Christophe sounded weary, and little wonder. The brunt of maintaining the Trident and the dome had fallen to him.
Alaric focused his intensity and sent a greater measure of his magic soaring toward Atlantis, to reinforce the dome. The metaphysics of the connection were beyond him; the distance should have made the link impossible. He was Atlantis’s high priest, however, and the bond between them was forged of unbreakable steel.
Christophe replied immediately:
Whatever you just did, that helped, man. The pain in my head lifted a lot, and Serai says the same.
Serai entered the mental communication:
You must succeed quickly, Alaric. Christophe and I, even with the aid of all of your acolytes and Myrken, can hold this for only one more day. Two days would be our very outer limit.
Alaric couldn’t tell them what had happened. If they knew Ptolemy had disappeared with Poseidon’s Pride, they might lose hope. Instead, he told them he was nearly there, and disconnected the communication.
He needed help, and he was willing to admit it. He sent his senses winging out over the city, until he located a certain son of the god of war. Faust probably could help him find that abandoned subway station he’d seen in his vision of Quinn during the soul-meld. There was a chance that Ptolemy had returned there to plan and plot. He certainly wouldn’t have returned to that hotel.
It didn’t take long before he sensed the youngling, although a police helicopter found Alaric standing on the torch at the same time. Before the annoying loudspeaker commands could begin again, Alaric leapt into the air. He hovered for a moment next to the surprised officer hanging out of the side.
“We are on the same side, human. I will find and destroy the demon Ptolemy for you, this I swear on my oath as the high priest of Poseidon.”
With that, he transformed to mist and, leaving one very surprised policeman behind him, headed for the location where he could feel Faust’s presence burning like a flame in the heart of the city.
Only to discover that Faust was inside a police station.
Alaric groaned as he walked out from behind the truck where he’d transformed so as not to cause a disturbance. The boy was solidifying Alaric’s belief that children were far more trouble than they were worth. Although a child with Quinn . . . His steps slowed as he visualized Quinn’s flat belly rounding with his baby, and he almost walked into a police car as it pulled into a parking space.
Time for mental daydreams later.
But thinking of Quinn and his future child was like gasoline to the flame of his fury. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep from blasting a hole in the side of the building and snatching the boy, but somehow he managed it.
Barely.
After a quick check to make sure that he wasn’t glowing again—he had a feeling he’d find that hard to explain to the police—he strode into the building as if he owned the place. A quick scan revealed Faust arguing with a female police officer in front of the desk, so Alaric approached respectfully, so as not to appear hostile or aggressive. Especially since his face had certainly been on television while he destroyed City Hall. The humans tended not to appreciate that sort of thing.
Luckily, there was no sign of recognition on the policewoman’s face. Lots of frustration, but no recognition.
“I apologize for my son, officer,” he said. “Is there restitution to be made?”
Faust started to protest, but Alaric shot him a stern look. “You’re in enough trouble, young man.”
The officer shook her head. “No restitution, but he can’t keep hiding street kids from the authorities. I’ll let him go this time, since he was clearly trying to help those children, but you’d better straighten him out before he gets in real trouble.”
Alaric took a firm grip on Faust’s arm and started walking, thanking the officer as he left. It was always better to cooperate with law enforcement, a lesson the boy at his side had yet to learn, from the sound of the tirade he was spewing as they left. Something about bureaucratic idiocy, but Alaric didn’t care and he definitely didn’t have the time.
When they reached a corner alley several streets away from the police building, on a street lined with small shops and eateries, Alaric finally let go of the youngling.
“Silence,” he commanded, and Faust stopped speaking, mid-sentence, and changed course.
“Um, are you going to kill me?”
“Why would I bother to remove you from police custody, if that were the case? I could have killed you there far more easily, and without having to listen to your incessant babble,” Alaric pointed out reasonably.
For some reason, Faust did not seem to be reassured by his words. Stupid human.
“I told you I’d take care of you and your friends,” he told the boy. “You can all move to Atlantis and live happily ever after, once I retrieve the tourmaline, and save the dome, so Atlantis can rise. But for now, I need your help.”
Faust backed away a little. “You’re completely off your rocker, aren’t you? Atlantis?”
“You’ve seen the sea god in action, and you doubt Atlantis? You’re not particularly intelligent, are you?”
He started to turn away in disgust, since he would clearly receive no useful help here, but a stray thought stopped him. “How is the child?”
Faust grinned at the reminder of his tiny friend, and his shoulders relaxed. “She’s fine, thanks to you. Perfectly healthy and doesn’t even remember what happened.”
“She had no need to remember the trauma, so I removed it from her memory.”
The boy looked up at him with a new measure of respect. “Really? You can do that? Well, thanks.”
Alaric considered the boy. “How old are you?”
“I’m eighteen.”
Alaric said nothing, simply waited.
“Okay, I’m sixteen, or at least I will be next month,” Faust finally admitted. “But my ID says I’m eighteen, and I’ve been taking care of myself and the kids for almost two years.”
“Admirable.”
The boy visibly puffed up a little, probably surprised to hear approval instead of condemnation from an adult, even one he considered to be off his rocker.
“If you would thank me, do so by helping me find an abandoned subway station,” Alaric said, making a sudden decision to trust the boy.
Faust backed up as a group of women walked by, chattering about lunch plans. He waited for them to pass before he shook his head.
“For reals? Those places are seriously scary, and that’s before you get into the new players like this Ptolemy guy. I’m talking gang hangouts, rats, drug dens, rats, shorted-out electrical wires, and rats.”
Alaric raised an eyebrow. “You’re afraid of rats?”
“Heck yeah, I’m afraid of rats. They carry all kinds of freaky germs, like the next bubonic plague, probably.”
“You may be right. I will destroy the rats. Now, can we go?”
Faust sighed, and then brightened. “I’ll do it for a hundred bucks. I can feed the rest of the kids for a week on that, if I’m careful.”
“I don’t have any of your currency.”
“Man, that sucks.”
Alaric felt the new magic boiling up in him, wanting to destroy, and he forced it down again. “I will obtain some, or give you gold in the equivalent of five thousand of your dollars, to do this for me. Now. We’re running out of time, and I’m running out of patience.”
Nearly three hours later, Alaric admitted defeat. They’d searched every tunnel and hole that Faust could find, but there was no trace of Quinn. Finally, they’d come to a room that he was sure was the one from the vision, even down to the shabby sofa, but there was no trace of Quinn or Ptolemy, except perhaps for a faint trace of her scent.