Heart of Atlantis

Chapter 20

Alaric slowly rotated in the air fifty feet up above City Hall, his arms thrown wide to the sky, glowing with so much power that he wondered briefly if he would go supernova and shatter into a thousand miniature suns. Even in death, he could rain destruction down on the humans who had allowed his woman to be captured and harmed.

Kidnapped.

He couldn’t survive if he focused the blame on where it really belonged—himself—so he closed off that part of his mind. He could indulge in self-hatred after he’d found her.

The gods alone knew what that monster might be doing to her. A fresh burst of wrath infused his power with a further wave of deadly rage—enough to build up the leading edge of the tsunami bearing down on the city to even more towering heights. He’d kill them all. Drown the city, drown the state, drown the world.

He called to the portal, but silence was his only answer. Silence from the portal—silence from Atlantis. Poseidon’s Pride was gone; there was no chance to save Atlantis. Perhaps it was already lost. Quinn was gone; so the world must die. He spared a thought for Nereus, his kindred spirit. No wonder he’d nearly destroyed Atlantis when Zelia died. It must have seemed a minor price to pay.

A small voice somewhere deep inside him—a voice that sounded suspiciously like Quinn’s—yelled at him to cut it out. But he had no time for auditory hallucinations, so he shut it down, shut out the phantom Quinn, and continued to channel all of his pain and fury into the storm.

For a moment he thought he heard another voice telling him to stop, this one coming from far below him, but it was easy to ignore. It didn’t sound at all like Quinn. But then a bolt of searing flame shot through the air toward him and sliced through the leg of his pants, blazing a path of pain across his right knee.

Now he paid attention. He hurled down toward whichever stupid human dared to shoot at him, and found himself on a collision course with the only man idiotic enough to be still standing in range. But it wasn’t even a man—it was a mere boy.

It was Faust.

Alaric managed to keep from slamming into the boy, but only barely. He landed on the rubble of destroyed pavement next to Faust, grabbed the kid by the throat, lifted him off his feet, and spoke very, very softly.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing, you stupid boy? Do you have a death wish? Did I save you for no discernible reason?”

Faust made a choking sound, and Alaric realized he had to loosen his grip so the boy could talk. He dropped him on his ass, and Faust rubbed his throat while he glared up at Alaric.

“You can’t do this, man,” the boy finally choked out. “I saw the news. That wave is going to kill millions of people.”

Alaric shrugged. “This means nothing to me. Leave if you want to live.”

“It’s too late,” the boy shouted. “Nobody can get out in time. You’re going to kill us all. Children and babies and old people—what have we ever done to you?”

“You let Quinn be taken,” Alaric said implacably, barely managing to keep the rage boiling inside him from overflowing and incinerating the youngling. “You will all die. Get out if you can. Take the children.”

“With what? I can’t do it, man,” Faust said, all but crying. “I don’t have a helicopter. Only the rich people are getting out, and some of them are being beat to death for their choppers. You gotta stop it, man. This just isn’t right.”

“Find Quinn. Then I’ll stop it,” Alaric responded. He turned away and leapt back into the air, ignoring the boy’s shouts, until another bolt of flame hit him in the other leg. This one was a direct hit, not a graze, and he had to waste energy healing himself. He flew back down at Faust and yanked him up into the air by the front of his shirt.

“Where is the gun you are shooting at me? Do you want to die right here and now?”

The boy’s bravado was betrayed by the slight quaver in his lips, but Alaric had to respect his courage.

Faust held up empty hands. “I’m not shooting a gun, you lunatic. I’m a flame starter. It’s a curse or a gift or a talent, I don’t know what, but if you don’t make that tsunami go away, I’m going to set your damn ass on fire.”

Alaric nearly dropped the boy. A flame starter? He hadn’t heard of that gift since before Atlantis sank beneath the waves. All the old abilities really were coming back, just in time for Atlantis to be destroyed. The irony was not lost on him.

Which meant nothing, since Atlantis was surely drowned by now, and Quinn was gone.

“Give it your best shot, kid,” he advised. Ven would be proud of him for using slang.

If Ven and Erin weren’t dead.

He dropped the boy, who fell the half dozen feet to the pavement, but this time he landed on his feet.

“Try to burn me again, and I’ll kill you now, so those children you care for will die alone,” he told Faust, and then a voice he hadn’t heard in far too long crashed through the air and buffeted him, nearly knocking him out of the sky.

YOU MORTALS ALL DIE ALONE. IT IS SAD THAT MY HIGH PRIEST HAS BECOME A DERANGED FOOL.

The sea god, Poseidon himself, appeared in the clouds above Alaric’s head.

“I don’t think you have much room to talk about deranged fools,” Alaric shouted, committing blasphemy, idiocy, and possibly suicide all in one sentence.

Shockingly, Poseidon bellowed a booming thunder strike of a laugh.

WHY DO YOU DO THIS? YOU MAY NOT TAMPER WITH MY SEAS IN THIS MANNER. YOU WOULD DESTROY MILLIONS OF LIVES, AND YOU ARE NOT A GOD TO CHOOSE BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH FOR SO MANY.

“I am tired of gods choosing between life and death. Why aren’t you helping in Atlantis when the dome is in danger of failing? All of your children will die. Why didn’t you answer my call about the Trident? What good is a god who doesn’t even answer his own high priest in the times of dire need?”

I HAVE BEEN BUSY. THE SECOND DOOM OF THE GODS—A NEW RAGNAROK—IS UPON US, AND I HAVE BEEN LOCKED IN BATTLE WITH ARES AND A FEW OF THE NORSE AND EGYPTIAN GODS OVER HOW TO SAVE MY ATLANTEANS AND AS MANY OF THE HUMANS AS POSSIBLE FROM ANOTHER CATACLYSM.

“Well guess what? You’re too late!” Alaric threw even more power toward his tsunami, only to find that Poseidon was in the process of dispersing it into gentle swells of manageable waves.

Alaric’s grief, rage, and helplessness overpowered him, and he gathered everything he had and poured every ounce of that energy into the blast—and he aimed it at Poseidon.

“You’re going down,” he shouted, knowing it would mean his own death, but not caring.

I said, cut it out, you idiot,Quinn screamed inside his head, and this time he knew it wasn’t an illusion, because she proceeded to call him every inventive name she could think of, and his own subconscious wasn’t nearly that creative.

The shock drove him down out of the sky, and he almost fell on top of Faust, who was staring up at Poseidon with his mouth hanging open.

“Now would be a good time to get out of here,” Alaric told the boy. “You’re safe. The tsunami is gone. You don’t want to be caught up in whatever punishment Poseidon metes out to me.”

“No thanks to you,” Faust said, still eyeing the sea god. “Hey, you don’t deserve it, but I’m going to put the call out to my contacts and see if we can find your girl. If, you know, Poseidon doesn’t crush us both.”

Alaric stared at the boy, unable to understand why he’d do such a thing for the man who’d nearly killed him.

Poseidon had to make his opinion known, of course:

ONE OF ARES’S BRATS, I SEE. STAY AWAY FROM THAT ONE, ALARIC, HE’S PROBABLY AS TRICKY AS HIS FATHER.

Faust actually winked at Alaric, before he turned and ran away.

One of Ares’s brats? But Poseidon didn’t give Alaric time to think about Faust any further.

ATLANTIS IS SAFE, FOR NOW, BUT IT WILL NOT HOLD FOR LONG. I MUST RETURN TO MY BATTLE. FIND MY GEM AND RESTORE MY TRIDENT. ITS CALL WILL BRING ME BACK TO ASSIST IN ATLANTIS’S RISING.

Alaric bowed. “Yes, I will find Poseidon’s Pride and save Atlantis. But when I have succeeded, I am done. You will have to find another high priest.”

FUNNY. I WAS GOING TO SAY, SUCCEED OR DIE HORRIBLY. I LIKE MINE BETTER.

With that, the sea god vanished, and the last of Alaric’s strength drained out of him. Christophe’s message on the Atlantean mental pathway rang into Alaric’s mind, loud and clear.

Thanks for whatever you just did. We probably have around forty-eight hours now before the dome collapses, so use it well and find what we need. And don’t block me again, or I’ll kick your ass when you get back.

Alaric realized that his own rage and pain must have blocked Quinn and Atlantis from contacting him before. In his desperation, he’d actually caused his own suicidal idiocy and despair. He groaned once, but then pushed it out of his mind and distilled burning fury to icy calm as he reinforced Atlantis with all of the power he could send such a long distance.

Forty-eight hours. Quinn was alive, and Atlantis still had a chance. He called out to Quinn.

Where are you?

She sent him a visual impression of the images out her window, so he knew she was in a building overlooking Central Park, and he could follow his senses to find her.

It’s warded by pretty strong magic, so be careful, Alaric. It’s demon magic—from another dimension.

Oddly enough, he was relieved to hear it. At least it took a monster from another dimension to create something strong enough to have kept him away from Quinn.

It wouldn’t happen again.

He transformed into mist and arrowed toward the park. Toward Quinn.

Toward a future he suddenly wanted to live in, again.

Quinn walked around the palatial bedroom, which was dressed in rich blues and tawny golds, silk and fine linens. Whatever hotel this was, they’d spared no expense in the décor. Even the air smelled like money—cool and crisp. She didn’t have time to appreciate luxury, though—she needed to find a way out. The windows were impossible without tools she didn’t have, the air vents were too small, the doors were bolted from the outside with unpickable locks, and the phones had been ripped out of the walls. Ptolemy had abruptly told her he needed to go out for a while, locked her in this room, and left.

At least he’d given her food. Before he’d gone, he’d had room service deliver a cart full of various delicious meals for her to sample, and she’d done her best to devour as much as she could. It was much easier to plot and scheme on a full stomach, even though now that she’d been fed, her exhaustion was pulling her down, trying to suck her into sleep.

The moment she felt Ptolemy’s demonic presence disappear into a wave of creepiness that felt like that portal again, she tried to contact Alaric. She didn’t know how to call out to him, exactly, so she opened her senses as far as she could and shouted his name. An image flashed into her mind: Alaric in the air, rage burning through him, as he went entirely nuts trying to find her.

He was—oh no, oh holy crap, no—he was trying to destroy the world. Flashing impressions of a giant tsunami and of Poseidon roaring at Alaric punched into her mind, and she yelled at Alaric to cut it out, but he either didn’t hear her or he was too far gone to care.

She took a deep breath and put every ounce of energy she had into trying one more time, before he did something so horribly destructive it could never be fixed, and she yelled at him—out loud and in her mind.

I said, cut it out, you idiot.

This time, somehow, she was sure he heard her, but the momentary connection between them faded. To distract herself she decided, in typical rebel fashion, to eat while there was food. By the time she’d eaten two more plates of dinner and worked her way to the chocolate mousse, she couldn’t keep her worry at bay any longer. What if Poseidon had killed Alaric? Or smited him, or whatever gods did to misbehaving high priests?

Alaric’s voice sounded in her head, and she nearly fell off the chair in relief.

I am on my way to you now.

He was alive. He was alive. She scrubbed at the tears running down her face with one sleeve and tried to send a message back to Alaric.

The staff here is either not allowed on this floor or has been paid well to ignore shouting. You’ll have to find a way to get a key, and—

The window shattered, and Alaric blew in before she could finish the thought. Right. Who needed a key when you had an Atlantean?

He hit the floor running, caught her up in his arms, and took possession of her lips with deliberate, possessive intent; branding her body and heart with his fire. Searing her soul with his passion.

“Never, never, never leave me again,” he murmured, over and over, as he kissed her, but he didn’t allow her breath to respond before he captured her mouth again .

She’d never been kissed with such single-minded intent as this man brought to it—her skin flashed hot, and her entire being rose up to meet him, as though gravity lost its claim on her when Alaric touched her. He kissed her so completely—so deeply and thoroughly—that it was almost hard to remember they were surrounded by shards of glass in what had briefly been her very well-decorated prison.

But she finally did remember, and she reluctantly pulled away.

“We have to get out of here, Alaric,” she whispered, her voice trembling from the aftershocks of intensity.

If they ever made love, she didn’t know how either of them would survive it. Just from his kisses, she was weak at the knees. And hot in places north of the knees, which made her face flush to realize.

“Where is he? I need to kill him and get that jewel,” Alaric said when he finally raised his head. His eyes were pure green fire, and she never, ever wanted him to let her go.

“Your cheeks are quite charmingly pink,” he said slowly, a smile spreading across his gorgeous face.

Of course, that only made her blush harder.

“Forget my cheeks. Focus. Ptolemy left, I don’t know where he went, and he took Poseidon’s Pride, I’m sure of it. He always has it on his person or very close to him,” she told him. “I felt a blast of that creepy magic, only a thousand times worse than usual, just after he locked me in here. I think he might have temporarily returned to his demon dimension to get backup.”

“Then we will leave now and develop a plan, and I will return to confront him once you are safe. We have maybe forty-eight hours, I’m thinking forty to be safe, and then Atlantis collapses. There is no time for Ptolemy to disappear into another dimension. If he doesn’t return soon—”

She interrupted him. “Oh, I don’t think he’ll leave me alone for long,” she said dryly. “Take a look in the other room.”

Alaric gestured with one hand, and the door flew open, smashing into the wall behind it. He stalked out into the other room, keeping Quinn behind him until he could check for danger, and then he stopped dead, just as she had earlier, and she knew he’d seen the Wall of Creepy.

“He has been after you for a long time,” Alaric finally said, his voice so coated with ice she was surprised a snowstorm didn’t spontaneously form in the room.

“I know. Don’t you think I know?” Her teeth started chattering from delayed reaction. “Some of these pictures are from years ago. He wants— He said he wants—”

Alaric swept her into his arms. “I don’t care what he wants. He’s not going to get it. We’re leaving, now, and you’ll never have to see him again.”

With that, he blasted the glass out of the windows, picked her up, and flew out of the building with her in his arms. She closed her eyes, held on to him with all her might, and offered up a sincere wish that he was right. Also, that he wouldn’t drop her.

They were due a little good luck, weren’t they?

Even as she thought it, she realized she’d probably jinxed them, because that was how the life of Quinn Dawson, ex–rebel leader, was going these days. Would it be fire, hail, or a plague of flying cockroaches?

They rounded the corner of the hotel, heading for the park, and nearly ran into a police helicopter and the officer hanging out the side with a loudspeaker.

“Stop flying now, land on the nearest surface, and put your hands up,” he commanded, and Quinn started to laugh. She couldn’t help it.

“Here we go again.”