The Ancient Breed (35 page)

“Blossom, Clay, I’d like you meet a dear friend of mine, Jane Sandlin,” he managed.

They shook hands all around, and then as Jane helped Clay up the steps to the front entrance, Blossom lingered behind to assist her uncle with the light luggage.

Blossom moved close. “I like your
dear friend
, Uncle Crow,” she teased.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he retorted irritably.

“That was some lip lock she had on you.”

Crow slammed the trunk shut and faced her. “We’re just friends, okay? We went through some rough times here, but that was a long time ago.”

“That was just
last year
,” Blossom prodded, unwilling to let her uncle off the hook.

“I’m not going to stand here and split hairs with you over this. Case closed.” He grabbed the two heaviest suitcases and stomped up the steps. Blossom giggled girlishly in his wake.

Clay sat slumped in an ornately crafted birch chair in the foyer as Blossom and Crow entered. Jill was nowhere in sight. Crow paused and looked around. The memories of his last visit swept through his mind, creating vivid sensations of fear and joy. Fear for his life and joy at the few precious hours he had spent with Jill Sandlin. They weathered Hollis Danforth’s supernatural assault together and grew surprisingly intimate. He was never able to make any sense of the phenomenon; it had just happened. And now, after almost a year apart, she filled him with the same inexplicable excitement as before.

Crow studied the intricately carved symbols on the pentagonal-foyer’s marble floor; a circle enclosed a pentagram and several foreboding symbols. If the spell was meant to keep enemies at bay, it certainly hadn’t worked last year.

The largest, crystal chandelier Crow had ever seen hung regally from the thirty-foot domed ceiling, and every time he stared at the sparkling crystals for an extended period of time, they seemingly blended into a single, dazzling window that revealed a swirling, bloodred mist on the opposite side. It suddenly dawned on Crow that the pattern was similar to the colorful movement Nick described inside the stones that Alick Tobhor utilized to construct his fortress.

Crow studied the vast area beyond the foyer. Although the mansion’s interior décor wasn’t exactly Crow’s cup of tea, the gothic environment didn’t goose his imagination this time around. Candles perched in elaborate, black sconces dimly lighted the daunting, tapestry-lined hallways divided into sections by dragon-mouth arches. The mauve walls were adorned with dozens of ancient marble columns, topped with menacing gargoyles. The expansive stone floor was decorated with more mysterious spell symbols.

Crow shook his head in amazement. On his last visit, the mansion had been reduced to a scorched shell by a legion of fire demons, but it had magically regenerated itself to its original pristine condition in less than a year. No insurance adjusters required.

Jill appeared suddenly beneath the arch that divided the foyer from the living area, and her pale blue eyes roamed Crow’s features with much more than a casual interest. Her quiet beauty displaced all his other thoughts. Jill was an attractive, thirty-two year old woman whose short, nutmeg hair framed the graceful contours of her face. His eyes slipped down to her perky breasts protruding from a thin, mint cami-top, and then plunged down to the long, shapely legs bared beneath a kelly-green denim skirt. There were pale surgical scars flanking her left kneecap, the result of a career-ending, tennis injury during her senior year at Northwestern University.

“Should we get these two settled in their room?” Crow asked. Despite his trepidation, he was inexplicably eager to be alone with Jill.

“Would you care to do the honors this time?” Jill responded.

Blossom and Clay looked questioningly at each other.

Crow turned to the couple. “This house is special. Magical. I could stand here for a half hour and explain its unique powers, but you’ve got to experience it to believe it.” He paused. “Now get real close together, and whatever happens, don’t panic. Ready?”

“If you say so,” Clay said uneasily.

“Good.” Crow crossed the floor and took Jill’s hand. “House, we all need to go to Clay’s room. And don’t forget their luggage.”

Before Blossom could blink her amazement, they found themselves inside a third floor bedroom alongside their luggage. Clay was seated comfortably on the edge of the four-poster bed, while the others were still standing.

“How . . . ,” Clay began, but Crow held up a hand.

“We could use some extra blankets and a pitcher of ice water, too,” Crow said to no one in particular.

Within five seconds, a frosty pitcher of ice water and four glasses appeared on the nightstand, and two neatly folded wool blankets materialized at the foot of the bed.

Crow smiled wryly. “Get the picture?”

“You mean that anything we want, we ask the house for?” Blossom asked in an unsteady voice.

“Within reason,” Jill interjected.

“And it’ll take you anywhere you want to go inside,” Crow added.

“Except for a few rooms that are off-limits to everyone but the Wolfe family,” Jill added.

Clay squeezed Blossom’s hand. “I think this’ll do just fine,” he said, sporting his first, genuine smile since his surgeries.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang downstairs. The ominous, low chimes reverberated through the entire structure.

Jill frowned. “Now who could that be?”

“I thought that no one could get past your security here,” Crow asked apprehensively.

“I’ll be right back,” Jill announced and quickly vanished.

Moments later, they heard a prolonged, spine-chilling scream; then all was deathly quiet.

41

N

ick dropped Neo off in front of the former New York Giants lineman’s condo in Manhattan and sped away toward La Guardia Airport to catch a chartered flight back to Washington. Neo still had plenty of his lucrative contract money and property left from his pro-football-playing days that more than adequately supplemented his paltry
Orion Sector
income.

On the drive into the Big Apple from the asylum, they spoke to Rance Osborne, and the three fashioned a plan for investigating Aspirations, Inc. Tomorrow, Neo would check out the international corporation’s facilities on the Avenue of the Americas near Bryant Park. He would enter under the guise of a concerned son-in-law scrutinizing the company for his aging mother-in-law who required a few nips and tucks to regain her fading, youthful appearance, but who was adamant that the reconstruction be indiscernible to her friends. Cost was no object.

Neo would, of course, insist on a complete tour while the staff members explained his mother-in-law’s options. While inside, Neo agreed to scout the place and plant as many miniature surveillance cameras as he could without being detected. For his part of the mission, Rance promised to obtain a wire-tap order from a friendly federal judge, claiming that the age-defying corporation was a grave national security risk.
Orion Sector’s
electronics team would install a wire tap on all the Aspirations, Inc., phone lines that same day.

The procedure was routine, plucked from the plebian FBI Strategies 101 course. It had a low risk factor and a high rate of success. It was as safe as buttering toast in a bomb shelter. So, what could possibly go wrong?

As Neo would discover, everything.

After a restful, uneventful flight, Nick grabbed a taxi at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, and they sped north, exiting off Interstate 270 at Frederick, Maryland. He gave the cabbie directions to an all-night diner a block from his personal storage facility by Fort Detrick. No one else knew of his storage rental there, not even Rance. The facility housed what he liked to call his
alter ego
. He kept the stored items in pristine condition, but he hadn’t used them since the
Mortal Eclipse
investigation.

After generously tipping the driver, Nick waited until the taxi’s taillights disappeared before he walked beneath the soft street lighting to the maze of brick storage structures. After making sure that he wasn’t observed, he quickly unlocked the overhead storage door and raised it. After yanking it down, he unlocked a tall cabinet and opened its airtight door. Inside, there was an assortment of clothing from tuxedos to fishing plaids as well as rows of secured drawers.

The rattling air conditioner prevented the atmosphere from growing stale and musty during his long absences. Nick inspected his shimmering blue Jeep Cherokee. He paid the storage manager a monthly stipend to take the Cherokee for a long drive every week to maintain its operational integrity. The SUVs license plates were registered to Dave Findlay, a fictitious cover ID developed in great depth by Crow and Geronimo. Findlay was a top-level, NSA official who had the highest government security clearances and was considered an
untouchable
to all local law enforcement agencies throughout the country. This fabricated persona was validated in every major computer data bank in the world.

Nick opened several drawers and pulled out the things he’d need for his road trip to
Old Mother Hubbard
’s. One of them was Dave Findlay’s scrambler cell phone. As he laid it on the bench behind him, it rang, startling him in the eerie silence. He waited until his nerves settled before answering the call.

“Yeah?” he answered.

It was Neo.

“I got a message from headquarters for you. Seems your pretty little Florida State archeologist has been trying to reach you all day.” He yawned. “Why are they calling me and not you? Your sat phone busted?”

“I turned it off before I entered the asylum, and since we used yours to conference with Rance, I never gave it a thought.”

“Well, it’s a damn good thing I’ve got this number. Now can I please get some shut-eye?”

“Absolutely,
after
you give me Lisa’s number.”

“Oh yeah. Right.” He yawned again, and then recited her phone number.

Nick committed it to memory. “Now you can hit the sack.”

“That’s the plan, my man. If I go into Aspirations tomorrow looking like the half-dead zombie that’s starin’ at me from the mirror right this second, they’ll start shootin’ me full of botox.”

Nick chuckled, hung up, and dialed Lisa Anders. He checked his watch at the first ring. 3:06 a.m. Bad timing.

“Hello?” Her voice was peppy – high strung – not the groggy, froggy voice he expected.

“It’s Nick. You needed to talk to me?”

“Nick! Oh, thank God. Yes, I need to talk to you,” she burst out.

He was immediately on edge. There was a hysterical undercurrent propelling that flood of words. “Okay, shoot,” he urged.

“I can’t explain this over the phone. I have to show you some photos and drawings. Can we meet?”

Nick was taken aback. This was definitely not what he had expected when he phoned her. “Now?”

“Now would be great!”

He hesitated. Meeting with Lisa would put him way behind schedule for his powwow with Crow later on.

“Please,” Lisa begged, sensing his reluctance.

“Well, I don’t know. I’m in the middle of something extremely important, and time is of the essence.”

“Oh, I think you’ll be interested in this, Nick,” she said mysteriously. “We’ve got more trouble than we thought down in Florida.”

Nick’s curiosity was instantly aroused, as she no doubt figured it would be. He shook his head and grinned despite the situation. He had just struck her bait like a big mouth bass, and she would no doubt waste little time in setting the hook.

“Okay.” He sighed his surrender. “Where?”

“I’ll come to you,” she said. “This is really important.”

Nick gave her the address and directions to the dingy, all-night diner down the street from his storage unit. Chances were that it would be fairly empty at this late hour, so they could have some privacy.

“Can’t you give me a little hint?” he asked.

“Sure. Seth Lewis and I have discovered a completely new, upright-walking species, and the preliminary genetic findings indicate that it’s not related to humans.”

He wasn’t following her. “So, is this supposed to be wonderful news? Win you the Nobel prize?”

“Absolutely not!”

Nick frowned. “All right, I give. What’s some old, extinct fossil got to do with me?”

“It has everything to do with you, Nick, because thanks to the fountain of youth, this species is no longer extinct.”

“C’mon,” he chuckled. “Just put any live specimens you find in a zoo, call it Jurassic Park, and charge admission to see the prehistoric freaks.”

“Jesus! You don’t understand. They’re killing machines, Nick!” Lisa huffed. “I’ll tell you more when I see you. Bye.” Dial tone.

Nick thoughtfully switched off the phone. He wasn’t certain that he wanted to know more. Between the demon guardian and the Walkingman creature, he’d seen enough in the asylum’s basement to last him a lifetime or two.