and wondered how to say what would probably be her final good-bye to the best friend she’d ever had.
Jack opened one eye, probably some tiger sixth sense or something at work. Quinn dug her hands into the fur on the sides of his face and pulled his shaggy head up closer to her own.
“I have to go, fur face. I have to find out what that nut ball Ptolemy wants from me and what he’s up to. If the jewel really is what Alaric thinks it is, and it really has that much power—well, who knows how much damage it can cause. Somebody has to stop him, and I seem to be out of any other kind of job, so I guess it needs to be me.”
Jack pulled away from her and snarled, placing one heavy paw on her leg as if to hold her down.
“Look,” she said, almost desperately, fighting the tears threatening to close her throat and run down her face. “I can’t do this without you. I don’t
She stared into his eyes, searching for any trace of his humanity, but saw nothing to reassure her. Nothing but wildness and ferocity. Maybe Alaric was right. Maybe Jack really was gone—permanently gone—and only a faint memory of their friendship kept him from mauling her or worse.
She stopped fighting the tears. Nobody was around to see them anyway, and Jack deserved at least her tears.
“You saved my life so many times I can’t even count that high,” she whispered. “You loved me when I didn’t deserve it. You stood by me when I took us into trouble, and battles, and worse. You even stood by me when I fell in love with an Atlantean priest who has sworn a vow of celibacy to a god.”
He snarled again, more quietly, and gently butted her shoulder with his head.
“I never deserved you, Jack. Not your love or your friendship. Not even your amazing ability to always have my back,” she continued, openly crying now. “I never did, and now I can never hope to. I love you, you know? Not the way you want, but I love you. If you really love me, try to come back. For me. Please.”
She gave up at that point, since further words would be meaningless. Jack—her Jack—knew what was in her heart. Instead, she put her arms around him as best as she could and she cried into his soft, silky fur until it was soaked, while her heart shattered into tiny, tiger-shaped pieces.
Finally she stood up and scrubbed at her eyes with her hands. “Good-bye, my friend.”
In the most painful blow of all, he didn’t even try to stop her from leaving. He just sat there and silently watched her walk away.
Chapter 6
The Plaza Hotel, New York City
“Pretty fancy, isn’t it?” Ven looked around and whistled. “Whoever he is, he has money. This place doesn’t run cheap, and he’s in one of the best suites, from what you tell me of where you feel that magic.”
Alaric shrugged. He didn’t care about money or hotels with gold and gilt fixtures. He cared about Quinn. Her life was in danger. Nothing else mattered.
“It’s probably a private elevator to get there,” Ven said. “This could be a problem, if you want to be subtle.”
Alaric raised an eyebrow. “Elevator? Subtle? Really? Has domestic bliss befuddled your mind?”
Whirling around, he headed back out to the street, leapt on the edge of the fountain, and then shot straight up into the air, transforming his body into mist on the way. What did he care for subterfuge or hiding his powers from humans now? Ptolemy had announced the existence of Atlantis to the world, so what did it matter if a few New Yorkers saw Alaric as he claimed Atlantean water magic?
Below, he saw Ven stare up at him, cursing, and then take a less dramatic approach to achieve the same end, ducking behind one of the ubiquitous yellow taxis before he, too, transformed. Alaric felt a moment’s grim amusement at the idea that practical jokester Ven had acted with more caution than he had. He soared up until he felt the source of the magic as it pulsed and pounded in front of him, coming from behind a wall of glass.
Ven changed back from mist to his body mere seconds after Alaric did, and the first thing he did was punch Alaric in the arm.
“Way to go. Seriously, nice stealth move.”
Alaric ignored him, concentrating on the group of green-robed humans cowering on their knees in the room. “It’s them again. The Platoist Society. Remember, with Reisen? They worship anything they think is Atlantean.”
“They don’t have to wonder if I’m Atlantean. I have already told them, and the world, that it is so,” Ptolemy said, stepping out from behind a teenage boy who was the only human standing.
The boy was trying desperately to look brave, but sweat stood out on his dark skin and his eyes were wild. Ptolemy still carried the enormous tourmaline, but he’d fastened it to the end of a gaudy gold-gilt scepter. It glowed faintly, and Alaric could feel pure Atlantean magic course through every nerve ending in his body. From underneath and around the shimmer of power, however, the tainted pulse of demonic magic bit into him with jagged teeth.
“What are you, really?” Alaric demanded. “Tell me now, and I may at least make your death quicker.”
“Ah, such a generous offer,” Ptolemy said. He laughed mockingly. “Who exactly are you that you dare to make it when I hold the most powerful jewel of Atlantis in my hand?”
“How do you know that jewel is Atlantean?” Ven asked, edging closer to Ptolemy’s right, to flank him.
Ptolemy pointed the scepter at him. “You must be one of the false princes. I recognize the stench of undeserved arrogance.”
“I am the King’s Vengeance, and you are going to die if you don’t start answering questions right now.” Ven pulled his daggers from their sheaths and dropped into a battle-ready stance.
Ptolemy aimed the scepter at Ven and fired off a blast of sickly reddish-orange power that slammed Ven into the wall. When Alaric called to his own magic and drew back his arm to hurl an energy sphere at the pretender, the man yanked the teen boy in front of him.
“I think not,” Ptolemy taunted Alaric. “Not unless you want to kill this boy, and you don’t do that, do you? You think you’re the good guys. Humanity’s heroes from legend—what a joke. Which one are you, anyway?”
“I am Alaric, high priest to Poseidon, friend to the true ruler of Atlantis, and I am the one who is going to rip your intestines out by way of your throat,” Alaric told the impostor. His teeth ached from the residue of tainted magic, and he still couldn’t figure out exactly
If demon, he was the most skilled demon Alaric had ever encountered. Most of them couldn’t hide their true forms for longer than a few seconds, or a minute at most. This one had done the press conference, and still now he stood before them in human form.
As Ven struggled to his feet, swearing a blue streak, Alaric decided simply to ask, “What makes you think you’re Atlantean, demon?”
Genuine surprise crossed Ptolemy’s face. “Demon? Oh, no, you have me mistaken for something far less powerful, priest. I am the king of Atlantis. I am the wizard who will destroy your house, enslave your women, and make your false princes my pets. Watch me and learn.”
Ven lunged for the man, trying to create a distraction so Alaric could strike him down, but Ptolemy must have been anticipating just such a move. He leapt to the side, dragging the boy with him.
“Choose now,” he taunted. “Save the boy or catch me. His name is Faust, by the way. Don’t you find that deliciously ironic?”
With that, he lifted the boy and threw him out through the shattered window in one powerful heave, slammed the scepter against his chest, and disappeared in another flash of light. Alaric had a split second to decide whether to save the boy or try to follow the emanations of residual magic from the scepter.
