“Do you want me to take a message?” the secretary said, clearly trying to get him off the phone. “He’s in transit to Chicago to meet with Dr. Cambri before shuttling to Washington and his court date.”
Because Trisk is here, he thought, but it was good to know some planes were still flying. “No,” he said, remembering the woman had asked him something. “I’m actually in Chicago myself. Where is he meeting Dr. Cambri? I’ll try to hook up with him here.”
“Just a minute.” There was a second or two of silence, and then a weary sigh. “The police station on Adams Street.”
“Thank you,” Kal said, immediately hanging up.
Orchid hovered before him, her dust pooling on the desk cluttered with papers and survival pamphlets. “The witches destroyed Detroit? They can do that?”
Kal nodded grimly, wondering if the dead man behind the counter had invested in a gun. “If it was their people who broke the silence, then they’d be required to, yes. From what I hear, Detroit was mostly humans and vampires.” He hesitated. “Do you smell cigarette smoke?”
Orchid’s eyes widened, and they both turned to the hall and the irate sound of someone clearing his throat. “And that there were no elves killed makes it right, then, doesn’t it?” a dry, sarcastic voice said as Saladan took a step into the doorway.
“Saladan!” Kal blurted. The tall man looked formidable in a black coat that ran all the way to the floor. His hat was pulled low over his short black hair, and a lit cigarette hung in his grip. His long face looked even longer with his thin lips in a frown.
“Damn it!” Orchid swore, rising up on a column of red dust. “He snuck up on me again!”
“I can fix this,” Kal said, hand raised as he backed deeper into the office until he stumbled into the rolling chair. Saladan followed me? Halfway across the country? The man is crazy! “I can fix this!” he said again, louder as the man came farther in. “That’s why I left.”
“You left me for dead,” Saladan said, and Kal fumbled for a ley line, watching the tips of Saladan’s black hair float from the force of the line he was holding. “All you do is lie, Kalamack. All you elves ever do is lie.”
Stay out of this, Orchid, he thought, but the pixy was hovering at his shoulder, her bare garden blade in hand. “Trisk is here,” Kal said. “And Daniel.”
Saladan’s hand twitched. Kal’s breath came in with a gasp. Adrenaline pulsed, and he ducked, flinging an unfocused ball of power at whatever nasty spell Saladan had thrown at him. Stumbling, Kal went down, arms pinwheeling until he fell into the rolling chair. Saladan’s charm hit the ceiling, where it stuck, little tendrils of black questing out like Fourth of July snakes.
“Trisk and Daniel didn’t ruin the T4 Angel, you did,” Saladan said as he paced closer, lips in an ugly snarl.
“Leave Kal alone,” Orchid said, then she yelped, darting away when he flicked his cigarette at her.
“Hey!” Kal protested, only to fall back into the chair when Saladan lunged for him. “Sa—” His words were choked off as Saladan knocked his forming spell aside and grabbed him by the throat. An abiding anger narrowed the witch’s eyes, inches from his own as the older man pinned him to the chair. Above them, Orchid stood on the top of Saladan’s circle. Kal hadn’t even seen its construction, it had happened so fast. Her sword was out, and she was using it like a pick, trying to force her way in like a little demon.
“You made my product worthless. Leaving me for dead I can forgive. Leaving me broke I will not,” Saladan said, and Kal choked, his breath cut off.
Then Kal screamed, arching his back in agony when ley line energy poured into him, burning away every thought except escape. “Not my intent,” he rasped, sucking in air. “Give me the chance . . . to fix it.” The flow ceased, and he gasped, relishing the lack of pain. He was shaking, feeling his synapses smoldering from the overload, and he scrambled for a charm, a spell, anything to break him free of Saladan’s tight grip as the man leaned closer, the warmth of his hand under Kal’s chin a warning that worse was coming.
“I’m not going back to my son and telling him that the money is gone,” Saladan said. “That an elf brought us down.”
Kal’s foot twitched. “I can fix this,” he got out again, and then screamed as fire lit through him, bursting from his chest to race through his body, rebounding at his fingers and toes to cycle back on itself and cause more pain. It was a phantom agony, but it would leave a real mark on his mind, and for the first time, panic filled him as his mind began to burn, ley line energy crisping the delicate patterns that allowed him to use magic.
“They’re here!” he exclaimed, hearing his voice as if outside his head. “Kill me, and you get nothing!”
Again the fire vanished, and Kal stifled a moan, vowing that if he survived, he’d never be hurt like this again. Money was power, but magic made you a god.