Ilona Andrews - Wildfire

“Rogan,” Sturm said from the screen. “Did I wake you?”

“Yes.” Rogan’s voice was nonchalant. “I was having the best dream. I was wrapping my hands around your throat, and you were begging. I was embarrassed for you, actually.”

There was a momentary pause. “I had no idea you devoted so much time to thinking about me.”

“Not really. What do you want, Sturm?”

“What I always wanted. Olivia’s files.”

Rogan pretended to consider it. “No.”

“Why do you have to be so tedious? What do you want for them?”

“Nothing you have.”

Sturm sighed. “I have a lot of things you don’t want. History shows that when our Houses fight, yours loses.”

Rogan smiled. The hair on the back of my neck rose.

“Try me.”

“I intend to,” Sturm said. “There will be enormous losses in personnel and property, and at the end, I’ll win. I have one simple advantage, Rogan. I can direct the destruction, while you just emanate it. It’s clear I have the tactical advantage. Why don’t we skip all that and discuss our options?”

“You have no options,” Rogan said, his voice harsh.

“Let me guess, you have a Boy Scout plan. You’ll crack the cypher and then what? Turn it over to Jordan?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

Sturm laughed. “Come on. Even if I humor you, and we suppose that I’ll sit on my hands while all of this happens, even you can guess about the caliber of people involved. Nothing will happen, Rogan. They will bury it, and if Jordan tries to hold on to it, they will bury that uppity bitch with it. They’ve been talking about cutting her down to size for months.”

I slapped my hand over my mouth, so nothing would escape.

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

“Except my reputation. Which is precisely why I won’t be sitting on my hands. While your geeks are trying to break the cypher, I will be demolishing Houston.”

“And this helps you how?”

“By the time I’m done, there will be no city left. Do you know what happens in the wake of a natural disaster of such proportions? There is no law and order. There is no accountability. There is only chaos. By the time they get around to sorting out who may be responsible for what, nobody will be able to implicate me. Weather spells can’t be traced. In fact, credible proof may surface that you were responsible for the destruction of the city. Of the two of us, you’re the one with the cute nicknames, Huracan.”

“I had no idea my powers expanded to atmospheric manipulation,” Rogan said.

“Perhaps you hired a storm mage, and used the storm as a cover to level the city. Whenever something like this happens, people look for a narrative, Rogan. And a former hero, who never came back from the war and finally snapped, makes for a great story. I’ll even shed a tear for you.”

“You do realize that I’m recording this call?”

“Good. Play it back and listen to it until you realize I don’t care. I’m not concerned. I’m not worried about you. Ask yourself why. When you figure out the answer, call me. I’d wish you good night but I doubt you’ll be sleeping.”

“He hung up, sir,” Bug reported.

The workstation turned toward us, the top right screen dark.

Rogan tossed the cup aside—it floated into the sink—and nodded at Lenora. “Did you catch all that?”

“Yes,” Lenora Jordan said, her voice cutting. “I did.”

“He’s playing for time,” Rogan said.

“Do whatever the hell you have to do to stop that tornado from hitting Houston. I can’t evacuate the city in an hour. We’ll see you there. And Rogan? Sturm is mine. I’m the law. Nobody is above the law.”

Her screen went dark.

“Right. We have a base to crack,” Rogan said. “We have an outer wall with eight guard towers. I’d like to get through that wall with the least noise possible. That means taking out four sets of guards.”

“That won’t be an issue,” Diana said.

Everyone looked at her.

“He took my niece,” she said. “And he’s trying to destroy the city.” She rose.

“Thank you,” Rogan said.

Diana nodded. “House Harrison will meet you in the field. We need time to dig.”

She walked out and Cornelius followed her.

“Assuming the outer perimeter is down, we’ll need to get through the inner wall,” Rogan continued, “which houses the barracks and the bulk of the personnel.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Catalina said.

Everyone turned to her. My sister raised her chin, her face pale. “If you get me inside, I will walk them out. As long as you can guarantee that they will be taken into custody and get me out of there before they attack me.”

Rogan glanced at me. I nodded. If she wanted to do it, then I would help her do it in the safest way possible.

“We’ll take care of it,” Rogan said. “Melosa.”

Melosa stepped forward.

“Your team will walk Catalina into that wall and get her out. Once she is outside, she will need immediate evac, by air or car. Gear and safety protocol as for a highly effective psionic or dominator. Noise dampeners, no direct eye contact.”

“Understood.”

“I will handle the dome,” Rogan said. “Heart, once we’re through the inner wall, you will assume command and evacuate all personnel . . .”

“Major,” Bug said.

The right screen zoomed in. On the wide stretch of clear ground between the inner wall and the dome, three huge odd shapes waited. Rogan squinted.

“Zoom closer.”

The three shapes rushed at the screen. Three statues, frozen in mid-movement, built together from pale metal, gears, and oddly shaped plastic parts. One resembled a horse with crocodile jaws filled with metal teeth, the second was vaguely rhino-like, and the third reminded me of a tiger, a massive beast with talons and saber-tooth fangs.

“How large are these?” one of the team leaders asked.

“The tallest is about twenty-five feet,” Bug answered.

“That’s some weird lawn decorations,” Leon murmured.

“They’re not decorations,” Mom said, her voice hard.

Rogan’s eyes were dark. “They’re constructs. Military grade, assembled and animated by a Prime zoefactor.”

“Is that like the construct we fought before?” I asked.

That construct was put together with random pipes, bolts, and small metal things one would typically find at a construction site. Every time Rogan would break it, the construct reformed itself. It nearly crushed Rogan. Afterward he looked like he’d been hit by a car.

“No. These are better,” Rogan said. “That one was made on the fly. These have been designed.”

“Don’t they need a Prime animator?” I asked.

Rogan shook his head. “Once a Prime has made them and animated them, an Average and above can activate them.”

“We’ve had Sturm under surveillance since his name was mentioned,” Bug said. “There is no indication an animator Prime is in residence.”

“Will they reform when struck with conventional ammo?” one of the team leaders wanted to know.

“Yes,” Rogan answered. “You can toss a grenade in the middle of one. They’ll fly apart and reform.”

“Awesome,” Leon said, his eyes lit up.

Mom fixed him with a parental glare.

Constructs weren’t robots. Robots were interconnected structures, driven by a power source, where each part was attached to and depended on the other parts to function. Destroy enough parts or the right parts, and the structure became useless. A construct was held together by magic. Destroy a part, and it simply reformed, with magic compensating for the loss. It was the difference between building a horse with an Erector set, with metal plates, bolts, and nuts, and tossing all these parts into a horse shape defined by magic.