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  What’s his name and where can we find him. Varrik was anxious to get moving. They had already wasted far too much time searching the deserted campsite for clues.

  He goes by several, but the most documented is Phillip Mortsen. He runs a pawn shop in the seedy part of downtown Las Vegas. He rattled off an address.

  Got it, Echo assured. Her memory was infallible, so Varrik believed her.

  Go get him.

  Varrik wasn’t sure if Lor meant Phillip Mortsen or Nazerel, but it didn’t matter. Hopefully one would lead to the other.

  Teleporting to a place one had never visited before was tricky. Varrik had studied maps and images of Las Vegas and the state of Nevada, so he knew how to find the “seedy part of downtown”. The exact location of the pawn shop, however, was more challenging. Echo had many skills. Teleporting just wasn’t one of them. So she snuggled against his chest and he flashed them to the heart of downtown Las Vegas.

  The continual bustle of Fremont Street was several blocks away, yet Echo motioned in the opposite direction. “It’s four blocks over and two up.”

  She must have imprinted a city map on her memory. He was pretty sure this was her first visit to Earth. “Have you ever been here before?”

  “I’ve been to Earth before, but this is my first time in Las Vegas.”

  Apparently, he shouldn’t assume anything about his enigmatic mate. “How many times have you been to Earth?”

  “This makes trip number four.”

  The area grew more neglected with each block they passed. Obviously the urban renewal efforts hadn’t spread this far from the casinos, which were the lifeblood of this city. He moved closer to Echo, his hand finding its way to the small of her back.

  She looked up at him and smiled. I can take care of myself, love.

  He knew she was a competent fighter. Still no power in the universe could keep him from protecting his mate. Not even her stubbornness.

  The pawn shop was cluttered and dingy, much like the neighborhood surrounding it. Varrik was loath to touch anything and anxious to finish their inquiries and move on.

  It’s designed to make people restless and uncomfortable, Echo cautioned. This isn’t a legitimate business.

  “Are you looking for anything in particular?” The proprietor or employee sat on a wooden stool behind a glass-topped display case. He was on the slim side of average with brown hair and brown eyes. He was neither handsome nor homely. Basically forgettable, which in itself made Varrik suspicious.

  “Are you Phillip Mortsen?” Echo asked with a friendly smile.

  “You can call me whatever you like.” He returned her smile, but didn’t answer the question.

  Keep him talking, Varrik urged as he positioned himself to prevent their target from fleeing. If the man had something to hide and he could teleport, it was highly probable that he would have flashed to safety already.

  “I’m interested in novelties, things I wouldn’t find anywhere else.”

  The man glanced at Varrik for one assessing moment then returned his full attention to Echo. “I’m not sure anything I have can’t be found anywhere else, but I’ve got lots of unusual items.”

  “Show me your favorite,” she suggested.

  Varrik eased into the man’s mind with the lightest touch he could manage. His shields were much too dense to be inherent and the pattern was well organized, obviously a practiced skill. This was no innocent human. He pushed harder and the man snapped his head toward Varrik.

  “What do you want?” All pretense of ignorance was gone and faint light glowed behind the contacts covering his eyes.

  “Are you Phillip Mortsen?”

  “Phil,” he stressed. “Only my mother calls me Phillip.”

  “Well, Phil, you sold camping equipment to a very dangerous man. The campsite has been abandoned. Do you know where he went?”

  Phil shrugged. “My interest in the transaction ended the moment his funds hit my account. I’m a business man. I have no interest in anything else.”

  “Lower your shields so I can verify your statement.” Varrik moved closer, his gaze locked with Phil’s. “If you cooperate, I will scan no deeper than that one transaction.”

  Slipping off the stool, Phil faced him, shoulders squared, head slightly titled. “What gives you the right to scan me at all? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “To operate a business on foreign soil you must have a government sponsor. Who is sponsoring you?” Phil reached under the counter and Varrik grabbed his wrist. “Slowly.”

  “You asked to see my charter.” He pulled a laminated document out from one of the shelves behind the counter and placed it in front of Varrik. “Now show me your credentials.”

  Varrik pulled out his badge and flipped it open. “I’m on special assignment for the Ontarian Overlord.”

  “Good for you. I’m Bilarrian, so you have no jurisdiction over me.”

  “You did business with an Ontarian criminal. That gives me jurisdiction and the authority to scan your memories.”

  Phil rolled his eyes and made an impatient sound. “Then get it over with and get out of my shop.”

  Varrik eased back into Phil’s mind and found his primary shields lowered. To a less skilled investigator, it would have appeared that Phil was cooperating fully. Varrik, however, was no ordinary investigator. He’d spent decades learning how to manipulate memories. “You can show me the past two days or my mate will touch you and take the memories from you. We’re only interested in your interaction with our target, but she will have access to every image, every thought, contained within those two days. The choice is yours.”

  “I’ve broken no laws. Both transactions were within the parameters of my charter.” Phil’s worried gaze shifted from Varrik to Echo and back.

  “Both transactions?” Echo moved closer to Varrik. “What else did you sell our mutual acquaintance besides camping equipment?”

  “I don’t honestly know what it was. Some sort of scientific study. The whole thing was way above my head.”

  “And where did you get this ‘scientific study’?” Varrik suspected he knew the subject of the study, but he had no idea how a Bilarrian trader would have gotten his hands on it.

  “Our mutual acquaintance gave me a name, told me this other person owed him a debt of honor, but our mutual acquaintance couldn’t contact him directly. I was basically a messenger. All I did was facilitate the exchange.”

  Varrik looked at Echo for a moment, but her expression was unreadable. Do you believe him or do you need to touch him?

  I’m not sure yet.

  Every time she absorbed a memory, it remained perfectly clear within her mind forever, so she only used her gift when there was no other choice. He turned back to Phil and asked, “Do you have a copy of the study?”

  “No. I prefer to deal in merchandise. Information might pay better, but it always leads to trouble. I’ve stayed in business this long because I avoid trouble. Or at least I try to.”

  “But you had to have seen what you gave him. What was the study about?”

  He swallowed hard then scrubbed the lower half of his face with one shaking hand. “I knew that man was trouble. Should have listened to my conscience rather than my wallet.”

  “What did you see?” Echo’s tone coxed rather than demanded and Phil immediately looked at her.

  “Genetics. There were diagrams with the DNA spiral and phrases like ‘transition’, ‘controlled mutation’ and ‘empowered offspring’. That’s honestly all I know.”

  Varrik wasn’t surprised. Sevrin’s research was the only scientific study conducted on Earth that would interest Nazerel. “Show me this other man’s face and we’ll be on our way.”

  Phil crossed his arms over his narrow chest, looking persecuted. “If anyone finds out I gave up one of my customers, I’ll be finished on this planet—or dead. There are a lot of people who depend on the services I provide.”

  “No one needs to know.” When Varrik eased back in
to Phil’s mind all of his barriers were gone. He quickly located the pertinent memories and absorbed the necessary information. “I’d like to remove the memory of our visit so there will be nothing to incriminate you. Do you agree?”

  “Only if you take it all. Wipe my memory of the last two days. I want no part in any of this.”

  It was a common request. Once people realized they were involved in something dangerous, they often wanted to turn back time. “I must implant a believable reason for the lost days or your natural curiosity won’t leave the implant alone. Do you ever overindulge in alcohol or drugs?”

  “Make it an illness. I’ve been sober for the past nine years.”

  “As you wish.” Varrik meticulously erased the events involving Nazerel then constructed faint memories of a burning fever and long delirium. Erasing memories was a straight forward withdrawal of energy, while constructing them required a higher level of proficiency. Echo helped him return Phil to his stool and then they hurried from the shop. Phil would emerge from his trance in a few minutes feeling dazed and tired, but remembering nothing of their visit or his interaction with Nazerel.

  “What did Phil show you? Who did Nazerel have Phil contact?” She slipped her hand into his as they walked briskly down the street.

  “That’s the problem with spies. If you find a motivation powerful enough to convince them to turn, it’s likely someone else can find a similar motivation.”

  “Is that a convoluted way of saying Nazerel shamed Flynn into helping him?”

  “Basically.” He pulled her into a dank alleyway several blocks from Phil’s shop. “We need to update Lor and find out exactly what Flynn gave Phil.” She wrapped her arms around his back and pressed against his chest. He located the telepathic beckon pulsing in the transport deck of the Bunker. Short jumps were almost instantaneous and required little energy. Opening an interdimensional portal, on the other hand, could tire a Mystic for days afterwards.

  They were greeted by an armed guard, but the soldier immediately lowered his weapon when he recognized the unannounced visitors.

  “Where is Lor?” Varrik asked. “It’s important.”

  “He’s in his office, sir.”

  Rather than humiliate himself by asking directions from a human, Varrik pinged Lor’s mind and requested the information telepathically. We have news. Show me the way to your current location.

  Lor complied without slowing him down with questions. Varrik took Echo by the hand and hurried through the corridors. Elias was with Lor when they reached the small room that served as a command center/lounge. A cluttered desk and office chair had been arranged in the far corner, while an unmatched collection of furniture clustered around a vending machine and beverage station.

  “What have you learned?” Lor appeared fully engaged though he remained seated on one of the couches.

  Varrik glanced at Elias who sat in an adjacent chair. “What did you promise Flynn in exchange for his cooperation?”

  Elias and Lor exchanged “oh shit” expressions before Elias said, “Basic amnesty. He helped us catch the others and his charges were dropped.”

  “Were there any conditions put upon the exchange? Any situation that would void the deal?”

  “Just spill it, Varrik,” Lor advised. “What have you learned?”

  “Nazerel is out of the collar and Flynn gave him some sort of report. We need to find out exactly what the report contained. Where is Flynn right now?”

  Lor scooted to the edge of his seat, looking progressively more uncomfortable. “He’s locked in his quarters. His charges were dropped, but that doesn’t mean we trust him. I’ll summon him immediately.”

  “No,” Elias cut in. “Have him escorted here by someone who can keep him from flashing. If he suspects we know he’s been passing information to Nazerel, he’ll take off.”

  Lor nodded then glanced off into the distance, likely making the arrangements Elias had suggested. His attention returned to Varrik as he asked, “Is Nazerel still on Earth?”

  “We’re not sure,” Varrik admitted.

  “Where would he go?” Echo mused. “He can’t return to Ontariese and he has no living relatives left. He’s a stranger in a—”

  “He has relatives on Rodymia,” Varrik corrected. “In fact most of the Shadow Assassins do.”

  “Do you?” The challenge in Lor’s tone was unmistakable.

  “I’m a direct descendant of the founder, so my father was born in the Shadow Maze. That’s not true for most of the others. Their fathers, or occasionally their grandfathers, chose to leave their lives in the world above and become part of the world below. Many left brothers and sisters behind when they made their decision, which left relatives scattered across the face of Rodymia.”

  “Have many of them remained in contact with those family members?” Lor was clearly displeased with the revelation. “Why is this the first I’ve heard of Rodyte relatives? Was this taken into consideration by the Overlord and High Queen Charlotte?”

  “Most Shadow Assassins didn’t hold allegiance to any nation. We existed separate from the world above, so your laws and your leaders held no meaning for us.”

  “Our laws held no meaning?” Lor’s tone took on a dangerous edge. “Disagreeing with our laws does not make you exempt from them.”

  “I was simply explaining the way Nazerel thinks. Most Shadow Assassins connect the Rodytes too closely with the elders and the elders were corrupt and cruel.”

  “But Nazerel is the exception?” Lor persisted.

  Before Varrik could explain, Flynn was brought into the room between two Mystics. One of the Mystics grasped Flynn in two places, apparently keeping him from flashing out of sight.

  “What is this about?” Flynn’s indignation would have been more believable if his gaze hadn’t been filled with fear.

  Varrik crossed the room and looked deeply into Flynn’s eyes. “We know you gave or sold Nazerel a detailed report. We also know it had to do with genetics and ‘empowered offspring’. Now tell me what else was in the report and where you found the information.”

  For a long time Flynn just stared back at Varrik. He hated having to involve Echo in these situations, but they needed to know what Nazerel had planned. He raised his hand toward his mate without taking his gaze off Flynn.

  “You’re a traitor and I’m a coward,” Flynn sneered. “Nazerel is the only one who has been loyal to the men through all of this. He has put himself on the line over and over. I will tell you nothing that endangers him.”

  “You don’t have to tell me anything. I’ll find out for myself.” Without warning, he pressed his palms against the sides of Flynn’s head. His mental touch was not gentle as it had been with Phil. He shoved into the traitor’s mind and demanded answers. Flynn screamed and tried to shake him off, but the other Mystics held him firmly.

  Echo’s warm hand touched Varrik’s shoulder. “Let me.”

  The two words held a wealth of meaning. He was furious and acting on anger never led to good decisions. He would likely damage as much of the information as he extracted until he calmed down. Bowing to the wisdom of her approach, he eased back and let her touch the side of Flynn’s face.

  When she finally stepped back from Flynn, she looked pale and her hands were shaking.

  “Are you all right?” He wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her into one of the mismatched chairs.

  “I’m fine. It always makes me shaky for a minute or two. It will pass.”

  “What did you see?” Lor wanted to know. He motioned to the Mystics and they dragged Flynn out of the room.

  “Nazerel has all of Sevrin’s research. Not just the summation you gave us, but her actual documentation.”

  “That can’t be good.” Elias pushed to his feet. “But Nazerel’s not a scientist. What good does it do him?”

  “I’m not sure what he has planned,” Varrik admitted. “But there is only one place information like that has any real value.”

  “
Rodymia,” Lor, Elias and Echo all said at once.

  Varrik nodded, but his expression remained grim. “It looks like Nazerel is going home.”

  * * * * *

  Nazerel’s arm gradually released Morgan and she sank to her knees. Vertigo blurred her surroundings and softened the reality of what she had just experienced. Her stomach rebelled against the brutal acceleration and the ringing in her ears was starting to recede. She inhaled slowly, hoping the extra oxygen would clear her head. She’d heard descriptions of interdimensional travel, even seen a video of a Mystic Summoning the Storm, but nothing prepared her for the bone-jarring thrust of the conduit or the immense pulses of energy.

  She heard voices, deep male voices speaking in a language she didn’t understand. Nazerel grasped her forearm and pulled her to her feet as he said something to the two guards who still had their weapons trained on the intruders, namely Nazerel and her.

  Finger-combing her hair back from her face, she caught her first unobstructed view of her surroundings. The textured floor flowed into matte gray walls without seams or separation. Faint colors, purple, blue and gold marbled through the metallic surface, keeping the area from looking like a prison. The wall to her left appeared to be some sort of control panel, but there was no furniture in the room, no obvious purpose other than a reception and perhaps departure area.

  Her attention shifted to the guards when the room held little of interest. They were both wearing dark blue armor that seemed rigid one moment and supple the next. It followed every bend and curve of their muscular bodies or it had been sculpted to make them appear more impressive. Their weapons were sleek daggers with sharp-looking edges and controls were inset in the hilts. Could they launch projectiles or an energy stream from the blade? How the hell would they aim them? She’d never seen anything like them.

  Nazerel motioned toward her and the lead guard nodded.

  “What’s going on? Where are we?”

  “Silence,” Nazerel snapped. Then in a sharp, impatient tone he added, “I’ll explain everything when we’re alone. Now lower your gaze.”

  She paused for another assessing glance at the guards, before following Nazerel’s directive. Both guards had short dark hair, and blue-ringed dark eyes. The one who spoke most often also had cobalt strands threaded through his hair. Both had sharp, angular features and semi-hostile expressions.