Nightlord: Orb (51 page)

I put my elbows on the worktable and put my chin in my hands, thinking.  She definitely had a point, and a sharp one.  It pinked me to the quick.

Did I goof by trying to impress?  I thought appearing mighty would cause the supernatural creatures of the world to steer clear of me.  Instead, it seems to have attracted them.  This is not an ideal outcome.

The front gate chimed as someone started up the walk.  Almost immediately, the front door started chiming repeatedly as someone jabbed the button.

Gary, Boss.  He’s pretty worked up.

Thanks.

I went to answer the door and Mary came with me.  Gary burst in, panting, the moment I opened it.

“Dad!  It’s Dad!  They got him!  They’ve got my Dad!”

“Whoa, slow down,” I advised, going to a knee and holding him by the shoulders.  “Who’s got your Dad?  What happened?”

“They came into the house and they got him!”

Firebrand?

Working on it, Boss.  Keep him talking.

I asked Gary more questions, trying to get more details out of him.  Firebrand listened to Gary, picking up on what Gary was trying to say.

Three men came to Mark’s house.  They came in through the back door, went through the house, grabbed Mark, and smacked Gary pretty hard to get him out of the way.  They left through the front door, loaded Mark into a van, and drove away.  A simple kidnapping.

Mary stayed home, especially since the authorities were about to become involved.  I took Gary to his house, walking the length of our street.  As we walked along, it occurred to me he ran the whole way, passing a dozen houses, to pound on my door.

Sure enough, the back door to Mark’s house had been forced.  There was a fair amount of disarray, consistent with the struggles of a man still in therapy for a brain injury—that is, not much.  I didn’t see anything to lead me to the kidnappers, but I did have things that would lead me to Mark.  I pocketed hair from his hairbrush again for later; people always leave it lying around.  It’s like they don’t expect anyone to use it.

Then I called the police and waited with Gary while they arrived.  They asked me some questions, but there wasn’t much for me. I was merely the neighbor who showed up after the fact.  Gary was the witness and he wasn’t too helpful.  Men in dark clothes and ski masks, wearing gloves.  Not terribly descriptive.

They let me go home when they took Gary down to the station.  Gary wanted me to go with him, but I hugged him and told him to help the nice officers… and whispered that I would be busy looking for his Dad.  He must have believed me because he nodded and seemed relieved.

Why do children trust me?  What is it?  Do I exude an aura that turns little people into suckers?  Or do I just have one of those faces?  It’s a good thing I have no desire to use this power for evil, that’s for sure!  Imagine what I could do with a Saturday-morning children’s show.

Once home, I told Mary what happened.  She seemed interested.

“You’re going to find Mark?”

“I hope so.”

“And you’re going to get him back?”

“I plan to.”

“Why do you like this guy so much?”

“I don’t,” I admitted.  “I actually rather dislike him.  He takes out his frustrations by beating his son.  It makes me want to do to him exactly what he does to Gary.  Despite this, I do respect him.  He has guts, I’m sorry to say, and he understands loyalty and friendship.  And, once you remind him of the important things, he even has the courage to change everything about his life.”

“Do I get to hear that story, too?”

“You know most of it.”  I filled her in.  “Now I’ve got to figure out why someone would snatch him rather than kill him.”

“The obvious answer is it’s a trap.”

“Okay, that’s obvious to you.  It’s only a suspicion to me.  I want more information.”

“Scientist,” she accused.

“Thief,” I replied.  She grinned.

“So, how do we do this?”

I pulled a tuft of hair from one pocket.

“Want to learn how to use a scrying mirror?”

“Oh, I thought you’d
never
ask!” she squealed, clapping her hands together in mock-delight.  “What’s a scrying mirror?”

We used the mirror mounted on the inside of the master bedroom door.  I drew on the door and mirror with a grease pencil, taking my time to cast the scrying spell.  I took the extra time to cast my version, the one with the movement controls.  Looking at Mark, as through a window, probably wouldn’t allow us to find him.  I would have to pan and scan to look for clues.

Which left me with the more pressing problem of finding him in the first place.  I didn’t have a handy magical compass.  What I did have was a locator spell.  Those send out a radar-like pulse, tuned to detect whatever you’ve defined.  Mark’s hair defined him pretty well.  I didn’t have enough power to send out an omnidirectional pulse, though.  Still, a narrow-beam pulse would have the range we needed; we would just have to change the direction slightly each time.

I connected it to the mirror’s scrying spell.  With Mark’s hair taped to the corners of the frame, the initial locator spell should be able to ping him.  In theory, the scrying point would open nearby.  Then I could take over and look around for location clues.

The locator spell sent out a pulse in about a one-degree arc, aimed northeast.  I figured it would probably be wise to pan our pulses over the city, first, then scan elsewhere.  The first pulse didn’t get a hit, so it shifted one degree to the right and pulsed again.  The process repeated until we got a ping.  The scrying spell engaged, tracked down the locator line to the ping, and focused.

Mark was sitting in a brightly-lit room.  Fluorescent lights hung overhead, reflecting off an ugly, pale-green tile.  He was handcuffed to a heavy table.  A microphone was on the table, aimed at him.  Across the table, a pleasant-looking man in a business suit had a clipboard out and was flipping through pages, making notes.

Behind Mark, a much nastier piece of work was cleaning a large nail.  That nail’s twin was keeping one of Mark’s hands flat on the table.

That smarts.  I know.

“Does this thing get sound?” Mary asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Transmission of electromagnetic radiation through an etheric channel is relatively simple.  Sound involves the transfer of kinetic energy and is much more difficult, because of the matter-based effect of a transfer of momentum across an intervening distance.”

“Is that English?” Mary asked, skeptically.

“Light goes through it like a window.  For sound, I’d have to open up an actual hole.”

“That’s all you had to say.”

“Actually, it wouldn’t be that hard.  Thing is, if I want to talk to someone, they’re normally using a mirror, too.  That sets up a more robust connection and the psychic component of the spells allows for two-way—”

“Will this be on the test, professor?”

“Sorry.”

I panned the viewpoint around the room.  It had no windows.  I thought it was a disused gym shower room; several old shower stalls marched down one side.  Mark’s jailers were both in the room.

Moving out through the closed door, there were another two men seated at a folding table and playing cards for pretzel sticks.  The room was indeed a locker room.

Exploring farther, the place was a large gym structure.  Some exercise equipment was still in place—pull-up bars bolted to the wall, that sort of thing—but anything portable had been taken away.  I examined the outside of the place, read the sign, and Mary checked the listings.  We had an address.

“What’s the plan?” Mary asked.  “Go in and grab him?”

“It may not be elegant, but it has the advantage of being practical.”

“Do we do it again when they grab him again?”

“What?” I asked, startled.

“You mean you were
literally
going to grab him?”

“Well,” I added, defensively, “I did plan to kill everybody in the building.”

Mary sighed and shook her head sadly.

“You’re sweet.  Sometimes you’re incredibly naïve, but sweet.  Look,” she explained, “you don’t know who they are or why they have him.  You have to know, at minimum, what they want.”

“What for?”

“Here’s a thought.  They grabbed him for a reason.  If they didn’t do it for the hell of it, then someone wants something from this Mark guy.  If they don’t get it, they’ll keep coming back until they do.”

“Ah.  But I’ve been trying to establish the idea that touching him is a bad idea.  That whole ‘I am the Dark’ thing, and the idea of a guardian demon.  Stuff like that.”

“How’s that working out?” she asked, nodding toward the mirror.

I grudgingly admitted there might be a flaw somewhere in my plan.

“So,” I continued, “what do you suggest?  Ask nicely?”

“Sort of.  You’ve made too many waves; too many people know his name, now.  What you need to do—what we need to do—is start recruiting people.”

“Start a secret society?”

“Only in a manner of speaking.  First, we find out what these jokers want with him.  Then we figure out a way to make them want to leave him alone, and want to make other people leave him alone.  Repeat as needed until everyone is convinced leaving him alone is good for their business, whatever their business is.”

“I have to admit,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck, “that sounds more practical than my ideas.”

“Don’t feel bad about it,” she advised.  “Scientists don’t have to think like that.”

“Kings do.  I used to be a king.”

“And now you’re a retired king.  You’re allowed to be more concerned about your lawn.”

“Thanks.  Let’s go ask some people about their motivations.”

“Whee!  I’ll get the first-aid kit!”

The gym was, of course, closed.  We walked around it and Mary picked our point of entry.  She also picked the lock; her feathery tendril worked the tumblers like magic. Handy trick, that.  I’d have snapped the bolt, myself.

We did our sneaking thing into the locker room.  Mary basically appeared out of nowhere and said hello.  The guys at the card table both stood up and faced her, reaching for guns.  With her as a distraction, and with my plus-twenty Amulet of Sneaking, I slipped behind them and cracked their skulls together.

I was careful not to crush them.  We might want to ask them questions.

Mary then knocked on the door to the showers, two sharp raps.  A moment later, the tough guy answered the door.  She kicked the door, tearing it down and staggering the tough guy back.  Mary followed the door and the tough guy.  When he swept the door to one side, Mary was on him, taking him down, then sitting on him with a knifepoint in his mouth.  She smiled at him and put a finger to her lips to shush him.  He shushed.

I went in as soon as she cleared the door.  I picked up Mister Business Suit and pinned him to the back wall.  He looked me in the face and promptly lost bladder control.

“Tell me what I want to know,” I whispered, “and I won’t—” my voice shifted smoothly to a deep, growling thing, “—
kill you
.”

It took a little bit before he calmed down enough to say more than “Nghfgnaagk!” and similar inconsequentials.  Mary was the one who calmed him down.  I put him in a shower stall and we traded prisoners.  The tough guy wasn’t a problem.  Mary hadn’t completely sucked him dry, but what was left would require a vacuum system or the equivalent.  I let the rest of his blood work its way out.

The suit sat in a disused shower stall while she crouched beside him, holding his hand and soothing him.  He was downright talkative.

Once the tough guy was empty, I pulled the nails out of Mark’s hands—they’d finished fastening him to the table—and applied both medication and healing magic.

“Who
are
you?” he asked, slurring slightly.  I picked up the microphone and examined it.  It wasn’t connected to anything.  It was a digital gadget for taking notes.  I fiddled with it, erased it, and pocketed it.

“I’m the Dark.  That’s the Shadow.”  I nodded toward Mary.  “What did they want with you?”

Mark shut up and put on his stubborn expression.

“I’m not asking for the details,” I reasoned.  “I’m asking why they wanted details.  And I did take the nails out,” I added.  He thought about that for a second.  It obviously earned me points.

“I used to work for someone.  They want to know about his operations.”

“Competitors?”

“Yeah.”

“Who is the competitor?”

“Carlo.”

I sighed.

“Have you ever considered moving to another state?  Or another country?”

“No.  Besides, I can’t afford it.  They’d find me by looking for people in physiotherapy, anyway.”

“We’ll see about that.  How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

“Wait right here.”

I went over to Mary and crouched next to her, facing her victim.  His gaze locked on to me.  I think he stopped blinking.