Summoned Chaos (19 page)

But who would do such a thing. More important, what would they gain by killing Carla? Or me, for that matter?

I didn’t have an answer. Nor did I have one for why R&D was denying the existence of the Maryland rift.

But if someone had tried to assassinate Carla, then maybe the Mimics had attacked me because I’d thwarted their first attempt.

Then again, the two could be completely unrelated. I had a list of enemies that seemed to grow by the minute. Any one of those people or paranormals would dance in the street if I was killed. But few of them had the capabilities to control a creature like a Mimic. The species had just enough free will and cognitive adaptability to resist mental manipulation from the average Joe.

So if someone was using them to target me and Carla, they’d have to be pretty damn powerful.

Which shortened my list of suspects considerably. On the paranormal side, there were several species capable. Centaurs and Elves were at the top of the list—they possessed the strongest mental acuity. On the human side, only a Master Summoner or Necromancer, a sub-sect of the Summoning branch, were capable. And only the truly powerful Masters could go as far as weak-willed humans or, say, Mimics.

Someone like Devon.

I bolted upright. He had been a Master Summoner before being promoted to Elder. Not to mention, he’d investigated the rift seventy years ago. An incident that
also
involved crazed Mimics.

Was he the one pulling the strings? Circumstantial evidence supported it. But if so, I still didn’t have a reason
why.
And without motive, all I had was accusations that bordered on treason.

But even if he wasn’t the one controlling the situation, then someone equally powerful was. And Devon had too much intelligence and knowledge not to have suspicions. Yet he hadn’t pursued it. The only way that would happen was if these events were somehow related to the Blood Oath he’d sworn seventy years ago.

Either way, Devon had just moved to the top of my list for leads.

Renewed with a sense of hope, I pushed the warm beer away from me, tossed a few dollars on the table, then dialed a new number.

“Hey,” I said when the other person answered. “Want to get into trouble?”

* * *

I was just beginning to drop off my euphoric high when I pulled into the short, paved driveway in the older part of north Reston. The house was a ranch-style layout with a two car-garage and an exterior of brown cedar shingles that were popular in the days of disco. The heated square footage was more than adequate for the average family, but the home was miniscule compared to the monoliths on either side.

The front door opened as I exited the Senior Mobile.

Seamus James and I had been friends for almost our entire lives.

When the peace accord was finalized and the Skilled stepped out of the shadows, my folks had worked overtime to make sure that I grew up with Normal friends. After my Skilled training, Mom would haul me to little league, soccer and countless other after-school activities where I could mingle with non-magical kids my own age. Seamus and I wound up at the same computer class one summer and became instant buddies.

Seamus hadn’t changed much over the years. He had fewer hairs and several more pounds, but he was still the same jovial, good-natured guy he’d been as a kid. Unlike most people, he’d followed his passion through school and into the business world. As a stroke of karma, the kids who made fun of him back in the day were now the ones sending their resumes to his homegrown Fortune 500 computing company.

“Hey,” he said in a low voice as I approached, then crushed me in a bear hug. His subtlety was one of the reasons I loved him.

“Hey, yourself,” I whispered once he released me. “Hope I’m not keeping you up.”

“Not at all. The best thing about being the boss is getting to make your own hours. Becky and the kids are asleep, so we’ll have to play in the basement.”

“How is the family?” I asked, tiptoeing through the minefield of toys as I followed him.

“Good! Becky was promoted to project manager on a new website design. Harrison starts first grade this year. The twins are adjusting nicely, although there have been a few issues.”

“Issues?”

Seamus shrugged. “Mostly sensory with the occasional outbursts. We’re working with counselors, but the biological mom keeps messing things up.”

I frowned as we descended the stairwell. “I’m surprised she’s allowed contact.”

“Red tape. Until all the paperwork clears, she’s still allowed minimal visitation rights. Which is a pain because it takes almost a full week to get them back on track. But Becky and I don’t mind because it’ll all work out in the end.”

I smiled. Seamus was one of those people who saw life as half-full. His optimism, even in the face of darkness or strife, was invitational. And infectious.

“Well if those kids stand any chance of a normal life, it’s with you two as parents.”

Seamus beamed.

We eased quietly down the last few stairs into what could only be described as his Nerd Lair. Unlike the mess of toys upstairs, his techno-dungeon was a thing of organized beauty. Glossy, high-def screens covered almost every wall while sleek, powerful computers hummed with life. A large, glass desk with an expensive, ergonomic chair took up most of the room. The rest of the space was filled by a large drum set.

Seamus slid into the chair and flipped on a screen. “So, what kind of trouble did you have in mind?”

“I need to find information on the Skilled database that is either missing or hidden.”

“Hacking, eh?” he asked with a hungry grin. “I like where this is headed.”

“It absolutely
has
to stay below the radar. I’m on thin ice with the senior leadership already, so I’m pretty sure if I get caught poking around behind firewalls, the Council will draw and quarter me.”

Seamus scowled. “Your people don’t still do that, do they?”

“We may be fairly antiquated compared to modern standards, but we
have
evolved. Although, I know a couple folks that could use a little medieval torture.”

He rolled his eyes, then focused on his screens. “So what kind of files are you searching for?”

“Lots, actually. First, anything surrounding a Mimic attack seventy years ago in Maryland. A person named Benjamin Devon was leading the investigation team, but the only report I found was on microfiche and was heavily censored. I have the file number if that will help,” I showed him the picture of the report on the phone.

Seamus gave me an expression as if he’d eaten a bad deviled egg. “
Microfiche?
”

“Hey, the Skilled world has only had a couple decades to catch up with everyone else. For many, microfiche is still new-fangled technology.”

“Living in your society would be hell for me,” he said, hammering away at the keyboard. “Okay, so I’ll see what I can find about your report and this Devon character. What else do you need?”

I told him about Rancin’s order to keep the first rift open, then about the denial of the second one’s existence. “Something fishy is happening with our R&D department,” I added. “See if you can find any of the recent communiqués between the Elders and R&D or anything on the recent attack at HQ, on me, or on Carla Jones.”

Seamus’s fingers paused. “That’s a lot of info, dude.”

I felt bad for asking so much of him. “I know. But there are a lot of oddities going on and I’m positive there’s a connection. At the moment, all roads point to Devon, so maybe start with him.”

“You got it.” His fingers flew across the keys.

“Anything I can help with?” I wanted to do something other than just stand there.

He shook his head. “This will take a while. Maybe you should close your eyes for a few minutes. No offense, but you look awful.”

Reluctantly, I eased into the chair behind his. “It’s been a long day. Wake me if you find anything.”

His response was distant and muffled.

Images of a blue oval floated before me. The rift hummed gleefully. A shadow moved inside the phenomenon and the feeling of familiarity overwhelmed me once again. Sparks of electricity popped around it like mini-fireworks.

As I walked toward it, the shadow morphed into Quinn.

She was crying.

I reached for her, only to have her back away, fading into the rift. Steve appeared, grabbed my arm, and began pulling me backward.

I fought him, watching in vain as Quinn vanished for good.

I jerked awake. The rift was gone. So too were Steve and Quinn.

Seamus looked over his shoulder. “You alright?”

I wiped the sweat off my forehead and struggled to slow my heart rate. “Dozed off.”

“It’s been almost two hours.”

I squinted at my watch. “Wow, doesn’t feel like it.” I blinked several times, clearing the fog from my mind. “So, what’d you find?”

“Surprisingly little,” he said in a frustrated tone.

My heart sank. “That’s not what I was hoping to hear.”

He shrugged. “I’m as shocked as you are. But you weren’t kidding about the Council being antiquated. There is literally no access to your secured database.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was. I snooped around, but everything you people keep online is fairly benign. Meeting minutes, emails, judicial findings, etc.”

“So, no reports?”

He shook his head. “Best I can tell, the information is entirely off the Internet grid. That means everything you’re trying to find is located on the computers, books and microfiche in whatever location the database is kept. Ironically, that makes it one of the most secure locations on the planet because unless you physically breach the barrier, you can’t access the data. If you had access to a port that was connected, I could probably hack in, but there’s not much more I can do from here.”

I swore. Considering how popular I was with Devon, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get back into the Secret Squirrel Council Library again without bribing someone.

“I’m sorry to waste your time.” I felt even worse that I’d kept him up so late.

Seamus smiled. “It wasn’t a total waste. I was able to hack into the personal account of Elder Devon like you wanted. Did the same with the other Elders, just for good measure.”

I perked up. “Anything interesting?”

“Heck if I know. Most of what I found was gibberish to me, although I did find an interesting tidbit from your friend.”

He scooted aside, waving me toward the monitors. Air from the computer cooling fans warmed my feet as I read the message sent to an undisclosed list right after my visit with the Elder.

“
Marcus has crossed the line by butting his nose into matters beyond his understanding
,” Devon wrote. “
Someone please handle this before he causes something to blow up in our face.
”

I fumed. Not only was I furious that he was calling me out like that, but more, I couldn’t put a finger on what Devon was pissed about. He could be referring to the negative media attention I was starting to garner, the report I’d thrown in his face, or any number of cheap shots I’d taken at the Council over the past year.

Shaking off the anger his email caused, I clicked through page after page of message traffic and browser history. Most of the information was junk, nothing more than meeting invitations, work banter between Council members, or pictures of cats.

But buried beneath the mound of useless crap was an interesting trend.

Over the past month, the number of meetings between the Elders and Ambassador Jones had increased significantly. By the time of the attack, Carla was at HQ at least once a week and always at the same time.

Which meant anyone who knew the Ambassador’s schedule could have organized the attack. That list included, but was not limited to, her staff, the Elders and the Elder’s staff. A quick count put the number at almost thirty.

Lovely.

The other interesting tidbit from the message traffic was the conversation between the Elders and Council as these meetings progressed. What initially started as reluctance and suspicion among the majority quickly turned into an “us” versus “them” argument between four of the thirteen Elders and several senior Councilmembers.

Those fighting to expand our relations with the Normals included Dad, Monroe, Pell and a bunch of others.

The Elders adamantly against increasing the “openness” of the Skilled world? Devon, Rancin, Watkins and Bristol.

Those names surprised me. I knew from my history classes that the first two fought hard to create the Reformation Treaty. Why hit the brakes a generation later?

As for Bristol and Watkins, I didn’t know either of them all that well. Bristol was severe while Watkins seemed like a nice enough guy. Hell, he’d almost been on my side during my inquiry. So why was he casting his lot in with the other three?

“What?” Seamus asked when I huffed.

“Looks like there’s a rift forming within the Council.”