Kyle felt the forces of the wheel traveling outward, expanding from him in an ever-growing sphere. If left to continue, bound by no other constraints, it would grow infinitely, weakening as it did, but never quite ceasing to exist.
Some part of Kyle was with the leading edge of the magic as it rushed across the city, searching for the exact harmony that would match it. The blood in his hand was hot, burning with the power he focused. The wheels circled him, singing with energy, building upon the simple energies within.
The blood flamed, coursing through his fingertips, but not burning him. The copper wheel resounded, and its tone increased in pitch. It had found its source. It had found Mitchell Truman.
Kyle worked quickly. The argent circle shifted perpendicular to him, and an image of it closed around him until it reached his outstretched hand, blood-red flame leaping from between his fingers. The magical energies met there, and a flash of argent leaped in two directions. One into Kyle, merging with his aura so that he might see what lay at the other end of the ritual sending. And the other, the Sending itself, lanced outward beyond the circle, reaching for the conjunction of the mystical forces on Mitch Truman. It was only a matter of time.
But Kyle could feel a ripple in the Sending as it surged outward. Alerted perhaps by the ritual's connection to the Truman boy, something was following his magic back through astral space. He could not sense what it was, only its approach, fast and strong.
He pushed his casting, willing it forward, toward Mitchell. A flash of mystical energy coursed around the edges of the ritual circle. Whatever was coming, it was projecting before it, testing, probing.
The wheels sang, their tones changing to harmony. Kyle's Sending engulfed its target, spreading across and around Mitchell Truman. He felt resistance there as whatever magical forces shielding the boy strove to disrupt his magics. But blood was to blood. Kyle's spell locked on to the boy's body, and then washed outward, writing its location into Kyle's mind. He could not see Mitchell Truman, nor anything of where he was, but the magic told him where he was. Kyle felt the location within him and knew he could find it again.
The ritual circle flashed once more, and Kyle felt the presence coming against him grow. It was almost upon him when he collapsed the ritual, the blood in his hand burning away, reduced to ash and smoke. The wheels faded, the connection, the path to Mitchell Truman's body dissolving.
In his mind and far off in the distance, Kyle then heard a wail. A terrible, alien cry of anger. Frustrated at the dispersing of the bridge it had been following, leaving it nothing to travel. The howl died away, fading with the magic.
Kyle stood, his left hand smoking, the final traces of the ritual folding in on itself. The candles around the ritual circle faded, and Kyle nodded to himself, satisfied.
"I found him," he said.
14
The ride to his hotel was uneventful, and escorted by Daniel Truman's own corporate guards. Despite the assurances of the driver of his car, Kyle had no doubt he and his group had somehow been followed. He'd seen how much interest the Knight Errant guards around Truman Tower had shown in watching their little motorcade of three cars form up.
He was sure Knight Errant would not delay in responding to Daniel Truman's decision to take matters into his own hands. When Kyle had told Truman that he'd discovered Mitchell's location, the man hadn't hesitated even a heartbeat in telling Kyle to take care of it. Then he and his wife had walked slowly out of the room, Truman with the air of someone who'd lost what was most precious to him. He didn't understand everything that was going on, least of all the nature of what had destroyed his son, but he wanted some kind of retribution, some kind of justice. Kyle was more than willing to oblige him.
To do so meant taking action, and fast, but Kyle was reluctant to call on Knight Errant for help. Not only did they seem to have their own agenda, but the organization's forces, at least those he wanted to deal with, were almost exclusively trained for site protection, not field work. That left only one choice in Kyle's mind, a force that was standing and ready, and probably more man willing to jump at the bidding of Truman Technologies-the Chicago law enforcement organization, Eagle Security.
At the moment, Kyle knew only the vague direction and distance of Mitchell's location: north, farther man North Avenue, but not as far as Poster. He left Hanna to contact Eagle and to use all the political clout Truman had to get them moving, fast. Kyle suggested a staging area in the vicinity of North and Western. He'd meet them there after retrieving some things still at his hotel.
At the Marriott, the staff was all sweetness and light as he asked for access to his security strongbox. One of the managers led him to the secure area and then went to retrieve the box, but only after Kyle had him repeat the password three times to be sure he got it right. He did, and returned with the box a few minutes later. The man handed it over without a word, though Kyle thought the single bead of sweat running down from his temple statement enough.
Kyle let the box scan his thumb print and retinal pattern before keying in the special code to open the box. About the size of a briefcase, but much deeper, the box had a simple latching lid that lifted completely off. Inside, Kyle found his magical accessories still wrapped in black silk and velvet, exactly as he'd left them.
There were two metal bracelets braided from heavy wires of silver, copper, and the mystical metal orichalcum. Kyle slipped one around each wrist Over the middle and next fingers of his left hand he slid silver rings set with a diamond and sapphire, respectively. On his right hand in like positions he put on silver rings, one set with a ruby and one with an emerald. Around his neck and under his clothing he hung an amulet made of golden-coppery metals and dominated by a large opal. And finally, he placed an ornate silver and orichalcum bladed knife, inlaid with jewels of all kinds and designed in the Egyptian style, into a custom black leather sheath that fit under the arm not girded with his shoulder holster. Feeling overburdened and somewhat foolish, he headed up to his room.
“The hotel assures me that the scrambling on my line is about the best that money can buy," Kyle told Dave Strevich.
“I’m it is," Strevich said. "My system says yours is saying the right things, but that doesn't mean I'm going to answer any questions."
"I’m switching to encryption now." Kyle leaned forward, typing the command into the keyboard. Strevich's image blurred as the man cursed, and it remained distorted and unviewable for a few moments until he put his system into like mode and the two machines had agreed on how to talk to each other. When the image returned, it was no longer three-dimensional and it lacked color fidelity, but Kyle had no doubt that for a short while at least the signal was indecipherable.
"You insist on getting into trouble, don't you?" Strevich said. "Do you have any idea how many alarms your actions in Chicago are setting off?"
"I can imagine," Kyle said. "All things considered."
Strevich's eyes narrowed. "The drek's gonna hit the pavement real soon now. The suits upstairs aren't happy with Knight Errant's activities in Chicago, despite the fact that they're real friendly with Ares Macrotech these days."
"Why not?" Kyle asked innocently. "Knight Errant hasn't done anything wrong."
"Don't play dumb, Kyle."
"I wouldn't have to if you'd given me the scan straight up."
"I couldn't. Still can't, you know that."
"Tell me about the bugs," Kyle said.