Cracks in Reality (Seams in Reality Book 2) (21 page)

* * *

Blake leaned against his car with his arms crossed and sighed with impatience. Kuperman was late.

The lumber mill was a three-story structure made entirely of raw wood. The jumbled architecture with its uneven roofline reminded him of a shanty town. Rooms were stacked haphazardly, and some walls were missing as if construction had never quite finished. The mill was perched on the narrow shore of a small river, and a tall hill stood on the other side.

The pleasant weather soothed Blake's irritation. The air was cold enough to turn his breath into fog, but a bright sun and a clear sky created the illusion of warmth. Birds twittered in the trees, and the river gurgled softly.

"It's noon," Dean said.

"I'm aware of the time," Blake said, "thank you."

"How well do you know this guy?"

"I've never met him in person, but I've done my homework. He'll be here."

Dean had tried to dress casually, but he wasn't good at it. He clearly preferred a suit and a tie. He was wearing a blue jogging suit with a white nylon windbreaker for extra warmth. The jogging suit was stretched around his midsection.

"If you say so." Dean paused. "I've been thinking."

"About what?"

Blake's gaze settled on Phillip. The boy was standing by the river practicing coin tricks. He was making quarters vanish, reappear, and jump from hand to hand. He had acquired Blake's skill at stage magic along with the rest of Blake's memories. Phillip's hands were smaller though, and he was working through some awkwardness.

"You gave us a lot of information," Dean said, "but I can't verify any of it. How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Blake could've put Dean at ease with mind-control, but Blake decided to try simple psychology first. He didn't like falling back to the same cheat every time.

"Why would I lie?" Blake said. "What could I possibly gain from this crazy scheme?"

"I don't know."

"When you figure it out, you tell me. I've dedicated my life to destroying sorcerers. I've taken incredible risks to gather information and discover their secret lairs. I spent weeks researching this plan. You hate them in the abstract, but for me, it's personal. I can't rest until the last trace of sorcery on Earth is blotted out and the murder of that boy's mother is avenged." Blake nodded towards Phillip. "I'm angry about you even suspecting me of leading you on. Again, what would be my motivation? It's not like I'm making any money here."

Dean blushed.

"This is my plan," Blake added, "and if I'm caught, I'll be killed. How dare you question my authenticity!"

A white SUV pulled up. A pudgy man wearing a white, one-piece bodysuit stepped out. Drops of paint marked his clothes.

"Hi," Blake said. "Are you Kuperman?"

The pudgy man nodded. "Let's make this quick. I only get a half-hour for a lunch break."

He opened the back door of his SUV. Blake walked around and saw a big pile of plastic bags containing silver-gray powder. They were marked, "Aluminum Powder - 500 mesh - 5 lb."

Two of Blake's bodyguards came forward to help. They carried stacks of bags to Blake's car and deposited them in the trunk.

"That doesn't look like a lot," Dean said. "How much did you buy?"

"Two hundred pounds," Blake said. "According to my calculations, that should be just right."

Kuperman joined them. "Where is my money?"

Dean took a slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it over. "This is a cashier's check. You can deposit it at any bank, but you might want to wait a week or two so it looks less suspicious."

Kuperman inspected the check carefully. He held it up to the sun as if looking for a watermark.

"Don't worry," Dean said. "It's good."

"And if it isn't, who do I talk to? I never got your name."

"How much did you pay for the powder?" Blake said.

Kuperman furrowed his brow. "Nothing, I guess."

"Right, you stole it, and if the check is bad, you've lost nothing. Stop acting like this is supposed to be an honorable transaction."

Blake's men finished transferring the aluminum. Everybody returned to their own vehicles and left.

* * *

Phillip was running through the streets of Charleston, West Virginia as fast as his legs could carry him. The sun had set, but street lights provided plenty of light. He had left the apartment with just a shirt, pants, and no jacket. He wasn't even wearing shoes, and he was very cold. The hard running wasn't warming him up enough. The bottoms of his feet were already sore from rubbing on the rough pavement.

He needed to find a police officer. If Phillip told his story to the authorities, word would quickly reach the BPI, and they would immediately dispatch a team. Within hours, sorcerers powerful enough to protect Phillip from Blake would arrive in Charleston.

Phillip was suppressing his energy emissions to an undetectable level. It was a trick he had acquired from Blake, and ironically, Phillip was using it to hide from Blake now.

Phillip saw a dark blue police car cruising on the street. He ran in front of the car, and it squealed to a stop, almost striking him.

A woman wearing a crisp blue uniform stepped out. "What are you doing, kid?" she said. "What's wrong?"

Her brown hair was tied back in a bun. Her uniform fit snugly on her trim body, but a bulky vest gave her a somewhat masculine profile.

"A man is after me!" Phillip cried. "Blake Blutstein. He's a very powerful sorcerer. I was lucky to escape. If he catches me, I may not get away again!"

"Slow down. Tell me exactly what happened."

"Not here! Take me somewhere safe first. We need to go
now
!"

The officer frowned. Her nameplate read, "Buchanan."

"OK," she said. "Get in the car. We'll talk at the station."

She opened a rear door on her patrol car, and Phillip scrambled to get inside. The hard plastic seats in back smelled slightly like vomit. A clear barrier prevented him from reaching the front. Steel bars provided convenient attachment points for handcuffs.

Buchanan sat in the front and drove off.

"Calm down, kid," she said. "I'll take care of you."

"Thank you. Thank you."

"Blutstein is a bad man?"

"He's a murderer," Phillip said. "He kidnapped me weeks ago. He tried to wipe my mind."

"Sure."

A few minutes later, they arrived at the police station. It was a four-story brown building covered in brick and stone. Buchanan parked in one of a handful of parking spots in front, but clearly, most people parked in the back in a very large garage. The county courthouse occupied a stone building across the street and had a Romanesque architecture.

Buchanan took Phillip inside. They went to a squad room full of cubicles with low partitions. It appeared every officer had his or her own desk. Buchanan sat on a padded office chair in one of the cubicles. Phillip sat with her, but his chair was just made of wood. Even though it was nighttime, there was plenty of activity in the police station.

Buchanan brought up a form on her computer and prepared to type. "Start at the beginning. What's your name?"

"Phillip Welker. I'm eight years-old. Three weeks ago, Blake kidnapped me."

"From where?" Buchanan said.

"A foster home in Aurora, Nebraska."

"You're an orphan?"

"Kind of," Phillip said. "I was taken from my parents when I was a baby, but that's not what I want to talk about. You have to call the Bureau of Physical Investigation and tell them I'm here."

"Never heard of it."

"It's a federal agency. They can protect me."

"We're the police," she said. "We can protect you, too."

"Not from Blake. He can control your mind."

She frowned. "Where is Blake now? What did he do to you? Did he... touch you in an inappropriate way?"

"He's living in an apartment in town. I don't have the exact address, but the police visited yesterday. There was an explosion in the apartment. I'm sure you can find the report."

"What kind of explosion?"

"Please." He grabbed her arm. "Just call the BPI. Actually, I have an even better idea. Finish that report and file it in your computer."

"What good will that do?"

"Trust me. Please." He pleaded with his eyes.

Buchanan raised her eyebrows. "Sure. Why not?" She turned back to her computer.

Phillip read over her shoulder to make sure she got the details right. Finally, she hit the "save" button.

"Now what?" she said.

"We wait. I'm sure the BPI is monitoring every police computer in the country."

"That's hard to believe. Even the FBI can't do that."

The phone on her desk rang.

"That's them," Phillip said.

Buchanan answered the call. Her eyes widened, and she glanced at him.

"Yes," she said. "He's right here. You want me to do what? Are you serious? On whose authority? I'll have to check with my sergeant. We have procedures. I don't care if... OK, fine, but you'd better have a good explanation when you get here." She hung up.

"What did they say?" Phillip said.

"They ordered me to drive you into the wilderness immediately and stay with you. I have to go at least five miles out of town. They'll call me when they arrive in Charleston, and it's safe to return."

He nodded. "That's a good plan. Blake won't be able to detect me."

"Detect you how? Is there a tracking device on you? What the hell is really going on?"

"I'll explain in the car. We have to go! If Blake shows up...." Phillip gnawed his lip.

"Just calm down," Buchanan said. "Give me a second to talk to my sergeant. I can't just run off on my own even if a federal agency tells me to."

She went into a separate office attached to the squad room. She talked to a man seated at a desk. He had a shaved head and bushy gray eyebrows.

The sergeant glanced in Phillip's direction a few times but didn't come out of his office. Phillip squirmed on his hard chair anxiously.

Finally, Buchanan came back out. "We can go," she told Phillip.

He hopped to his feet and followed her out of the squad room. They left the building through the lobby.

They had just reached the squad car when Phillip heard a familiar voice.

"Hello, Phillip," Blake said. "It was rude to run off like that."

Phillip turned. Blake was wearing a black business suit with an unzipped coat on top. His unruly hair and mustache were brown, but Phillip knew Blake had dyed them. Sunglasses were obviously a hasty addition to his disguise.

"No!" Phillip yelled. "Blake, don't!"

Blake already had the Russian Eye in hand. He held up the giant green gem, and it naturally caught Buchanan's attention. Phillip felt Blake's power swell as a tiny point of green light appeared in the gem.

"Go back inside," Blake said. "Stop investigating this case. Forget you ever saw me. If anybody asks, Phillip ran off before you could get him in the car, and at that point, you lost interest."

Buchanan nodded slowly and went back into the police station. Phillip watched her go.

Blake turned to Phillip. "Well?"

"It went perfectly," Phillip said. "The BPI should be here in a couple of hours. I wonder what sorcerer they'll send."

"Richard is already in Washington. He's closest."

"But you embarrassed Tonya. She'll want to be involved. If she's coming from Chicago, we have a little extra time."

"We'll find out soon," Blake said. "Let's get our luggage out of the apartment. Then we can eat dinner before the show."

Blake led Phillip around the corner to a waiting car. Two assassins were sitting in the front, and the engine was running. Blake and Phillip climbed into the back.

As the car drove off, Blake said, "Why did you squelch your energy earlier? I could've lost you."

"I was practicing," Phillip said.

"Practicing for what?"

"In case I need to do it for real later."

* * *

Andrew had never eaten in a Brazilian steakhouse before, and he liked it. He liked it a lot.

Waiters kept coming with more delicious selections of meat. He could choose from top sirloin, filet mignon, lamb chops, ribs, roast chicken, and even sausage. All of it was succulent and perfectly cooked. Best of all, he could have as much as he wanted just by asking. He didn't even have to get up and go to a buffet.

There was a buffet, but it was just a salad bar. From his point of view, it seemed like a waste of space, although Charley was obviously having fun. She kept coming back with plates full of strange vegetables Andrew had never seen before. His mother had taught him to be suspicious of foods he didn't recognize. He had grown up on traditional Midwest cuisine featuring corn or potatoes at almost every meal, and that had been fine for him.

Wood panels and stone tiles covered the walls of the restaurant. The ceiling had open beams which reminded Andrew of a barn. White tablecloths and real cloth napkins made him feel like nobility.

Charley had dressed for the fancy meal. She was wearing her best sweater which was hand-knit out of golden and red yarn. A trip to the salon had given her long brown hair gentle curls at the ends. She had even put on some red lipstick.

"We should do this more often," Andrew said.

Charley smiled. "Yeah. We're getting paid like grownups. We should stop eating like kids."

Dan and Tungsten were eating with the apprentices. The BPI agents were wearing their usual blue suits, but they had shaved for the occasion. Even though the Brazilian steakhouse was in the heart of Washington, DC, they were still on alert. They frequently scanned the crowd with their eyes and glanced at the exits.

Andrew focused on Charley instead. He could stare at her sultry brown eyes all night.

"No sushi though," he said. "I like my fish cooked."

"Have you ever had sushi?"

"No, and I'm not interested. I just want to make that clear."

"You should try it before you reject it," she said. "Millions of people love sushi."

He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Dan's phone rang. He put down his fork, wiped his mouth, and answered the call. As he listened, his expression became very serious.