No Quest For The Wicked

Owen got on the phone to call Rod and Sam, the head of security. They arrived soon afterward and got a quick briefing. Sam the gargoyle was his usual unflappable self, but Rod was startled by the revelation about the Eye. He cast a worried glance at Owen as he said, “I can see sending the A team, but is this such a great idea? I don’t doubt you at all, Owen, but you going after the Eye? It looks a lot like a bid for world power.”

“I will deal with any fallout,” Merlin said before Owen could answer. “There is no one better suited for this quest, as Mr. Palmer is the one wizard who isn’t susceptible to the Eye.”

Owen’s former assistant, Jake, broke the tension by arriving just then with what looked like a pencil case. “Here you go, three tranquilizer darts.” He opened the case to show three long, slender tubes. “You can either press them in directly, like a hypodermic needle, or you can throw them from up to ten feet away. They’ll cause instant unconsciousness in anyone, and the effects should last about half an hour, depending on the person’s size. Be careful with those. They’re all we’ve got on hand, and it takes about twenty-four hours to brew the potion.”

“We’ll make them count,” Owen said, taking the case from him and slipping it into the inside pocket of his suit coat. “But just in case, you should get started on another batch.”

“Now all we need is a target,” I said once Jake left.

Just then, Minerva Felps, the head of the Prophets and Lost division that managed the company’s seers, swept into the office. If it had been anyone else, I’d have suspected her of lurking outside and waiting for the optimal time to make a dramatic entrance. Minerva had probably sensed five minutes ago when a good time would be. She carried a folder, from which she retrieved a stack of photos and documents that she spread out on the conference table. “Unfortunately, Jonathan Martin is a fairly common name,” she said as we came over to the table. “This thing was probably pretty pricey, so I figured we could rule out busboys, bicycle messengers, and anyone else who doesn’t earn at least seven figures. That still gave us a lot to sort through. The hackers and the seers ran credit card charges for this morning and looked for shifts in auras and came up with two very strong possibilities.”

“Are either of them magical?” Owen asked.

“Would you believe, there isn’t a single Jonathan Martin in the entire magical registry? We’re in the clear on that count, at least.”

“So odds are, whoever has it doesn’t know what he’s got and didn’t buy it on purpose,” Owen said. “We’re not dealing with a power grab.”

“Not a magical one, anyway,” Minerva said.

“Can’t we just check the manuscript again?” I asked. “If the text changed when it moved before, maybe it could give us an updated location.”

“I’m not sure it would be much help, unless it stays in one place for awhile,” Owen said. “Remember, someone had already bought it by the time we got to Tiffany’s after I was sure of the translation. By the time I translate the new location and figure out what the cryptic, poetic language really means, it may have moved again. It’ll probably be quicker to track down the owner, since we do have his name.”

Minerva pointed to a photo of a steely-eyed man with close-cropped gray hair. “This one seems like our strongest candidate. His company took over another firm this morning, and there’s been a major corporate bloodletting as he’s consolidated power. The aura around him is really murky. It’s not all-out evil, but it’s not sunshine and puppies, either.”

“Do you have an address?” Owen asked.

She handed him a printout. “Home, office, and his new acquisition are all on there. The strongest vibes are coming from the new office.”

Owen scanned the sheet, then said, “It’s just down the street. Let’s go.”

“I’ll fly on ahead, see what might be in the way, and get my people to clear a path for you,” Sam said. He waved a hand at a window to open it, then flew out. The rest of us went down the stairs.

We’d just left the building when Owen’s cell phone rang. He listened for a moment, then said, “Got it. Thanks.” After putting the phone back in his pocket, he said, “Sam says there’s a commotion, but there aren’t any elves in sight.”

“Lyle left before we got the purchaser’s name,” I said. “Maybe they’re still tracking it down the hard way.”

I had to jog to keep up with the two guys as we headed downtown. I’d always thought that the way Owen carved his way through a crowd had something to do with magic, but he still managed it. He exuded “I’m on a mission” vibes that made people move out of his way.