Warriors of Poseidon 06 - Atlantis Betrayed

“There’s nothing in here anyway. Must have been a bird after all. We need to get the cleaning crew to do a better job, by the way. Why is this bucket sitting here full of water? Should we dump it out?”
    “I’m not dumping it out. Not my job. And maybe it was a bird, or maybe it was a vamp,” the other said darkly. “Or who knows what else? I’ll feel a lot better when we get those magic detectors up and running.”
    “Right. You count on that. Sure, and the witches are going to figure out a way to detect all of the hundreds of different kinds of magic. In your dreams.”
    Christophe heard the faint squeak of hinges that were just on the cusp of needing to be oiled, and as the door shut, the second guard put in the final word.
    “I heard the prime minister herself say that there’s not a form of magic on this earth that the new detectors won’t catch.”
    Christophe rose up in one silvery ribbon of water from the bucket in which he’d hidden and promptly changed back into the shape of a very amused Atlantean warrior.
    Exactly. Not on this earth. Bet your witches aren’t ready for magic that comes from under its oceans.
    Now, let’s have a look at that sword.
    He took a deep breath and cleansed himself of the last traces of plastic and the faint bitter tang of cleaning fluid, shaking his hands to fling the droplets of water from his skin. He’d held mist shape too long this night, and it was tiring—a drain of magical resources—on the best of nights. Nights that did not involve hiding in buckets. But it would make for a good story, and surely Ven or one of the other warriors would stand him a mug of ale for the laugh.
    He pushed his focus deep within, calling to the power that waited, tantalizing, always ready to seduce him. Formed the link in his mind that gave up the very atoms of his body to the universe; traded for the water magic that belonged uniquely to Poseidon and his people.
    Soaring through the room, he performed a celebratory twirl of silvery liquid power before dispersing enough to slide smoothly under the door. The hallway was empty, the guards gone searching birds or ghosts or shadows. He followed the hall to the stairs and, careful to stay in the dark shadows masking the ceiling, he descended to the ground floor right over the heads of the guards pounding up, presumably to join their colleagues in a futile search.
    Radios crackled with “all clear” and “headed for the roof access” messages, and as Christophe passed overhead, the headset of the guard directly beneath him sizzled with a loud crackling sound.
    The man snapped out a guttural curse. “Damn radios. This one just shorted out in my ear.”
    Atlantis Betrayed – Warriors of Poseidon 06
    Page 15 of 188
    Christophe increased his pace. If he was already shorting out the electronics, stealing the actual sword might be a problem. He snapped an even tighter leash on his control. Atlantean magic and electricity didn’t get along, and he didn’t want to send the place into lockdown because the security system suddenly crashed.
    One of the shifter guards paused and cast a sharp glance up at the ceiling, his keen gaze examining the area directly where Christophe passed overhead in the shadows. There was absolutely nothing to be seen, even to shifter eyes, since his form was so dispersed among the shadows, but the man’s instincts were good. Shifter instincts generally were. It was a good enough reason to have at least a few of them on Atlantis’s side.
    Gaining the ground floor, he turned the corner and headed for the Treasury. Tonight was just for scouting. He wanted a look at the sword when there were no crowds, no moving walkways. He’d come back another night to take it.
    No rush, after all. The quicker he achieved this goal, the quicker he’d be forced to return to Atlantis.
    More missions to the surface for vampire slaying. Cut off their heads, stake them in the hearts, jump back to avoid goop on the boots as they turned to nasty acidic slime. Same old same old.
    He wanted something different. A challenge. Excitement.
    Rounding the final corner, he stopped moving, dispersing his mist form even more, and hovered as close to the ceiling’s shadows as possible. The five guards clustered in front of the open security door to the Treasury spoke in low tones, but their body language didn’t display any particular tension.
    One of the guards, a shifter whose enormous arm muscles strained the seams of his uniform