Heart Of Atlantis (6 page)

Chapter 5

Alaric watched Quinn follow Archelaus out of the room. She’d grown quieter and quieter while they argued over what to do next, and then she’d finally said she was going to find some food.

“Not much else to do, now that I’m unemployed,” she’d said, contorting her face in what she may have intended to be a smile, but which came out as a death’s head grimace.

Jack followed, her silent, deadly shadow. Alaric realized yet again that in another world—another timeline—she could have loved Jack and, perhaps, been happy. The realization added yet another layer of tarnish to the rusted remains of his conscience, but did not in the least tempt him to give her up.

At least Alaric had stopped casually plotting ways to kill Jack whenever he thought of Jack with Quinn. That was progress, of a sort.

“That is one scary expression on your face, my friend,” Ven said. The prince folded his arms over his chest. “Do I even want to know what’s on your mind?”

“Your wants are of no concern to me. My mind is my own. I leave now to confront this fake Ptolemy. Once he’s dead, and I retrieve the gem, our problems will diminish.”

Ven shook his head. “Not by much. The world still knows that Quinn is a rebel leader. That bell can’t be unrung. She’s done being safe—or, for that matter, going undercover—forever. And we should check in with Conlan and the rest of the Seven and find out if they even know what’s going on. It’s not like they get CNN in Atlantis.”

“Fine. You check in. I’m going to New York.” Alaric called to the portal, belatedly wondering if it would even answer, if Noriko truly was the portal spirit or presence who had directed its magic.

A shimmering oval of light answered his question, but before entering he stopped and addressed it, feeling a fool.

“You. Spirit of the portal. Can you speak in that form?”

Silence was his only answer, which was no answer at all.

“Fine. Take me to the Plaza Hotel in New York,” he commanded, as he stepped into the swirling magic.

As the vortex took him, Ven followed.

“Somebody needs to save your ass,” the prince said.

“Whatever you say, Your Highness.”

“Call me that again, and I’ll
kick
your ass instead.”

The portal deposited them in what appeared to be a garden or park, in a stand of trees. The rich scent of plants, flowers, and trees, with an underlying touch of metal and machine, infused the night air, and stars twinkled overhead.

“Night here, day in Japan. The time zone change is messing with my brain,” Ven said.

“Where are we?” Alaric demanded.

“This is Central Park. See that overgrown mansion of a building? That’s the Plaza. Finest hotel in New York.” Ven grinned. “I met this brunette in the Champagne Bar once—”

“Yes, I’ll be sure to tell Erin all about that.” Alaric had even less patience than usual with the prince’s banter. Quinn’s
life
was in danger. Rage thrummed through his bones and his blood like the war cry of ancient tribal drums.

A look of pure horror crossed Ven’s face. “You wouldn’t do that. Erin knows she’s the only woman for me. I was just— Never mind. Let’s find this Ptolemy.”

Alaric headed out of the trees and toward the hotel, not caring whether Ven followed or not. This bastard of a pretender had put Quinn in danger.

Ptolemy had to die.

“Did you tell Quinn you were leaving?”

“She won’t even notice I’m gone before I return with the news of Ptolemy’s defeat,” Alaric said grimly, acknowledging, if only to himself, how quickly he’d been forced to break his vow never to leave her. But her life itself was at stake—he’d had no choice.

The portals to the nine hells were built with good intentions, too, or so the old stories went. Good intent or avid self-interest? At times the barrier between the two was as thin as a coward’s resolve.

Ven caught up with him, whistling under his breath. “Mistake. Big mistake.”

Probably. Every step Alaric took with Quinn was a mistake. But he had many long years to work on doing better. For now he’d do what he did best—battle his enemies.

Kill them all.

He stared up at the luxe hotel, wishing he could see through the walls. But he had the next best ability—he could sense Atlantean magic. And, like it or not, at least that much of the pretender’s claim must be true, unless there were another Atlantean inside the building wielding control over the elements. He could feel the pounding pulse of incredibly strong power coming from one of the upper floors of the building.

“He’s experimenting with Poseidon’s Pride,” he told Ven from between clenched teeth, as every fiber of his being protested the very thought of it.

“I can feel it. Or at least feel something. The hair on my arms is trying to climb off my skin. Quinn nailed it, though. It feels wrong,” Ven said.

“His magic isn’t pure. It certainly isn’t ancient,” Alaric said, closing his eyes to concentrate more intently. “It’s tainted with something that feels oily and perverted.”

“Perverted magic? What does that even mean?”

Alaric opened his eyes and scanned the busy street they’d approached. “Most magic comes from a wholesome place. Water, earth, air, and even fire, which, though forbidden to Atlanteans, is pure and untainted. This . . . this is something different. Twisted. Demonic, perhaps.”

Ven whistled. “I have no desire to run into another demon. One per half a millennium is plenty for me.”

“Demon or no, he dies tonight.”

“So you keep saying, but don’t you think we should get him to answer a few questions first?”

A group of pedestrians approached, weaving drunkenly and singing. Alaric flashed them a single look, and they abruptly turned and started walking very quickly in the opposite direction.

“Humans annoy me,” he growled.

“Not all humans,” Ven said, making Alaric want to blast the prince with an energy sphere right there on the street.

“Almost all humans,” he amended, instead. “Yes, you may be right. If he is drawing on demonic magic, I’d like to know how an Atlantean or Atlantean descendant with that kind of power escaped our attention all this time. You know I’ve scanned for any of our line with magic every time we come to the surface.”

“Less talk, more action?” Ven suggested.

Alaric scowled, and a woman who’d been tentatively approaching them, holding out a camera, screamed and ran across the street, barely escaping being hit by a car.

“That, my friend, is one terrifying face,” Ven said.

“Less talk, more action,” Alaric replied.

Together, the two Atlanteans crossed the street to the Plaza Hotel, where one pretender to the Atlantean throne was going to die a long, slow, horrible death.

Japan

Quinn sat at the deserted table, her untouched plate in front of her, and stared into space, arms clutched around her waist, trying to contain the empty hole that used to be her insides. She’d known the day might come; she’d crossed too many powerful people for it to be otherwise. But she hadn’t expected it to come so soon, and in spite of what she’d said about being tired, there was no part of her that was ready to give up the fight.

“Now I might have no choice,” she told Jack, who kept right on snoring at her side.

Damn tigers were worse than house cats. All he did in this form was sleep. Although he was probably going to need to eat again soon, and she hoped that didn’t present a problem. Tigers ate a lot.

A
lot
.

Sushi and noodles wouldn’t cut it. Archelaus had told her there was an actual safari-style zoo at the base of Mount Fuji somewhere, and it had been supplying him with tiger chow. One problem solved, seven million to go.

A shadow blocked the entryway from the corridor, and she looked up to see the woman who called herself Noriko standing there. The Japanese woman, or Atlantean portal, or whatever she was, bowed slightly before entering the room.

“Are you aware that your companions have gone?” Noriko asked.

Quinn nodded. “Yeah, I’m surprised you didn’t hear the shouting when Archelaus told me.”

A fresh stab of pain sliced through her. Alaric had
left her
without so much as a “see you later,” after promising never to leave her side. When he came back, she was going to point that out to him.

If
he came back.

“I’m just going to call you Noriko, because the rest of it is too unwieldy,” Quinn said abruptly. “Or, what did you say your Atlantean name was? Galillee?”

“Gailea. I have not heard that name in so long that I am as unused to it as I am to Noriko, although the one whose body this is reacts to her name, of course.”

“That’s just creepy, you know, right? Doesn’t she mind that you hijacked her body? Not that I’m sure I believe any of it.”

Noriko dropped gracefully down to kneel beside Jack. She tentatively placed a hand on his head and began to stroke his fur, and Jack’s snore changed to a rumbling purr.

“Well, at least Jack thinks you’re okay, but he once had a drinking buddy who belched the national anthem for fun, so he’s not exactly the best judge of character.” Quinn knew she sounded unwelcoming at best, and openly hostile at worst, but she didn’t have room for one more problem in what was left of her life. Her mind already felt like it was cracking a little around the edges; her future fracturing into a shattered fun house mirror of thwarted hopes and doomed plans. She tried not to wonder if Alaric had been any part of any one of her futures.

Too little, too late. If even half of her enemies had seen that broadcast, she’d be dead soon. Better to focus on Noriko’s bizarre story, rather than her own probable early death.

Noriko, unaware of Quinn’s dark thoughts, smiled, which transformed her skeletal face into something approaching loveliness. “Tigers are very wise. I’m sure his friend had a good heart, beneath his churlish ways. And, no, Noriko is at peace that she will not die from the cancer.”

“Yeah. Maybe. And you? What kind of heart do you have?”

“One that wishes to assist you in any way that I can, Quinn Dawson,” Noriko said, staring at Quinn with eyes both old and sad. “I have watched you and your sister during the past few years, and I have come to know the strength and goodness in your own hearts. Riley is truly fit to be queen of Atlantis.”

“Why did you quit being the portal?” Quinn asked, ready to change the subject. Sure, Noriko knew things she shouldn’t know, but that still didn’t mean her story was true.

“Poseidon plays his games. This is one of them. I must prove that I am worthy to be mortal again—a woman instead of an untouchable spirit.” Noriko dropped her head so her hair covered her eyes, but Quinn didn’t miss the single tear that escaped and made its way down the other woman’s cheek.

Either Noriko was telling the truth, or she was an Academy Award–worthy actress. Quinn still wasn’t betting on which one it was. She decided abruptly that she didn’t have time right now to care.

“Help me, then, if your heart is so true,” she challenged. “Noriko must speak Japanese, right? If she’s in there, too, help me find a way to the airport. I need to get to New York. Ptolemy wants me? Okay, then, he’s going to get me.”

Noriko’s eyes widened. “But your companions meant for you to stay here . . .”

Quinn rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to live in this century, Gailea, you need to learn something. Women do whatever they want to do these days.”

Noriko nodded and drew a slim phone from her pocket. “I will find out the fastest way to Narita International Airport in Tokyo and book you a flight. We have something called a Visa platinum card, evidently.”

“JFK Airport, please,” Quinn said. “If you have access to unlimited funds, by the way, instead of worrying about dying or Poseidon’s games, you might want to consider joining the rebel alliance and helping out. We’re humanity’s best hope.”

“Are you recruiting me?”

Quinn shrugged. “Once a rebel leader . . . If you’ll excuse me for a minute, I need to say good-bye to a hungry tiger.”

Noriko rose and bowed again, and then left the room, tapping away at her phone. Quinn looked down at Jack and wondered how to say what would probably be her final good-bye to the best friend she’d ever had.

Jack opened one eye, probably some tiger sixth sense or something at work. Quinn dug her hands into the fur on the sides of his face and pulled his shaggy head up closer to her own.

“I have to go, fur face. I have to find out what that nut ball Ptolemy wants from me and what he’s up to. If the jewel really is what Alaric thinks it is, and it really has that much power—well, who knows how much damage it can cause. Somebody has to stop him, and I seem to be out of any other kind of job, so I guess it needs to be me.”

Jack pulled away from her and snarled, placing one heavy paw on her leg as if to hold her down.

“Look,” she said, almost desperately, fighting the tears threatening to close her throat and run down her face. “I can’t do this without you. I don’t
want
to do this without you. Can’t you please come back? Please be human again, just for a while?”

She stared into his eyes, searching for any trace of his humanity, but saw nothing to reassure her. Nothing but wildness and ferocity. Maybe Alaric was right. Maybe Jack really was gone—permanently gone—and only a faint memory of their friendship kept him from mauling her or worse.