Summoned Chaos (28 page)

I paused, allowing that information to sink in.

The crowd mumbled louder with questions.

“The thing I couldn’t figure out,” I said, cutting everyone off before they got too distracted, “was the connection between the Mimics and the rifts. At first they seemed independent of one another, but the more research I conducted, the more I began to question the coincidence. Then I found a second rift in Maryland, one just as stable. And guess what? My friends and I were attacked by something that didn’t belong on this world. Then they went after Ambassador Jones.

“That got me thinking, what if the new rifts were opened specifically so a Summoner could control the beasts? Bring them to this plane to do their bidding. Say, to take out the Ambassador to the Skilled. Or the annoying upstart who got in the way.”

I turned to my table.

“You got sloppy in your old age, Linda.”

Elder Rancin frowned deeply. “You are mistaken, Warlock.”

“This is treasonous talk, Marcus,” Watkins said, his voice filled with shock.

“No, Elder Watkins. Manipulating Mimics in order to
assassinate
Ambassador Jones is treason.
Murdering
two harmless kids in an attempt to kill me is treason.” I glared at her. “You know what’s interesting about the Computer Age, Linda? Browser histories. Unless you make an effort to wipe them clean, that information stays on your computer. Information like the web address for the
Magical Mania
blog. Or a map search for the address of the kids who interviewed me. You know, in case you wanted to send a couple of Mimics to their place.”

Rancin darkened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Actually, I do.” I held up my phone. “That’s the other great thing about living in the Computer Age. Someone who knows more than you can hack your files. I have the reports. Both from R&D and the ones that you doctored from the team. The data
you
removed to hide the stability of the rift my team found. It’s easy to deny it since we closed it and R&D never inspected it. But then you had your people close the second rift. The one that
you
used to summon the puma-things so you could send them after Ambassador Jones.”

I shook my head. “And all of this just to destabilize the Reformation.”

“I led the drive for the peace accord,” Rancin snapped defensively. “I have dedicated my life to melding our two societies.”

“Yes, until you realized the danger of doing so.”

Rancin froze, surprise etched on her face.

“Yeah, I have those files too. And the graphs. All here in my little electronic device. It’s almost magical, isn’t it?”

The Elder’s mouth moved, but no words came out.

I savored the feeling of being right. Of besting her.

After all her months—even years—of planning, I was the one who figured her out. Not Jethrow, not Arbent, not even the Elders.
Me.

Suck it
,
doubters.

“You have no idea what you are doing,” Rancin said, finally finding her voice.

“Oh, I think I do. Arresting your ass for treason.”

My rift team and a handful of Warlocks surrounded her. Arbent placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Elder Rancin, please come with us.”

She scanned them, then turned back to me. “You’re serious about all this.”

I grinned, riding the wave of my own theatrics. “You bet I am. According to these briefs, the Skilled are on a decline. Diminishing powers and all that. But who knows what the truth really is, eh? After all, you’ve done a masterful job of hiding things. The rifts and the beasts you summoned. Hell, I bet you had a hand in the massacre seventy years ago. Isn’t that right, Devon?”

The old man scowled.

“Oh, that’s right. Blood Oath has your tongue.” The dead likely heard the sarcasm in my voice. “Well, your testimony isn’t really needed, considering all this information we have now.”

“You have
theories
, Warlock,” she retorted. “Wild, treasonous accusations. Whatever you think you’ve found, I can promise you that you’re wrong. Did you really believe that a doctored report and a set of birthing records that I’ve been showing to the Elders for some time now would actually carry enough weight to send me to the gallows? I have an unblemished record. I have been a champion for peace. I am a leader. And what are you? A paranoid, selfish, incorrigible child.”

I could feel the room shifting to her side.

Dammit! She was supposed to cave, not masterfully outmaneuver me.

But she was. Scowls from diners gazed up at me. I could only imagine what this looked like from those watching at home.

Quinn was pale and even Arbent seemed to deflate a little.

“This is an embarrassment, Marcus,” Devon said, glaring at me. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Rancin started to rise. “I think the party is over.”

No. Not again. I wouldn’t fail or get outmaneuvered. This was my one shot and it was slipping away.

But what else could I leverage?

“Let’s talk about all your victims first, Linda,” I said hurriedly, barreling over the murmurs of protest before anyone could cut me off. “We have three of Ambassador Jones’s staff, not to mention my friends, Tessa and Mike. Then there’s Alistair Monroe who nearly died because of your orders. And that’s all just in the past week.”

Councilman Monroe perked up. Others, too, began to give Rancin a wary eye.

Now to roll the dice.

“And speaking of victims, whatever happened to Shannon?”

Rancin froze. “What did you say?” she whispered.

Oh hell
,
please work.

“Sorry, I must have mumbled. I said ‘Shannon.’ Was she a lover of yours? Someone else who got in your way when you were burying information and bodies? You went through a lot of effort to hide her existence as well, so I can only assume it’s another victim of your machinations.”

She was rigid, her face ashen.

Hot damn
,
that was it.

“You see, there’s a trail of dead bodies in your wake, so I assume you erased her once she stopped being useful. But you know what? She had a family, just like everyone else you murdered along the way. Friends too. And they’ll never have closure because you took her from them.” I stared her down. “You stole someone’s loved one, you selfish, cold-hearted bitch.”

Her Skill vibrated like a piano wire just plucked. It resonated inside the room, humming with psychic tension.

Then it snapped.

“How
dare
you!” she shrieked. “You of all people!”

Uh oh.

I felt the rage of her emotions a split second before she acted. The hate and grief washed over me like a wave, dragging me under. Decades of shame and months of loathing crashed all around me. I screamed, desperate to warn everyone, but I was too late.

She moved like lightning, grabbing her staff and driving it into the ground with a deafening boom. A shockwave exploded in all directions, flipping tables and shoving diners away from her.

Arbent and his team were thrown backward, landing several feet away.

A glass from my table clipped me in the head as it flew past. Stars exploded in my vision and I dropped to my knees. The world grayed before slowly easing back to normal.

Holy hell, this wasn’t what I’d expected. She was supposed to be stunned into submission. To confess her guilt and be led away. Not attack a room full of the Skilled’s most elite warriors.

True to their powers as Elders, Watkins and Devon recovered first, charging Rancin.

She spun, flinging a knife that sank into Watkins’s chest. The man crumpled as Devon whipped his own staff in Rancin’s direction. The woman deflected the spell, ducked, then drove her staff upward into the old man’s chin. Devon’s head snapped back and he dropped like a rock, crashing to the floor.

The Ambassador ducked as the Elder waved her hands, unleashing a fury of Fire Spells on the crowd. Screams erupted from the diners as Normals and Skilled dove for cover. A nearby table disintegrated as a fireball crashed into it while several people were thrown across the room.

Helga sidestepped the spell, driving her own at the Elder, but Rancin ripped the electricity from the overhead chandeliers, redirecting it toward the Mage. Helga dove out of the way, but the sparking ball crashed into a Warlock behind her. The man fell with a scream, bucking as the electricity danced across his body.

The crowd was in full panic mode, scrambling between spells as they made for the exit.

As pandemonium consumed the room, I crawled behind the fallen podium, then rolled over the edge of the stage. Where were my folks? Jethrow? Healer Jenkins? I couldn’t see anyone except Quinn who was next to me.

“You okay?” she asked.

I touched the blood running down my face. “Glancing blow.” I poked my head around the table.

Watching Rancin in action was both awe inspiring and completely humbling.

She manipulated spells that I hadn’t even heard of, ripping through the defenses of the Skilled trying to contain her like wet paper. Men and women fell, shredded or cooked by the raw, unfiltered energy of one of our most powerful elite.

Rancin took down several more people, some of whom didn’t stir. Then she swung her staff like a baseball bat. Another shockwave rushed before her like a wave, slamming into the nearest wall. The Sheetrock blasted outward, spraying shrapnel into the large, empty ballroom beyond.

“Normals were right to fear us once,” she screamed, grabbing Father Pierce by the lapels. “And I’ll show you why!”

The Father was so stunned, he never made a sound as Rancin hurled the two of them forward with a burst of her Skill. They disappeared through the hole before anyone could react.

“Why him?” Quinn asked, as the shouts of the injured filled the ballroom.

I grabbed my sword. “I wish I knew. Whatever the reason, we need to follow them.”

Quinn grabbed my hand. “She just made mincemeat of a room full of Skilled, Marcus. What can we do?”

“Alone? Nothing. But an organized team may stand a chance.”

She frowned.

“Listen,” I said. “I’m not suicidal. I know none of us is a match for an Elder. But we have to at least go after her. That woman is over the edge crazy. She took Father Pierce for a reason, and she’s obviously willing to kill to get what she wants.” Anger poured into me. “The dead here are on my hands—I’m sure as hell not going to let that woman add more bodies to that list. Certainly not an innocent by-stander like the Father.”

Quinn nodded. “Okay.”

That was all I needed to hear.

We trotted over to Arbent who was slow to rise. We helped him to his feet.

He took stock of the decimated ballroom while Mick tended to Helga who was cursing up a storm.

“Holy hell,” he whispered, staring at the number of bodies around the ballroom. “How many are dead?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “How many folks are combat ready?”

While Arbent talked with the survivors, Jethrow came up to me.

“You’re going after her.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“Then you need help.”

I did. Badly. But Jethrow hadn’t fully recovered from his injuries and I wasn’t about to put him in harm’s way. I cared about him too much to do that.

“I do, but not from you.”

Jethrow leaned in. “Marcus, if this is about our past—”

“It’s not.” And for once, it wasn’t. “Someone needs to coordinate help for the wounded here. You’re the best choice because people will listen to you. Most important,” I added, looking to the table where Carrie was beginning to rise, “you now have a family to think of. Let the single kids get killed.”

He stepped closer. “I need this.”

I stared at him, a storm of emotions rolling in my chest. He’d betrayed me before, professionally and romantically. But he’d also reached out. Begged for a connection.

Maybe it was time to offer it.

Besides, even while recovering, Jethrow was powerful. We needed all the help we could get if we were going to slow Rancin down.

“Fine. But you screw up or stab me in the back, I’ll kill you.”

“Sounds fair,” he replied with just a hint of a grin.

Arbent came up to us. “I have three Mages who are mobile. Thetra, Reagan, Helga. Adding you and Wright makes six.”

Quinn raised a hand. “I’m in.”

Mick stood. “Me too.”

“They need Healers here, Mick,” I said.

“I think Jenkins is already on top of it,” he replied. Indeed, the hippie was working the crowd. Elsa was by his side, as were my folks, apparently helping to coordinate the recovery effort. “Besides, if you’re going after that woman, you’ll need one just as much.”