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
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.
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.
“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?”
“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.
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:
Faust actually winked at Alaric, before he turned and ran away.
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
