Dearest Mother of Mine (Overworld Chronicles) (16 page)

Chapter 14

"Holy cornballs in paradise," Shelton said, backing away, hands held in surrender. "Take it easy, Bruce."

"Take it easy?" the man said in a growl. "You nearly cost me my job, and they cut my pay thanks to you talking to the authorities."

"Not me," Shelton said, one of his hands lowering toward the compact staff he kept in a holster on his side. "You know me. Why would I ruin a good thing?"

"Because you're scum," Bruce said, grip tightening on the gun.

Shelton's hand went back up. "Look, Walter told me Cyphanis was stirring up trouble. Saying I was bad for business. You know I wouldn't jeopardize my network of informants." He sighed. "Remember what I did for your cousin? How I got him out of the trouble he was in with those loan sharks? I put myself on the line for you. Think about it, man."

Bruce stared at him, the snarl fading from his face. He blew out an explosive breath and lowered the firearm. "I still don't like the fact Cyphanis is all up in your business, Shelton. If I'm seen talking to you—"

"Then let us inside before someone notices," Shelton said.

"I should make you and whoever the hell this kid is leave."

"This is Justin Slade," Shelton said.

"Oh, now you're really trying to get me in trouble," Bruce said. "Isn't this the same kid who wrecked the Grand Melee?"

"I didn't wreck anything!" I protested.

"Forget all that," Shelton said with a sigh. "Bruce, what if I told you I could get that nephew of yours out of Russian prison?"

Bruce's forehead crinkled. "How in the hell could you do that?"

Shelton shrugged. "I have my methods. You help us with this, and I'll deliver him to your doorstep."

I felt my own forehead wrinkle at Shelton's boast. What nephew? What Russian jail? I didn't want him getting off track and pulling a crazy stunt that could get him noticed by noms.

Bruce considered it for a long moment before waving us inside. He closed the door behind us, and led us down a hallway to a large room with an array of holographic images of the city and a number of orbs hovering above a console.

"What is this place?" I asked.

"Overworld Transportation Authority," Bruce said, a proud note in his voice. "We enforce restrictions on magical transportation. This," he said with a grand wave, "monitors traffic to make sure nobody breaks the ban on flying carpets, flying cars, and other obvious magical means."

"And you're the only one who monitors all this?" I asked incredulously.

He made a noncommittal shrug. "I rotate shifts with a few others." His eyes locked onto Shelton. "You'd better not be lying about my nephew."

"I'm not," Shelton said. "Just give me a picture of his prison cell."

"I don't have a picture of his cell," Bruce said. "How in the hell would I get that?"

"It's a nom facility," Shelton said. "Can your brother get an ASE inside?"

Bruce gave him a dubious look. "I'll ask him."

"Get me a picture, and I'll get him out."

"How is a picture going to do you any good? Don't you need a layout of the place?" Bruce narrowed his eyes. "And don't think you can go blasting in with magic. The Overworld will have your butt in a sling for interfering with noms before you can count to three."

Shelton held up a hand. "Let me worry about that. Get me the image."

Bruce twisted his lips. "Fine. I hope it isn't a mistake trusting you."

"You know my word is good."

The other man grudgingly nodded. "What do you want in return?"

"I need the tracking data from Overworld Security limos leaving the Grotto two days ago."

"You need what?" Bruce's eyebrows rose in unison. "If you're tracking Cyphanis again, you'd better think twice. Even getting my nephew out of a gulag isn't worth having that tyrant breathing down my neck."

"I'm not tracking him," Shelton said.

"Then who?"

"Best you don't know," Shelton replied. He looked around the room. "So, can you get it for me?"

Bruce nodded. "I'll need a few minutes to copy the footage onto an ASE."

We took seats in the back of the room and waited. I leaned toward Shelton. "What in the world are you promising this man?" I asked in a low whisper. "We can't break a felon out of jail, especially not in Russia."

"Sure we can," he said with a confident grin. "Especially if they get us an ASE with all the details of the cell."

"How is a picture—" The flow of words cut off as I realized what he intended to do. "You want to use our omniarch to get this man out?"

His grin widened. "I'm a genius, right?"

"You're insane," I said. "What if someone sees a magic portal materialize in his prison cell? What if we open it in the wrong place?"

"That's why we need a detailed image. If his brother can get an ASE in there, we're gold."

My stomach twisted. I didn't like his idea at all. On the other hand, it made me realize we could use the omniarch to infiltrate the Conroy residence. If we used the OTA tracking system to track their limo, we had a good chance to find out where they lived. I just had to hope they were keeping Mom and Ivy there. The omniarch might even help us overcome the hardcore security sure to be guarding the house.

Bruce returned with a marble-shaped ASE, and dropped it into Shelton's outstretched hand. "I don't know too many people in the Atlanta area who use those limos," he said. "I don't need to know specifics to know you're hunting dangerous game, Shelton. Make sure I don't end up exposed again, or I'll pull the trigger next time I see you."

Shelton flicked his hand as if knocking away the threat. "Get me detailed images of your nephew's cell, and I'll hold up my end of the bargain."

"I'll be in touch." Bruce motioned us toward the exit. "Now, get out of here before my shift relief shows up."

We left, Shelton chortling all the way to the car.

"You really enjoy this, don't you?" I asked.

"Man, I didn't realize how much I missed the hunt," he said, eyes sparkling. "We're gonna find old man Conroy and show the girls how it's done."

"This isn't a contest," I reminded him sternly. "It's a team effort."

Shelton rolled his eyes and guided the car onto the road.

"What now?" I asked as he drove.

Shelton mulled it over for a moment. "Well, we need to get back home to look over the footage. I say we go park my car back at the hideout, send a picture to Bella, and ask her to open a portal so we can return to the mansion."

I felt relieved to be going home. "Sounds like a plan to me."

He called Bella, but she and the others had apparently gone into Queens Gate to eat and wouldn't be back to the mansion for a while. Shelton nodded a lot as Bella's voice went on in muffled tones I couldn't understand thanks to a spell Adam had put on our phones to prevent eavesdropping. Shelton made a talking mouth with his thumb and fingers as he tried to get in a word edgewise.

"How long?" he asked in a loud voice. He nodded. "Fine, just call me. We've got other things we can do." He hung up. "I love that woman, but man, can she talk your ear off."

I chuckled. "What do we do in the meantime?"

He sighed. "Depends on how adventurous you're feeling."

My grin vanished. "Nothing that will get us killed."

"We can use the extra time to stake out the Grotto way station in case, by some random chance, the Conroys show up." He gave me a sideways look. "Is that low risk enough for you?"

"I suppose," I said, feeling weight lift from my chest.

He nodded. "Maybe we'll get lucky and post the limo. The girls should be back at the mansion in a couple of hours."

We worked our way through traffic and made it back to Phipps Plaza. Shelton drove down the ramp, his pace slowed by a vintage car creeping ahead of us.

"Sunday drivers," Shelton growled. We reached the bottom of the ramp.

The driver of the car ahead turned his head sharply to the left, drawing mine and Shelton's attention with it. A man in the dark robe of the brotherhood stood against the wall, his eyes meeting ours. He glanced down at a sheet of parchment and back to us, eyes flaring with recognition.

"Son of a—" Shelton jammed on the brakes. Hit reverse, and nearly slammed into a car coming up behind us. He veered out of the way, the rear bumper crunching against the wall. Jammed the car in drive, and peeled out, completing a U-turn.

I watched as the man charged toward us, staff held out.

"Go!" I yelled as a bolt of energy splashed across the trunk, spreading out and dissipating.

Tires squealed as the sedan lurched forward, up the ramp.

"I got this thing charmed against offensive magic," Shelton said. "But it won't hold out if we take too many direct hits."

"I wish this was your pickup truck," I said, suddenly missing the extra horsepower.

"You and me both," he grumbled, steering the car up the ramp.

Another car appeared ahead. Shelton swerved to miss it as the front end of a car going the opposite way appeared in our path. He swung the wheel back, narrowly missing the vehicle. A warning light on the car's dash blinked.

"Crap," Shelton said. "They hit us with a tracker."

"Isn't the car protected against them?" I asked.

"It was," he said. "I haven't used this car in ages. Some of the wards must have worn off."

"Are you sure this thing can hold up against more hits?" I glanced behind us.

He suddenly didn't look too sure. "I doubt they'll try anything with noms around." Two black-and-white police cars roared from the garage about a hundred yards behind us. Shelton looked in the rear-view mirror. "Those bastards," he growled.

"Where did the cops come from?" I hadn't seen them in the mall parking garage.

"It's Darkwater," he said. "They're using illusions."

I watched as our pursuers gained. "Can this heap go any faster?"

"I've got the pedal to the floor already."

"I can run faster than this," I said, patting my jacket pockets and realizing I hadn't grabbed another staff to replace the one destroyed in our first encounter with Darkwater.

Cars swerved out of the way of the fake police cruisers, clearing a path. Shelton swung the steering wheel right and took us down a ramp onto a highway. The road ahead held only a smattering of traffic, but the small engine in Shelton's car screamed like it was ready to give out while the Darkwater cars gained on us effortlessly.

As if emboldened by the lack of traffic, a man in the black robe of the brotherhood leaned his upper body out of the passenger window, extending a wand our way. A beam of energy speared into the trunk. At first, the beam simply dispersed across the metal. Another warning light on the car's dash blinked.

Shelton swerved right. The beam speared into the road, gouging it.

"Can you take the wheel?" he asked.

"Right now?" I ducked as another death ray speared from the man's wand and dispersed across the rear window.

"I need to shoot back at them!" Shelton said. "Hold the wheel. I'm gonna slide out backwards." He leaned the seat all the way back and set the cruise control to whatever insane speed we were travelling.

I grabbed the wheel as he shimmied into the back seat, and slid over the center console into the driver's side, somehow managing not to jerk the wheel into a ninety-degree turn that would have flipped it like a blueberry pancake. My foot found the accelerator, and I discovered, much to my dismay, it really was pegged to the floor. The speedometer crept slowly but surely past a hundred.

Shelton pulled out his staff. Flicked it to full length. The ends smacked against the door panels. He cursed, rolling down the manual windows, arms pumping furiously. By the time he rolled a window down, the Darkwater vehicles had pulled nearly even. He jerked on his staff, but it was too cumbersome to maneuver in the confines of the car, so he flicked it back to compact size, and withdrew his wand.

The man leaning from the passenger window of the fake cruiser to our left aimed his wand at Shelton. I hit the brakes. Tires screeched and the odor of burnt rubber hit my nose. Shelton
oofed
. I felt his face smack into the back of my seat. A wicked ray of red light shot across the hood of the car and nailed the other Darkwater sedan, splashing across it without damage.

"They have defensive charms on their cars, too," I said, eyes casting about for escape. My supernaturally quick reflexes examined the scene in an instant. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the pursuers hit their brakes to match our speed.

This was a controlled access freeway. No nearby exits for escape. A tall, concrete median blocked a U-turn. Only a handful of other cars populated the road. A quick glance in the rearview mirror revealed traffic falling far behind to avoid the conflict.

We're so screwed.

Time seemed to resume its normal flow.

"Ouch," Shelton said. I saw him shaking his head in the rear-view mirror.

A flicker of movement to my left caught my attention. "Hang on!" I veered sharply, crashing the nose of the car into the rear quarter panel of the attacker's vehicle. The rear end lurched left. Sparks sprayed as metal met the concrete divider. Their car ground to a halt.

Shelton grunted as he bounced off the door. "Take it easy!" he said. "I don't exactly have a seatbelt on back here."

The car to our right swung away to avoid a slow-moving compact car in the center lane. I saw a blonde head poke over the roof of the car as a woman slid her torso out of the passenger window. Hair billowing in the wind, she flicked open a full-length staff. A ball of brilliant yellow blurred from it, exploding into the road. I had no time to avoid the sudden pothole, and the car slammed into it, the shock absorbers bottoming out.

Shelton cried out as his head hit the ceiling. Cursing like a sailor as he aimed his wand, he fired a return shot at the other car. The beam narrowly missed the woman's head. He aimed it lower, tracing it down the side of the car. As before, the light seemed to refract, but within seconds, the energy overcame the protective spells, and left a ragged streak of scorched paint down the side.