royalty. The high prince, soon to be king, of Atlantis and his younger brother, next in line to the throne, never traded upon their heritage to put themselves above others. Even so, royalty and the aura of unflinching command radiated from them, a silent herald of their birthright.

The birthright—at least by half—of one other. One gone missing, yet again.

“News of Justice?”

Conlan shook his head. “None. And no contact with Alaric, either. Do you have news of him?”

Alexios whistled, low and long. “I'd thought he'd make it back here before me. He went after Quinn; she was wounded in the battle.”

Ven's hands fisted, crumpling the map he held. The prince respected Quinn for the warrior she was but, more than that, she'd become his friend. Indeed, she was family, now that her sister Riley would wed Conlan.

Human marrying Atlantean. He thought of Bastien—Atlantean marrying shape-shifter. Ever more twisting skeins of yarn for some future tapestry that one day would decorate the palace corridors, perhaps foretelling the final end to those never-ending wars he'd mused on earlier.

“It was a minor wound,” he assured them. “But you know Alaric. He and Quinn have a . . . bond. He followed her, in order to make sure of her well-being.” He quickly filled them in on what had occurred in St. Louis. “Quinn, Jack, and Denal went after the vampire leaders.”

Alexios didn't elaborate as to what the trio would do to the vamps when they caught up with them. He didn't need to.

Conlan shot a glance at his brother then nodded. “If Quinn's wound is minor, Alaric should return soon. There is nothing we can do to track Justice until that time, so we should focus on the matter at hand. Tiernan has given us much news of the plans for the Apostates.”

Alexios's gaze settled on the human, then returned to his prince. “Is that wise? Especially considering where we found her, are we going to trust that what she tells us is truth and not some elaborate sort of trap, with her as bait?”

Instead of becoming defensive, Tiernan smiled at him. “You'd make a good reporter, Atlantean. Never believe anything you hear. Fact-check, fact-check, fact-check.”

She paused, and her cheeks flushed a dull red. “The truth is that I got in over my head. I thought I knew the setup; I went in as part of the catering staff. I knew they wouldn't start the festivities until the caterers left, but I thought I might hear something useful. Instead, I got blindsided.”

“Forced to take your clothes off and be part of the orgy?” Alexios said, not believing a damn word of it.

“No, I . . . The caterers were in on it. I was ordered to take a load of empty platters down to the catering van and not come back. But I took a detour to the bathroom and then managed to hide behind that couch when nobody was looking.” She touched her bruised face. “Got this shiner when somebody tossed a bottle back there and it hit me. It was tough to keep from crying out. But one of those nasty old men saw me, and I had to play along and pretend I was shy and it was my first party. It would have been dangerous for me to run; he was suspicious. So I had to undress while the pervert watched. Then he took my clothes and said he'd be right back. I was trying to figure out how to get out of Dodge when you guys busted in.”

“Rather convenient timing, isn't it? If anything you're saying is true,” Alexios said. “Maybe we'd better triple-check your version of the facts.”

“Which is exactly what we're going to do, with every piece of information she gives us,” Ven said flatly. “But she was right about the Void, and what she's telling us now confirms information we have from independent intelligence. So far, so good, in other words.”

Tiernan pointed at one of the maps, and Alexios moved closer in order to see. “They're starting in the most populated areas and working their way out. Big cities—major metropolitan areas. New York, of course. Boston. Seattle. Jackson ville, Florida, of all places. Urban sprawl hits vampires, too, I guess,” she said. “We've been working on this story for nearly three years. The Apostates, and the cult of Algolagnia.”

“Who is
we
?” Conlan asked.

“Yeah, I find it hard to believe that your bosses at the
Boston Herald
are encouraging you to go after this story,” Ven said, shaking his head. “Last we heard, that paper was one of nearly three dozen in the United States run by a consortium of shape-shifters.”

Tiernan looked up at him, a smile quirking at the edges of her lips. “You seem to hear a lot. Is it true that Donald Trump is a shape-shifter, or is that just an unsubstantiated rumor?”

Ven snorted. “With that hair?”

Alexios couldn't find it in himself to be amused. Not after escorting half of the rebel team to the emergency room. “Perhaps we could leave the attempts at humor by the wayside, until a more appropriate time.” He heard the snap in his voice, but made no apology. To apologize would be to dishonor the wounded . . . and Grace.

Conlan's gaze rested upon him for a moment, considering, and then the prince nodded. “Alexios is right. But again I must ask, who is this
we
to whom you refer? We have heard of no human investigation into the Apostates.”

“If you'd heard of us, it would mean we weren't doing our jobs,” Tiernan retorted. “We're investigative reporters, and we work underground. We gather sources, facts, and solid evidence. Then and only then do we take the story live. This is going to be the biggest story of my career when it breaks.”

Alexios decided to try a bluff. “We've heard of you, too, reporter. We've heard that you're a glory seeker who thinks Pulitzer is her middle name. We've heard you're unreliable and sloppy. Why would we possibly want to work with you?”

For a split second, so quickly that Alexios almost missed it, Tiernan's dark eyes went hazy and unfocused. “That is a lie,” she said, her voice almost eerily calm. “You have never heard of me, and you haven't heard of my investigation, either. You don't know who to trust, and you're worried about your friend.

“There's more,” she said, turning toward Conlan. “You're afraid that whatever he did—Justice—with or
to
that archaeologist is going to have repercussions for Atlantis. Terrible repercussions.”

Suddenly she blinked and shuddered a little, like a water bird shaking droplets from its feathers, and pasted a grin on her suddenly pale face. “Don't bluff a poker player.”

A heavy silence freighted the air. Something odd had just happened, but Alexios wasn't sure what. All of his senses were telling him that Tiernan was merely human.

Then again, so were Quinn and Riley. Human and
aknasha'an
. Emotional empaths after thousands of years. Erin—a gem singer. No one was surprised by the merely
odd
anymore.

“All right, let's operate on the assumption that you're telling the truth,” Conlan said. He pointed at the map. “Show us.”

In rapid succession, Tiernan pointed to a dozen heavily populated areas. “All of these. The cult of Algolagnia is recruiting heavily. Unfortunately, their version of recruiting is a lot more like what we would call the draft.”

Ven swore viciously under his breath in ancient Atlantean, no doubt in deference to Tiernan. Regardless of the language, however, the meaning was clear. “So what you're saying—”

“Is that it's not voluntary,” Tiernan finished his sentence. “Not very many people, no matter what you think of us humans, sign up to have their brains turned into mashed potatoes.”

“Vivid imagery, but how appropriate is the analogy?” Conlan asked. “Are you saying Anubisa and her acolytes are enthralling the humans? As distasteful as that is, it's a temporary measure. We have seen this for centuries. Indeed, millennia.”

“There is nothing temporary about this,” Tiernan said ad amantly. “We have evidence of actual permanent distortion of brain patterns. We've got brain surgeons, neurologists, and neuropsychiatrists working with us. MRIs of the brains of affected individuals are far, far different than scans of people merely suffering from temporary enthrallment.”

She paused, staring at each one of them in turn, as if to emphasize her point. “Anubisa is creating an army of human minions with shattered minds, who will never, ever be able to return to themselves. She's playing Sudoku with our brains, and somebody's got to stop it.”

Unless she was an actress far better than any Alexios had ever seen on the stage, Tiernan was telling the truth. The passion and pain in her voice had nearly caused it to break, but there was steel in the woman. Steel honed in outrage rather than fire, perhaps, but steel nonetheless.

“Shattered minds can be healed,” Conlan said.

Ven stared at him. “The Star of Artemis? But that's—”

Conlan made a subtle hand gesture, cutting his brother off mid-thought.

Ven narrowed his eyes, but complied. Then he slammed his fist on the table, startling them all. “It's always back to her,” he snarled. “How is the universe so out of balance that Poseidon sits idly by and lets the vampire goddess roll the dice with the futures of three races?”

“You speak blasphemy, I feel compelled to point out, even though I can't disagree,” Conlan said. “Perhaps, for now, we should focus on what direction we can take in this battle, rather than flailing at the actions of gods.”

Tiernan gasped a little. “Are you saying that Anubisa is actually a goddess? And by Poseidon, do you mean the mythical sea god?” She narrowed her eyes. “I came to you about a
real
problem, with
real
information about your friend, expecting
real
help. Is this your idea of a joke? Let's feed fairy tales to the human?”

Alexios swept his arm out in a gesture encompassing the room in which they stood. “You're in Atlantis, Tiernan Butler. The mythical lost continent of Atlantis, as your kind likes to call it. Do you really want to discount the existence of the sea god when you stand in his realm, far beneath the surface of the oceans?”