Undead Chaos (21 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Into the Fire

Several minutes later we stepped through the doorway of the Underground and into the bright, warm sunlight of the mortal Washington DC.

As the door sealed behind us, we ran full tilt toward the parking garage where I’d left the Gray Ghost. There were few people out and about—word of our arrival would be slow to spread. With any luck, it would give us time to get to the Homestead before Quaos knew we were coming.

The security man at the entrance of the garage stared wide-eyed at our band. We bypassed him without slowing and took the elevator down to the Ghost. I unlocked it, threw the two bags in the back, unhitched my sword, and we jumped in.

Well, Quinn, the bees and I jumped in. Steve struggled to fold himself into the backseat. Even with him scrunched down, I couldn’t see out the rearview mirror.

“This sucks,” he grumbled as we pulled up to the exit gate.

“You wanted to come along,” I said, handing the attendant more money than was necessary. The man reached blankly for the bills while staring at Steve.

The Minotaur rolled his eyes. “Dude, you gonna open this gate or what?”

The attendant stammered, but the arm lifted and I stepped on the gas before he changed his mind.

We pulled onto a side street and took the exit to the 14th Street Bridge. Traffic was unusually light, so I pressed the pedal to the floor. We raced across the bridge and down the ramp onto the George Washington Memorial Parkway. I nearly creamed an eco-friendly crunchy-mobile as I accelerated through the “yield” sign and completely ignored the meek, sissy horn that blared at me.

As we sped down the historic road, I whipped my phone out and punched a number. The automated answering service picked up, and I entered the code for the receptionist.

“Delwinn Council main office,” the lady on the other end answered in a polite, practiced voice.

“This is Warlock Shifter. Patch me through to Harper or any Elder. Now.”

“I’m sorry, but all Elders are in a meeting and are unavailable. If I can take your name and number I’ll—”

“I have an emergency here, lady!” I shouted. “Patch me through to someone important or I will reach through this phone and throttle you.”

“Sir, there is no need for—”

I cursed, hung up, then dialed a second number.

“I’m on a date, Shifter,” a gruff voice said.

“Arbent, I need to call in a favor.”

The man chuckled with the sound of gravel in a pail. “You’re out of favors, pal. Or have you forgotten about the vampire debacle last year?”

“Fine,” I snarled, jerking the Ghost around a dented pickup. “Then I’ll owe you one. There’s an emergency at the Homestead, and I need a response team activated immediately.”

“You’ve already tried the Council?” His tone turned serious.

“Of
course.
Couldn’t get past the receptionist.”

“Friggin’ red tape,” Arbent grumbled. “Listen, Shifter, I don’t know if I can activate a team without proper approval.”

“Screw regulations!” I snapped. “A bunch of nut-jobs are attacking my family! Get off your ass and get me some Warlocks!”

“Holy hell, okay,” Arbent said after a moment of silence. “But you owe me big time for this.”

“I’ll name my firstborn Joel.”

“Use my first name again,” he growled, “and I’ll beat you to death.”

“Love you too, Arbent. Now get me some firepower.”

I hung up with a frustrated grunt

“Who was that?” Quinn asked.

“Joel Arbent. He’s one of the Council’s senior coordinators for quick-reaction teams. If someone doesn’t trip him up, he can get a squad of Warlocks to the Homestead in less than thirty minutes.”

She sighed with relief. “Thank goodness.”

“I’m just glad someone finally listened to me.”

My revelry was cut short by the sight of a sedan in my side mirror. It rapidly closed the distance and overtook us as if we were standing still. As it passed, I noted red robes flapping in the open windows. The occupants cheered wildly, paying no attention to the Ghost as they accelerated.

Hot flames licked the inside of my chest. With a scowl, I dropped a gear and stomped on the gas. The Ghost lurched forward and the tachometer screamed with agony as we gained on the sedan.

“Marcus?” Quinn asked as I slid the pistol from the holster. Instead of answering, I whipped the Ghost around the sedan, leveled my pistol out the window with my free hand, and pulled the trigger.

The gun thundered several times and bullets skipped over the hood. One or two clipped the front quarter-panel, but a handful slammed into the engine compartment. Steam exploded from the front, and there was a squealing noise from within. The vehicle jerked and slowed, falling quickly behind us as we continued down the road unimpeded.

Quinn pulled her fingers from her ears. “Nice shooting.”

“Thank Lady Luck,” I replied. “The chances of hitting anything vital were slim.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

“’Cause he was pissed,” Steve said. “Or stupid.”

Both, actually.

The Parkway ended, and we immediately raced up the ramp for Georgetown Pike faster than the Commonwealth of Virginia recommended. We nearly rocked up on two wheels as we made the turn onto the narrow winding road between McLean and Great Falls. With the exception of an expensive European sports car that we left in our wake, the Pike was relatively clear.

The Gray Ghost tore into the tiny village like a big square bullet. We blew past the fire station and tiny shopping complex and sailed over the first set of rolling hills. The local speed trap was unoccupied, and I sent up a prayer of thanks for the assist.

I kept up the idiotic pace until we turned onto the drive for the Homestead. We hit the gravel at an angle and the tires spun as they struggled for traction. Without warning, I stood on the brakes and yanked the Ghost sideways into the woods. We bounced several times before coming to a halt in a thicket of trees.

“What was
that
for?” Quinn asked. Her face was stark white and she was gasping for air. I grimaced and pointed down the road to the smoldering remains of the guard shack. The large iron gates were twisted and bent as if inhuman hands had ripped them apart. There was no sign of Frank, but a lot of bodies in red robes littered the ground.

Several meters from the ruined checkpoint was a hazy, shimmering dome that stretched far into the sky. Numerous agents stood at the base, pounding weapons or spells on it with manic force. Colored sparks exploded against the structure, but nothing penetrated.

“That barrier is part of the automatic defense system for the Homestead,” I said. “It only activates if the family is under serious attack. No wonder my calls wouldn’t go through. Once up, it seals the Homestead off from everything.”

Quinn pointed to a handful of robed men already knee deep in the red Virginia clay. “Some of the attackers are apparently trying to burrow underneath it.”

“Won’t do them any good,” I replied. “The barrier is a sphere that encompasses the entire property. You can’t fly, pound or dig your way in. The only way through is to shut the thing down entirely, and that can only be accomplished from within. Even then, only a Shifter can perform the spell. At least, in theory.”

“In theory?” Steve asked.

“It’s been a few hundred years since it was last activated, and the instruction manual is written in old-old-old Latin. I can hardly figure out how to set my coffeemaker, so I didn’t bother learning all the details.”

“That seems like an important piece of knowledge to have in your back pocket,” the Minotaur said.

“Yeah,
now
it does. When you’re a teenager, you’re more interested in breasts and cars.”

Steve’s nostrils flared, but he stayed quiet.

“So we’re locked out?” Quinn asked, redirecting the conversation back to the crisis at hand.

“Not entirely. There’s an emergency access point. Come on.” I jumped out of the car. The bees followed and landed on my shoulder. I buckled the sword to my back and slid the pistol back into the holster. “We’re too exposed here.”

As we stepped away from the Ghost, a small truck packed with agents in red robes came tearing down the road. It fishtailed wildly in the gravel, and the occupants hooted through the open windows. They were so distracted that they didn’t see us.

They also failed to notice their fellow attackers beating uselessly against the barrier. Several agents successfully leaped out of the way as the truck bore down on them. One or two were not as lucky and went sailing over the cab as it plowed through them.

A moment later the vehicle crashed into the shimmering wall like a freight train.

There was a horrific screech of metal and the hood crumpled like an accordion. The agents in bed were launched out while the occupants in the cabin were thrown through the windshield at over sixty miles an hour. Even at our distance I could hear the sickening sound of multiple bones shattering. I winced, but felt little remorse for the attackers. It simply meant less bad guys to worry about.

“Apparently it works,” Quinn muttered. I nodded and we turned away from the carnage and toward the thickness of the woods.

“Be careful,” I said, as we pushed into the forest. “Another part of the family defenses is the number of unpleasant things prowling the perimeter. Normally they don’t mess with a member of the Shifter family, so you all should be safe since you’re traveling with me.”

“Should be?” Quinn asked.

“With the barrier up, I have no idea how they might react. It’s best we keep our heads on a swivel and be ready just in case.”

We trotted through the fallen trees for a few minutes without incident, bypassing several more clumps of attackers futilely banging on the barrier. As much as I wanted to engage the enemy, it would be wasted energy. The barrier would protect the Homestead for as long as was necessary.

Eventually we came to a small brook with an old stone pump-house on the bank. It was disheveled and completely covered with moss. I glanced around to make sure no one was nearby, then approached the rotting door. I spoke the safe-word under my breath and gave the door a slight tap with my Skill. There was a pause, then it squeaked open an inch.

The interior was less inviting.

Darkness shrouded my little band of rescuers, and the stench of sewage overwhelmed us. Quinn, the bees and I moved inside, but Steve couldn’t squeeze through the doorway. He pushed and grunted, but was simply too tall and wide.

After a moment he pulled himself back outside. “Sorry, man. There’s no way I’m fitting through there.”

“It’s okay,” I replied. “We’ll just have to enjoy the fight without you.”

The Minotaur ginned. “Oh, I’m gonna have fun entertaining myself out here. Watch yourself,” he added in a surprisingly concerned tone. We traded a quick, manly fist-bump, then he sprinted into the forest.

“I actually feel sorry for the Quaos agents outside the barrier,” Quinn said.

I nodded, then shut and relocked the door. I drew my sword, scraped it along the muck-covered walls, and spoke another phrase. The blade bathed the filth of the room in soft green light.

Quinn wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

“There’s a reason why it’s the back door,” I replied. “No one would visit if this was the main entry.”

She laughed, but the bees didn’t react.

They never got my humor.

“Over there,” I said, nodding toward a rusting ladder. I was forced to sheath my sword for the climb down, which took us deeper into the darkness. Once we reached the bottom, I reactivated the sword-light and led the way along the stone sewers. We inched along the walkway on one side of the brownish water, taking extra care not to step into the waste. Occasionally a rat squeaked, but otherwise we were left alone.

The sewers extended for over a hundred yards before we came upon another ladder. We were plunged into total darkness once again as I tucked the sword back into its sheath. Then, gripping the cold metal rungs, I climbed until my hand connected with a steel hatch at the top. I pressed my palm against the smooth surface and unlocked it with another password.

The hatch gave a soft click and I felt around for the handle. It opened it with ease and sunlight poured into the shaft. It took a moment for our eyes to adjust, but as soon as Quinn said she was okay, we continued upward.

The ladder took us up through the belly of an abandoned well and out onto the family grounds.

The sight that greeted us was one of total pandemonium.

Combat raged across the Homestead with guards engaging Quaos agents in large clumps. Bullets sailed overhead and spells whizzed past, crackling with energy. Occasionally someone from each side cried out, collapsing to the ground where they lay motionless.

“How the hell did they get in?” I asked, watching the fight in awe.

“Marcus, we’re sitting ducks out here.”

I snapped back to reality. Quaos agents that weren’t actively engaging the guards were running all over the place, throwing spells around with wild abandon. If they spotted us, we were dead meat. I grabbed her hand and pulled her down behind some bushes by the well.

“We need to get inside the Homestead,” I said.

“How? There are a lot of agents between us and the front door.”

I gave the situation a quick glance. “Our best bet is the side entrance by my hives. From there it’s a short trip to the armory.”

“You think the thing Quaos wants is there?” Quinn asked.

I nodded. “I’m not sure if the family has figured that out yet, so we need to get there just in case. Besides,” I added as I slid a fresh magazine into the pistol, “I’m dangerously low on ammunition.”

A spell detonated between us and the house, gouging a small crater in the manicured lawn.

“We’re over a hundred yards from the house,” I said. “That’s too far to travel in the open.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Quinn said, holding her palms toward a small fire nearby. The smoke wavered, then floated toward her. She waited for several agents to run past our hiding place, then stood and launched her smoke spell. It exploded into columns of colorful plumes that created a ten foot—wide corridor between us and the house. We burst through the bushes and sprinted down the passageway.