Summoned Chaos (31 page)

Before I could answer, lightning exploded inside my arm. My vision blurred as I screamed.

I was vaguely aware of Quinn gripping my good hand as the Healing Spell knitted muscle and tissue back together. Needles raced through me as the flesh reconnected. I wished for unconsciousness to claim me, but the agony prevented me from blacking out.

Eventually, the pain eased, leaving me with nothing but a dull ache and a hoarse throat.

Mick removed his hands from my arm. “That will hold for a while. You’ll need more than a battle dressing, though.”

I glanced at my arm. The skin was an angry red and the lines where my flesh had been stitched back together still raw, but the muscle beneath it worked when I flexed. It was tender, but I was combat-capable once again.

“This is good enough for now,” I wheezed. “And thanks.”

Mick nodded, but Quinn gathered me into a hug, crushing me in her arms.

“You moron. Stop trying to get yourself killed, okay?”

Her touch was almost enough to make me forget the damage to my arm. “No promises.”

She released me as Arbent limped over to us.

“Any word from the other half of our team?” I asked, thinking of the spells I’d seen lighting up the sky.

He pulled out his phone, speaking in low tones. The response was garbled, but the darkness that passed over Arbent’s face told the story.

“Helga says they’re about a hundred yards to our west by a small building. They stopped some of the beasts, but Rancin came through like a tornado. Thetra and Reagan are hurt—Reagan badly. Jethrow put a quick patch on both of them, but they need a real Healer. Helga and Jethrow will pursue once you get there, Mick.”

“On it,” the Healer said, then sprinted toward the brick structure in the distance.

Arbent started following Mick. “We need to catch those lizards before they kill someone.”

I didn’t move.

Quinn tugged on my arm. “Marcus, let’s go.”

“Hang on,” I said, running the situation over in my mind.

Rancin had told Pierce she would show Normals why they should fear us once again.

Hell, considering what she’d just summoned,
I
was terrified and I’d killed a bunch of the damn things already.

But no one was around Oak Hill, at least, not at that time of night. There were any number of neighborhoods, but Rancin wouldn’t waste her pets trying to kill a handful of Normals.

She’d want something big and flashy. A gathering point like a major bar or theater.

The Mimics had targeted HQ, the pumas targeted Ambassador Jones. Where were the lizards going?

Where would they gain the most attention and do the most damage?

My stomach plummeted as I spotted the stone spires in the distance.

“The National Cathedral,” I whispered.

Chapter Twenty-Two

A Cathedral of Duplicity

“Are you sure?” Quinn asked, helping me to my feet and hauling me back toward the cars.

I weaved around a headstone. “It’s the most logical target. Rancin likely wants to make a massive, public display and what better location than a historic landmark? Plus, it’s Father Pierce’s base of operations.”

“Why kidnap Pierce?” Arbent was leaping like a gazelle through the cemetery. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

I, on the other hand, was sucking wind like it was going out of style.

“Carla and I didn’t pan out,” I said between gasps. “So Pierce is her consolation prize. Or simply a target of opportunity. Either way, we’re stopping her.”

As we approached the perimeter fence, Quinn slid her sword along the dirt, then swiped it in the direction we were traveling. The ground before us rumbled as a large, earthen ramp tore from the ground and slammed against the fence. Quinn and Arbent raced up the steep incline, leaping over the pointed tips, and landing gracefully on the other side near our cars.

I followed, but chickened out at the last minute and simply slid over the edge, dropping like a rock to the sidewalk.

I landed, rolled, then popped up by the Aston Martin.

I unlocked the DBS, but Arbent held up his keys. “We need to take mine. Yours only has two seats.”

Crap.

I gave the Aston a loving goodbye glance, then motioned for Arbent’s keys. “Fine, but I drive.”

Once we piled into the Beemer, I fired the metal beast to life and left a long, black streak of rubber in my wake.

“We need to tell the Elders where we’re headed,” Quinn said.

I swerved to avoid a pedestrian who offered me the One-Finger-D.C.-Salute. “My phone is in my side pocket. Call Mom or Dad and have them relay it to the Elders.”

She reached into the folds of my robe, removed my phone and made the call. While she spoke, Arbent leaned in between us.

“So what’s our plan?”

“Get to the Cathedral first. Then we do what we can to stop Rancin and pray the Elders arrive before she murders us all.”

Arbent patted my shoulder. “At least you’ve thought this through.”

I grimaced. “Yeah, I’m a well-spring of great ideas this evening.”

The Beemer leaned dramatically as I jerked us onto Wisconsin Avenue, then stood on end as I hit the brakes. We screeched to a halt, almost crushing the teeny car in front of us. It was one of those ecologically friendly vehicles designed for city parking and was completely covered in “Peace” and “Coexist” bumper stickers. The driver leaned his head out and started screaming profanities at me.

Quinn shoved my phone back in my pocket. “What’s going on?”

“Delivery truck,” I replied, staring daggers at the huge vehicle blocking our lane. The workers were emptying boxes from the back and completely ignoring the horns that blared at them. If anything, they were taking their sweet time, enjoying the melodious tune of pissed-off drivers who weren’t able to move an inch.

D.C., man.

“Can’t we take a side road?” Quinn asked.

“No way. It’s a freakin’ maze of one-way streets up here. Besides, nothing else is a straight shot to the Cathedral.”

She frowned. “So we’re stuck?”

“Nope.” I revved the engine and pulled the Beemer into oncoming traffic. Horns blared as cars swerved out of our way.

“Tell me this has airbags,” Arbent moaned, gripping Quinn’s headrest with all his might.

I floored the gas, passing the delivery van like a sleek, snobby rocket. As soon as we were clear, I swerved us back into the correct lane. We barreled up Wisconsin, blasting past the buildings that separated us from Montrose Park and Dumbarton Oaks Gardens. The Beemer weaved through the traffic like a ballerina, crossing the double yellow line gracefully when we passed slower cars.

At the speed we were traveling, that was pretty much all of them.

Arbent’s phone rang. His conversation was short.

“What?” I asked when he’d hung up.

“That was Heidi. You were right. The police have been flooded with news about monsters rolling through the neighborhoods. She’s also been fielding calls that something is tearing up the Cathedral. They’ve already activated SWAT, but I doubt they’ll beat us there.”

More guns were always welcome, in my opinion. With any luck, we’d still be alive when they arrived.

We sailed past the Naval Observatory and Glover Park, blowing through a red lights and ignoring the horns of irate drivers.

Flashing lights appeared in the rearview mirror as we flew through the intersection of Wisconsin and Massachusetts.

“Normal cavalry is inbound,” Arbent said.

“Hopefully the extra firepower will make a difference,” I replied, praying the lizard beasts were more vulnerable to conventional weapons than the pumas we’d faced in Maryland.

I hit the brakes and spun onto the small street on our right. Quinn squealed almost as loud as the tires as we tore up the road, screaming louder when I stood on the brakes. The Beemer left an inch of rubber on the pavement as we skidded to a halt by the destination.

Tall and majestic, The Washington National Cathedral was a stunning ray of architectural sunshine compared to the gray, boring buildings across the street. It hosted everything from state funerals to Catholic mass and even sported the bust of Darth Vader among the countless gargoyles lining the exterior.

The Cathedral was a tourist destination for visitors and a place for internal reflection and prayer for locals.

It was also, apparently, the target of Rancin’s unholy vengeance.

Lizards sprinted across the open lawn, chasing civilians.

Numerous bodies—some human, some not—were scattered across the cobblestone path by the front steps. Many lay in pools of blood. Behind us, the police cruiser screeched to a halt, but the cop’s face went from rage to terror as she gazed upon the scene.

A small pack of lizards erupted from behind the buildings on the south side of the Cathedral. Arbent shoved past me, staff glowing. “Time to earn our paycheck.”

He raised his staff over his head, swirled it, and brought it down in an arc. Wind raced from him to the creature that was chasing one of the clergy, catching the beast like a broadside. The lizard flew through the air, slamming into the corner of the stone exterior of the Cathedral with an audible snap. It flopped to the ground, whimpering as it struggled to rise.

Arbent ended its suffering a second later by driving the pointed end of his staff through its side.

While Arbent finished off his target, Quinn and I engaged the remaining lizards. Quinn powered up her sword and swung at the beasts like she was hitting a nine-iron. The stones in front of her launched from the ground, spraying the creatures with deadly accuracy. Two of them dropped instantly, their heads crushed from the inertia of the small rockets. The third dodged the initial assault, but crashed to the ground as two of the three hollow-points from my Glock struck gold. The body skidded a short distance before coming to a stop ten feet from us.

“Hot damn,” I said, shoving a fresh magazine into the pistol.

The clergyman staggered to us. He was trim with thin glasses and a thick head of graying hair. His lined face was ashen and his brow covered with sweat. “Thank you! These unholy things appeared out of nowhere.” His hands shook. “They have been merciless.”

“How many people are in there?” Arbent asked.

“I don’t know. There were several hundred when the attack started. Many fled. Some never made it to safety.” He paused to collect himself. “Thank the Lord that this didn’t happen during a worship service.”

I seethed with fury at the sight of so many hurt or dead. “What about an old woman?”

The priest pointed at the front doors. “In there with Father Pierce.”

I stared at the entrance, trying to get into Rancin’s head. She had been trying to reintroduce a sense of fear of the Skilled in the Normals for at least a week, probably longer.

She’d opened rifts to summon the beasts that would terrorize humanity, but I’d tripped her up. Then I shined a light on her and she’d panicked.

Now she was flying by the seat of her pants, holed up in the National Cathedral with an unknown number of civilians and Father Pierce.

And if there was one lesson I’d learned from my mother it was that a cornered animal was a dangerous one.

Rancin would likely fight to the death, killing anyone who tried to stop her.

But Rancin wasn’t the only one with a score to settle. Rage over the death of more innocents pumped energy through my system.

All of this was on my hands. I’d lit this fuse. I’d underestimated her.

No more.

“You two handle the lizards,” I said to Arbent and Quinn. “I’m going after Rancin.”

Quinn frowned. “Marcus, that’s beyond stupid.”

“We need to keep her off balance so she can’t complete whatever the hell she’s planning. The
minute
back-up arrives, you come get me with guns blazing, you hear?” I didn’t wait for a response, but took off toward the Cathedral at a full sprint.

The interior of the Cathedral was uncomfortably quiet. Thick stone walls muted the noise of combat outside while polished, marble floors reflected the bright lights overhead. The air felt unnaturally heavy, smothering my senses like a down comforter.

I gave the inside a quick scan with my Skill and felt the buzzing of someone else’s magic press back.

Thankfully, no one attacked me, so I eased past a large column and approached the double doors behind it. I peeked through the glass, saw nothing lethal, then slowly inched the right door open. Squeezing through the opening, I skirted behind another column inside the main sanctuary.

The room was enormous.

Tall, wide columns lined either side and chairs filled the space between me and the podium at the far end. The patterned marble floors were highly polished and decked out in intricate colors of green, red and gray tiles. High above, the ceiling seemed to stretch into infinity.

Shattered chairs and broken bodies marred the beauty of the sanctuary.

I counted at least a half-dozen dead. Blood still flowed from some of them, leaking the raw energy human life into the room. Unlike the victims outside, these people had been killed by magic, not the teeth of a predator.

I steadied my breathing and focused my Skill on the surrounding area. I reached out, feeling my way through the cavernous interior of the Cathedral, searching for any sign of Rancin or Pierce. Sadly, whatever spell was muting the world outside was also dampening my powers.

Instead of slipping nimbly through the interior, my Skill dragged, as if swimming through molasses. Apparently Rancin was trying to blind any Skilled coming after her because I could barely feel more than a few feet at a time. Each time I pushed through the web, it drained my already depleted powers a little more. After another minute, I resigned myself to the futility of the situation.

The only way to find her was by using the Mark-1 Eyeball.

With the great hall seemingly empty—save for the remnants of death and destruction—I carefully leap-frogged down the sanctuary, one column at a time. As I neared the podium at the far end, I spotted a small antechamber behind it. Rows of raised pews, like that for a choir, ran down the wide hallway into the chamber.

A dozen terrified people, some bloodied, filled the seats on the right. They seemed stunned, staring into the chamber with dazed expressions.

I followed their gazes.

Rancin dragged Father Pierce toward a small altar.

“This is murder!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls.

Rancin shoved him toward the shallow stairs before the small altar. “It is sad, but also necessary. For you and for the Skilled.”

Pierce rubbed his forehead. “I don’t understand.”

“The Skilled need isolation. The unity has cost us—me—too much already. The price will only increase in the years to come. Normals and the Skilled must separate once more.”

The Father stepped to her. “My people and I deal in forgiveness and love, Elder Rancin. Whatever wrong you think the Normals have brought to your people, I’m sure we can solve it together.”

The old woman offered a sad smile. “I wish you were correct.”

She drove a knife into his chest.

The crowd screamed, shaken from their stupor by the suddenness of the murder. My own chest tightened as the priest sagged against the Elder, gasping for breath.

“I’m sorry, Father,” she said, easing him to the floor. “I truly hope your God exists and that you are with him now.”

Ignoring the wails of the crowd, she removed her knife and closed the man’s eyes. Tucking her blade back into her robes, she placed her hands on the expanding blotch of blood on his chest. She murmured something, then walked to the altar at the back of the room. Rancin slapped her bloody hands together over her head. Then, with the gentleness of a mother caressing a newborn, she slowly drew her hands downward, splitting the reality before her with surgical precision. Raising her hands once more, she opened the rift like she was tearing open curtains.