The Lost Prince (34 page)

The staff rested against his shoulder in the same position as when he dozed off working on it. He had penciled in the runes. The first set of runes from the parchment he ran vertically, two on the north and south sides of the staff above the grip, two on the east and west sides of the staff below it, careful not to break the sentence structure Lelani indicated. He left space just above the handgrip for the four runes of his choice. Those he would place on the same level horizontally in a circle around the staff. He didn’t know which rune meant what. Lelani said that was part of the bond between a spell caster and his instrument. The first set of runes represented what he intended for the staff. The second set of symbols were different from the first and traditionally taught to wizards after they’d created their first staff or walking stick. The wizard chose them blindly because it allowed the universe to communicate its purpose for the spell caster—that there was a place for the magic user within the universal architecture. Lelani said the choice would feel random; all the runes would be calling to him, but he would connect with the ones that matched him best. It was a ritual steeped more in tradition than fact, but many swore by it, insisting the universe was never wrong. Seth figured it was like reading horoscopes … everyone sees their life in the prediction.

They had switched to Interstate 85 around Petersburg, Virginia. Outside the car it was dark. The world blended into blue and gray uniformity. “Where are we?” Seth asked.

“Near the Carolina border,” Cal said. The fuel gauge indicated low. They’d soon be driving on fumes. “Call her.”

“Call her,” had become Callum’s new mantra. Could he be any more clear that he’d rather have had Lelani on this trip? He left her behind to organize the remnants of the prince’s guardians, and coincidentally, she was in a position to protect Cat and Bree. As driven as the cop was to find the prince, he had two duties, really—the other being the protection of his family. To Callum, divided loyalties must be as alien as altruism was to the mafia. Seth chuckled at the likelihood of Dominic Tagliatore opening libraries and orphanages with his ill-gotten gains.

Lelani picked up on the third ring. Seth put her on speaker so that Cal could hear.

“I have a theory,”
she said.
“This would never work in Aandor because of the abundance of magical energies in the environment, but—to remain animated, Dretch must be drawing power from the sparse lay lines in this reality. Otherwise he would just be another corpse. The spell that animates him requires a constant stream of mana. He’s drawing it to him. In fact, if he should ever stray too far from any lay lines, he would shut down.

“We might be able to make the energy visible. There are virtually no other spells or enchantments in this reality—nothing to compete with the energy flowing toward Dretch. As long as you stayed within twenty miles or so of him, you could use the mana as a beacon. You’ll need some items for the spell though—metals sensitive to magic such as iron, silver, and gold; potassium percolate, aluminum powder, blood, and a few other items.”

“When will you know if your theory is right?” Cal asked.

Lelani hesitated a moment, then added,
“I can’t cast this spell from New York. Seth must do it in the vicinity of Dretch. I told you, about twenty miles.”

“What? I can’t even kill salt,” Seth insisted. “Is there a spell to fill our gas tank without stopping instead?”

“There is a spell to propel an inanimate vehicle, but that is far more difficult for someone at your skill level.”

“Text him the information for the beacon, and be prepared to help him on the phone,” Cal ordered. “We’ll pull over at the next service area. Is Cat there?” he added.

There was a moment’s pause and then Malcolm Robbe’s voice. “Cat just managed to put Bree down in the next room, Cal. She’s sound asleep next to her. Should I wake them?”

“No—I’ll talk to her later,” Cal said. “Hopefully I’ll have good news in a few hours.” He reached over and cut the connection. “Save that phone battery,” he told Seth.

Seth wished he were in a Waldorf Astoria bed protected by professional security. Still, there was something odd about the way Malcolm cut in on Lelani. Maybe he’d been the last to check in on Cat and Lelani didn’t know she was asleep.
Maybe.

3

Seth had no idea the popular child’s toy Etch A Sketch contained aluminum powder. Nor did he realize that basic sparklers contained potassium percolate. Malcolm’s team researched what readily available items at the rest stop’s convenience store might contain the ingredients needed for the beacon spell. He bought a steel saucepan to put it all in and headed back to the darkened picnic area where he agreed to meet Cal. MacDonnell was paying the attendant for gas. Serious as he was already, Cal’s mood had noticeably changed for the worse when they left the interstate. They watched Dretch’s car drive on as they entered the rest area, almost hitting a Prius that had been backing out of its parking spot. They had maybe thirty minutes before Dretch was out of range.

In the picnic area, Seth laid the items on a table. They were fortunate to be in a rural area with nearby campgrounds. The rest stops on the Jersey Turnpike would not have stocked portable propane cooking stands. As he lit the burner, he made a note to ask Lelani why some magic required elaborate ingredients and fire, and others could be cast with just a few words or the wave of a hand.

Magic was fantastic and mysterious, but there were rules and limitations, their own version of the laws of physics. A wizard, Seth discovered, was a learned sorcerer … someone who studied both magic and science, honed their skill, and added to his or her natural abilities. Wizards could blend science and magic to create new, hybrid spells and enchantments. Any hag or bum with a natural inclination to magic could hang a shingle on their hovel and call himself a sorcerer. A wizard belonged to a recognized brotherhood. They were the Ph.D.s of the arcane, researching the depths of their power and the multiverse.

“Well?” said Cal, impatiently. Seth didn’t even hear him bring the car up. He couldn’t remember the last time he concentrated so hard.

“Everything’s set except for one ingredient. Gold. They didn’t have any real gold in the convenience store.”

Cal took off his wedding ring and gazed at it for a precious few seconds. Then he threw it in the pot.

What would he tell his wife?

“If my ring is destroyed over a failed spell,” Cal said. “I will beat you to within an inch of your life.”

“You really are an abusive fuck,” Seth responded.

Before the exchange could go further, Lelani cleared her throat loudly on the speakerphone and asked to begin. Seth pricked his finger with his Swiss Army knife, and dropped blood into the pot. He recited the words she taught him, pictured the result he wanted in his mind, and dropped a match onto the flash powder. The powder ignited, a cloud of smoke rose from the pot. The ingredients—silver earrings, iron nails, wedding ring, and wishbone of a fowl for divining—were all singed. The two men looked around for some effect.

“What’s happening?”
said Lelani.

“Nothing,” said Cal. “Not a damned thing.”

“You may simply be too far from a lay line. Look for an area of great historical significance—a grand piece of architecture, the sight of a great battle, or significant cultural event. Magical energy inspires great deeds and draws these things to it.”

Cal sat on the picnic bench, both hands balled into fists. He stared down the highway in the direction of Dretch’s escape.

“Red, we’re in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere,” said Seth. “The whole world isn’t like New York.”

Silence ensued. Seth thought about the phone’s battery life. He was about to sign off when Lelani asked,
“Seth, have you finished your staff?”

“Not the carving. I laid out the runes and am still trying to figure out the design motif. Kind of like picking out a tattoo.”

“The runes are on the staff?”
she asked excitedly.

“Just penciled in. I didn’t get a chance to—”

“Get your staff!”

Seth retrieved it from the backseat. It was warm to the touch, as though he’d never relinquished it. As he reached the picnic table, he rested the bottom tip on the grass. A jolt ran through him—a tingling of energy, strange and yet familiar. Everything changed color. Living things—trees, insects, people, rodents—emitted an aura. The stars burned brighter and the black sky changed hue to the deep ultramarine of dusk. Inanimate objects were a cold sterile gray, their details lost and rendered irrelevant. Even the headlights on the cars and trucks looked drab compared to the aura of living things. Seth raised it off the grass and unplugged the effect. Everything was normal again.

“Whoa,” he said.

“What happened?”
asked Lelani.

Seth explained.

“Seth, Rosencrantz has been monitoring your progress. He’s reached out through the network of lay lines and the green, but until now had no way to connect with you.”

“The green?”

“The biosphere. Living things. When you tapped your staff on the grass, you connected with him. The staff is working. Cast the spell again.”

Seth knew better than to argue. He could debate her for a day and still come away not understanding any of this. He used the remaining ingredients to pack a final wad of flash powder and placed it in the pot. He tapped the staff to the earth and his vision changed again. This time he listened and looked for signs from Rosencrantz. That familiar sensation grew in him again. It was like the time upstate when he held on to the tree and killed those gnolls and the undead guy. He repeated the steps for the beacon spell, this time more confident. An invisible force guided him, like a parent behind a running toddler. He lit the powder. This time the flash was more like a column of light shooting toward the heavens. He saw tendrils of warm light with golden flecks wafting around trees. They moved like a meandering autumn stream. Seth felt himself rise. He looked down to see his body still standing, eyes closed, staff in hand. Cal was saying something to him, but the sounds Seth now heard were not of the mortal world. He stopped rising when he reached the point of the highest tree. This, too, was Rosencrantz’s doing … the perspective of the top leaf. He could see for miles—and there, south of him, a bright light moved steadily on Interstate 85, tendrils of meandering light feeding lazily into it from the surrounding hills and forests.

Seth willed himself down. He opened his eyes and unhitched himself from the green. Cal looked at him with a mixture of confusion, wonder, and hope.

“To the Batmobile,” Seth said.

CHAPTER 25

CORPORATE AXMAN

Mal went over his business reports with only half a mind. Catherine MacDonnell’s kidnapping weighed on his thoughts; it was an embarrassment. He’d promised to protect her—made a great deal about his wealth and resources, and then lost her to Dorn within a day. Then, to cover up his debacle, he lied to her husband. There would be a reckoning with the captain when the truth came out; he did not relish the idea of reuniting with MacDonnell under these circumstances.

The billionaire sat propped against pillows and the headboard scrolling through his laptop, responding to e-mails, delaying meetings, authorizing purchases, hiring new people, and getting rid of some dead weight that all companies accrue after years without a house cleaning. The latest economic difficulties made it easier to justify downsizing, especially those whose wages and benefits exceeded their productivity. The workers complained that the company made more than enough money to support their continued employment—as though the only reason for his company’s existence was to provide them work. Mal could never abide by that sort of backward thinking. He created his company from the ground up. Its purpose was to serve him, and the workers were there to serve his vision. When a body armor plant in Ohio threatened to form a union, Malcolm shuttered it and moved the jobs to West Virginia. A bunch of Appalachians could sew ceramic plates into Kevlar as good as anyone in Ohio, and seemed a hell of a lot more appreciative for the chance.

Someone knocked on the bedroom door. Its immediate opening told Mal that Scott had returned, even before his partner came into view. Everyone else would have waited for his permission before entering.

With his great success, Mal had developed some understanding of the rules of nobility. What was he if not a modern aristocrat, after all, even if he didn’t have fancy titles. Everyone wants a piece of the man who’s in charge. If it wasn’t money, it was favors, some boon, some judgment, some advantage—some little piece of the power he held. The rules were there to keep everyone from rushing forward all at once like a pack of wild dogs barking and nipping at his fingers. Scott was different. He was Mal’s kennel master, adept at the game and with a personal interest in protecting Malcolm’s privacy, since it was also his own.

Scott carried two stacked boxes, one large, one smaller, that he placed on the end of the bed.

“These just arrived from the Forge,” he said, rubbing his arms to soothe his sore muscles. “What is it … gold bullion?”

The Forge was Malcolm’s research center, where his company tested new alloys and designs to build the weapons that supplied America’s armed forces. Malcolm wasn’t just any run-of-the-mill chief executive—one of those sons of paper pushers from Ivy League frats with cushy corner offices and stock options and golden parachutes and no vested interest in the company’s success. Mal had practical skills. Like his hero Soichiro Honda, who could take apart and rebuild his cars’ engines by himself, Mal knew how to smelt, blend, and bend metal—he always had, even when he didn’t know who he really was. You could make a dwarv forget his name, but you could never get the forge out of his blood.

Mal set aside the laptop on a pillow and stood to examine the boxes. The larger box was five feet long, three feet wide, and two feet thick. He ripped off the brown paper wrapping and pulled off the cardboard top. Resting inside Styrofoam molds were three sections of a beautifully designed two-sided metal ax.