Splintered gates, p.25
Splintered Gates, page 25
“And what did you find?” she asked, pulling up a lab stool and settling in.
“Lang appears to be building a convergent gateway system.” I indicated the model. “Not for standard summoning, but for a targeted extraction operation. He claims his son James has been trapped in a demonic realm for nine years and this network is designed to create a stable extraction point to bring him back.”
“Nine years is well beyond documented survival periods,” Alison observed, her focus on the model.
“I know. But the theory is sound, even if his specific claim is questionable.” I gestured to the model. “What’s unique about Lang’s approach is how he’s modulating energy across the network. He’s not just creating a standard convergent gateway.”
“Meaning?”
“Each summoning circle isn’t just a power node; it’s a tuned anchor calibrated to specific cross-realm energies.” I activated a small section of the model, allowing energy to flow between three of the connection points. “The combined network doesn’t just create a doorway, it establishes synchronized bridges that allow precise targeting of dimensional coordinates.”
Alison leaned closer, studying the energy flow. “He’s creating a map of the demonic realm landscape. A dimensional positioning system.”
“Exactly. Conventional gateways are essentially blind jumps where you breach the barrier but have minimal control over where you emerge on the other side. Lang’s system is designed to create a targeted extraction point calibrated to specific coordinates within the demonic realm.”
“Where his son is supposedly located.” Alison’s tone suggested skepticism about Lang’s claimed motivation, matching my own. “But a system this precise requires calibration from both sides. How would he establish the target coordinates without an anchor point in the demonic realm itself?”
It was the same question that had been bothering me. “That’s the part that doesn’t add up. Unless...”
“Unless someone or something on the other side is providing targeting data,” Alison finished. “Which raises questions about what exactly Lang is connecting with.”
I nodded, relieved she grasped it immediately. “The Agency abandoned threshold theory research because of containment concerns and the risk that a stable gateway could allow uncontrolled passage in both directions.”
“Creating a permanent breach point rather than a temporary summoning circle.” Alison stood and moved to the lab’s primary workstation, accessing the facility’s main research database with a security clearance level I definitely didn’t have. “There’s more to Lang’s approach than just theoretical application. The patterns you’re demonstrating match something I’ve seen before.”
She pulled up the original threshold theory documentation from 1986, but continued past the sections I’d accessed to restricted addenda that hadn’t been available even in the physical archives.
“The Agency didn’t just abandon the research due to generalized risk,” she explained, displaying technical specifications I’d never seen. “They terminated the program after a prototype test went wrong. Nearly breached containment completely. The lead researcher theorized that certain energy combinations could create self-sustaining threshold points. Permanent doorways that would keep functioning even after the initial power source was removed.”
The implications hit me hard.
“But there’s something else,” I said, comparing the Agency’s historical data with my model. “Lang’s calibrations include a temporal component I don’t see in the original research.”
“There’s been some work getting done within the Agency.” Alison pulled up astronomical data and overlaid it with the temporal patterns from my model. “A celestial alignment,” she confirmed, highlighting the correlation. “Three days from now, when the energy potential between realms reaches its cyclic peak.”
The timing created both urgency and opportunity. We had a specific window for Lang’s operation.
“How do you know so much about this?” I asked. It was the question I’d been holding back. “Threshold theory was classified decades ago, but you understand it at a level that suggests more than just professional familiarity.”
Alison was quiet for a moment, her focus on the data displays. When she finally responded, her voice was careful, measured.
“Let’s just say I have personal experience with threshold phenomena and their consequences.” She turned to face me. “I have specialized clearance for historical research related to cross-realm phenomena. It’s why Mercer assigned me to the Lang investigation when the summoning circles were first discovered.”
There was more to it than that. Her immediate grasp of the technical aspects and her expertise suggested knowledge beyond standard research access. But before I could press further, she redirected.
“We need to focus on the current situation,” she said, closing the classified files and returning to my model. “Lang’s convergent gateway is a significant threat if our assessment about self-sustaining thresholds is accurate. But direct Agency intervention based on theoretical risk would require authorization levels that would take days to process, which is time we don’t have before the celestial alignment.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
“You continue your independent investigation, including your contact with Lang, while I work through official channels to prepare contingency measures without revealing everything we know.” She gestured to my model. “This stays between us for now. I won’t report your unauthorized research, but in return, I expect complete transparency about your findings going forward.”
“Why would you take that risk?” I asked.
She met my gaze. “Because some threats don’t wait for paperwork. And because I’ve seen what happens when cross-realm breaches aren’t properly contained.” Something in her expression suggested this wasn’t theoretical. “The Agency’s bureaucracy isn’t built for this kind of timeline. Sometimes protecting people means working around the system that’s supposed to protect them.”
My father would have appreciated the sentiment and the pragmatic recognition that, when dealing with magical threats, official channels sometimes created more problems than they solved.
“Alright,” I agreed. “Parallel tracks. But I need to know I can trust you.”
“Trust is earned. I’m not asking for blind faith, just professional cooperation toward a shared goal.” She gathered her things. “Document your findings on this secure drive. I’ll access it through my private terminal rather than the main systems.” She paused at the door. “And Cal? Be careful with Lang. His motivations may be more complicated than fatherly concern, regardless of whether or not his son is actually trapped in a demonic realm.”
After she left, I returned to my model, recalibrating the energy relationships based on the new information about temporal components and self-sustaining thresholds. The celestial alignment three days from now was the new critical moment.
Whatever his true purpose—rescuing his son as claimed, or something else entirely—the countdown had begun. We had three days to determine whether to help him, stop him, or find some middle path that might accomplish both without risking permanent breaches between realms.
And somewhere in the middle of it all was the question of what Alison really knew and why she’d chosen to align herself with a morph consultant rather than following standard protocols.
The energy patterns suggested not just a gateway between realms, but a selective filter designed to allow specific entities or energies to pass while blocking others.
A rescue operation for his son? Maybe. But the complexity of the design suggested something beyond a simple extraction. Whatever Lang was planning, the celestial alignment in three days would be our only chance to either assist or intervene before his convergent gateway activated and potentially changed the relationship between realms permanently.
CHAPTER 22
“The truth arrives wearing the face of our greatest fear, knocking at midnight when our defenses are lowest.” —Elizabeth Drexler, personal journal
I was halfway through a late dinner of takeout from the Thai place three blocks over when the knocking started.
Not a casual knock. Not the rhythmic pattern Marcus used. Three hard, desperate impacts that rattled the door in its frame, followed by a pause, then three more.
I set down my chopsticks and moved silently across the apartment, reaching out with my senses to identify who was on the other side. The ragged, fluctuating energy pattern was unmistakable: Matthew. But he was weaker than during our last encounter, with distortions that suggested serious injury or magical depletion.
I disabled the secondary wards and opened the door. Matthew was leaning heavily against the frame, his normally fluid posture rigid with pain. The human facade he maintained had slipped; his skin had a faint greenish undertone and his eyes were fully gold now, pupilless and bright. Most alarming were the burn marks visible on his forearms—raw, weeping injuries with an unnatural purple tinge that screamed magical origin.
I pulled him inside and closed the door, reactivating the protection wards. Matthew stumbled to the couch and collapsed, his breathing labored.
“What happened?” I asked, retrieving the medical kit I kept for magical injuries.
“Lang discovered my involvement in the network disruption.” His face contorted with pain as I began treating the burns. “These are just the wounds he wanted me to escape with. A message.”
“For me?”
“For both of us. And a reminder of what I’m supposed to be to him. A tool.”
I applied a salve to the burns, watching as it bubbled against the magical residue. The purple tinge faded slightly. Not standard fire magic—something darker. The kind designed to leave scars.
“These will take time to heal properly,” I said. “He wanted you weakened but mobile enough to deliver his message.”
“Always meticulous in his cruelty,” Matthew agreed hollowly.
“Why come back to me?”
“Time’s up.” His gold eyes fixed on mine. Matthew winced as I wrapped his arms. “A controlled opening—locate James, extract him, close the doorway. But nine years of obsession and demonic influence have corrupted him. He’s convinced a permanent gateway is necessary.”
“Why? What changed?”
“He no longer trusts he can stabilize a temporary breach long enough. And he’s modified the design.” Matthew’s voice went flat.
“He’s using boundary walkers,” I repeated. “Like you.”
“Three of us. Including me.” His expression darkened.
Using beings who had trusted him, who had helped develop his system, as sacrificial fuel. The concept reminded me of historical accounts of practitioners who’d tried to harness life force to power ambitious workings. Those attempts had invariably ended in disaster.
“I need to report this to Alison,” I said, reaching for my phone.
“No!” Matthew’s hand shot out, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength. His fingers were cool against my skin and I felt a strange current of energy from the contact, like standing at the edge of a vast drop. “You know the Agency is compromised.”
“I do. But I don’t know who.” I held his gaze. “Mercer?”
His grip loosened. “I don’t know. She’s careful; keeps her own counsel. But she’s involved somehow.” He released my wrist. “I came to you because you’re a morph. You can perceive the design flaws that others can’t.”
“Design flaws?”
“Lang’s modified system sacrifices stability for power. The permanent gateway would be inherently unstable.” Matthew’s eyes took on a distant look. “I’ve run the calculations. Probability of critical collapse exceeds eighty percent within the first twenty-four hours.”
“Critical collapse meaning what?”
“Uncontrolled merging of realms.” His voice went clinical, as if the horror required distance. “A hundred-mile radius of complete reality breakdown within the first week. Expanding exponentially after that.”
I tried to imagine what a reality breakdown might look like. The few documented cases I’d studied had described spontaneous transmutation of materials, temporal anomalies, living beings fused with inanimate objects. But those had been contained incidents affecting meters, not miles.
“And once it starts?”
“Irreversible. The demonic realm would gradually consume this one, transforming everything within the affected zone.”
I moved to the window, looking out at the city lights. Thousands of lives, millions within the radius Matthew described.
“And Lang knows the risk?”
“He knows there’s risk. He sees his calculations as conservative, mine as alarmist.”
This wasn’t just about dangerous entities crossing through temporary breaches. This was everything.
“I believe you,” I said, turning back. “But we need the Agency’s resources, whatever Lang’s influence there.”
“Then we need to be strategic about who we trust.” Matthew’s gaze was steady. “Start with Mercer. She has the authority to mobilize necessary resources if convinced. She’ll trust evidence she can’t dismiss. I’m willing to provide testimony. Full disclosure about my nature, my work with Lang, everything.”
The offer surprised me. “You’d expose yourself to the Agency? Risk containment?”
“The alternative is being sacrificed by Lang or dying in a reality collapse.” A grim smile flickered across his face. “Sometimes the lesser threat is the only viable option.”
I brought him water. He drank deeply, the simple act oddly human for something so otherworldly.
“How old are you, exactly?”
“Old enough to remember when boundaries between realms were naturally more permeable. Before the Courts established formal territories.” He set the glass down. “Before humans dominated this realm.”
Thousands of years. Possibly tens of thousands.
“If we go to Mercer, we need to negotiate terms first. Limited immunity for information. And you need to tell me everything.” I met his gaze. “No more partial truths. If I’m putting my neck on the line for you, I need to know exactly what I’m vouching for.”
Matthew was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was heavy with old secrets.
“I was there when James was lost,” he said quietly. “Part of the original ritual team. I helped Lang design the summoning circle that malfunctioned. And I was there when Nadia’s sister Elena was trapped. Threadweavers and boundary walkers have complicated history, but our mutual connection to this situation has forced uneasy cooperation. She hasn’t forgiven my role, but she recognizes my knowledge is essential to any rescue.”
“And is rescue still possible? After nine years?”
“Conventional wisdom says no. But demonic realms don’t experience time as this one does.” Matthew’s eyes went distant. “What’s been nine years here might be experienced differently there. Time is variable. Some areas are accelerated, others slower. They might have found regions where time moves slowly enough to survive.”
“But if they have survived—”
“They won’t be the same,” Matthew finished. “That’s what Lang refuses to accept. He expects to recover James as he was. But nine years in a demonic realm changes a person at the deepest level.”
A high-pitched whine from the window interrupted us. I turned to see Thilly hovering outside, her tiny form glowing a frantic yellow. I moved to let her in and she darted past me, circling the room before stopping abruptly at the sight of Matthew.
“Old-walker!” she shrieked, her light pulsing between yellow and orange. “Bad-hurt! Why back? Why back?”
She zoomed closer, inspecting his injuries with genuine concern.
“Lang-magic! Lang-hurt! Bad-wrong!”
“Yes, little one,” Matthew acknowledged, his tone gentler than I’d heard. “Lang-wrong. Very wrong.”
Thilly darted between us. “Big door coming! Bad door! Not-small like others! BIG!” She expanded her arms. “Eat-all door! Hungry door! Old-walkers going away-gone! Lang taking! Lang burning!”
She settled on Matthew’s palm, her glow shifting to troubled blue-green. “Other old-walkers crying in the in-between. I hear them, yes. Calling for help-rescue.”
Matthew’s expression tightened. “Can you sense where they are?”
Thilly closed her eyes, her glow dimming. “Deep-down. Under big stone mountain. Water nearby, yes. Cold place.”
“Blackridge Valley,” I said.
Thilly nodded vigorously. “Big magic circles. Many-many. All connected.”
“We need to move quickly,” I said, retrieving my jacket. “If we’re going to approach Mercer, we should do it now.”
Matthew stood with effort, his movements more fluid now, as if proximity to Thilly had somehow strengthened him.
“One more thing,” he added. “The reason Lang’s design is fundamentally flawed isn’t just stability. Realms separated by boundaries are meant to remain distinct. Forcing permanent connection is like removing the membrane between brain and bloodstream. Essential for controlled exchange, catastrophic when eliminated. Reality itself will hemorrhage until the entire system collapses.”
I grabbed my keys. “Then let’s make sure Mercer understands exactly what we’re facing.”
“I’ll help too!” Thilly declared, darting to hover near my shoulder. “Show-tell about old-walkers and hungry door!”
“No, Thilly.” I shook my head. “The Agency isn’t kind to nonhuman magical beings. I need you to stay here where it’s safe.”
Her glow flickered to indignant orange. “But Thilly knows important things!”
“And I’ll tell them what you told us. But if they see you, they might try to contain you. They might want to put you in a cage.”
Her wings drooped. “Not fair. Thilly brave.”
“I know you are.” I held out my hand and she landed on my palm. “That’s why I need you to stay and keep watch. If anything happens or if anyone comes, hide and find Marcus. Tell him everything. Can you do that?”
