Tom Dowd - Burning Bright

"Command," Hanna said as the doors closed behind them. "Penthouse. Express." The elevator quickly accelerated to what Kyle guessed was probably its maximum speed. "Command," she said again. "Communication line to security."

A moment later, a clear male voice spoke through the elevator's speakers. "Security Control here, Ms. Uljaken."

She looked up to where Kyle guessed the hidden microsurveillance camera was. "On my authority, I need Melissa Truman's ritual biosample material brought up from cold storage immediately."

"All of it?" the voice asked as the elevator slowed.

Hanna glanced at Kyle, who shook his head. "No," she said, "only one sample."

"It's on the way. Security out."

The elevator doors opened, and the two stepped into the long corridor that led to the Truman apartment. No guards were present, but Kyle wished there were.

"Is it that serious?" Hanna asked as they approached me mahogany doors.

"Let's put it this way," Kyle said, "if I'm right, this Linda Hayward isn't from anywhere on this earth."

"Excuse me?" Daniel Truman's face had gone white. Next to him, still in her evening clothes, his wife grabbed his arm and gasped.

"I'm sorry, but it's a definite possibility," Kyle told them. "I saw two women wearing vests showing the words 'Desolation Angels', and both were spirits of some kind."

"You're sure they weren't just powerful mages?" asked Facile, who was also wearing slightly bulky evening wear. Kyle had been pleased to see him exit the helicopter with the Trumans, though he suspected the senior Truman was beginning to chafe under the increased security presence. "You could have misread their aura-"

"Lieutenant," said Seeks-the-Moon from where he was studying the tiny points of color on the huge wall painting. "Trust" me when I say that I know the difference between a powerful spirit birthed in the blazing chaos of the metaplanes and the aura of Awakened meat." He turned slightly toward Kyle. "No offense, of course."

Kyle ignored him. "No, we're sure," he told Facile. "An unmasked spirit's aura is distinct. And there's also the fact that both vanished through a back wall in the ladies room."

"Could they have slipped out invisibly somewhere else?" asked Facile.

"Not likely."

"But it's possible?"

Kyle turned toward Truman. He was angry. "Mr. Truman, these are the facts as I understand them. Your son is missing. We've proven that he's either protected or blocked by a powerful ward. We have a connection between him and a woman named Linda Hayward, who appears to be part of a gang, possibly all-female, called the Desolation Angels. We have seen that at least two members of the Desolation Angels are spirits of some kind. That's enough to have me worried."

Truman nodded slowly, his mind carefully analyzing everything Kyle was telling him. "If they're spirits of some land-and forgive me, but I'm no expert-doesn't someone have to be commanding them?"

Kyle shook his head. "There are many different kinds of spirits. Some are like Seeks-the-Moon, Charlotte, and Delta, who are conjured, shaped, and given form by magicians. These and other similar types are all commanded and can only operate within certain restraints."

Still standing by the painting, Seeks-the-Moon cleared his throat.

Kyle glanced over at him. "Some are given a great deal of flexibility, even autonomy, because of their nature and the fact that they've proven trustworthy. All, however, have distinct personalities, sometimes with unwanted idiosyncrasies. Depending on how they're treated, some spirits may even be angry, insolent, or vengeful toward their masters. They are all, once conjured, living creatures.

There are other spirits, generally classified as 'free spirits,' whose wills are their own. A conjured spirit can become free if its master dies or if the spirit becomes powerful enough to turn on its master and defeat him. There are also spirits in the world who are free simply by their own nature. They have their own goals, own desires, and some are quite difficult to understand.

There are a number of different categories of free spirits, as we understand them. We could be dealing with tricksters, shadows, anima, or players."

"Christ," said Facile. His face bad gone white.

"I'm afraid you've all but lost me," said Truman.

"Well, to make a long story short, I'm certain we're dealing with spirits, but I can't be certain what kind."

Facile looked at Truman, then asked to be excused for a moment. As he was going out, one of Truman's own security personnel entered, escorted by a Knight Errant trooper. The building guard was carrying a cold-storage container. Hanna Uljaken gestured toward Kyle. "Please give that to Mr. Teller."

The guard nodded, walked over, and handed Kyle the case. It was heavy and only slightly larger than a tool box, but Kyle knew it held enough coolant and battery power to keep the enclosed sample frozen for weeks. "Thank you," he said.

"What's that?" asked Truman.

"Your daughter Melissa's ritual sample. I think we should locate her as soon as possible. Were Lieutenant Facile here, I'm sure he'd agree."

The hell with Facile," said Truman. "I agree."

"Good," Kyle said, hefting the container. "I'd prefer if Knight-"

The telecom against the far wall beeped, and Hanna Uljaken hurried to answer it

"As I was saying, I'd prefer that Knight Errant handle it," Kyle went on. There are a couple of other avenues I'd like to pursue, and since the ritual will take several hours, it would be better if someone else performed it."

Truman nodded. "I'm sure that won't be a problem." He looked around the room. "Where the hell is Facile?"

"He hasn't come back," said his wife.

"Well, I want him in here." Truman started to stride toward the door, but Hanna interrupted him. – "Excuse me!" she called from across the room. Everyone turned toward her. She'd taken the incoming call on audio- only to avoid distracting the others and was cradling the handset against her head. She was waving at them.

"It's Eagle Security," she said, wide-eyed. "They've found Mitch!"

"Are they sure?" asked Mrs. Truman, suddenly breathless.

Hanna nodded. The retinal ID matches!"

“Where is he?" asked Truman. "Where's my boy?"

“Is he all right?" cried Mrs. Truman.

Hanna paused and spoke quietly into the phone. "He's at Harold Washington University Hospital," she reported. Then her voice caught suddenly and she stared at the Trumans before she could finally get the words out.

"They've put him in the psychiatric ward."

The man stuck out his hand as the Tniman entourage entered the hospital lobby. "Lieutenant Breslin," he said, "Eagle Security."

Daniel Truman took shook his hand, and then held on to it "Lieutenant, I want to see my son." The rest of the group entered quickly behind him, looking very out of place alongside the streeters and squatters already waiting there.

"Of course," Breslin said and motioned to an older, dark-haired woman approaching them in the distinctive white coat of a doctor. Her hands were in her pockets and they stayed there. "This is Doctor Stansfeld. She's been examining your son."

"Doctor," said Truman.

"Mr. Truman, I'm sorry to report that there's very little I can tell you about your son. Eagle brought him in about four hours ago and we've run just about every one of our passive tests on him, with little result."

"I don't understand," said Mrs. Truman.

"He's-your son, I presume?-in a unresponsive state. All indications are that he is conscious, possibly aware, but unable or unwilling to respond."

"How can that be?" Daniel Truman seemed barely able to restrain his anger and pain. "What happened to him?"

"I don't know for sure. Any number of possible mental or emotional traumas. He's been physically abused, beaten perhaps, but beyond those bruises and scrapes he's relatively uninjured. It may have been something he saw or experienced."