Splintered Gates, page 6
Thilly nodded vigorously. “Big circle. But Thilly knows secret path. Come, come!”
She darted off the main trail, following what appeared to be a game trail barely visible in the darkness. Marcus and I exchanged glances before following, moving as quietly as possible through the dense forest.
The sprite led us on a winding path that seemed to double back on itself several times, following features that made sense only to her. Occasionally she’d stop, hovering anxiously while tilting her head as though listening to something beyond human perception, then change direction slightly before continuing.
After about fifteen minutes of this careful navigation, I began to feel it—a subtle change in the atmosphere, a heaviness in the air that made each breath slightly more effort than it should be. Marcus noticed it too, his pace slowing as he glanced around with increasing wariness.
“We’re getting close,” I whispered. “You feel it?”
He nodded. “Like walking through invisible cobwebs. What is that?”
“Residual energy from the gateway attempt. It affects the local environment, makes the boundary between worlds thinner.”
Thilly returned to hover between us, her glow dimmed to barely a flicker. “Bad place ahead. Hungry place. Thilly not go closer. Cal and Marcus go, but be very careful. Night-guards nearby.”
The Courts had been quiet since City Plaza—too quiet. Mercer's briefings suggested both Seelie and Unseelie were watching Lang's activities with interest, but neither had intervened. That worried me more than direct opposition would have.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small vial of nectar. “Thank you, Thilly. Take this and find somewhere safe to wait. We won’t be long.”
The sprite accepted the offering with a grateful bob, then zipped up into the canopy, her light fading among the branches. With our guide gone, we continued forward more carefully, using only the minimal illumination necessary to avoid tripping over roots and fallen branches.
The sensation of wrongness grew stronger with each step, a pressure against my skin that had nothing to do with physical touch. Even the sounds of the forest had changed—no insects chirping, no nocturnal animals moving through the underbrush, just an unnatural stillness broken only by our cautious footsteps and measured breathing.
“How much further?” Marcus whispered, his voice tight.
Before I could answer, the trees opened up, revealing the clearing I recognized from earlier in the day. In the darkness, without the Agency’s floodlights and equipment, it looked smaller and more ordinary—just a circular patch of flattened vegetation surrounded by towering pines. But the ordinary appearance was deceiving.
“We’re here,” I said unnecessarily, scanning the perimeter for signs of Agency personnel. The crime scene tape was still in place, fluttering gently in the night breeze, but the technical team had packed up their equipment, leaving only markers at key points of interest.
Marcus pulled out his phone, activating the camera but keeping the flash disabled. ”Let me overlay the ley line map. If the convergence point aligns with the circle’s structure...”
“Anything the Agency might have missed. Connections to other sites. Evidence of who created the circle.”
We approached the perimeter cautiously. The Agency would have removed the bodies and most of the material components, but the basic design would still be visible in the disturbed soil and vegetation. Even without the active magical energy, the circle remained a scar on the landscape, a point where reality had been deliberately damaged.
“Stay outside the markers,” I warned Marcus. “The circle’s been neutralized, but there could still be residual effects.”
He nodded, moving around the perimeter while taking photos of the scene from multiple angles. ”The convergence point is here—northeast quadrant. That’s where the strongest ley line intersection sits.” I focused on extending my senses, trying to perceive any lingering magical signatures that standard Agency equipment might have missed.
The demonic energy was gone, consumed in the containment process or absorbed by me and subsequently released at the quarry. But something else remained—a subtle vibration just at the edge of perception, like the afterimage left on the retina after looking at a bright light. It wasn’t demonic in nature, but it wasn’t entirely natural either.
I crouched near one of the cardinal points of the circle, where an Agency marker indicated a significant component had been found. The soil here felt different—cooler than it should be, with a faint ozone smell that reminded me of lightning strikes.
“Marcus,” I called softly. “Come look at this.”
He joined me, kneeling carefully to examine the spot I was indicating. “What am I looking at?”
“Touch the soil. Carefully.”
He reached out, fingers hesitantly making contact with the dark earth. His eyes widened. “It’s vibrating. Like, actually vibrating.”
“Yeah.” I pressed my own palm flat against the ground, feeling the subtle tremor. “It’s still active, at some level. Not the demonic gateway, but something else.”
Marcus pulled his hand back, wiping it instinctively on his jeans. “I thought you said the Agency neutralized the circle.”
“They did—the primary working. But this makes me think there was something underneath it, something more subtle that they missed because the demonic signature was overpowering it.”
I moved to check another cardinal point, finding the same vibration, slightly stronger here. It wasn’t harmful—not exactly—but it felt wrong, discordant, like a note played in the wrong key.
As I explored the circle’s perimeter, I began to notice other details that seemed off. The Agency had documented the main design, but there were smaller marks extending beyond the primary circle—faint lines and symbols etched into the soil and vegetation in ways that would be easy to overlook if you weren’t specifically looking for them.
“These extend outward,” I said, tracing one line with my finger hovering just above the soil. “Like roots from a central point.”
Marcus had moved to the opposite side of the clearing, photographing similar patterns. ”They’re pointing along the ley lines. North follows the primary current, southeast tracks the minor tributary...”
“Not just following them,” I realized. ”They’re tapping into them. Using the ley line network as a conduit.”
“Other doorways,” Marcus confirmed, pulling up his map overlay. “If I’m right about the pattern, there should be circles at every major ley line intersection within the city limits.”
A cold spot suddenly enveloped me, the temperature dropping at least twenty degrees in the span of a heartbeat. My breath fogged in the air and frost began to form on the nearby vegetation—rapid, unnatural frost that spread in crystalline patterns too geometric to be anything but magical in origin.
“Marcus,” I called, my voice tight with urgency. “Get back from the edge. Now.”
He looked up, saw the frost spreading around me, and quickly retreated toward the center of the clearing. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know, but it’s not good.” I stepped away from the cold spot, watching as it continued to expand, following the line I’d been tracing as though activated by my attention.
The vibration in the ground intensified, becoming a distinct tremor that shook loose pine needles from the trees surrounding the clearing. A low hum filled the air, just at the threshold of hearing but somehow painful, like pressure building inside my skull.
“We need to leave,” Marcus said, backing farther away from the phenomenon. “Whatever this is, it’s getting worse.”
He was right, but I couldn’t leave yet—not without understanding what we’d triggered. This wasn’t random; it was a response to our presence, to our investigation of the hidden patterns. Which meant it was defensive, a security measure left behind by whoever had created the circle.
I approached the cold spot again, cautiously extending my senses toward it. The energy signature was unlike anything I’d encountered before. It wasn’t demonic, fae, or elemental, but something that contained elements of all three, woven together in a way that shouldn’t be possible.
“Cal, seriously. We need to go,” Marcus insisted, his voice rising slightly as the tremors increased. “This place is about to go critical.”
“One second.” I reached out, not with my hand but with my abilities, touching the strange energy and allowing a small amount to flow into me. It was like swallowing liquid nitrogen—burning cold that spread through my system in painful waves. But with the pain came information—impressions, patterns, a sense of purpose behind the magic.
The energy wasn’t just defensive; it was communicative. A marker, left for someone who would know how to read it. Not meant for me, but for another practitioner with knowledge of this particular magical system.
I broke the connection, staggering back as the absorbed energy settled uncomfortably within me. Unlike the demonic power from earlier, this wasn’t immediately harmful, but it was alien in a way that made my body want to reject it.
“Got what you needed?” Marcus asked, already backing toward the path we’d used to enter the clearing.
“Enough for now.” I turned to follow him, then froze as a new sound reached us—voices and footsteps approaching from the east, accompanied by the distinctive electronic tone of Agency detection equipment.
“Patrol,” I hissed, grabbing Marcus’s arm and pulling him toward the western edge of the clearing. “They must have detected the energy spike.”
We ducked into the underbrush just as flashlight beams cut through the darkness from the opposite side. Agency security—at least three operatives, based on the light patterns—moving with the steadiness of trained personnel.
“Standard sweep pattern,” came a voice I recognized with a sinking feeling as Agent Smith’s. “Check for any breaches in the containment field.”
Marcus and I crouched lower, trying to make ourselves as small as possible while still having a view of the clearing. The frost had receded somewhat, but the vibrations continued, and the unnatural cold lingered in patches around the circle’s perimeter.
Smith and the two other agents entered the clearing. They were wearing the Agency’s night operation gear: dark tactical uniforms with specialized equipment attached at various points. One carried what looked like a conventional rifle but was undoubtedly loaded with something designed for supernatural threats. The other held a detection wand that emitted a soft blue glow as it scanned the area.
“Sir, we’ve got residual activity at the northern point,” the agent with the wand reported. “Energy signature doesn’t match our previous readings.”
Smith moved to examine the location, his posture tense. “Recent disturbance in the soil here. Someone’s been tampering with the site.” He straightened, scanning the clearing with narrowed eyes. “Full perimeter check. They might still be here.”
We needed to move, and quickly. The agents would methodically search the entire area, and it was only a matter of time before they found us. I glanced at Marcus, who looked remarkably calm given the circumstances, then at the forest behind us. Our best chance was to split up—one distraction, one escape with the evidence.
“When I move, head west,” I whispered, barely audible. ”Get back to the car. The ley line data needs to get out of here.”
Marcus started to protest, but I cut him off with a sharp gesture. ”Your phone has the photos and the map correlations. They’re more important than either of us.”
He hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. I took a deep breath, centering myself before deliberately releasing a small pulse of the energy I’d just absorbed—not enough to be harmful, but sufficient to trigger the Agency’s detection equipment.
The effect was immediate. The wand-wielding agent spun toward the eastern edge of the clearing, opposite our position. “Energy spike, east perimeter!”
“Move!” Smith ordered, and the three agents headed in that direction, away from us.
I gave Marcus a push. “Go. Now.”
He slipped away into the darkness, moving as quietly as possible while I remained in position, waiting until he’d had enough time to put distance between us. Then I deliberately stepped on a branch, creating a sharp cracking sound that instantly redirected the agents’ attention.
“Contact!” one of them called, and flashlight beams swung toward my location.
I stood, hands raised in the universal gesture of non-threat, stepping out from the underbrush into the clearing. “It’s just me,” I called. “Cal Drexler. Agency consultant.”
The beams held steady on me as the agents approached, weapons at the ready until they confirmed my identity. Smith lowered his flashlight slightly, but his expression darkened when he recognized me.
“Drexler. What the hell are you doing at an active investigation site after hours?”
“Following up on a hunch,” I replied, keeping my tone casual despite the tension of the situation. “The demonic signature was overwhelming during the day. Thought I might pick up additional details after dark, when the primary energy had dissipated.”
The explanation was plausible—barely. Agency protocols did occasionally include night investigations of magical sites, though they were typically conducted by full teams, not solo consultants.
Smith’s eyes narrowed. “A hunch. So you decided to contaminate a crime scene based on a feeling.”
“I didn’t contaminate anything. I was careful to stay outside the primary circle.”
“That’s not your determination to make.” Smith gestured to one of the other agents. “Check him for contamination and unauthorized materials.”
I submitted to the scan without protest, knowing I had nothing incriminating on me—except for the absorbed energy, which would register as mild residual exposure consistent with my earlier presence at the site. Marcus had the phone with the photographs, safely away by now if he’d followed my instructions.
The agent ran a detection wand over me, frowning slightly at the readings. “Low-level residual signature, consistent with environmental exposure. No active materials or unauthorized items.”
Smith didn’t look convinced. “You were at the briefing, Drexler. You know this site is under Level Three protocols. No access without direct authorization from Director Mercer.”
“I thought my consultant status—”
“Doesn’t give you carte blanche to wander around active investigation sites in the middle of the night.” Smith cut me off, his tone cold. “Where’s your vehicle?”
I hesitated, then decided a partial truth was safer than an obvious lie. “I don’t have one. I hiked in from the western trail access.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.” The lie came easily, my expression giving away nothing.
Smith studied me for a long moment, clearly suspicious but unable to prove anything beyond my unauthorized presence. Finally, he made a decision.
“Henderson, escort Mr. Drexler back to headquarters for a full debrief. I want a complete statement about what he observed here tonight and why he felt it necessary to conduct his own investigation without proper authorization.”
The agent named Henderson nodded, gesturing for me to precede him toward the eastern path—the main access route, not the hidden trail Thilly had shown us. I complied without argument, knowing resistance would only heighten Smith’s suspicions.
As we began to leave the clearing, movement at the northern edge caught my eye—a figure standing just beyond the tree line, partially concealed by shadows but distinctly female. For a brief moment, the figure stepped forward enough for the ambient light to catch her face. I glimpsed those distinctive violet eyes, watching me with an expression that seemed almost approving.
Then she raised a hand, making a subtle gesture that caused a shimmer in the air near the eastern perimeter—like heat waves rising from hot asphalt, but concentrated and deliberate. Immediately, the detection equipment carried by the third agent began to emit a high-pitched whine.
“Major energy fluctuation, northeast!” the agent called, drawing Smith’s attention away from me.
“Source?” Smith demanded, moving quickly toward the disturbance.
“Unidentified. Pattern doesn’t match any known classification.”
Smith gestured sharply to Henderson. “Secure Drexler in the vehicle, then assist with perimeter containment. This may be related to his activities here.”
Henderson nodded, gripping my arm firmly as he led me away from the clearing. I allowed myself one final glance toward where the violet-eyed woman had stood, but she was gone—vanished as completely as she had at the café and earlier at the circle.
But I’d seen enough to confirm my suspicions. She wasn’t just observing; she was actively intervening, creating a distraction that diverted the agents’ attention at a crucial moment. She’d helped Marcus escape with the evidence, though whether for our benefit or her own purposes remained unclear.
Henderson escorted me to a standard Agency SUV parked on the main service road, securing me in the back seat with a curt instruction to stay put before jogging back toward the clearing to assist with whatever was happening there. Through the window, I could see flashes of light among the trees and hear the muffled sounds of agents calling to each other as they investigated the mysterious energy fluctuation.
Left alone in the vehicle, I took the opportunity to examine what I’d absorbed from the cold spot. The energy felt strange within me—not corrupted like the demonic power, but fundamentally different from the magical forces I was accustomed to handling. It moved through my system like quicksilver, difficult to contain or direct, seeking pathways that didn’t exist in human physiology.
Impressions came with it—fragments of intent and purpose that weren’t quite thoughts but carried meaning nonetheless. Gateway. Connection. Pattern. Convergence. The words formed in my mind as I processed the energy, piecing together the underlying design behind the circle at Olban Pines and, presumably, the others scattered across the city.
