He's A Magic Man (The Children of Merlin) (40 page)

“In any combat it’s wise to know what you’re up against.” He turned to his men. “You four, get down the stairs. Be sure to turn off the countermeasures on seventy-six. Elevator is stuck at forty-eight. Striker, we stay here with the others.”

Four men broke for the stairs in purposeful strides, just as Drew saw in her first vision.

“You think four will do it?” Rhiannon asked.

“I don’t like this. When in doubt, protect the queen.”

A self-satisfied grin grew on Rhiannon’s lips. “I like the sound of that.”

The elevator console dinged. It was moving again.

Rhiannon whirled.

“Get back here,” Lev yelled to the guys just starting down the stairwell.

“I turned the elevator off,” Rhiannon protested.

“Guess being able to power motors is a pretty good skill,” Lev muttered. “Positions, everybody. Looks like they’re going to try a charge.”

Drew thought she might faint. Suicide, that’s what a charge out of the
elevator
would be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Michael and Kemble had pulled their guns from their waistbands. Brian drew his from the shoulder holster he had bought. Michael motioned Kemble and Tris to their corners. Brian nodded to Michael and knelt on one knee with his gun in both hands, the classic shooter’s stance. “I’ll try to take out the weathergirl,” Michael said. “You get Drew.” He nodded to Tris, who was frowning. Tris hesitated then punched the button to open the doors.

Michael prepared to sprint. The doors slowly revealed a roomful of men with guns at the ready.
No choice,
he thought.
You might not save her, but they will.

“No!” Tris shouted and grabbed Michael’s arm, pulling him to the side as Tris punched the button to shut the doors. Gunfire clattered on the metal while the doors slowly closed. Brian grunted, returning measured fire. Michael saw two of Rhiannon’s men drop.

“What are you doing?” Michael yelled as the doors closed.

“Saving my Goddamned sister,” Tris returned, tossing his gun. “And your sorry ass into the bargain.” He looked like he was ready to rumble, adrenalin and testosterone filling the car. “Did you see how many guys were out there?”

Kemble was kneeling beside Brian. “You okay?”

That brought both Tris and Michael back to the present.

“Grazed,” Brian said, feeling his side under his natty sport coat. His hand came away bloody. “Stupid, really.” He looked up at his second son. “So you sounded like you had an idea.”

Tris swallowed. “Well, guns are just simple machines. I mean, they don’t have motors, but even revolvers have springs and levers. And semi-
automatics.…Well
, I can push power out to machines.
A lot of power.
If we can get rid of the guns, I think we can take ’em.”

They all just looked at him. He wasn’t sure. It was in his eyes.

“No dice,” Michael said. “If you can’t take out the guns, you’re dead.”

“Better than your dumb-ass plan,” Tris growled. “Because maybe I can. Your odds were zero for making it out alive.” He flushed. “Don’t guess Drew would like that.”

Brian stepped in at this point. “Maybe we can pry the doors apart just a little way. Tristram gets his chance. Risk is low. We’re no worse off.”

Michael glared at Brian, but he nodded. “Everybody else stays away from the opening.”

“You better drop your guns in that corner. Uh, not sure exactly how to differentiate here.”

“Are they going to go off?” Kemble asked as he threw his
Glock
to the floor.

Tris hadn’t thought of that. “Not if I can help it,” he said grimly. They’d be like fish in a barrel if the guns fired inside the cab.
So much for low risk.
But nobody had a better idea.

They tossed the guns.

“Give me a chance to ramp up.” Tris stood in the center of the car and planted his feet solidly on the floor shoulder width apart.

“It’s even farther down to the earth now,” Kemble muttered.

Tris went still. They could practically feel his concentration. His body began to tremble again. The air grew thick with a feeling of suppressed power. “Okay,” Tris nodded.

Michael and Kemble pulled at the elevator doors. A channel appeared. Tris put out one hand, like he was pushing, then his other. The power in the room was making Michael’s heart flutter. Kemble’s eyes were bulging. Tris leaned into the power. A shot from outside put a bullet into the back wall of the car. Then Tris gave an abrupt push with his outstretched hands. Michael couldn’t see outside the cab, but he heard screams.

“Fuck this!” “What the hell?” “Shit!”

Inside, the guns in the corner glowed, first red, then a pale color halfway between yellow and white. The parquet wood of the elevator floor caught fire. Brian took off his jacket and flapped at the flames. The guns were fused into a slagheap, their bullets locked inside.

Tris stood up and sucked in a huge breath. The power pressure in the elevator abruptly faded. Michael looked to Kemble. They pulled the doors farther apart and dashed into the room.

*****

“They’ve got to come out sometime,” Rhiannon said, running around the couch to get a better view of the elevator doors as they slowly closed. Drew knew shots had gotten in there. Two of Rhiannon’s guys were down.

“We’re ready,” Lev barked, his gun held steady just in front of his face with both hands, like a cop on TV or the soldier he had probably been at one time. How many? Still ten.
Ten against four.
This was bad. And she had no control over the outcome.

The elevator doors began to vibrate, like there was a huge beast in there trying to get out. A feeling of power, electricity maybe, seemed to leak from the trembling doors. The guys around the room glanced at each other.

“Steady,” Lev whispered.

Drew thought her heart might burst. Something was going to happen. And it was going to be bad. Then the elevator doors cracked open. A wave of power surged into the room. Lev got off a shot but then dropped his gun, swearing. The others threw their guns to the ground. One screamed, holding fully blistered hands. The guns began to glow, wherever they were. One had dropped on the couch. It was smoking. The place smelled like hot metal and burning foam.

Tris! Tris had sent power to the guns.
The big Sub-Zero refrigerator screeched.
Its door flopped open, its motor smoking. The blender on the counter just melted into a puddle. Rhiannon was screaming and pulling off her watch. The TV burst into flames. Guess there was some power
overflow.The
place was chaos.

Out of the elevator came Michael and Kemble.

Michael! How she’d needed him. But she wished he wasn’t risking his life to be here. His eyes locked onto hers. He grinned. Then he looked around angrily. He’d started for Rhiannon when Lev pulled his shoulder around and punched him in the gut. Michael started giving as
good
as he got. They were fully engaged, jockeying for position and throwing punches. Kemble had taken on Striker. Kemble might look like a “young executive on the way up,” but he hadn’t survived a brother like Tris without learning to fight. He’d been taking mixed martial arts lessons for years. He was holding his own. Her father emerged in time to take on the two poker players. Two?
Calm down, Drew,
he’s an Adaptor.
He’d match those guys’ fighting styles with one perfectly calculated to counter each of them.

It was Tris she was most worried about. He looked groggy from using so much power. One of the History Channel guys was after him, and she saw Jonas closing in.

Damn it. She was
not
going to just stand by. She took the leaded glass salad bowl and dumped the water. Tris and his opponent were working their way past the kitchen bar. She winced as Tris took a blow to the jaw and staggered back. Grabbing the bowl with both hands, she edged along the bar. Tris glanced to her then back to his opponent. He stepped in and forced the guy back toward Drew, though he knew he’d take a punch. As the guy lowered himself to deliver, Drew brought the heavy glass bowl down on his head. There was a sickening give. He dropped like a stone. Blood seeped from the wound. She stood over him, stunned. Had she just killed someone? She glanced to Tris, who gave her a grin and a thumbs-up for about a second before he turned to face Jonas. Drew looked around for a lamp or something. It was hard to see. Several lamps had fallen over. Now only one in the back, a light in the kitchen, and the glow of the flames countered the blue light streaming in over the section with the glass ceiling. The corner of the room with the TV was burning in earnest now. Smoke wafted around the room. She wouldn’t think about what she’d just done. She had to do something. She couldn’t just stand by and let things happen to people she loved. As she strode over to where a lamp with a nice, heavy base had fallen to the floor, she saw Rhiannon standing behind the huge sofa fuming and assessing the situation. Drew glanced around. Michael had dispatched Lev and looked to be having his way with the other History Channel guy and Nick. Her father was trading punches with somebody new. Kemble was doing okay. Several of Rhiannon’s men were down. The guy with the blistered hands was making for the stairwell at a lope. Her side might just win through.

Maybe the vision with the falling glass wasn’t going to come true.

She glanced back to Rhiannon just as Weathergirl plunged toward the dining room table.

Where the sword’s big white box lay in the center.

No!
Drew saw it all. The sword would change everything. She didn’t think. She just lunged for the table. She was closer. Rhiannon ran up to the foot, but Drew came in from the side. Rhiannon realized her danger. She scrabbled through chairs, trying to get to the box. Drew didn’t take any chances. She launched herself across the table. Both she and the box skidded onto the floor. Drew scrambled to her knees and fumbled with the catch. Rhiannon was screeching something. Drew started to cough. She flipped up the lid. It lay there, gleaming, just as though it hadn’t been buried for who knew how long. She grabbed the hilt.

“You can’t wield it,” Rhiannon screamed. “You don’t have the power.”

Drew hauled on the sword. It was incredibly heavy. She stood. The point dragged on the ground. “Well, I’m not giving it to you.” Rhiannon was right, of course. A stupid little power like having visions that told her almost nothing and she couldn’t control didn’t mean she could master a Talisman Sword. But it was still a sword. She edged around the head of the table.

“You can’t even lift it,” Rhiannon sneered.

Drew gritted her teeth and hefted the point off the ground. She had to run Rhiannon through right now. If Rhiannon got the
sword.…
Drew flashed on her vision of glass crashing down in blue light. What could do that? Rhiannon could, with the sword.

Drew’s sword wavered as she tried to hold it up in some kind of thrusting position. “Too late,” Rhiannon
singsonged
. She stepped back, out from under the glass ceiling and out of range. “Let’s see how you like a little change in the weather.”

Behind her, Michael had dispatched his foe and now began to creep up on Rhiannon from behind. The fighting was petering out around the room. Everyone watched Rhiannon as she held her hands above her head, laughing. The smoke seemed to gather into a cloud and whirl around her. Everybody knew what that meant. The first lighting strike hit the burning television. The second struck about three feet in front of Michael, who stopped stock-still.

Drew wanted to cry. She’d lost the opportunity to affect anything. All she could do was either watch as the people she loved were killed by weather or give the sword to Rhiannon with the same result. Maybe it was Rhiannon’s lightning that would break the glass. Wind began to whirl around Rhiannon. It fed the flames, which leaped up. Men were pushed back against the walls. Michael and her brothers and father struggled to keep upright, but they were blown back into a corner. She could hardly see them for the smoke, in spite of the sporadic glare of lightning that banished the ever-present blue light at intervals.

Funny, Drew didn’t feel the wind at all. She looked down at the sword, blinking slowly.

It was all she had left. She adjusted her grip on the hilt. She wasn’t strong enough. But all she could do was try. What else was there? She looked over to Michael and her family. She saw her father’s mouth move. “Do it,” he seemed to be saying. That was actually funny. He had never expected anything much of her. But he sure expected something now. Michael held his arm up to shield himself from the wind. His eyes locked with hers.

He smiled.

Tears started to Drew’s eyes. There was so much in that smile. Confidence in her, a softness that might even
be.…

Drew dropped her eyes to the sword once more, determined.
Look out, Weathergirl.
She concentrated with all her might on lifting the sword up, pointing it at Rhiannon. It was up, but it wavered, its weight sapping her strength. She pushed at it with her mind, willing it to strike.