Splintered Gates, page 8
“You don’t. But consider this: If Dr. Lang wished you harm, Mr. Drexler, that explosion would have been inside your apartment, not across the street. You’re more valuable alive and informed than dead and ignorant.” The caller paused. “One hour. The choice is yours. Though I should mention—coming with Agency backup would be... inadvisable. Dr. Lang has ways of knowing when he’s being observed.”
The line went dead. I stared at my phone for a moment, processing the implications. The caller hadn’t sounded threatening, despite the demonstration of power the explosion represented. If anything, he’d sounded like a professor inviting a promising student to discuss a thesis project—one who’d already ruined the professor’s previous experiment.
Marcus approached, noting my expression. “What’s wrong? Who was that?”
I quickly summarized the call, keeping my voice low to avoid being overheard by the emergency personnel still working nearby.
“You’re not actually considering going, are you?” Marcus looked incredulous. “This has elaborate trap written all over it.”
“Maybe. But it’s also the first direct contact we’ve had with whoever’s behind these circles. And they still want to talk rather than kill me outright.”
“At least tell Alison or Mercer before you go.”
I considered the suggestion. The logical move would be to report the call immediately. But something held me back—a nagging suspicion that the Agency didn’t have the full picture. Lang wanted a morph specifically. Or me specifically. Why?
“What if there’s more to the Seasonal Bridge ritual than we understood?” I said quietly. “Lang could have answers about why they needed that specific configuration, why they’re trying again now.”
“That’s a big what-if to risk your life on.”
“I know. But I’m the one they’re specifically targeting. That makes this my responsibility.”
“Hold that thought.” Marcus broke off as Alison began heading in our direction, her expression troubled.
Alison reached us, her professional mask firmly in place despite the chaos surrounding us. “Director Mercer wants to speak with you. She’s found something in the wreckage you should see.”
I nodded, following her back toward the truck, where Mercer stood conferring with a technical specialist I recognized from the Agency’s Research Division. The specialist held a containment box of the type used for transporting dangerous magical artifacts, its surface covered in protective symbols.
“Mr. Drexler,” Mercer greeted me, her voice betraying no fatigue despite the hour. “We’ve recovered an interesting component from the explosive device. I’d value your perspective on it.”
The specialist opened the containment box, revealing the very fragment I’d photographed earlier—the piece of the summoning circle incorporated into the truck’s destructive device.
“It appears to be part of a larger working,” I said carefully, not wanting to reveal that I’d already examined it. “Similar to what we saw at Olban Pines, but modified for destructive rather than summoning purposes.”
Mercer’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That matches our preliminary analysis. The device was triggered by a magical proximity sensor—calibrated to your specific energy signature. The same signature you used to seal the gateway at City Plaza.”
The confirmation sent a chill through me. “So this was targeted retaliation.”
“And a message,” Mercer agreed. “They want you to know they can identify and track you.”
“Or to send an invitation,” I added. “I received a call just now. Someone claiming to work for a Dr. Lang. They took credit for the explosion and invited me to a meeting.”
Alison tensed visibly. “And you were planning to go without informing us?”
“I hadn’t decided yet,” I replied, which was at least partially true.
“Where and when?” Mercer asked.
“Westside Park water treatment facility. One hour from the call, so about forty-five minutes from now.”
“That’s not enough time to assemble a proper containment team,” Alison pointed out.
“But sufficient for a small reconnaissance unit,” Mercer countered. “Mr. Drexler will attend the meeting as requested, with Agent O’Connor and myself providing covert backup.”
I blinked, surprised by her willingness to personally participate in what was essentially a field operation. Directors typically coordinated from headquarters, leaving the hands-on work to field agents.
“You’re coming yourself?” I couldn’t help asking.
“Three targeted attacks in a single night, coupled with a direct invitation to the consultant who stopped their primary working, suggests we’re dealing with an organized group with specific objectives. I prefer to assess such threats firsthand.”
Her decisiveness left no room for argument, though I wasn’t inclined to offer one. Having Mercer and Alison as backup made the prospect of meeting the mysterious caller significantly less daunting.
“What about the residents here?” I asked, gesturing toward the evacuated building. “If I was targeted specifically, they should be safe now. But if Lang’s group decides to send another message...”
“A security team will remain on site,” Mercer assured me. “And we’re arranging temporary accommodations for those whose apartments sustained damage.”
As if on cue, my phone vibrated with another call—this one from Marcus, who had stepped away during my conversation with Mercer and Alison. I excused myself to answer it.
“I’m heading to Westside Park now,” he said without preamble. “If this Lang character is behind the circles, I want eyes on the facility before your meeting.”
“Marcus, no,” I hissed, turning away from the Agency personnel. “This is too dangerous.”
“Then they’ll catch someone who’s been mapping their ley line network since before they even knew we were onto them,” he said firmly. “Besides, I’ve identified something interesting about the water treatment facility—it sits at the exact convergence point where three major ley lines intersect. The same configuration they tried to use at City Plaza for the Seasonal Bridge.”
That gave me pause. “Another convergence point? You’re sure?”
“Positive. Whatever’s happening there, it’s not random.”
I glanced back at Mercer and Alison, still conferring with the technical specialist. “Be careful. Don’t engage directly. Reconnaissance only.”
“Always. And Cal? If this goes sideways, the ley line data is backed up in three locations. Even if they take me, you’ll have what you need to stop them.”
The casual mention of being taken sent a chill through me, but I knew better than to argue when Marcus had made up his mind. “See you there.”
As I rejoined the Agency personnel, Alison was receiving information through her earpiece, her expression growing increasingly concerned.
“Another incident?” Mercer asked as Alison ended the communication.
“Agency vehicle found abandoned near Crescent Heights, interior covered in symbols matching those from the summoning circles. A message left on the dashboard: The morph who sealed our gate is the key to opening all others.”
The implications sent a chill through me. They didn’t just know where I lived—they believed my ability to seal their gateway somehow made me essential to their larger plan.
“They’re trying to force your hand,” Mercer observed. “We need to move now.”
As we moved toward Mercer’s SUV, I caught a glimpse of the emergency workers still tending to evacuees from my building. Among them was Mrs. Kaminski, now seated on the back of an ambulance with a blanket around her shoulders. As our eyes met across the distance, she straightened slightly, her gaze suddenly sharp and focused in a way that seemed entirely unlike the mild-mannered librarian I knew.
She mouthed something I couldn’t quite catch, then turned away as a paramedic approached to check her vital signs. The moment passed so quickly I might have imagined it, but combined with her earlier message about Nadia, it left me increasingly certain that there were more players in this unfolding drama than any of us yet realized.
I climbed into the back of Mercer’s vehicle, the origami bird still in my pocket, its warning about circles taking on new urgency in light of the night’s events. As we pulled away from the scene of destruction outside my apartment, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being maneuvered like pieces on a game board—and that Lang, whoever he was, had planned several moves ahead. The question was whether his invitation to talk was genuine or simply the next phase of his plan.
CHAPTER 6
“The most dangerous magical practitioners aren’t those who break the rules but those who understand there are no rules, only principles waiting to be redefined.”—From “Theoretical Limitations of Boundary Magic,” author redacted (Shamrock Disposal Agency restricted archives)
The meeting at the Westside Park water treatment facility had been a bust—or more accurately, an elaborate setup designed to demonstrate just how thoroughly Lang’s organization had infiltrated the city. We’d arrived to find the place deserted except for an elaborate magical recording device left prominently on the main filtration tank, positioned directly over the ley line convergence point Marcus had identified. The message it contained was brief and frustratingly cryptic: “The pattern requires sacrifice. The City Plaza gateway was preparation. What comes next cannot be stopped—only guided. Choose your role, morph.”
Mercer had been furious, though she’d hidden it behind her usual composed facade. Lang had never intended to meet us; he’d simply wanted to demonstrate his ability to manipulate Agency resources, drawing us away from other locations where his people might be operating —and to make it crystal clear that he knew exactly what I was and what I’d done to disrupt his plans at City Plaza.
We’d barely had time to secure the recording device before an emergency call came through: Another summoning circle had been discovered in a different section of Westside Park, this one with a victim. The timing suggested Lang’s people had orchestrated everything—the explosion at my apartment, the fake meeting, all of it a complex diversion from their actual work while simultaneously punishing me for my role in stopping the Seasonal Bridge.
Now, as dawn broke over the city, casting long shadows through the trees of Westside Park, I stood at the edge of yet another crime scene. This one made both Olban Pines and City Plaza look almost tame by comparison.
“Don’t touch anything,” Alison reminded me unnecessarily as we approached the perimeter tape. “Technical team is still cataloging evidence.”
I nodded, my focus already on the scene before us. Unlike the forest clearing, this summoning circle had been created in an open area near one of the park’s artificial ponds—a location frequented by joggers and dog walkers even in the early morning hours. The fact that someone had managed to establish a complex magical working here without being observed spoke to both audacity and skill.
The circle itself was smaller than the one at Olban Pines, perhaps fifteen feet in diameter, but no less intricate. The design had been etched into the manicured grass with what appeared to be acid, burning the pattern deep into the soil beneath. The same hybrid script marked key points around the circumference, though the arrangement differed in ways that suggested a different purpose than the forest circle.
But it was what lay within the circle that turned my stomach.
The victim—or what remained of them—had been literally blown apart. Body parts were scattered throughout the circle in a pattern that was clearly deliberate rather than random. An arm here, a leg there, internal organs carefully positioned at specific nodes in the design. The head had been placed at the exact center, eyes open and staring upward, expression frozen in what might have been surprise or horror.
“Jesus,” I muttered, forcing myself to maintain a professional demeanor despite the grotesque display. “This isn’t just murder. It’s ritualistic dismemberment.”
“Post-mortem, according to preliminary analysis,” Alison said, her voice carefully neutral. “The victim was killed elsewhere, then arranged here.”
“Do we have an ID?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. No wallet or personal effects were found with the remains. Facial recognition is running, but it’s complicated by the condition of the face.”
I didn’t ask for clarification.
Agency personnel moved efficiently around the scene, documenting every detail before the technical team would begin the process of neutralizing the magical energies still pulsing through the design. I recognized several faces from Olban Pines, including Johnson, the Agency’s magical devices expert, who was carefully assembling what looked like specialized equipment near one edge of the circle.
“Same perpetrators as Olban Pines and City Plaza?” I asked.
“Almost certainly,” Alison confirmed. ”The script matches, and the overall design follows similar principles to both previous sites, though with significant variations. Director Mercer believes they’re progressing through some kind of sequence, each circle building on what came before—possibly trying to recreate whatever they were attempting with the Seasonal Bridge, but distributed across multiple locations instead of concentrated in one spot.”
I studied the pattern more carefully, noting the differences from what we’d seen in the forest. ”This one seems more focused on dispersion rather than summoning. The energy channels are directed outward rather than creating a central gateway like at City Plaza.”
“That matches Johnson’s assessment,” Alison agreed. “He thinks this circle was designed to project energy rather than contain it.”
“Project it where?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine.” She gestured toward several agents who were taking readings with specialized equipment at various points around the perimeter. ”The emanations seem to be directional, following ley line paths. If we’re right about the connection to City Plaza, this could be them trying to route energy through the existing network to compensate for the gateway you sealed.”
As we spoke, Johnson approached, carrying what looked like an ornate silver pen in a protective case. “Mr. Drexler.” He greeted me with a nod. “Director Mercer suggested you might assist with energy extraction.”
I glanced at Alison, who nodded confirmation. “She thought your experience with the City Plaza gateway might be valuable here—understanding how you managed to seal something this complex could help us prevent similar workings in the future.”
Johnson opened the case, revealing the silver instrument nestled in protective foam. “This is a drafting pencil—my own design, refined over several years. It allows for precise extraction and containment of magical energy without disrupting the overall pattern.”
I’d heard of drafting pencils before, but I’d never actually used one. They were typically reserved for senior technical personnel, not consultants like me.
“You want me to help with the extraction?” I asked, careful to keep my tone neutral despite my surprise.
“Director Mercer specifically requested it,” Johnson confirmed. ”She seemed to think you might have insights into this particular energy signature based on your experience at City Plaza—that your methods for sealing that gateway might translate to understanding how these distributed circles are connected.”
That made sense, though it also meant Mercer was putting me in a position where my unique abilities would be on display. She was testing something—possibly whether I could handle this type of work without revealing what I really was, or possibly seeing if my morphic nature would interact with Lang’s circles in ways that would provide useful intelligence.
Johnson continued his explanation, unaware of my internal debate. “The pencil creates a controlled channel between the source and the containment vessel.” He indicated a small crystal vial attached to the instrument’s end. “It requires precise focus and a steady hand, but it allows for selective extraction without disturbing the entire working.”
I nodded, examining the tool with genuine interest. “Which section needs extraction?”
“The northeastern area,” Johnson replied, pointing to an area where the design appeared particularly dense with symbols. ”We’ve detected an energy buildup there that matches the resonance pattern from the sealed City Plaza gateway—almost as if this circle is trying to echo that working, possibly to reopen it remotely.”
Alison gave me a look that conveyed both caution and trust—be careful, but she had my back if anything went wrong. I appreciated the silent support as I accepted the drafting pencil from Johnson, feeling its weight in my hand. The silver was cool to the touch, but I could sense the complex enchantments worked into the metal, designed to channel and control magical energy without letting it affect the user.
“I’ll walk you through the process,” Johnson offered, but I shook my head.
“I think I understand the principles. Direct the tip toward the source, maintain focus on the specific energy signature you want to extract, and allow the pencil to create the pathway.”
Johnson looked mildly surprised at my knowledge. “That’s correct. Have you used one before?”
“I’ve studied the theory,” I replied, which wasn’t entirely untrue. My father had taught me about various magical tools during my childhood training, including extraction devices similar to drafting pencils.
Under Johnson’s watchful eye, I approached the northeastern section of the circle, careful not to step on any part of the design. The energy buildup was visible even to normal perception now—a slight shimmer in the air, like heat waves rising from hot asphalt. To my enhanced senses, it appeared as a swirling vortex of conflicting colors, similar to the energy signature at City Plaza but fragmented, distributed, as though trying to reach across the distance to the original gateway, which I’d sealed.
I extended the drafting pencil, focusing my attention on the central point of the disturbance. The pencil responded immediately, the silver tip glowing faintly as it established a connection with the energy source. I could feel the magic being drawn through the instrument, flowing like liquid into the crystal vial.
