Heart of Atlantis

She gritted her teeth and fought really, really hard not to scream.

Chapter 25

Alaric’s first instinct was to shatter the Statue of Liberty into crumbling dust, and everyone still on the island with it. The berserker rage climbed up inside him again, and with the recently increased capacity of his power, he was likely to destroy the entire state of New York.

Only one thing stopped him from doing so: he could still sense Quinn. Somewhere, either so far away he had no idea of how to reach her, or else nearby with her presence blocked by the pretender, but he could still feel her. The soul-meld had given him that much. She was alive and unharmed, at least for now, and he would find her.

Now that the demon had gone, the police and other officials were closing in, fast, and it was time for him to disappear. He transformed into mist and soared up until he rematerialized on top of Lady Liberty’s torch and balanced on the edge. The view was spectacular, had he cared about such things.

Below him, police and rescue workers scurried about, assisting the remaining people and searching for evidence of Ptolemy, no doubt. Alaric felt a moment’s compassion for the human police, who’d had to adapt to so much when the vampires and other paranormal creatures made themselves known. Regular handcuffs didn’t do much to restrain a wolf shifter in a full-on rage; he couldn’t imagine that any of their weapons would have had any effect on a demon.

Quinn was definitely correct in that—Ptolemy was undoubtedly some kind of demon. The taint of his magic was so different from any that Alaric had previously encountered that he was beginning to believe the tale of a different dimension, too. If the monster had taken Quinn to a different dimension, Alaric might never be able to find her.

Therefore, it could not be so. He would not allow it.

He glanced down at his hands, unsurprised to find them glowing again, and forced his fingers to relax before he inadvertently destroyed the Statue of Liberty, thereby insulting both the United States and France before Atlantis had even had a chance to make diplomatic overtures. He almost smiled at the thought of Conlan trying to explain that one. Instead, he took a deep breath and called out to Christophe.

Status?

Yeah, hello to you, too, Alaric.

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.”