Heart Of Atlantis

pathway.
    Let them view this
, Alaric returned, just before he blasted a hole in the window and soared through.
    Ven changed back from mist to his body mere seconds after Alaric did, and the first thing he did was punch Alaric in the arm.
    “Way to go. Seriously, nice stealth move.”
    Alaric ignored him, concentrating on the group of green-robed humans cowering on their knees in the room. “It’s them again. The Platoist Society. Remember, with Reisen? They worship anything they think is Atlantean.”
    “They don’t have to wonder if I’m Atlantean. I have already told them, and the world, that it is so,” Ptolemy said, stepping out from behind a teenage boy who was the only human standing.
    The boy was trying desperately to look brave, but sweat stood out on his dark skin and his eyes were wild. Ptolemy still carried the enormous tourmaline, but he’d fastened it to the end of a gaudy gold-gilt scepter. It glowed faintly, and Alaric could feel pure Atlantean magic course through every nerve ending in his body. From underneath and around the shimmer of power, however, the tainted pulse of demonic magic bit into him with jagged teeth.
    “What are you, really?” Alaric demanded. “Tell me now, and I may at least make your death quicker.”
    “Ah, such a generous offer,” Ptolemy said. He laughed mockingly. “Who exactly are you that you dare to make it when I hold the most powerful jewel of Atlantis in my hand?”
    “How do you know that jewel is Atlantean?” Ven asked, edging closer to Ptolemy’s right, to flank him.
    Ptolemy pointed the scepter at him. “You must be one of the false princes. I recognize the stench of undeserved arrogance.”
    “I am the King’s Vengeance, and you are going to die if you don’t start answering questions right now.” Ven pulled his daggers from their sheaths and dropped into a battle-ready stance.
    Ptolemy aimed the scepter at Ven and fired off a blast of sickly reddish-orange power that slammed Ven into the wall. When Alaric called to his own magic and drew back his arm to hurl an energy sphere at the pretender, the man yanked the teen boy in front of him.
    “I think not,” Ptolemy taunted Alaric. “Not unless you want to kill this boy, and you don’t do that, do you? You think you’re the good guys. Humanity’s heroes from legend—what a joke. Which one are you, anyway?”
    “I am Alaric, high priest to Poseidon, friend to the true ruler of Atlantis, and I am the one who is going to rip your intestines out by way of your throat,” Alaric told the impostor. His teeth ached from the residue of tainted magic, and he still couldn’t figure out exactly
what
Ptolemy was. Demon or human? Not vampire, that much was clear.
    If demon, he was the most skilled demon Alaric had ever encountered. Most of them couldn’t hide their true forms for longer than a few seconds, or a minute at most. This one had done the press conference, and still now he stood before them in human form.
    As Ven struggled to his feet, swearing a blue streak, Alaric decided simply to ask, “What makes you think you’re Atlantean, demon?”
    Genuine surprise crossed Ptolemy’s face. “Demon? Oh, no, you have me mistaken for something far less powerful, priest. I am the king of Atlantis. I am the wizard who will destroy your house, enslave your women, and make your false princes my pets. Watch me and learn.”
    Ven lunged for the man, trying to create a distraction so Alaric could strike him down, but Ptolemy must have been anticipating just such a move. He leapt to the side, dragging the boy with him.
    “Choose now,” he taunted. “Save the boy or catch me. His name is Faust, by the way. Don’t you find that deliciously ironic?”
    With that, he lifted the boy and threw him out through the shattered window in one powerful heave, slammed the scepter against his chest, and disappeared in another flash of light. Alaric had a split second to decide whether to save the boy or try to follow the emanations of residual magic from the scepter.
    It wasn’t really even a choice.
    He caught the boy five feet from the sidewalk below, and Ven was right behind him.
    The upper floors of the hotel exploded into a ball of fire over their heads.

    Tokyo, Japan, in a car on the way to Narita International Airport
    Quinn stared out the window at the passing scenery, not really seeing any of it. She listened with a fraction of her attention as the elderly Japanese man driving her to the airport tried to