Undead Chaos (18 page)

My heart raced.

Quinn paled. “Impossible. I covered our tracks like you taught me.”

“And yet we have company.” He opened his eyes and looked at his daughter. “We need to leave. Now.”

Without warning he stood and walked quickly to the bathroom. Quinn grabbed a knapsack on the floor near the couch and trotted after her father. I followed closely at their heels.

“How could we have been discovered?” Quinn asked.

“Tracking spell?” I offered, but she shook her head.

“Being this deep below the surface makes it almost impossible. The signal gets muddled in the ground clutter.”

Simeon pushed a small section of the tile next to the mirror. The piece popped out and he twisted it a quarter turn before pushing it back in. A trapdoor opened near his feet.

“You first,” he said to his daughter. She nodded, sat on the edge of the trapdoor, and slid into the darkness. Simeon gave her several seconds before doing the same.

Heavy footsteps thundered down the stairwell outside the main room followed by the unique howl of a Tracker Hound.

My heart sank into my shoes.

Unlike normal hunting canines, the Tracker Hound was specifically bred to serve a Hunter. They were infused with superior tracking Skills as puppies, and the conditioning continued well into adulthood. The result was a beast that could hunt a target mercilessly across the globe.

There was a yelp as one of the hounds hit the defensive spell on the door. More barking ensued and the inside of the door began to glow. It shifted from light yellow to red before exploding in a shower of splinters.

As I jumped into the hole I caught a glimpse of an oversized Siberian husky charging into the room. A moment later, the darkness of the shaft enveloped me and I was zipping down a huge pipe. The ride lasted less than three seconds and dumped me unceremoniously onto a cold stone walkway. It was dark and stank of rotten eggs.

“Where are we?” I asked, collecting myself and jogging after Simeon and Quinn.

“Part of old DC,” Simeon said as we trotted down the dark tunnel. Water seeped down the curved brick walls and pooled between a pair of rusting train tracks in a trench that ran along the brick pathway we were using. “Specifically, the old train system that existed long before the modern Metro. Most of these tunnels were converted to save money when the current system was built, but other areas like this were simply abandoned and forgotten. They aren’t very extensive, but this network is large enough to allow us to escape unseen to another section of the Underground.”

“Simeon,” I said as we turned a corner, “they have Tracker Hounds.”

The Necromancer cursed and picked up the pace. “Quinn, cover our tracks.”

“On it,” she replied. Instead of using magic, she pulled a small glass vial of yellow liquid from the folds of her cape. She tossed the tube down a tunnel as we passed, the glass shattering on the stone.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Deer urine. Tracker Hounds may be exceptional at hunting, but they’re still dogs. The smell should cause their natural instincts to overpower their Skilled ones.”

“Meaning they’ll want to follow that scent instead of us.”

She heaved another bottle down another side tunnel. “With any luck, yes. Worse case, it should confuse them long enough for us to escape.”

A howl echoed off the stone walls. My knees weakened.

“How close to the exit?” I asked.

“Half a kilometer,” Simeon replied.

There was another howl, this time much closer.

“I thought you said the urine would distract them,” I said to Quinn.

“It was only a hypothesis.”

We turned a corner just as two Tracker Hounds came into view behind us. We were moving fast, but not fast enough to outpace them.

As they approached, I reached behind me with my Skill, creating the spider’s web of senses like I had outside of Nick’s Knacks. The mental imagery was hazy, but I felt one of the hounds launch at me. I ducked to the right and, manipulating the air with my Skill, hurled the dog sideways. It hit the grimy tunnel wall and released a yelp before sliding to the ground. It struggled to stand, but could only limp after us.

The second hound was smarter and darted back and forth while gaining on us. I stepped to the side as Quinn flung an open bottle of urine at the animal. The contents splashed all over the dog’s snout and the beast screeched to a halt. It pawed at its face, thrashing its head back and forth.

“Nice!” I said.

She winked, but her face filled with horror as she noticed something behind me.

“Marcus!” someone called. I glanced over my shoulder and cursed. Jethrow gave the hounds a quick glance, then sprinted toward us with his sword drawn.

“Get out of here,” I yelled to Quinn and Simeon as I drew my own sword. “I’ll slow him down.”

Without waiting for a response I skidded to a halt, reversed direction, then threw an air-ball spell at Jethrow. It missed, but he stumbled in surprise. I ran at him as hard as I could. I leaped into the air, traveling the remaining distance between us with a slight boost from my Skill.

As I came down, I swung my blade overhead. Jethrow dropped his attention from the spell he was working and snapped his sword to intercept me. There was a clang of steel and I drove his blade down into the stone walkway. Jethrow rolled with the move, spinning around and hammering his elbow into the back of my head. The impact jarred my brain. I staggered forward into the wall. I stopped myself with my bad wrist, instantly ruining Millie’s healing efforts. Pain shot up my arm.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jethrow yelled. He jerked his sword out of the stone with an explosion of sparks.

“Saving two lives,” I retorted blocking a swipe of his blade. I stepped sideways and fired another air-ball. Jethrow ducked, then came at me. I deflected his sword and the tip gouged a long scar in the stone wall.

“They’re criminals, Marcus!” Jethrow said, throwing a punch into my gut. I doubled over, but grabbed his arms as I went, pinning them against him. His Skill pulsed against me with startling force.

“Marcus, please,” he begged as we strained against each other. “You know I’m stronger than you.”

“Yeah, but I fight dirty.” I jerked my knee upward, ramming it into his crotch.

He let out a grunt, releasing his sword as he bent over. I pulled one hand free and dropped Jethrow to his knees with a punch. Then I reared back, planted my foot in his chest, and shoved with my Skill. The kick threw him across the tunnel into the stone wall on the opposite side. He slid to the ground, moaning in pain.

I bent over, breathing heavily. Sweat poured down my face and I struggled to catch my breath. I staggered over to Jethrow’s sword, picked it up, and wobbled toward my former friend.

“What happened to you?” I asked between gasps. “You used to believe in doing the right thing no matter what, but now you’re just blindly following orders like some soulless robot.”

“Have you ever stopped to consider that Simeon and his daughter are, in fact, guilty?” Jethrow shot back as he wheezed. “And stopping them
is
the right thing?”

“They aren’t guilty, you idiot!” I shouted.

“How can you be sure? Because he told you?”

“No, because I’ve been with them from the beginning. I
know
what really happened.”

Jethrow didn’t say anything, so I pressed the issue. “Doesn’t it bother you that the Council would give orders to kill on sight?”

“He’s a wanted criminal who—”

“Oh, cut the recorded speech!” I snapped. “Someone is trying to take him out, Jethrow. You’re too smart not to have figured that out already.”

He looked away from me.

“Holy hell,” I said quietly.

“I’m not like you, Marcus,” he growled. “I don’t have an influential family that will pull strings if I screw up, and I sure as hell can’t operate outside the Council for pleasure. It might not be a perfect system, but it’s better than anything we have. They make the rules and we follow them. Maybe if I get into power someday I can change things, but until then, we have to toe the line.”

I shook my head as the disappointment at what my friend had become seeped into my chest. “Fine. You want to be a company man, go for it. Me? I’m going to go help two innocent people.”

“No you aren’t,” a different voice said.

Something slammed into my chest, throwing me onto my back. I tried to breathe, but inhaling cause my lungs to explode with pain. Both swords clattered to the ground, as did an arrow with a spherical knob in place of a point.

A familiar boot kicked me in the side. Air rushed out of me again and I bent in half. The boot came down two more times before Jethrow said, “That’s enough.”

Treble McCain scooped up the swords. He stood over me without an ounce of emotion on his face. “Serves you right for talking so much,”

Jethrow eased to his feet. “What about Fawkes and his daughter?”

“Subdued,” the Hunter replied. “One of my hounds is standing watch.”

“I’m impressed you didn’t have to kill them. Good work.”

Treble nodded. “The urine was a clever move. It distracted several hounds, but there were enough veterans in my pack to make up for the pups.”

“That’s why you’re the best,” Jethrow said.

“How?” I gasped, my side throbbing.

“How did we find you?” Treble replied, turning his attention to me. “The Warlock here placed a tracking spell on you last time we met, and we’ve been following your progress ever since. The second you dropped off the radar, we knew you were with the criminals. Being underground might screw with humans, but not the senses of my hounds.” He allowed himself a slight grin. “It was such a stroke of genius to let you do the legwork for us.”

I cringed internally. No wonder I’d felt eyes on me the whole time. They were. It also explained how Batman found me so easily. Without normal eyesight, he was probably able to sense the spell where others, like Quinn, hadn’t.

I didn’t know which hurt more. My failure to detect the spell or the fact that I’d been used.

Treble gave his partner the once-over. “The weakling gave you quite a beating.”

Jethrow winced and limped over to his partner. “Caught me off guard. Apparently I underestimated him.”

Treble chuckled. “Yeah, that seems to be a recurring problem for you.” He stepped forward and jammed my sword into Jethrow’s stomach. My old friend doubled over the blade with a mixture of pain and shock. Treble yanked the sword free and stepped away. The tunic around the wound quickly turned dark red. Blood seeped through the garment, soaking Jethrow’s shaking hands. He took a staggered step forward and dropped to his knees.

“Wha?” he whimpered. His face was already a ghastly white as he tried in vain to staunch the bleeding.

“Nothing personal, Wright,” Treble said evenly, “but I got a better offer.”

Jethrow’s eyes rolled into his head and he keeled over.

I stared in horror. The raw, burning fuel of rage poured into my veins. Renewed energy exploded within me, so I rolled to my stomach and started to rise, but the Hunter spun around and kicked me once again. The blow knocked me into the wall, sapping me of all remaining adrenaline.

“You,” he said casually as he strolled over to me, “are very annoying.”

His boot came down on my face and the lights went out.

Chapter Fifteen

Drainage

The bleachers were hard and exceptionally cold. Below me, thirty blonde cheerleaders in tight outfits performed amazing feats of acrobatics. Several executed handsprings while others performed backflips. I applauded each time one of them landed.

One girl in the middle, a tall, black-haired beauty, lifted a megaphone.

“Marcus.”

I cheered and she put the megaphone to her mouth again.

“Marcus!” she yelled, louder and more severe.

I stopped clapping and cocked my head.

“
Marcus!
”

I snapped awake. The last calling of my name was harsh and hurried.

The ground beneath me was hard and cold. My side and face were sore, my vision hazy, and my head throbbing. I blinked several times before finally clearing the blurriness.

The cell was sparse, lacking even basic amenities. It was large enough that I could fully stretch out sideways, but my fingertips and toes brushed the walls, and double that lengthwise. There were no windows, and the only exit was through a set of metal bars that hummed with magic. The defensive barrier radiated with startling power and when I tried to force a spell through it, it pressed back violently, which caused me to wince in pain.

I could hear breathing from various cells up and down the row and could passively sense a wide range of Skill, but the occupants were out of sight. I could, however, see the face of the people in the two cells directly across from me.

“Oh thank goodness,” Quinn said from the one on the left. “You had us terrified.”

I wiped some dried blood from my lip and performed a quick healing spell to ease the pain in my wrist. “What’s going on?”

Simeon frowned from the cell directly across from me. “Exactly what it looks like.” His voice was calm, but strained. The lines on his face were deep, and his outfit, like mine, was completely disheveled. “We were ambushed and overwhelmed by the Hunter.”

“How’d he get ahead of you guys?”

He sighed wearily. “It’s what he does, Marcus.”

Apparently.

“You both okay?”

The Necromancer shrugged. “Fine.”

“Been better,” Quinn muttered. She folded her arms over her thin T-shirt and shivered. Our captors had taken her cape, leaving her with only the clothes on her back for warmth. Her hair was wild in some places, matted in others. Otherwise, she seemed unharmed.

Simeon examined his cell. “These are not used by the Council. The bars are too thick and the masonry lacks the sterile feel of our modern jails.”

I nodded. “Plus the Council would at least have the decency to provide us with a toilet or Internet connection. Odds are good that we’re outside their jurisdiction.” I gave them the rundown of my encounter with Jethrow and Treble.

“Betrayed, eh?” Simeon said.

“It seems to be the popular thing recently.”

“We have no idea who paid the Hunter?” he asked.

“None.”

“What happened to the Warlock?”

Simeon sounded genuinely curious, but the question caused a lump in my throat. “I don’t know, but the wound was pretty severe.” Deep down, I had a bad feeling about Jethrow’s fate. Gut wounds infect easily, so he’d need medical attention immediately.

Assuming he wasn’t already dead.

Tears stung the corner of my eyes and I blinked them away.

“What now?” Quinn asked.

Her father examined our surroundings. “We were taken alive, which means our captors want something from us. These cells are protected with something more powerful than I can overcome. Which means we have no choice but to wait and see what our captors want.”

Time dragged. Without a clock or view of the sun, there was no telling how long we sat in our cells. We toyed with ideas for escape, reviewed some of the events from the past couple of days, and I even explained the intricacies of beekeeping to them. Eventually even the roller-coaster ride of my favorite hobby ran out of track and we each drifted into the silence of our own thoughts.

An eternity later there was a loud clang and a door at the end of a hallway opened. Several sets of feet shuffled down the corridor before coming into view.

It was a small party of six men, all dressed in red robes and each radiating with Skill so powerful if felt like heat from a fireplace. They walked heavily, their shoes dragging and scuffling with irregular steps. Their eyes were glassy and half-lidded. Blood trickled down the hands of a few and dripped onto the concrete, and I stared in shock.

At the head of the party was a tall, gaunt man in similar robes. He had a thin, lined face and a shock of red hair bursting from his head. His gait was fast and hurried, as if he were late for an appointment.

The man and his minions halted at my cell, and his presence made me cringe worse than my barrier. The air around him popped and sizzled with energy—the magical noise emanating from him smothered my senses. It was like standing three feet from the lens of a lighthouse. Part of me boiled with jealousy that he commanded such power, but the other, more rational part, was horrified that one person could contain so much.

“Marcus Shifter,” he said politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet the heir to a great family name.” His left eyelid flickered and his hands shook.

“Yeah, I’m all squirmy with excitement myself,” I replied.

The man chuckled. “So glad to see your sense of humor has not been tainted by this incident. But where are my manners? I am The Conduit. Welcome to one of the bases for the Agents of Quaos. We are pleased to have you as our guests.”

“Your name is ‘Conduit?’”

“
The
Conduit,” he corrected.

“Was ‘Whack-Job’ already taken?”

One of the strap-hangers snarled and drew a knife. His leader held up his hand and my would-be attacker paused. Instead of plunging the knife into my heart, the man pulled back his sleeve, exposing rows of fresh scars on his forearm. He closed his eyes and carved a new wound. He moaned with pleasure as blood oozed from the cut and dripped onto the floor.

“Take,” he said, offering his bleeding arm to The Conduit.

I recoiled as Quinn and Simeon gasped in horror. Of all the spells the Skilled performed, ones that required blood were the most damaging to both the target and the practitioner—they tapped into the very essence of what powered humans.

Combine a Blood Spell with rage or hate, and you’re talking destruction on a scale that’s measured in thousands of dead.

But blood was also significant because of its binding properties. Spilled blood was certainly powerful, but offering your blood to someone was staggering. It granted that person total control of your actions, bonding your powers to theirs for life. Skilled marriages used to combine Blood Oath ceremonies, but with the exponential increase in divorce rates, that practice had all but vanished.

If the guy carving into his arm was willing to give his blood to someone like The Conduit, then he no longer cared who or what had command over him.

And unlike Soul Oaths, which were survivable if broken, Blood Oaths were lethal if not kept.

“Thank you,” The Conduit replied. “Your gift is appreciated, but not necessary at the moment.”

The man slid his knife back into his robe with a glassy-eyed grin.

The Quaos leader turned back to me “I apologize for your accommodations. Once this is all sorted out, I’m sure we can put you somewhere befitting a man of your status.”

I eyed the self-mutilator cautiously before turning back to The Conduit. “I highly doubt that.”

The red-haired man frowned. “Why would you say that?”

“Maybe because you convinced Treble McCain to betray the Council and attack me and my friends.”

“Only out of necessity.” A muscle in his neck twitched uncontrollably. “Your exploits in the Underground have not gone unnoticed. Forgive me for assuming you would not come peacefully.”

“Nice groupies you have here.”

“My agents are all volunteers. Each came here willingly seeking the enlightenment and freedom I offer.”

“How benevolent of you.” I chipped.

“It is not about benevolence,” he said wearily. “It is about order and unity.”

I scowled, crossing my arms. “Provided by you, I suppose.”

The Conduit shook his head. “I am simply a tool. I serve no other purpose than to be used and, if need be, discarded.”

“Sounds like you’ve worked on your campaign speech for a while.”

He sighed. “I have had to explain my actions many times.”

“Golly, I can’t imagine why.”

“Sass,” he replied with an approving nod. “I like that.”

I darkened. “Let me out and I’ll show you more.”

“I think not. You’d only muddle things up.” The Conduit closed his eyes and inhaled. His hands steadied and the muscle in his neck stopped moving. “I know how this appears, but believe me when I say that everything I do is for the greater good of humanity.”

“Isn’t it always?”

The Conduit opened his eyes. “Do you have any idea how many lives have been lost because of war and prejudice? Billions. Skilled and Normals alike have murdered one another for generations, usually without reason. We have allowed misconceptions, fear and prejudices to infect our world for too long.”

“Our societies have made great inroads to a lasting peace over the past twenty years.”

“Smoke and mirrors,” he replied in a sad voice. “The wounds between our people run too deep. It is a cancerous rot that thrives beneath the surface of it all. Smiles falter, handshakes weaken and paper shreds. When you boil it down, we are a tainted species, dying of a disease that exists at our very core. Do you know how to cure an ailment like that, Marcus? Through surgery. You have to cut the infected pieces out so they do not pollute the rest of the world.”

“So you’re going to operate on humanity to make it better?”

“No. I will allow Nature to do that. And I’ll do it by creating a world where the Skilled and the Normals must band together for survival. The only way Mankind, or any species for that matter, can ever find true stability and peace is through suffering and chaos. A common enemy, a common threat—these are the principles that will bond our kinds together in final unity. That is why I was put on this earth. To be The Conduit through which mass hysteria and chaos can travel so that all creatures, Skilled and Unskilled, can finally overcome their differences and find a lasting peace.”

His grin flickered as the twitches returned.

“Seriously?” I asked. “
That’s
your master plan?”

The smile faded. “Yes.”

“It won’t work. People might bond together for a while, but eventually instinct will take over, and everyone will go back to their usual ways of operating. You can change the environment, but you can’t change people.”

The Conduit cocked his head. “Our experiments prove otherwise. Take you and your friends here for example. Because of my pet, you were willing to risk your life to save one of the greatest dark Necromancers of modern time.”

“Your pet?”

“The one you so heartlessly decapitated. His escape surprised and disappointed me. I was saddened by his re-death, but his purpose became clear the more I studied the situation. Like me, he had evolved from my original intention for him into something greater. He united your small band together in the face of overwhelming odds. Now imagine that on a global scale. Better yet,” he said, “allow me to show you.”

The defensive barrier to my cell evaporated and I was suddenly pinned facedown to the ground. The Conduit opened the door and entered, kneeling before me. He grabbed the side of my head and muttered several incoherent phrases. A second later, unwanted images penetrated my mind.

The Conduit’s vision of the future poured into me.

Cities would burn as the reanimated and beings far more terrifying than the human psyche could fathom stormed the earth. Billions would die, slaughtered by the filth of other realms.

In their darkest hour, however, the various species that inhabited this world would come together. Alliances never before possible would form to fight the living nightmares that were bent on their demise. The war would be long and bloody, but a new and unified world would eventually rise from the ashes of despair.

The Conduit released me and I heard someone screaming. I was curled on the floor, holding the sides of my head in agony. My throat was sore and my voice hoarse.

“Marcus?” Quinn called in a worried voice, but I didn’t have the strength to respond.

“You see?” the Conduit said quietly. “Our species—this entire world even—is sick and broken. We must face our darkest fears if we are to ever rise above our pitiful, inherent weaknesses. I know you don’t understand, but trust me, if you survive the coming apocalypse, you will.”

I lay there, unable to do more than groan. The Conduit nodded and stood. He exited my cell and reactivated the barrier. The trapping spell vanished a second later. I flexed my fingers and slowly uncurled.

“
You
reanimated that being?” Simeon asked quietly from his cell.

“Daddy, no!” Quinn said.

“Please don’t interrupt, Ms. Fawkes,” The Conduit snapped. Then to Simeon, “To answer your question, yes. Although, to be honest, it was no easy task and required more of my power than I had planned. The loss of life in order to begin restoring what I spent was staggering. Many of our agents and guests perished in the cause, and yet I have still not fully recovered.”

He approached Simeon’s barrier and gazed at Fawkes in childlike wonder. “You, sir, are an inspiration. Your theories with reanimation are unparalleled. And here you are.”

“Here I am.” Resignation and defeat filled his voice.

“I have wished for this moment ever since you touched my pet. I hope I made you proud.”

Fawkes regarded the man. “I’ll admit I’m impressed.”

The Conduit smiled. “You have no idea how much that means to me.” He stepped forward. “Allow me to also thank you in advance for your gift. It will make a welcome addition to the cause and should be enough to fully restore me to the level required for the next phase.”

An agent lowered the barrier to Simeon’s cell. The Necromancer was not immediately thrown to the ground, but instead snarled and made a motion with his hands. One of the metal bars of his cell snapped in half and impaled a follower. The man released a cry of alarm, then went limp against the cold steel.