Heart Of Atlantis

frustration, but no recognition.
    “I apologize for my son, officer,” he said. “Is there restitution to be made?”
    Faust started to protest, but Alaric shot him a stern look. “You’re in enough trouble, young man.”
    The officer shook her head. “No restitution, but he can’t keep hiding street kids from the authorities. I’ll let him go this time, since he was clearly trying to help those children, but you’d better straighten him out before he gets in real trouble.”
    Alaric took a firm grip on Faust’s arm and started walking, thanking the officer as he left. It was always better to cooperate with law enforcement, a lesson the boy at his side had yet to learn, from the sound of the tirade he was spewing as they left. Something about bureaucratic idiocy, but Alaric didn’t care and he definitely didn’t have the time.
    When they reached a corner alley several streets away from the police building, on a street lined with small shops and eateries, Alaric finally let go of the youngling.
    “Silence,” he commanded, and Faust stopped speaking, mid-sentence, and changed course.
    “Um, are you going to kill me?”
    “Why would I bother to remove you from police custody, if that were the case? I could have killed you there far more easily, and without having to listen to your incessant babble,” Alaric pointed out reasonably.
    For some reason, Faust did not seem to be reassured by his words. Stupid human.
    “I told you I’d take care of you and your friends,” he told the boy. “You can all move to Atlantis and live happily ever after, once I retrieve the tourmaline, and save the dome, so Atlantis can rise. But for now, I need your help.”
    Faust backed away a little. “You’re completely off your rocker, aren’t you? Atlantis?”
    “You’ve seen the sea god in action, and you doubt Atlantis? You’re not particularly intelligent, are you?”
    He started to turn away in disgust, since he would clearly receive no useful help here, but a stray thought stopped him. “How is the child?”
    Faust grinned at the reminder of his tiny friend, and his shoulders relaxed. “She’s fine, thanks to you. Perfectly healthy and doesn’t even remember what happened.”
    “She had no need to remember the trauma, so I removed it from her memory.”
    The boy looked up at him with a new measure of respect. “Really? You can do that? Well, thanks.”
    Alaric considered the boy. “How old are you?”
    “I’m eighteen.”
    Alaric said nothing, simply waited.
    “Okay, I’m sixteen, or at least I will be next month,” Faust finally admitted. “But my ID says I’m eighteen, and I’ve been taking care of myself and the kids for almost two years.”
    “Admirable.”
    The boy visibly puffed up a little, probably surprised to hear approval instead of condemnation from an adult, even one he considered to be
off his rocker
.
    “If you would thank me, do so by helping me find an abandoned subway station,” Alaric said, making a sudden decision to trust the boy.
    Faust backed up as a group of women walked by, chattering about lunch plans. He waited for them to pass before he shook his head.
    “For reals? Those places are seriously scary, and that’s before you get into the new players like this Ptolemy guy. I’m talking gang hangouts, rats, drug dens, rats, shorted-out electrical wires, and rats.”
    Alaric raised an eyebrow. “You’re afraid of rats?”
    “Heck yeah, I’m afraid of rats. They carry all kinds of freaky germs, like the next bubonic plague, probably.”
    “You may be right. I will destroy the rats. Now, can we go?”
    Faust sighed, and then brightened. “I’ll do it for a hundred bucks. I can feed the rest of the kids for a week on that, if I’m careful.”
    “I don’t have any of your currency.”
    “Man, that sucks.”
    Alaric felt the new magic boiling up in him, wanting to destroy, and he forced it down again. “I will obtain some, or give you gold in the equivalent of five thousand of your dollars, to do this for me. Now. We’re running out of time, and I’m running out of patience.”

    Nearly three hours later, Alaric admitted defeat. They’d searched every tunnel and hole that Faust could find, but there was no trace of Quinn. Finally, they’d come to a room that he was sure was the one from the vision, even down to the shabby sofa, but there was no trace of Quinn or Ptolemy, except perhaps for a faint trace of her scent.
    Frustration borne of helpless despair