Splintered gates, p.7
Splintered Gates, page 7
Someone was creating a network of connected portals, each tuned to a specific frequency, each positioned at a precise location according to some larger pattern. The demonic summoning we’d interrupted wasn’t the goal—it was a test, or perhaps a distraction from the real purpose.
The vehicle’s door opened abruptly and Smith slid into the driver’s seat, his expression thunderous. “Whatever you triggered in there is still active. The technical team is being called in to neutralize it properly.”
“I didn’t trigger anything intentionally,” I replied, which was technically true—I’d only intended to examine the patterns, not activate them.
Smith started the engine with unnecessary force. “Save it for your statement. Director Mercer will want to hear exactly what you were doing at her crime scene without authorization.”
As we pulled away from Olban Pines, I cast one final look at the dark forest behind us. Somewhere out there, Marcus was making his way back to the car with photographic evidence of the hidden patterns and correlations to the ley line map. And somewhere, the violet-eyed woman was watching, playing her own game with rules I didn’t yet understand.
The vibration I’d felt in the soil at Olban Pines seemed to echo through me now, a reminder that something larger was unfolding, something that connected demonic gateways, strange energy signatures, and a woman with violet eyes who left origami warnings on my doorstep.
Smith drove in stony silence, his anger a palpable presence in the vehicle. But my mind was elsewhere, piecing together fragments of a puzzle whose full picture remained frustratingly obscure. Whatever was happening, it centered around doorways between worlds—doorways that someone was carefully, methodically creating throughout the city at every major ley line intersection.
And based on Thilly’s fear and the wrongness of the energy I’d absorbed, whatever waited on the other side of those doorways was nothing our world should ever have to face.
CHAPTER 5
“When magic goes wrong, it rarely does so quietly. The most dangerous spells don’t fizzle. They detonate.”—From “Containment Protocols and Failure States,” Shamrock Disposal Agency training manual
The debriefing at Agency headquarters had lasted until nearly three in the morning. Mercer had been surprisingly measured in her response to my unauthorized excursion to Olban Pines, her questions focused more on what I’d observed than on why I’d been there in the first place. Smith, of course, had pushed for punitive measures—suspension of my consultant status at minimum—but Mercer had overruled him, citing the valuable additional data I’d provided.
By the time I finally made it home, exhaustion had settled into my bones like lead weights. I barely managed to kick off my shoes before collapsing onto my bed, still fully clothed. My last coherent thought was wondering if whoever created those circles knew what I’d done at City Plaza—and if tonight’s investigation had just painted a bigger target on my back.
The explosion woke me from a dead sleep.
One moment I was dreaming of frost patterns spreading across a forest clearing, and the next I was being hurled from my bed by a concussive force that rattled my teeth and sent picture frames crashing to the floor. The building shook, plaster dust raining from the ceiling as a roar filled the air—not just sound but pressure, a physical wall of noise that seemed to compress the very molecules of my apartment.
I rolled to my feet on instinct, disoriented but moving. Living with my father’s paranoia for most of my childhood had drilled certain responses into muscle memory, and get up and assess was the first rule of surviving an unexpected awakening.
The windows had shattered, glass fragments scattered across my floor like malicious confetti. Through the empty frames, I could see smoke billowing upward, illuminated from below by flickering orange light. Fire. Close.
I staggered to the window, careful of the broken glass, and looked down. The street below was chaos—people pouring from surrounding buildings, some in pajamas, others half-dressed, all wearing expressions of shock and fear. And there, directly across from my building, was the source of the explosion: a Shamrock Disposal truck, or what remained of one, now a twisted metal carcass wreathed in flames.
My stomach dropped. Not an accident. This was retaliation.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder by the second. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand—3:47 a.m. and three missed calls from Marcus. Before I could return them, the building’s fire alarm began to shriek, its piercing wail adding to the cacophony outside.
I moved quickly, shoving my feet into shoes and grabbing essentials—wallet, keys, a small leather pouch of emergency magical supplies I kept ready for situations exactly like this one. As I headed for the door, my gaze fell on the origami bird still sitting on my kitchen counter. I snatched it up and shoved it in my pocket before rushing into the hallway.
The corridor was filling with confused residents, some clutching pets or hastily gathered valuables, others still blinking sleep from their eyes as they stumbled toward the emergency exits. Mrs. Kaminski from apartment 3B stood frozen in her doorway, her ancient cat Misha clutched to her chest, paralyzed with indecision.
“Mrs. Kaminski,” I called, moving to her side. “We need to go. Right now.”
“My medication,” she said, her voice thin with fear. “And Misha’s special food. I can’t leave them.”
“Where are they? I’ll grab them for you.”
“Bathroom counter. Kitchen cabinet above the sink.”
I ducked into her apartment, quickly locating the items and shoving them into my pockets before returning to guide her toward the stairs. The elevator would be locked down during a fire alarm, and even if it weren’t, using it would be a terrible idea if there was structural damage to the building.
More residents had emerged while I was in Mrs. Kaminski’s apartment, the hallway now crowded with people moving with varying degrees of urgency toward the stairwell. I spotted Mr. Liu from 3F helping Mrs. Pasternak, who used a walker, negotiate the narrow corridor. Behind them, the Sullivan family herded their three children, the youngest still half-asleep in his father’s arms.
“Everyone stay calm,” I called, trying to project confidence I didn’t entirely feel. “Use the stairs, not the elevator. Cover your mouth and nose if there’s smoke.”
We made our way down the three flights, the stairwell growing more crowded and chaotic with each floor we descended. I kept Mrs. Kaminski close, one hand on her elbow to steady her while she clutched Misha with surprising strength for a woman in her seventies. The cat, normally temperamental, seemed to understand the gravity of the situation and remained unnaturally still in her arms.
As we reached the ground floor, I extended my senses, seeking any trace of magical energy amid the chaos. If this was a magical attack, there would be residual energy, a signature that might tell me who was behind it.
The lobby was a bottleneck of frightened residents trying to exit through doors never designed for mass evacuation. Security guards were doing their best to maintain order, but panic was beginning to take hold as smoke began to seep in from outside.
I guided Mrs. Kaminski toward the exit, still scanning for magical traces. There—a faint vibration in the air near the main doors, similar to what I’d felt at Olban Pines but stronger, more recent. Not demonic, not fae, but that same strange hybrid energy that defied classification.
We pushed through the doors into the street, where the scene was even more chaotic than it had appeared from my window. The burning truck had taken out a section of the sidewalk and part of a parked car. Fire crews were arriving, their trucks maneuvering into position while police established a perimeter to keep bystanders back. An ambulance was already on scene, paramedics attending to several people with minor injuries from flying debris.
“Cal!” A familiar voice called my name and I turned to see Marcus pushing through the crowd, his expression a mixture of relief and urgency. “Thank god. I’ve been calling you for the past hour.”
“Just woke up. Explosively,” I replied, guiding Mrs. Kaminski toward a clear area where evacuees were gathering. “Mrs. Kaminski, this is my friend Marcus. He’s going to help you find somewhere to sit down, okay?”
She nodded, still clutching Misha with white-knuckled hands. As Marcus took her elbow, she suddenly looked directly at me, her expression changing from fear to something more focused.
“The threads are tangling,” she said, her voice different—lower, more resonant. “Nadia sent me to find you. The pattern is accelerating.”
I stared at her, momentarily stunned. Mrs. Kaminski had lived across the hall from me for nearly a year, and in that time she’d never shown the slightest hint of magical knowledge or awareness. She was a retired librarian who watched crime dramas and complained about the building’s water pressure.
“Mrs. Kaminski?” I said cautiously.
She blinked, confusion returning to her features. “What? Oh, dear, I’m so disoriented. All this commotion...”
Before I could question her further, a paramedic approached, offering assistance. “Ma’am, let’s get you checked out. Were you near the windows when the explosion happened?”
As the paramedic led Mrs. Kaminski away, I exchanged a glance with Marcus. “Did you hear that?”
He nodded.
“How does Mrs. Kaminski know her? And what did she mean about threads tangling?”
“No idea. But I finished analyzing the ley line correlations after you were taken in. Every circle location sits on a major intersection—but they’re not trying to summon through the ley lines. They’re trying to destabilize them.”
“Show me later. Right now, I need to check something.” I nodded toward the burning truck. “That’s an Agency vehicle. This isn’t random.”
Marcus followed, positioning himself to block casual observation as I extended my senses toward the destroyed vehicle. The magical residue was stronger here, concentrated around what remained of the truck’s engine compartment. It pulsed with that same strange vibration I’d felt in the forest clearing, but amplified, weaponized.
“Definitely magical in origin,” I murmured. “Some kind of directed energy charge, set to detonate when triggered by specific conditions.”
“Like proximity to a specific target?” Marcus suggested quietly.
“Possibly.” If the explosion had been targeted at me specifically, it meant whoever was behind these circles knew exactly where to find me—and had access to Agency vehicles to deliver their message.
As I continued my examination from a distance, I noticed something unusual among the scattered debris—a small metal fragment that seemed to be attracting the residual energy, glowing faintly with an inner light visible only to those with magical sensitivity. I glanced around, confirming that the police and firefighters were focused elsewhere, then ducked under the perimeter tape for a closer look.
The fragment was about the size of a credit card, twisted and blackened from the explosion, but still recognizable as part of a larger design. Etched into its surface were symbols similar to those I’d seen at Olban Pines—the same hybrid script that combined elements from multiple magical traditions. This wasn’t just debris; it was a component of another summoning circle, one that had been concealed within the truck itself.
I reached for it, then hesitated. Direct contact might trigger whatever remaining energy it contained, or leave traces on my skin that Agency detection equipment would identify. Instead, I snapped several photos with my phone, capturing the fragment from multiple angles before retreating back behind the police line.
“What did you find?” Marcus asked as I rejoined him.
“Part of another circle. Same design principles as Olban Pines, but weaponized. This wasn’t just an attack—it was a message.”
Marcus frowned. “Then we need to figure out their endgame before they try again.”
“Drexler!” Alison’s voice cut through the crowd noise. She was approaching rapidly, dressed in civilian clothes but moving with the purposeful stride of an agent on duty. Her hair was pulled back in a hasty ponytail, and the silver bracelet on her wrist caught the firelight as she moved.
“Are you alright?” she asked as she reached us, her professional demeanor briefly giving way to genuine concern.
“I’m fine. Just some broken windows and a rude awakening.”
Her gaze shifted to Marcus, recognition flashing in her eyes. “Mr. Wright. Interesting to find you here.”
“I live nearby,” Marcus replied smoothly. “Heard the explosion and came to check on Cal.”
Alison didn’t look entirely convinced, but the current crisis took precedence over her suspicions. “Director Mercer is en route. This wasn’t an accident, Cal. And based on the energy signature, it’s connected to the same group behind the Olban Pines circle.”
“You think they know I was involved at City Plaza?”
“We’re operating under that assumption. This is the third incident in the past six hours targeting Agency assets—but you’re the only civilian location hit.”
“Three incidents?” I prompted.
“Two other Agency assets were targeted—a house in Westwood and a monitoring station near the harbor. No casualties so far, but the pattern is clear. They’re hitting locations connected to the City Plaza response team.”
She looked pointedly at my building. “And with significant knowledge of our operations. They knew which personnel were involved, where our assets are located, and where our key consultant lives.”
I was about to respond when a black SUV pulled up at the edge of the police perimeter. The driver remained inside, but the rear door opened and Director Mercer emerged, immaculate as always despite the early hour. She spoke briefly with a police officer, who immediately began clearing a path for her toward the burning truck.
“She’s here,” Alison said. “We should brief her on what we know.”
“You go ahead,” I replied. “I need to check on my neighbors and make sure everyone got out safely.”
Alison hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave me unattended at an active scene, but her duty to report to Mercer won out. “Don’t leave the area,” she instructed before heading toward her superior.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Marcus pulled out his phone. “Now, about those ley line correlations. Look at this.”
He showed me a series of images—the map from City Plaza overlaid with the new circle locations, each one marked with a timestamp and energy signature reading. Red lines connected various points in the design, revealing a geometric precision that wasn’t immediately apparent to the naked eye.
“Every single circle sits on a major ley line intersection. But look at the pattern of attacks.” He swiped to another image. “They’re all connected to the City Plaza response. The safe house, the harbor station, your apartment. They’re sending a message: We know who you are and we can reach you. But there’s more.” Marcus zoomed in on the map. “The circles aren’t just sitting on intersections—they’re arranged to create a secondary pattern. Like they’re trying to reroute the energy flow throughout the entire city network.”
The theory made an uncomfortable amount of sense. If the Seasonal Bridge ritual at City Plaza had been their first attempt at a major working, these circles could be their backup plan—or worse, the next phase of whatever they’d been trying to accomplish.
“But why target Agency assets specifically?” I wondered aloud. “If this is about finishing what they started, why risk drawing even more attention with direct attacks?”
“Maybe they want the Agency’s attention,” Marcus suggested. “Or maybe they’re trying to disable the response capability before something bigger happens. Take out key personnel, cripple monitoring, force the Agency to go defensive instead of offensive.”
Before I could respond, my phone vibrated with an incoming call—a blocked number. Normally I wouldn’t answer such calls, but given the night’s events, I made an exception.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Drexler.” The voice was unfamiliar, male, with a clipped precision that reminded me of academic lectures. “I believe you’ve been quite the nuisance since our City Plaza setback. Impressive work, sealing a gateway of that magnitude. You’ve earned Dr. Lang’s particular attention.”
I tensed, moving away from the crowd for privacy. “Lang. Is that who’s behind these circles?”
“Yes, he’s quite interested in meeting the morph who disrupted months of careful preparation. Consider the incident outside your residence a demonstration of his reach—and his displeasure.”
“People could have been killed.”
“The device was calibrated precisely. No lethal damage was intended.” The caller sounded almost offended by the suggestion. “Dr. Lang is many things, but indiscriminate is not among them. Had he wished casualties, the result would have been quite different. This was merely... an introduction.”
“What does Lang want?”
“Your attention, primarily. And to offer you a choice.” The caller paused. “The patterns you’ve been tracing with your associate Mr. Wright are more significant than you yet realize. The Seasonal Bridge was never the endgame—merely a proof of concept. What comes next will reshape reality itself, and neither you nor the Shamrock Disposal Agency have the resources to prevent it.”
I glanced toward Mercer and Alison, now examining the truck wreckage with several technical specialists who had arrived on scene. “I’m listening.”
“The Westside Park water treatment facility. One hour. Come alone, and Dr. Lang will explain what’s really happening with these doorways your sprite friend is so concerned about. He’ll even explain why the morph who sealed the City Plaza gateway is the key to everything—whether you choose to help us or not.”
My blood ran cold. He knew about Thilly, which meant they’d been watching me closely—possibly since City Plaza. “How do I know this isn’t a trap?”
