Splintered Gates, page 24
The statement was so unexpected that for a moment I could only stare at him. I knew he was after his son, but was that all that he was after? And if not, what more would he want?
“Your son,” I repeated. “Trapped in a demonic realm.”
“Yes.” Lang said, his jaw clenching slightly. “He was twenty-two. Brilliant but impulsive—a magical prodigy with more talent than discipline.” His fingers tightened around his glass. “He became fascinated with theoretical cross-realm travel and attempted an experimental summoning without proper containment. The entity he summoned dragged him through before the gateway collapsed.”
He met my eyes. “I’ve spent every day since developing the means to bring him home.”
Something shifted in my chest—an unwelcome recognition. Nine years of searching for a lost child. I thought of Nadia, her quest to find Elena. I thought of my own father, the lengths he’d gone to protect me after my mother died. Grief could drive people to terrible things, but it was still grief. Still love, however twisted its expression.
“That’s...” I started, then stopped. What was I supposed to say? I’m sorry didn’t cover it. Neither did I don’t believe you.
The story carried emotional weight I hadn’t expected from Lang, introducing a human element to what I’d assumed was another power grab. But something still didn’t add up.
“Even if I believed this explanation,” I said carefully, “it doesn’t justify the risks you’re taking. These summoning circles have already allowed dangerous entities into our realm. People have died, Lang.”
More than that, people had been sacrificed.
“Unfortunate collateral damage,” he acknowledged without apparent remorse. “The initial calibration required establishing connection points that inevitably allowed minor incursions. But the final configuration will be precisely controlled—a single, stable gateway opened and closed under specific conditions.”
The casual dismissal of deaths as collateral damage cut through my momentary sympathy. Whatever pain drove him, Lang had made choices that cost innocent lives. That couldn’t be rationalized away.
“Conditions requiring my abilities.”
Lang nodded. “Your capacities are the key to controlled operation. The ability to absorb and redirect specific magical frequencies without disrupting the underlying structure—it’s unique to your makeup.”
“You’ve been playing me from the beginning.”
“I prefer to think of it as strategic recruitment.” Lang’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “And now I’m offering you something in return.”
“And what might that be?”
“Information. Decades of research on morphs—biological profiles, ability classifications, historical lineage tracking. Everything I’ve compiled over the years.” Lang leaned forward. “Knowledge that could help you understand your own nature in ways even your parents couldn’t provide.”
The mention of my parents sent another jolt through me. “How much did she tell you?” She. My mother.
“More than you might expect. Your mother was particularly remarkable. Her abilities were theoretically documented but rarely observed in practice before her.”
The casual reference to my mother from this man felt like a violation of something sacred. But it also confirmed he had knowledge I desperately wanted, information about my heritage that had died with her and remained fragmented in my father’s cautious revelations.
“So that’s your offer,” I said, keeping my voice level despite the turmoil beneath. “My help with your gateway in exchange for information about morphs. About me.”
“A mutually beneficial arrangement,” Lang confirmed. “You assist with the final calibration at Blackridge Valley, facilitating James’s extraction. In return, you gain access to research that could transform your understanding of your own capabilities and history.”
“Why there? Not the Scar?”
He smiled tightly. “Your interference has ensured that location would not be useful, but it’s a good thing I have a backup plan. One must always be prepared.”
The proposition was tempting and deeply suspicious in equal measure. Lang’s openness about his motivations didn’t erase the calculated manipulation evident throughout our history, nor the ethical questions surrounding his methods.
“And if I refuse?”
Lang’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes hardened. “Then I proceed with alternative methods that, while less elegant, will eventually achieve the same outcome. The process would be considerably more disruptive, with higher probability of collateral effects, but James will come home regardless.”
The threat was clear—help make this clean, or be responsible for the consequences of his backup plan. Classic manipulation, creating artificial responsibility for outcomes I didn’t actually control.
“That’s quite a sales pitch,” I observed dryly. “Help you or be complicit in whatever damage results.”
“I’m simply being transparent about the situation.” Lang spread his hands. “My priority is retrieving my son. Your involvement would make that process safer, but it’s not a prerequisite for proceeding.”
As he moved, his cuff pulled back, revealing a familiar object on his wrist—a delicate silver bracelet with distinctive threading patterns woven through its links. The sight of it confirmed what I’d suspected: Lang was responsible for both break-ins, targeting both my documentation and Nadia’s magical tools.
I kept my expression neutral, giving no indication I’d noticed. This added another layer—Lang wasn’t just tracking me, but Nadia as well, aware of our collaboration and taking steps to monitor both of us.
“I’ll need time to consider your proposal,” I said carefully. “What you’re suggesting has significant implications beyond just the technical aspects.”
Lang nodded, apparently satisfied. “Of course. Deliberation is wise when making important decisions.” He removed a business card from his pocket and placed it on the table. “This contains a secure contact method. I’ll expect your decision soon. Time is running out.”
“And if the Agency interferes with your operation before then?”
A thin smile crossed Lang’s face. “They won’t. But even if they did, their conventional containment approaches would be ineffective against what I’ve established.”
His confidence wasn’t just bravado—Lang had some within the Agency working for him.
“Soon,” I confirmed, standing. “I’ll contact you once I’ve decided.”
Lang remained seated, maintaining his position of apparent control. “One more thing, Cal. I recommend keeping our conversation between us. Involving others—particularly Agent O’Connor or your threadweaver friend—would unnecessarily complicate matters.”
The direct reference to Alison and Nadia confirmed Lang’s extensive surveillance.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I replied, unwilling to confirm or deny anything.
As I turned to leave, Lang added, “Your father made a similar choice once, you know. Between official obligations and personal priorities. I’ve often wondered if he regretted his decision.”
The parting shot was perfectly calculated to provoke questions I couldn’t ask without revealing vulnerabilities. Another manipulation tactic, designed to leave me off-balance and searching for answers only Lang or my father could provide.
I left without responding, maintaining composure until I reached the hotel’s underground parking structure. Only then did I let myself process what had just happened—Lang’s knowledge of my nature, his son’s predicament, the decades of morph research, and the deliberate display of Nadia’s stolen tracking charm.
The confrontation had provided answers but raised even more questions. Lang’s motivations appeared more complex than simple exploitation. They were a father’s desperate love twisted into something dangerous. I understood that desperation better than I wanted to admit. But understanding didn’t mean accepting. His methods remained indefensible, however sympathetic his cause.
But… that wasn’t all. And I suspected Lang knew I knew. This was Lang advancing his research in the name of his son and yet doing what he’s always wanted to.
As I started my car, my phone chimed with an incoming message from Marcus. Status update?
I responded with our predetermined all-clear code, indicating I’d finished the meeting without immediate danger. The full debrief would come later, once I reached our established secure location where both Marcus and Nadia waited.
Nadia. The realization that Lang had been tracking her as well added personal urgency to an already complicated situation. Whatever decision I made regarding his proposal would affect not just me but those who had become entangled in this alongside me.
I drove through the night-darkened streets, Lang’s proposition weighing on my mind. The promise of knowledge about my own nature and about my mother versus the ethical compromise of assisting in an operation with unknown consequences. A decision with no clearly right answer, only competing priorities and incomplete information.
Exactly the kind of situation my father had warned me about my entire life.
CHAPTER 21
“The boundaries between realms aren’t walls but membranes; permeable, responsive to the right frequencies. The question isn’t whether we can cross, but whether we should.”—Elizabeth Drexler’s journal
The Agency’s archives were a labyrinth of information stored both digitally and physically five levels below the main facility, accessible only through specialized elevators with both technological and magical security. The restricted archives contained documentation on phenomena most of humanity would prefer to believe didn’t exist.
I’d been granted limited access as part of my consultant status, but what I needed now went beyond my official clearance. Fortunately, Johnson had handed me the solution during my last training session without realizing it.
“Keep your access card on you at all times,” he’d instructed. “The systems track location signatures rather than just entry points. Analytics flags any card that doesn’t move naturally through the facility.”
What he hadn’t realized was that his explanation revealed as much about the system’s vulnerabilities as its security features. If the tracking focused on movement patterns rather than biometric confirmation, then a properly enchanted duplicate could create the appearance of routine activity while I accessed restricted sections.
Morally questionable? Sure. But after my conversation with Lang, I needed information the Agency wouldn’t willingly provide—detailed documentation of demonic realm characteristics, historical extraction attempts, and threshold mechanics that might verify or disprove his claims about his son.
I created a duplicate access card with a simple mimicry charm, nothing powerful enough to trigger detection, just enough to maintain the electronic signature of my actual card, which I’d left with a junior archivist cataloging reports two levels above. The duplicate would register normal movement in authorized areas while I slipped into the restricted archives through maintenance access routes I’d mapped during previous visits.
The Section 17 archives, dedicated to cross-realm phenomena, were housed in a climate-controlled room with floor-to-ceiling shelves of leather-bound volumes interspersed with modern data terminals. Ancient knowledge alongside contemporary analysis.
I headed directly for the terminal labeled Demonic Realm Classification: Threshold Events, bypassing the general information I’d already reviewed. What I needed were specialized case studies—documented instances of human entrapment in demonic realms and subsequent extraction attempts.
The first hour of research confirmed what I’d suspected. Demonic realms existed parallel to our own, separated by energetic boundaries that could be temporarily breached through specific magical configurations. These breaches—thresholds—allowed passage in both directions, but the conditions for crossing differed depending on origin point and destination.
More concerning were the statistics on extraction attempts. Of thirty-seven documented cases of human entrapment over the past century, only nine had resulted in successful extraction. The remaining twenty-eight had either failed completely or recovered only partial remains.
I downloaded the relevant case files to a secured data crystal, then turned to the older physical records. One volume caught my attention. Threshold Mechanics: Convergent Gateway Theory, published by the Agency’s research division in 1986 but classified shortly afterward.
The text outlined a theoretical approach to creating stable cross-realm gateways through multiple connected threshold points, which was exactly the kind of network Lang appeared to be building. The theory proposed that by creating numerous smaller thresholds calibrated to specific energies, then linking them through a central convergence point, you could establish a controlled gateway stable enough for two-way passage without the catastrophic energy requirements of direct breach attempts.
The book included detailed diagrams showing optimal configuration patterns which were strikingly similar to the arrangement of Lang’s summoning circles throughout the city. The final page held a handwritten notation in faded ink: Research terminated by order of Director Harlow. Excessive risk factor. All prototypes dismantled and materials secured in deep storage.
I photographed the relevant pages with my phone, then returned the volume. The convergent gateway theory aligned perfectly with Lang’s activities, supporting his claimed objective of creating a stable extraction point to retrieve his son.
But the Agency had abandoned the research due to excessive risk factor. The records were frustratingly vague about what those risks actually were, focusing instead on energy requirements and calculation complexities.
I needed to conduct my own analysis using the energy samples I’d collected from Lang’s sites. If I could identify the specific patterns he was establishing across the network, I might determine both the intended function and potential vulnerabilities of his convergent gateway.
With my research complete and security still unaware, I slipped out of the restricted archives and made my way to the extraction lab on level three, a workspace I had legitimate reason to use for testing samples from investigation sites.
The lab was empty at this hour, most staff having left for the evening. I signed in using standard protocols, logging my presence and activities in a way that would appear routine. Testing samples from active investigation sites was completely within my authorized parameters, though the specific analyses I planned pushed well beyond standard procedure.
I arranged the collected energy samples in sequence based on acquisition date and location, creating a chronological map of Lang’s developing network. Each sample contained residual energy from its corresponding summoning circle, preserved in specialized containment vials designed to maintain original signatures without degradation.
Standard analysis would involve calibrated instruments measuring conventional magical properties: energy density, patterns, decay rates. But what I needed went beyond those metrics. I needed to understand the inter-dimensional properties of the network, which required a more direct approach.
Using modified drafting pencils that were customized with techniques Johnson had taught me, I created a scaled representation of Lang’s network on the lab’s central workbench. Each point corresponded to a summoning circle, connected by lines representing the energy pathways I’d identified through Marcus’s mapping analysis.
Then came the part that definitely violated Agency protocols. I carefully transferred a minute quantity of energy from each sample vial into its corresponding point in my model, using my morph abilities to maintain the essential characteristics while controlling the potential for activation. The result was a functioning miniature version of Lang’s network. It was inert without a trigger but capable of demonstrating the intended energy flow patterns under controlled conditions.
I was so focused on calibrating the final connection points that I didn’t notice the lab door opening until a familiar voice broke my concentration.
“Interesting technique, Drexler. I don’t recall that being part of standard extraction protocol.”
I looked up to find Alison standing just inside the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. She was dressed in standard field gear: dark tactical pants and jacket over a fitted black shirt, her hair pulled back in its typical ponytail.
“Alison.” I straightened slowly, mind racing through explanations. “Late night?”
“Evidently for both of us.” She stepped farther into the lab, gaze fixed on my setup. “Though I’m on the schedule. What about you?”
No point denying the obvious. “I’m developing a theoretical model based on evidence from Lang’s summoning network. Standard analysis tools weren’t giving me the dimensional perspective I needed.”
“So you created your own.” It wasn’t a question. She moved closer, studying the model with professional interest rather than alarm. “Using your morph abilities for direct energy manipulation.”
Her casual reference didn’t surprise me, but what did surprise me was her presence here, now, when I’d specifically chosen this hour to avoid oversight.
“It’s the most efficient approach for maintaining the energy during transfer,” I admitted. “Johnson’s techniques don’t allow for the precision I needed.”
Alison nodded, examining the model. “Unauthorized access to restricted archives, followed by unsanctioned experiments using potentially dangerous materials. You’re really going for the full consultant misconduct bingo card tonight.”
Her tone held more wry observation than accusation, which was promising. But she’d caught me violating multiple protocols, and as my supervising agent, she had both the authority and responsibility to report those violations.
“I needed information the Agency wouldn’t provide through official channels,” I explained, watching her reaction.
