Dearest Mother of Mine

Page 22

Seconds trickled by as we waited. I took a closer look at the poles and recognized Cyrinthian symbols etched into the dark wood. I hoped they didn't represent a deadly trap for trespassers, and edged closer to the building, as if it might offer more protection. Shelton pounded on the door, his patience clearly running low.
"Open up, Bruce. I know you're in there!" Shelton shouted.
The door jerked open. A balding man with a sizeable paunch stood there, face contorted with anger. I looked down and saw the metallic gleam of a large pistol in his hand.
Chapter 14
"Holy cornballs in paradise," Shelton said, backing away, hands held in surrender. "Take it easy, Bruce."
"Take it easy?" the man said in a growl. "You nearly cost me my job, and they cut my pay thanks to you talking to the authorities."
"Not me," Shelton said, one of his hands lowering toward the compact staff he kept in a holster on his side. "You know me. Why would I ruin a good thing?"
"Because you're scum," Bruce said, grip tightening on the gun.
Shelton's hand went back up. "Look, Walter told me Cyphanis was stirring up trouble. Saying I was bad for business. You know I wouldn't jeopardize my network of informants." He sighed. "Remember what I did for your cousin? How I got him out of the trouble he was in with those loan sharks? I put myself on the line for you. Think about it, man."
Bruce stared at him, the snarl fading from his face. He blew out an explosive breath and lowered the firearm. "I still don't like the fact Cyphanis is all up in your business, Shelton. If I'm seen talking to you—"
"Then let us inside before someone notices," Shelton said.
"I should make you and whoever the hell this kid is leave."
"This is Justin Slade," Shelton said.
"Oh, now you're really trying to get me in trouble," Bruce said. "Isn't this the same kid who wrecked the Grand Melee?"
"I didn't wreck anything!" I protested.
"Forget all that," Shelton said with a sigh. "Bruce, what if I told you I could get that nephew of yours out of Russian prison?"
Bruce's forehead crinkled. "How in the hell could you do that?"
Shelton shrugged. "I have my methods. You help us with this, and I'll deliver him to your doorstep."
I felt my own forehead wrinkle at Shelton's boast. What nephew? What Russian jail? I didn't want him getting off track and pulling a crazy stunt that could get him noticed by noms.
Bruce considered it for a long moment before waving us inside. He closed the door behind us, and led us down a hallway to a large room with an array of holographic images of the city and a number of orbs hovering above a console.
"What is this place?" I asked.
"Overworld Transportation Authority," Bruce said, a proud note in his voice. "We enforce restrictions on magical transportation. This," he said with a grand wave, "monitors traffic to make sure nobody breaks the ban on flying carpets, flying cars, and other obvious magical means."
"And you're the only one who monitors all this?" I asked incredulously.
He made a noncommittal shrug. "I rotate shifts with a few others." His eyes locked onto Shelton. "You'd better not be lying about my nephew."
"I'm not," Shelton said. "Just give me a picture of his prison cell."
"I don't have a picture of his cell," Bruce said. "How in the hell would I get that?"
"It's a nom facility," Shelton said. "Can your brother get an ASE inside?"
Bruce gave him a dubious look. "I'll ask him."
"Get me a picture, and I'll get him out."
"How is a picture going to do you any good? Don't you need a layout of the place?" Bruce narrowed his eyes. "And don't think you can go blasting in with magic. The Overworld will have your butt in a sling for interfering with noms before you can count to three."
Shelton held up a hand. "Let me worry about that. Get me the image."
Bruce twisted his lips. "Fine. I hope it isn't a mistake trusting you."
"You know my word is good."
The other man grudgingly nodded. "What do you want in return?"
"I need the tracking data from Overworld Security limos leaving the Grotto two days ago."
"You need what?" Bruce's eyebrows rose in unison. "If you're tracking Cyphanis again, you'd better think twice. Even getting my nephew out of a gulag isn't worth having that tyrant breathing down my neck."
"I'm not tracking him," Shelton said.
"Then who?"
"Best you don't know," Shelton replied. He looked around the room. "So, can you get it for me?"
Bruce nodded. "I'll need a few minutes to copy the footage onto an ASE."
We took seats in the back of the room and waited. I leaned toward Shelton. "What in the world are you promising this man?" I asked in a low whisper. "We can't break a felon out of jail, especially not in Russia."
"Sure we can," he said with a confident grin. "Especially if they get us an ASE with all the details of the cell."
"How is a picture—" The flow of words cut off as I realized what he intended to do. "You want to use our omniarch to get this man out?"
His grin widened. "I'm a genius, right?"
"You're insane," I said. "What if someone sees a magic portal materialize in his prison cell? What if we open it in the wrong place?"
"That's why we need a detailed image. If his brother can get an ASE in there, we're gold."
My stomach twisted. I didn't like his idea at all. On the other hand, it made me realize we could use the omniarch to infiltrate the Conroy residence. If we used the OTA tracking system to track their limo, we had a good chance to find out where they lived. I just had to hope they were keeping Mom and Ivy there. The omniarch might even help us overcome the hardcore security sure to be guarding the house.
Bruce returned with a marble-shaped ASE, and dropped it into Shelton's outstretched hand. "I don't know too many people in the Atlanta area who use those limos," he said. "I don't need to know specifics to know you're hunting dangerous game, Shelton. Make sure I don't end up exposed again, or I'll pull the trigger next time I see you."
Shelton flicked his hand as if knocking away the threat. "Get me detailed images of your nephew's cell, and I'll hold up my end of the bargain."
"I'll be in touch." Bruce motioned us toward the exit. "Now, get out of here before my shift relief shows up."
We left, Shelton chortling all the way to the car.
"You really enjoy this, don't you?" I asked.
"Man, I didn't realize how much I missed the hunt," he said, eyes sparkling. "We're gonna find old man Conroy and show the girls how it's done."
"This isn't a contest," I reminded him sternly. "It's a team effort."
Shelton rolled his eyes and guided the car onto the road.
"What now?" I asked as he drove.
Shelton mulled it over for a moment. "Well, we need to get back home to look over the footage. I say we go park my car back at the hideout, send a picture to Bella, and ask her to open a portal so we can return to the mansion."
I felt relieved to be going home. "Sounds like a plan to me."
He called Bella, but she and the others had apparently gone into Queens Gate to eat and wouldn't be back to the mansion for a while. Shelton nodded a lot as Bella's voice went on in muffled tones I couldn't understand thanks to a spell Adam had put on our phones to prevent eavesdropping. Shelton made a talking mouth with his thumb and fingers as he tried to get in a word edgewise.
"How long?" he asked in a loud voice. He nodded. "Fine, just call me. We've got other things we can do." He hung up. "I love that woman, but man, can she talk your ear off."
I chuckled. "What do we do in the meantime?"
He sighed. "Depends on how adventurous you're feeling."
My grin vanished. "Nothing that will get us killed."
"We can use the extra time to stake out the Grotto way station in case, by some random chance, the Conroys show up." He gave me a sideways look. "Is that low risk enough for you?"
"I suppose," I said, feeling weight lift from my chest.
He nodded. "Maybe we'll get lucky and post the limo. The girls should be back at the mansion in a couple of hours."
We worked our way through traffic and made it back to Phipps Plaza. Shelton drove down the ramp, his pace slowed by a vintage car creeping ahead of us.
"Sunday drivers," Shelton growled. We reached the bottom of the ramp.
The driver of the car ahead turned his head sharply to the left, drawing mine and Shelton's attention with it. A man in the dark robe of the brotherhood stood against the wall, his eyes meeting ours. He glanced down at a sheet of parchment and back to us, eyes flaring with recognition.
"Son of a—" Shelton jammed on the brakes. Hit reverse, and nearly slammed into a car coming up behind us. He veered out of the way, the rear bumper crunching against the wall. Jammed the car in drive, and peeled out, completing a U-turn.
I watched as the man charged toward us, staff held out.
"Go!" I yelled as a bolt of energy splashed across the trunk, spreading out and dissipating.
Tires squealed as the sedan lurched forward, up the ramp.
"I got this thing charmed against offensive magic," Shelton said. "But it won't hold out if we take too many direct hits."
"I wish this was your pickup truck," I said, suddenly missing the extra horsepower.
"You and me both," he grumbled, steering the car up the ramp.
Another car appeared ahead. Shelton swerved to miss it as the front end of a car going the opposite way appeared in our path. He swung the wheel back, narrowly missing the vehicle. A warning light on the car's dash blinked.