Sunset: Pact Arcanum: Book One (15 page)

“I didn’t have any qualifications when I started either, other than what I learned from Luscian’s memories.” Nick leaned back in his chair and regarded the Sentinel calmly. “You’ve already absorbed my entire diplomatic career, such as it was, by your own admission. As for speaking on my behalf, well, why don’t you tell me about yourself?” He smiled. “Consider this a job interview.”

Jeremy gave him a long look and then rose from the couch and rummaged through one of the cardboard boxes. “By the way, thanks for asking Armistice Security to take me back to my old apartment long enough to pack up the things I wanted to keep. I’m sure the FBI has figured out where I lived and impounded the rest by now.”

“No problem.”

“Ah, here we go.” Jeremy pulled a cardboard mailing tube out of the box and handed it to him. “That about says it all.”

Pulling out a rolled-up sheet of parchment, Nick spread it out on the coffee table. One eyebrow shot up as he read. “Bachelor of Science in Intelligence. Are you saying there’s an actual college out there for spies?”

“Yeah.” Jeremy shrugged. “It’s operated by the Defense Department, and they sponsored me for admission. Medusa was a guest instructor. I guess I made an impression, because she recruited me right out of the program.” He sighed. “That was a year ago.”

“I see.” Nick rolled up the scroll and slipped it back into the tube. “I’m surprised you didn’t have it framed.”

“Never had any reason to display it,” Jeremy mumbled. “I didn’t have anyone left in my life I wanted to make proud of me.” He let his gaze meet Nick’s. “Not until I met you.”

“You’re giving me too much credit, Jeremy,” Nick replied tersely, discomforted by the Sentinel’s intense scrutiny.

“I don’t think so. Not after everything you’ve been through.” Jeremy let his gaze wander over the room’s stark white walls. “That’s about it, as far as I’m concerned. I was an orphan, then a student, then a spy with training wheels, and finally a terrorist. Now I’m a psychic and unemployed.” He sighed. “Not much of a résumé.”

“Do you regret what you did in Los Angeles?”

Jeremy shook his head. “Not in the way you mean. I don’t regret being part of her operation. I thought she believed in what she was doing, and I believed in her.” His expression hardened. “She lied to me. I would have died for her—she knew that, and she still lied to me.”

Nick tilted his head as he read the other man’s emotions. “If she had been honest, would you have gone through with it?”

“Yes.” Jeremy’s glare could have cut glass. “Are you going to lie to me?”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “Would you believe me if I said no?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Glad to hear it.” Jeremy leaned back into the couch, and the two sat in silence for a minute. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“You already know everything I could tell you about myself.”

“I saw your life in the Faith Ward, but there are gaps. You’ve touched other minds before, absorbed other people’s memories, but those memories are hidden from me. Most of the gaps were small, a few seconds in length, but there’s a point in your life where there’s an entire block of time that’s a complete blank to me.”

Nick frowned. “When?”

“Everything from the moment you drained Luscian to the time you broke out of Anaba’s containment circle in the Citadel.”

Nick closed his eyes, and his skin paled.
Of course.
Opening his eyes again, he focused on Jeremy, who was watching him with concern. Nick took a deep breath and let it out. “The Crown of Souls.”

* * *

“I heard you mention that several times in the Court of Shadows, but I don’t know what it is exactly.”

Nick slumped back in his chair, his distaste obvious. “It’s the reason I’m so strong—a piece of necromancy Luscian created back in the First Age and linked to his sword, which is called Reaper. It was his most terrifying weapon. It’s extremely black magic and very, very ugly.” Nick hesitated, then clenched his fists and plunged on. “When someone, living or undead, is killed by Reaper, it binds their soul into a magic prison of Luscian’s devising—a prison he called the Crown of Souls. The soul never goes free once the body dies. Luscian drew power from them to augment his own mystical strength. Many of them have been trapped since the First Age, thirty thousand years ago.”

Jeremy swallowed, remembering the halo of lights that had surrounded Nick’s head in the Faith Ward.
No wonder they called it a crown. Jesus. How could something so horrible be so exquisite?
“Is this the same black sword you have? The one with the runes and the flames?”

Nick nodded, not meeting his eyes. “It’s a magical construct I absorbed from Luscian, rendered into physical form. I didn’t know what it was at the time I took it from him. The reason you couldn’t see what happened after I killed Luscian was that I was taken by surprise when I claimed the Crown and Sword from him. The imprisoned souls saw an opportunity. They used it to push my mind aside and take control of my body. I was completely unprepared.”

“Are you saying you were possessed?”

“Pretty much. The magic of the Crown and Sword is an abomination. Nothing more completely evil exists on this level of reality. If I could break open the Crown and set them all free, I’d do it in a heartbeat, but I don’t know how. Luscian created it using magic that has been lost since the First Age—powers I can’t duplicate. I’m not strong enough on my own to unravel the spell.” His expression grew haunted. “I swore to myself I would never draw the sword, that nothing could ever justify using it. But when Zachariah attacked me in London, it was the first thing I reached for. The memory of calling it to my hand, being ready to strike him down with it, will stay fresh in my mind forever.”

Jeremy stared at him thoughtfully. “I appreciate your honesty, Nicholas.” He stood, glancing at the pile of boxes before turning back to Nick. “Thanks for coming by. I should get unpacked, and I’m sure you have stuff to do.”

“Do you need any help?”

“You’re my Magister now, and the new Ambassador to Humanity. Are you actually offering to help me move in?”

Nick shrugged. “I have some time. And, honestly, I could use something mundane to take my mind off the job.”

Jeremy flashed him a grin, just for an instant. “Then I would be glad for the help, my Lord.”

January 2040; Federal Transfer Center, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma; Ten days after public exposure

The terrorist known as Medusa sat stiffly in her chair as the guard unshackled her wrists and cuffed her to the table. They’d learned to be careful around her after she had calmly beaten another inmate half to death when the would-be predator had drawn a shiv. Finished securing her bonds, the guard exited, leaving her alone with her visitor. He was a younger man in his mid-thirties, dressed in a crisply pressed gray suit. His eyes burned intently behind gold-rimmed glasses. He sat silently for a time, his hands clasped in front of him on the table. Finally, he sighed. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured your retirement party, Elizabeth.”

She shrugged. “You always suffered from an overactive imagination, Andrew.”

“Your final operation was thwarted by a vampire, and you’re calling
my
imagination overactive?” He snorted.

“My operation was thwarted, as you say, by a turncoat. The vampire was obviously under some kind of restraint or he would have disposed of my men sooner. No, Harkness was the one who abandoned his duties, and his betrayal gave the vampire an opportunity to act.”

“Our analysts agree. But your hands aren’t exactly clean here, Liz. You didn’t tell them about Tom and Martin, and that lie of omission is what set your boy off.”

“Don’t call him my boy!” she snapped. “Jeremy Harkness was a social misfit in a sensitive position. His pedantic idealism made him a perfect target for exploitation. His disloyalty brought me down, not my tactics.”

Andrew shook his head ruefully. “They were all there only because they believed in you, Elizabeth. I’ve interviewed quite a number of your operatives. They couldn’t believe you would turn traitor unless out of patriotism. None of them were around when the police who gunned down your husband and son were acquitted, so they never saw you at your worst. It was a stroke of genius to recruit from the student body, when they were too green to know better. How many years have you been putting this operation together?”

She frowned at him coldly. “Is there a point to this discussion, Agent Kensington?”

“I can’t give you back your family,” Kensington said, leaning forward. “I can’t let you have your revenge against the city. But I can give you free rein against the man who blocked your play.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re after the vampire.”

“The vampire, his associates, his organization. They’re all unknown threats. You’re a gifted analyst. I could use you on my team.”

She laughed and rattled her restraints. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“I can’t get you out, not yet. You’re too high profile. But if you prove yourself to be a valuable asset, I might be able to work something out, once the heat dies down.”

“An empty promise to a desperate woman. You’re all heart, Kensington.”

“Do you have a better offer?”

She continued to smile at him as she considered her options. “Show me what you have.”

Kensington reached into his briefcase and pulled out several folders. The first one contained a thick stack of printed pages, topped by a picture of Nick. “The primary target is Nicholas Lawrence Jameson. This is everything we know about him.” He slid the folder toward her.

Hindered by her handcuffs, she flipped the pages with difficulty and began to read.

P
ART
III
: 
D
IPLOMACY

C
HAPTER 11

February 2040; Washington, D.C.; Two weeks after public exposure

A chime sounded through the lobby of the Truman building, interrupting the orderly flow of traffic in and out of the State Department and causing people to stop and look around, seeking the source of the musical tone. A moment later, a white flash illuminated the room, and two men and a woman appeared in the center of the lobby. Nick, dressed in a white suit with a lapel pin bearing the Daywalker symbol, was flanked by Scott and Ana, who both wore charcoal gray with lapel pins symbolic of Armistice Security and appropriate to their element. All three wore pale yellow sunglasses and had a motif of three interlocked spirals embroidered on the left breast pocket of their suit jackets. People hurried out of their way as they strode toward the security desk.

“Excuse me.” Nick addressed the guards. “My name is Nicholas Magister Luscian, representing the Triumvirate Council of North America. If possible, I would like to speak to either the Secretary of State or the Chief of Protocol. I don’t have an appointment.”

Four hours later, they were sitting casually on the antique furniture in one of the diplomatic reception rooms, silently conversing over their psychic link. Secret Service agents lined the walls around them and watched their every move. A door opened. All three stood as Secretary of State Caroline Matthews entered with a pair of assistants. She walked forward to stand in front of them, her eyes meeting theirs in open challenge.

“Gentlemen. Lady,” she said, nodding to them and smoothing her navy blue suit with a firm hand. “What brings you to Washington?”

“Madam Secretary,” said Nick, “my government wishes to open diplomatic relations with the human governments of North America, including the United States.”

“I’m afraid that will not be possible, Mr. Jameson,” she answered curtly with a shake of her head. “Your ‘government’ has no validity.”

“I assure you that we do, Madam Secretary. All members of the Free People in North America have personally and explicitly affirmed the authority of the Triumvirate as a matter of law.”

“The Triumvirate has no authority, as a matter of law, Mr. Jameson,” she insisted with an air of irritation. “What makes you think you can set up a paramilitary government within the United States, in clear violation of our sovereignty, and expect us to accept you as a foreign nation within our own borders?”

“There is already significant historical precedent for that position, Madam Secretary,” answered Nick. “You respect, by treaty, the right of the Native Americans to govern themselves, although you regard their territories as exclusive rather than overlapping with yours. The cultures of the Free People predate theirs by tens of thousands of years. The Triumvirate is simply the most recent expression of our sovereign right to exercise self-determination.”

Secretary Matthews blinked and masked an amused smile before speaking again. “That is a very interesting legal position, Mr. Jameson. Are you suggesting we allow your people, with all their power, to be immune from our laws and leave it up to you to maintain order?”

Nick shrugged. “We do that already, Madam Secretary. Honestly, there’s nothing in your laws that applies to our people when we exercise our abilities. We are completely outside your experience when not trying to blend into your society. When we live as humans, however, we are content to yield to the constraints of human law. After all, you never even knew we were here before the events in Los Angeles.”

“That much is true,” she agreed.

Scott reached into his jacket, and Nick felt the sudden tension of the Secret Service agents standing around them. The Water Sentinel removed a tightly-rolled scroll of cream-colored vellum from an inner pocket and held it out to her. “Secretary Matthews, this is a copy of the Armistice Declaration of 2021 for you to review at your leisure, as well as an up-to-date version of the Rules of Engagement. These two documents form the essential framework of all our laws. We hope they will give you sufficient confidence in our intentions to open a dialogue between our two governments.”

The Secretary accepted it from him, turning the scroll to view the gold wax seal that held it closed. It was embossed with the same triple spiral design that adorned their jackets. “What is this symbol?” she asked.