The Lost Prince (46 page)

“I—uh—had the word ‘deflower’ stuck in my brain,” Seth said truthfully. “Please don’t ask me why.” Seth was grateful he hadn’t turned the bullets into flying rebel milkmaids.

CHAPTER 33

SANCTUARY

1

Basked in the glow of the new dawn, Daniel Hauer and his protectors flew over New York Harbor toward the island of Manhattan and toward his future as the rightful prince of Aandor. Lady Liberty’s torch shimmered gold under the rising sun—a beacon heralding a new era.

Try as he might, Daniel could not fathom how he went from abused foster child on the run for murder to savior of an alternate universe in just a few short hours. The last few days were surreal … he’d lost his family, best friend, childhood crush, virginity, and good faith in meth dealers as stalwart pillars of the community. Sneaking around backyards in the rain to avoid Luanne’s boyfriend, his biggest concern had been to not end up dead in a ditch on Route 581. Turns of events of these kinds happened only in cheesy movies … at best, young adult novels written by English authors on welfare.
These people might, in fact, all be bonkers—completely nuts,
Daniel thought … except they had real weapons, resources, and conviction. They had a freaking helicopter.

The story they told him was, quite literally, unbelievable. And yet, he saw the evidence with his own eyes—bullets that turned into flowers, giants, preachers that could convert a man’s soul with a touch. Had someone slipped him an acid Mickey at some point during the day? One thing for certain, even the guys trying to kill him believed he was this prince. Enough to die for it.

Someone called Malcolm had “people” cleaning up the mess they left in North Carolina. “People” were driving Cal and Colby’s cars back to New York in a covered trailer. “People” had collected Krebe, Todgarten, and their friend and would forensically “sterilize” the farm. The farmer was left for the local police to find and the meth heads had been set up to take the fall for his death and the cop’s at the trailer park. The problem with being a drug user is that when you start yammering about swordsmen, giants, and bullets turning into flowers in midair—your credibility goes right out the window.

Cal told Daniel about his encounter with Adrian and Katie Millar, and how they stood vigil on his block, praying for his safety. Katie was finally talking to a counselor about what Josh Lundgren had done to her. Daniel was glad to hear that he was missed and wanted very much to call them and let them know he was okay.

This news from home prompted Daniel to talk about his life. His new best friends listened intently to Daniel’s story: the prescription-pill–popping mom, the violent drunken ex-Marine stepdad, the fight with the Grundys in defense of Adrian, defending Katie Millar from her douche of an ex-boyfriend. When Daniel realized Cal and Reverend Grey suffered under each morsel of depressing backstory (conveyed through subtle changes in their mood and body language), he changed the subject to his love of books, art, and science fiction and John Hauer, his first adopted dad. He explained how happy he’d been the first few years of his life.

Daniel was keenly aware of tension between his guardians. Cal tried to project a united front, but now that Daniel was safe, everyone had pressed him to pursue his own agendas.

Reverend Grey insisted on driving home to his family. In Aandor, Grey was some sort of priest with special abilities. He’d done his part for king and country and now had to look to his own life. But Cal pleaded with him, having promised his services to help Colby regain his humanity. Colby also pleaded with the reverend, for the sake of his son as well as himself. Malcolm even offered the reverend more financial help than promised for sticking around until the loose ends were tucked away. Reverend Grey sighed under the verbal onslaught and reluctantly agreed, like a happily married man at a friend’s bachelor party, cajoled into a turn with the rented prostitute so he wouldn’t ruin the mood for everyone else.

Seth had a private matter in the city to attend to that Cal was reluctant to give him space to address. The wizard was very secretive, resisting Cal’s interrogation, saying only that he could find no peace of mind until his personal matter was set right. He blamed Cal for not letting him finish his business before they left for Baltimore. The cop was worried that once out of sight, he’d never see Seth again. There were still bad people in the world looking to kill Daniel. Seth refused to even look at Callum the rest of the trip north. He whittled obsessively instead. By time they’d reached New York Harbor, he’d finished etching in the drawings and symbols that were penciled on the staff.

Colby was a walking dead man who kept his beating heart in a sack, and ultimately the reason Daniel bought into this whole fantastic story. The boy had been extremely skeptical of the group’s claims; magic and alternate realities were the stuff of the Syfy channel. Colby let him hold his beating heart. The detective revealed the welts from the spell that had removed the organ and had Daniel place his hand on his cold chest to note the absence of a beat. Daniel wanted to believe Colby had been his friend all along … but Luanne’s suspicions had been right; the detective was just angling to get his life back. Still, it was hard not to feel something for the guy whose son, Tory, now suffered in his stead. Cal offered Allyn’s help for the boy, likely trying to secure the detective’s loyalty, but Allyn, who was integral to that plan stayed quiet, neither confirmed nor denied his desire to help, resisting any more commitment to the cause than he absolutely had to give.

And then there was Callum; captain of his palace guard, and self-proclaimed personal protector to Daniel. Six foot five, and solid as an NFL linesman, the reverend called it when he equated the cop to a superhero. Where was Cal all those years Clyde had used him as a punching bag? How does one lose a baby? Cal remained stoic most of the trip. His men avoided talking to him—they all wanted to pursue their own interests at exactly the time Cal had discovered Dorn held his wife prisoner. Who could blame them, though? For thirteen years, they had built their own lives here and now they were being asked to step away from their families to fight old battles. Just like that. The seams of this hero’s life were fraying and the strain of keeping it together was evident in his distant stares.

The others talked among themselves.

“So you are the second source of deflected magic?” the reverend asked Seth.

“Probably,” Seth responded. “Lelani says I have some sort of sophisticated shield protecting me. It’s about the only magical thing about me that works right.”

“It is filtering much of the energy around you,” Allyn said. “The spell does to you what comes naturally to Daniel through his lineage. You will never reach your potential as a wizard as long as this shield surrounds you. The magic needs to filter through you.”

“Great. Like, finding inner peace so I can thread the needle isn’t hard enough,” Seth said.

“But that is exactly the thing,” Allyn said. “I don’t know what this ‘threading the needle’ metaphor means, but being at peace with yourself can alter the harmonics of such a shield. Like the combination to a lock.” The reverend looked dissatisfied with his explanation and scratched his head for another perspective. “A wizard may explain it in more technical terms … but, being at peace would modify your aura—allow the universal energy to mingle with you. Whoever cast it on you was not only protecting you … they were protecting others from you. It’s a leash in some ways, forcing you to reach a certain level of maturity to unlock your true potential.”

“Padre, that sounds like Eastern spiritual mumbo jumbo,” Seth said. “This is real magic. You should see what Lelani can do. It’s unreal.”

“I’m well aware of the abilities of a wizard, young man. I’m inclined to find out how this blessing was cast so that I can put one over every wizard I meet and stay the tide of destruction they bring to those around them. Unfortunately, at this time, we need your abilities to protect ourselves from Dorn. Is there something in your life preventing you from finding balance?” asked the reverend.

“Definitely,” Seth said. He threw an accusatory look at Callum when he said this.

“Then you must address it to move forward. Inner peace, otherwise known as being comfortable with the man you are, is likely the key to this lock. God gives us these tests for a reason. They are like the locks of a canal, each one lifting us to the next elevation.”

“Which god?” asked Callum. “Sometimes you talk of ‘God’ and other times of ‘gods.’ Your theology is a mishmash of Pelitos and Christianity. Do you know who you are Prelate Grey? Have you picked a side yet?”

Jabbing a wounded rottweiler would have induced a friendlier response than the one Grey gave Callum. The reverend remained glumly quiet the rest of the trip.

So these are my protectors,
Daniel thought.
A minister with a crisis of faith, a walking dead man that would have sold me out for a magic trick, a captain no one wants to follow, and a wizard that can’t cast any spells. Perfect.

At the Thirty-fourth Street heliport, Seth made it abundantly clear that he was going to attend to his personal business. Realizing he couldn’t stop Seth, short of hog-tying, Cal tried to extract a rendezvous time. Seth said he didn’t “do” curfews. He would come to the Waldorf as soon as he was able.

The limousine traveled north on the FDR Drive and got off at the United Nations exit. It was Daniel’s first time in New York; the streets were abuzz with activity. Never had he seen so many people in one place, heard so many sounds, smelled so many smells (not all of them pleasant), or felt so many potholes. As crowded as the city was, it also looked like a really good place to be alone.

They entered the Waldorf Astoria through the loading dock on Fiftieth Street. Some way for a prince to arrive
—
but Daniel remembered that the president of the United States also entered and exited through kitchens and alleyways. Better safe than sorry. A man that looked like a Secret Service agent met them when they exited the elevator—Daniel was whisked into a large, lavishly decorated suite.

“Prince Danel of Aandor,” said Cal to the room.

His guardians immediately distinguished themselves from the hired help with bows: a beautiful tall redhead; a short stout man with a coppery red beard; and a guy that looked very much like Tim Mann from Babies Ate My Dingo knelt before him.

Weird,
he thought. Daniel was uncomfortable by so much attention. He could never get used to this.

2

Callum and Malcolm squared off silently like gunslingers of a bygone age. Their proximity to each other made the scene almost comical—Cal at six foot five and Malcolm at five foot two. Not all was merry among Daniel’s band of guardians. Leave it to him to fall into a fairy tale with no happily ever after, he thought.

“Mal,” said Callum.

“Cal,” Mal responded.

Everyone was frozen as the greeting unfolded. The tension was so thick, dust motes hung in the air for lack of a current.

“You want to hit me—don’t you?” Malcolm said. He smiled harshly, daring the cop to strike.

“She was under your protection,” Cal said.

“She was under my protection,” Malcolm affirmed. “This is not lost on me.”

“Whose decision was it not to tell me?” Cal queried.

The tall redhead approached Cal, her eyes glistening with regret. There was no shortage of guilt in the room—enough to commence a Sunday mass. The redhead put her hand on Cal’s arm, but he brushed it off gently and shook his head ever so slightly at her. It wasn’t her he held responsible; Cal maintained his glare at Malcolm, who took the full brunt of blame and didn’t bat an eye.

Daniel thought that maybe he should intercede; after all, it was for his sake all these people were supposedly in danger. He searched for the right thing to say when suddenly a cry of “Daddy!” came from behind him.

The girl, only slightly older than Daniel’s stepsister, Penny, cut through the room like a knife and leaped into Callum’s embrace. Cal cried as he breathed in her scent and stroked her hair. The bubble had popped, and everyone relaxed. There was a lesson in this. Among warriors, billionaires, and Secret Service henchmen, the least powerful person wielded the most influence. It was more complex than solely love; Daniel loved Katie Millar but still didn’t end up with her. The ties that bound people were a strange force unto themselves, more mysterious than magic. He had to remember this for when (
if
) he ever started writing again.

Daniel’s opinions of Callum from the trip up, both the good and bad, transformed in the presence of his daughter’s unconditional love. The loss of Cal’s wife, this little girl’s mother, now weighed on Daniel’s mind heavily. The cop wasn’t a superhero; he was three-dimensional person—someone who ran the gamut from joy to agony, and experienced pain and loss. Since the barn battle, Daniel felt he could walk away from this … that their opinion of him would turn out to be a mistake, or that he could use these people’s delusions to his advantage to get away from the authorities. But Aandor was getting realer by the minute as was his role in this group. The jury was still out on what it all meant to him. Surely this was better than moving to Costa Rica to avoid the law; learning a new language, scraping by, struggling to get an education.

People resumed their business—whatever it was they did before he returned. Activity reached the frenetic pace of a ship’s bridge on naval maneuvers. The Tim Mann clone and his hot girlfriend seemed not to be part of the enterprise. They drank morning cocktails at a window seat, watching the traffic on Park Avenue. Daniel joined them.

“Anyone ever tell you you look like Tim Mann from Babies Ate My Dingo?” he said.

“He is,” said the hot girlfriend. She giggled. “I’m Clarisse … nice to meet you, your honor.”

Tim cast her a fierce look. “He’s not a bloody judge,” he said. His speech was well on the way to slur. “Hey,” he said to Daniel. “Glad you’re alive. No, really. Always liked your mom and dad. Maybe now I can get back to my band and my bloody fucking tour.” Tim downed the rest of his cocktail.