Heart of Atlantis

Chapter 24

It took nearly an hour of argument, during which they’d raided the refrigerator and eaten a cobbled-together breakfast, and Quinn had to pull out the “we’re soul-melded, you should trust me” card, but Alaric finally agreed to let her approach Ptolemy, so long as Alaric was within one hundred feet of her at all times. Rescuing distance, in other words.

Once an overprotective high priest, always an overprotective high priest.

He planned to travel as mist, because even if Ptolemy really did have an Atlantean mother, that wasn’t enough for him to be able to sense Poseidon’s high priest when he didn’t want to be discovered, Alaric said. Of course, he hadn’t seen the extent of Ptolemy’s power, but Quinn decided not to mention that. Alaric was already about an inch away from trying to lock her in a closet somewhere, rebel leader or no, and so she decided not to press her luck.

Another hour and a call to an associate yielded her sympathy she didn’t want and a nonmetallic, poly-fiber combat boot knife she did. She didn’t want to be at the mercy of Ptolemy’s metal-melting skills again. Alaric had leaned against the doorway like an unreasonably gorgeous bodyguard the entire time she’d spoken with the man, making both of them nervous.

“How to find him is the issue,” Alaric said. “You thought he’d returned to his demon realm?”

Quinn shuddered, remembering the burst of dark energy that had pressed against her in a suffocating wave. “Yes. But if he’s back, I figure a glory hound like Ptolemy will be making his presence known again.”

Sure enough, when she switched on the TV, his face filled the screen on both the local and national news channels, broadcasting live from the Statue of Liberty in the bright early-morning sun.

When the camera turned to the reporter, she showed no trace of the typical newscaster smile. Instead, strain drew lines around her mouth and nose as she faced the camera, her shoulders hunched over, one hand wrapped around her waist.

Quinn frowned and reached for the remote control, to toggle off the mute button. “Okay, a reporter who isn’t cheerful or perky is odd—”

Screams interrupted her as the volume switched on. The camera panned out, wide, and showed them a scene of uncontrolled chaos. Men, women, and children ran in all directions, with only one thing in common—they were running away from the reporter and her camera. As they watched, a group of three young guys knocked over an elderly woman in their panicked flight, but two of them immediately stopped to lift her bodily off the ground and then carried her with them.

“I suspect we have found Ptolemy,” Alaric said grimly.

Before Quinn could reply, the camera zeroed back in on the reporter. She visibly swallowed and then spoke, gripping her microphone with a white-knuckled hand.

“To repeat, Ptolemy Reborn, the king of Atlantis, is very unhappy with the person who stole his future bride, and he plans to kill a tourist every hour until she—”

They heard a voice in the background, and the reporter froze, and then resumed, her voice shaking as wildly as her hands. “I misspoke. He will kill many tourists, and as often as he feels like it,” she corrected, as the first tears broke free and ran down her perfectly made-up cheeks.

Quinn’s hands curled into fists. “He’s going down.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Alaric said, simultaneously.

They didn’t waste another second on talk or preparation. Quinn grabbed a few things she thought might be helpful from Lauren’s tools and then they headed out for the Statue of Liberty. She locked up the loft carefully, and Alaric took her in his arms and leapt into the air.

In spite of the danger they were soon to face, and the desperate consequences if they failed, Quinn couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the beauty and stark elegance of the city as they flew over it. New York bustled through the morning like an artist’s dream of gritty realism painted with a kaleidoscopic palette. But the fanciful imaginings faded from her mind as they flew across the water toward Liberty Island and their target.

Instead, the theme music from Underdog starting playing in its place.

When they reached the familiar landmark, all manner of police boats and helicopters encircled it. Alaric turned up the speed, and they moved through the obstacle course of official vehicles so fast that nobody had a chance to stop them. Quinn wished her hands were free to cover her ears and block the cacophony of bullhorns and loudspeakers.

“He must be there. Put me down behind the base of the statue, where he won’t see you,” she said, as they approached, flying low so that the statue itself blocked them from view. “And let me say it pisses me off that he’s using America’s best-known symbol of freedom in his twisted game.”

“Not so much a game, if he succeeds in opening a gateway to a demonic dimension,” Alaric said as they landed.

“I know. That’s why you’re going to trust me, and stay out of this for a little while, so I can figure out how to get Poseidon’s Pride without Ptolemy leaving Earth—and us—behind. You are the bravest and most powerful man I’ve ever met, but all that courage doesn’t do us any good if we can’t get to Ptolemy,” she said, for the thousandth or so time.

Alaric’s eyes glowed hot, and he clenched his jaw, probably to keep from telling her she was an idiot.

“You have five minutes, and then I’m coming after you,” he said firmly. “Five minutes, and only because the fate of all of Atlantis is on the line. Not one second longer.”

She kissed him, hard, refusing to wonder if it would be for the last time, and before she could lose her nerve, she ran around the corner of the statue and toward the monster who wanted her to have his demon babies.

She didn’t know whether to cry or laugh at the shocked expression on Ptolemy’s face. He and Alaric had something in common, then. They both thought she was an idiot. She was starting to agree with them.

She resorted to her old standby: being a smart-ass.

“Hey, did you miss me?”

Ptolemy glared at her. He wore the same business suit, but it was immaculate. Maybe he owned a dozen of them. “Where have you been? Who took you?”

“One of the fake Atlanteans, but he only wanted information, and when I told him I didn’t really know anything, he let me go.” She shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. Or so she hoped.

She slowed her pace and stopped about six feet away from him, and she tried to distract him before he could wonder how she’d gotten to the island. Or with whom.

“Like you’re going to do for the nice tourists, right? Let them go?”

He gestured as if at an annoying bug. “I don’t care about these vermin. They can go.”

As the people began to run away, Quinn had to resist the urge to run with them, because suddenly Ptolemy was turning the full weight of his undisguised alien eyes on her, and he didn’t look happy to see her. Not one bit.

“You just escaped, is this what I am to believe?”

“You come from an alien demon dimension, and you just happen to speak English perfectly, is this what I am to believe?” she said, mocking him.

“I have studied your world for hundreds of years,” he said, raising his chin like an offended schoolgirl.

All righty, then. Maybe she could get to him through his vanity.

“Fine. Good. So you know all about Lady Liberty? The French actually sent her to us, you know? There’s even a hideous song they made us sing in grade school, based on the inscription on the base, ‘Give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses—’”

“I have no interest in these things,” he said. “We’re leaving. However, speaking of huddled masses, I need to prove that I will carry out my threats, or they won’t have any teeth, will they?”

Before Quinn could blink, Ptolemy pointed his finger at an old man in a wheelchair and the equally elderly woman pushing him. They were following the escaping crowd as quickly as they could move, but it wasn’t fast enough, Quinn realized.

Not anywhere near fast enough.

“No!” Quinn screamed, but it was too late. An arrow of orange light shot across the sidewalk and incinerated