Mercedes Lackey and Mark Sheperd
Wheels of Fire
A Serrated Edge Novel

• CHAPTER ONE

Streamlined shapes of bright metal hurtled across
asphalt, machines that roared, whined and howled,
leaving hot air and deafness in their wake. They were
without a doubt louder than any dragon Alinor had
ever encountered. But instead of scales, these monsters
were covered with flashy, bright endorsement decals
for Goodyear, Penzoil -

And, since the sport of automotive radng was more
expensive with every passing year, such other odd
sponsors as pizza and soft drinks.

The cars were no longer just radng machines; now
they were, in effect, lightning-fast billboards. While
these machines used many of the products they
hawked, Alinor could only marvel at some of the
strange connections made between the sport of auto
radng and the things humans consumed.

The decals flashing under the sun only emphasized
the vehicles' speed; they moved too fast to be seen,
muclTless read. As car after car flashed by Alinor's
vantage point, he was left with a vague impression of
shapes and vivid colors. Presumably commercials had
imprinted those shapes and colors in the minds of
humans vividly enough that there would be instant
recognition.

Alinor marveled at the sheer power of these metal
beasts. The only other creature that could approach
those speeds was an elvensteed, and then only if one
wore a car's metallic seeming.

Sun beat down upon the track, numbing the brain,

2              Mercedes Lackey&?Mark Shepherd

and Alinor yawned, pulling a red SERRA cap dghter
over his head. Last night's final preps had taken more
out of him than he had anticipated. Even for one of the
Folk, two hours of sleep wasn't quite enough. He
stretched a little and glanced at his watch; the team had
been out here in the pits since just after dawn, and even
the workaholics would be wanting to pull the car in and
break before too long.

I hope, anyway, he thought, combating the sleepglue
that formed on the inside of his eyelids. That break better
happen soon, or HI fall on my nose.

In spite of his fatigue, he had to grin a little as he
looked around, contrasting himself with his surround-
ings. Hallet Motor Speedway is not where you'd expect to find
one of the Sidhe hanging out. Not even one who's a founding
member of the South Eastern Road Racing Association.
Strange days, indeed.

Not that there weren't more elves and mages in the
pits and driver's seats back in SERRA territory than
anyone could ever have dreamed. Roughly a third had
some connection with magic, and there were a few, like
young Tannim, who were known for wandering feet.
But for the most part, the elven drivers and mechanics
of SERRA never left their home states and tracks,
much less traveled to the wilds of Oklahoma.

Quaint little state, he had thought during the trip in,
though "little" referred more to the size of the cities,
not the square mileage of this new land. In many ways
this was refreshing to one of the Sidhe, seeing so much
wilderness with so few humans around to destroy it.

He hadn't had any trouble adjusting; so far as the
natives and pit-crew were concerned, Alinor was just
another mechanic. No weirder than most, since mechs
were a breed unto themselves.

If for some reason I had to hide, this would be the place to
come. There's no sign ofUnseleighe Sidhe, and I haven't
encountered anything hostile. I could set up a woodshop ...

WHEELS OF FIRE                3

maybe become a raving Baptist out here in God's country; that
would really throw any pursuers off. He shook his head,
pushing the dismal mental picture away. Eck. What a
truly frightening thought.

Some of the Folk, the Low Court elves, couldn't go too
far outside the influence of their chosen power-nexus,
and most of the rest were content with the many chal-
lenges on their home ground. But Alinor prided himself
on the fact that he was not ordinary in any sense, even by
SERRA standards; the only other elven mechanic that
could match his skill was Deirdre Brighthair, and she
couldn't challenge his mastery of metal-magics. Even
Sam Kelly had been impressed by what he could do.

Of course, I am a few centuries her senior, give or take a few
decades. And Fve been a mage-smith for a long, long time.

He wished, though, that he could work some other
kinds ofmagery; a litue magic that would loosen Bob's
tongue, for instance. Excessive conversation had never
been one of the man's character defects, not for as long
as Al had known him. He knew Bob was no idiot, that
quite a bit must be going on in the young human's
mind. The problem was that what actually came out
appeared to be carefully edited or just doled out
unwillingly and uttered with extreme caution. If Bob
had said five words since dawn, Al would be surprised.

Their car banked around a corner and screamed
pasCthem, kicking up a brief bow-wave of hot, dry,
exhaust-tinged wind, motor howling like a Bane-
Sidhe. Then the beast of metal and gasoline dopplered
away, swinging around for another lap.

"Hot," said Alinor, strolling the few paces away from
the edge of the track to where Bob sat on an oil-drum,
his red coverall immaculate, despite the hundreds of
adjustments made on "their" engine since it first went
out this morning. He leaned up against a tire-barrier
and pulled his cap a little lower over his eyes, so that the
brim met the top of his Ray-Bans.

4               Mercedes Lackey &f AfarA Shepherd

"Eyah. It's that," Bob Ferrel replied, without taking
his gray eyes off the track or the frown off his lean,
weathered face.

Al sighed. Bob was in full laconic Maine-mode. Like
talking to a rock. Actually, I might get better conversation out
of a rock. "Nice track, though."

"Eyah."

Considering that this out-of-the-way track was a lush
little gem, that was hardly an adequate reply. When I
know people who would kill to work here.... "Guys back at
Fayetteville would be green," he offered.

"Eyah."

All right, new lactic. See if he's at least listening to me.
Alinor tried the path of absurdity to get something like
conversation out of his human partner. "I heard
they're going to bring in topless camel races next
Saturday."

Now Bob finally turned his head, just barely enough
to give Al a hairy eyeball, despite the glasses. "There's a
ping in number three cylinder I don't like," he said
sourly. "I want you to look at it when they bring it back
in."

Blessed Danaa, you might have said something.

Alinor stiffened and instantly became all business.
When Bob said he heard something, a SERRA mech
listened to him. Bob, like young Maclyn's mother
Deirdre, could tune an engine by ear. "I can look at it \
now," he offered.

"Do that," Bob said, tersely. "We've got a reputation
riding on this."

Bob took that reputation a litde more seriously than
Al did; after all, a High Court elven-mage like Alinor
could conjure anything he wished to out of the
molecules of the air and earth around him, just by
studying it long enough to "ken" it. Bob, when he
wasn't partaking ofelven hospitality, had a living to
make. The old-fashioned way, he once joked, in a rare

WHEELS OF FIRE

instance of humor. And Bob Ferrel had every intention
of dying a wealthy man.

Not that I blame him, Al thought absently. He's the kind
that hates charity.

The elven mechanic lounged back again, but this
dme every bit of his concentration was bent on the car
careening its way back towards them. Or rather, his
attention was bent on what was under the hood; a cast-
aluminum engine block of elven make from the
"shops" at Fayetteville, another one of the Fairgrove
facilities. Al knew this particular block so well he could
have duplicated it in an hour. He should; he had
kenned it himself.

Not that he wanted anyone outside of a select com-
pany of SERRA members to know that.

He set his mind ranging inside the inferno of the
howling motor, wincing away just a little from the few
parts of iron (not so dangerous now, but still uncom-
fortable), winding his probe into cylinder three. He
gave brief mental thanks to Tannim for teaching him
those human mageries that made it possible for him to
probe through and around Cold Iron at all.

In a moment, he had identified the problem. As the
bright red car rounded the far turn, he corrected it
with a brief surge of magical energies. He pulled his
mind out of the engine and looked up as the car roared
by the pits.

Bob was smiling as he pushed his own cap onto the
back of his head.

"What was it?" the scrawny mechanic asked, running a
hand over his sandy hair before replacing the cap.

"Not the cylinder at all," Al replied. "Piston arm."

"Ah." Bob relaxed still further. It hadn't been a
failure of the block, and so he was content. Bob's design
had been the one used as a prototype for this block,
and he took design flaws personally.

Now I'll get some conversation out of him.... Al waited,

6              Mercedes Lackey £s? Mark Shepherd

and Bob remained happily silent, contemplating the
track with a smile instead of a frown.

Al burst out laughing, and Bob favored him with a
puzzled stare. "You're incredible!" he chuckled.
"Anyone else would have been throttling me to find out
what the problem was and how I fixed it, when you
know damn good and well the arm's steel and you
know we don't handle Cold Iron happily or well. But
you, you just stand there, and say 'ah.'"

"You'd tell me when you got ready to," Bob replied,
unbending just enough to give Al a "man, you're
crazy" look.

Al shook his head. He was far too used to the volatile
temperaments of his hot-blooded Southern com-
patriots.-4n3> mechfrom the Carolinas would have been
foaming at the mouth by now and describing my parentage in
terms my mother would take extreme exception to. Not Bob.
Not even close. This cold fish from the rocky coast of
Maine was just as icy as the elven nordic-derived
"cousins" who'd settled there. About the only thing
that got Bob's goat around here was the area itself:

landscape and the climate. Al thought the rolling hills
were marvelous - and the heat was a nice change
from the mountainous country of home. Occasionally
the residual magic left over from the times when the
Indians flourished here came in handy. Though - in
fairness, he wouldn't want to live here for very long,
even if it was a nice change.

Not Bob. He couldn't wait to get back to "where I don't
bake and I don't have to look at so much damned sky."

"' 'E's pinin' for the fiords,'" he muttered.

"Eh?" said Bob.

"Never mind. I was just thinking you're a lot like the
liosalfar that fostered you."

"Ah," said Bob, his icy gray eyes softening a great
deal. "Good people, your cousins."

Al sighed. Another typical understatement. At the tender

WHEELS OF FIRE                7

age of eight, "Bobby" had been rescued by one of the
alfar from freezing to death in a blizzard. He had been
running away from a father who had nearly beaten
him black for failing to come immediately when called. It
wasn't the first time a beating had occurred, but it was
the last.

Acting on a tip from a human, Gundar, Bobby's
foster father to be, had put the house under snowy owl
surveillance for several weeks, waiting, at times in
agony, for the right moment to intervene. The heatings
had become more severe with time, coinciding with an
increased consumption of straight bourbon whiskey,
chased with cheap grocery store beer. Even at that age,
little Bobby could see the correlation between Daddy's
"joy juice" and being beaten; when Father was on a
roaring drunk, Bobby made himself scarce, which fur-
ther angered the old man.

Granted, the father had been under a severe strain;

the fish cannery, which was the town's sole employer,
had just closed. Daddy must have suspected something
going wrong with the company long before that, for
the start of the layoffs had been when the drinking
started as well.

Ultimately, though, Bobby neither knew the reasons
nor cared about them. All he knew was that Dad was
drinking, became a frightening, crazy man when he
drank, and Mother was just as afraid of him as Bobby
was.

In the end she stopped trying to protect him, instead
fleeing for the shelter of her mother's house when
Bobby's father became "turned on." That meant leav-
ing Bobby alone with him, but perhaps she had trusted
in the frail hope her husband wouldn't hurt his own
child.

The end came on a bitter December night, when Joe
Ferrel was at the end of his unemployment benefits, the
cannery closed for good, and at the end of the month

8              Mercedes Lackey y Mark Shepherd

they'd be out of a home as well when the bank foreclosed
on the mortgage -

But that's no excuse to half-kill your son, Al thought
angrily, his blood still running hot at the memory, as
would the blood of any of the Fair Folk at the idea of
mistreating a child. Good thing we got him out of there
when we did. After the foreclosure, there was no telling what
would have happened.... "Bobby" probably wouldn't have
lived through it. How can they act like that? Treating their
own offspring like possessions to be used and discarded at
their pleasure -

He forced himself to calm down; most humans loved
their children, treated them as any elven parent would.
And for those that didn't - well, there were other pos-
sibilities, not all within human society.

Like what had happened to Bob. Bob was grown up
now, and safe - had been safe the moment Gundar
found him. The situation had been perfect for a
changeling-swap: take the boy and leave a lifeless,
frozen simulacrum in his place. Easily done, and the
exchange left no traces in the human world, for why
run a tissue analysis on a frozen corpse when it was
obvious why the "boy" had died?

And Bob found a new-home with those who loved
and cherished children, even those not of their species.
A home where the rules were strict, but never
arbitrary, and punishment was never meted out in
anger. A place where intelligence was encouraged to
flower, and where his childish delight in mechanical
things was fostered, nurtured and educated, even if the
liosalfar were sometimes baffled by the direction it took.
Clockwork and fine metal-work they understood -
but cars?

Still, he was given free rein, though he had been
asked to keep his engines of Cold Iron somewhere
where they wouldn't cause disruption to fields of
magic, and physical pain to his foster relatives.

WHEELS OF FIRE               9

So things had continued, until as a young man, he
eventually got a real job in the human world - for no
human could live forever in the elven enclaves. Even
Tarn Lin had known that. The job had been at a
human-owned garage whose proprietor knew about
the liosalfar and approved of them, an American Indian
of full Mohawk blood that considered them just
another kind of forest spirit. Soon, thanks to native
ability and understanding of physics and mechanics
gained from his foster-kin, Bob became the resident
automotive wizard.

Things might have rested there, but for Henry
Winterhawk. He could have kept Bob ignorant of the
existence ofSERRA and reaped the benefits of having
that kind of genius at his disposal. Instead, he asked
Bob to bring his foster father in for a conference about
his future.

Gundar knew all about SERRA, of course, but he
had simply never thought of it as a place where Bob
could fully realize his abilities. Winterhawk had been a
little surprised that the elves knew about the organiza-
tion, though - he'd thought the magic being practiced
down there was entirely human in origin.

I wish I'd seen both their faces, Al thought with amuse-
ment. The Great Stone Face meets Glacier-Cliff, and both of
them crack with surprise. Must have been a sight.

So now Bob was with the Fayetteville shop, and was
helping Al baby-sit the first aluminum-block mage-
built engine to go into entirely human hands, hands
ignorant of its true origin. Keeping the secret under
wraps had been a job in itself; more than once Bob had
showed ingenuity in the area of creative deception.

Even if you had to pry conversation out of him with a
forklift.

"Don't you ever ask questions?" the Sidhe asked,
perplexed. "Not about cars, I mean, about us -my
foster kids have been eaten up with questions every

10 Mercedes Lackey ^Mark Shepherd

time they've run into a different group of the Folk."

Bob thawed a little more, and some of his true age of
twenty showed through. "You don't mind? Gundar
said not to be a pain in the ass, but you people are a lot
different from the alfar."

Al laughed aloud. "Hell, no, I don't mind. Not even
dose. In Outremer we're Scottish Celts, for the most
part, both the human fosterlings and us, and you
should know the Scots - if you won't tell us something
on your own, we'll find it out. That's why Scots make
such good engineers. I'm used to it. Ask away."

"How did you people ever get involved with racing?"
Bob asked. "I know about the Flight; Gundar told me
about that - but it seems damned weird to me for you
people to leave Europe because of Cold Iron
everywhere, then turn around and start racing and
building cars."

Alinor chuckled. "Two reasons, really. First, we've
always measured ourselves against you. I - don't sup-
pose you've studied old ballads and stories, have you?"

Bob shook his head.

"Well if you had, you'd find a lot of them with the
same theme - the elf-knight challenges a human to a
duel, either of wits or of swords, the fight goes on for
quite some time, the^uman wins and carries off some
sort of prize. Usually gold, sometimes a lover." Lost and
won a few of those myself, before I got tired of the Game. "We
did that quite a bit, although needless to say, the times
when the human lost were never recorded in ballads."
Al eased the bill of his cap up with his thumb and gave
Bob an ironic look over the rim of his sunglasses.

Bob smiled wryly. "What happened when the
human lost?"

"Depends on what he - or she, believe it or not -
looked like, what skills they had. Usually they had to
serve us a year and a day, human-time. Some of the
knightly types with big egos and small brains we taught

WHEELS OF FIRE               11

a little humility to, making them act as servants.
Generally we had them get us things we needed, news,
new fashions - or we had them find the kids that were
being mistreated and tell us who they were."

Bob's eyes brightened. "Then what?"

Al shrugged. "Depended on the circumstance.
Worst case I ever heard of was a little German town
with a real high birthrate. They'd had a witch-scare
and killed off all the cats, so the rats had gotten so bad
they started biting the kids in the cradles. We stepped
in, then, and we got rid of the vermin. But that meant
the Black Death missed them entirely."

"So?" Bob said. "Sounds like a good thing to me -"

"It would have been, except that they exported dyed
and woven wool, worked silver and other metals, wine
- luxury goods. But after the Death, there weren't as
many people around to buy their exports. Prices
dropped. Food was more expensive, without serfs to till
the land. Things got bad. Half the youngsters in the
place went around with welts and bruises."

"That sounds familiar -" Bob ventured.

Al snorted. It should. It's even survived into this day and
age. "Place called Hammerlein. Hamlin, to the
English."

Bob shot him a glance that said quite clearly that he
thought Al was pulling his leg. Al shrugged. "Ask Gun-
dar. His German cousin was the Piper. We ended up
with so many fosterlings we had to spread them out
over a dozen Underbill kingdoms."

"Sonuvabitch," Bob said thoughtfully. "Say, when
you Folk went up against humans in combat - wasn't
that a little one-sided?"

"We did have a bit of an edge where armor and prac-
tice was concerned," Al admitted. "But when it came to
a duel of swords, humans had an edge too, in that they
were fighting with Cold Iron." Al smiled reminiscendy.
I can still remember the thrill of evading an edge by the width of

12 Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

a hair.... "Put a kind of savor to it, coming that dose to
the Death Metal. Well, dueling and challenging people
at crossroads went out of fashion for the humans, par-
dally because knights were like Porsches - expensive
to maintain."

Bob laughed. "Eyah. You don't risk a Porsche on a
back-country county-fair drag-race."

Al nodded. "That was when some of us moved. For a
while we played at other things, but the Church was
making it hard for us to stay hidden, and it just wasn't
the same - and besides, there was more Cold Iron
around with every passing year. So, in the end, almost
all of us moved."

"The Flight." Bob cocked his head to one side and
wiped a trickle of sweat from his neck. "Then what?"

"We 'rusticated,' as my father is fond of saying." Al
sighed. In many ways, those days had been halcyon, if a
litde boring now and again. "Then the Europeans fol-
lowed us across the sea, and rather than compete with
them, we went into seclusion, at least on the East Coast.
Found places we weren't likely to be bothered. Even-
tually we set about recreating the Courts in the
wilderness." He looked out over the heat-hazed
countryside. "For a long time, this was enough of a
challenge. It was like starting over, and for the Indians
that lived out here already, well, we fit right into their
beliefs. No problem. Before the horses came up from
Mexico, our elvensteeds would counterfeit deer, bear,
or anything else big enough to carry us; it didn't matter
that deer and bear wouldn't take riders. After all, we
were spirits, and our spirit-animal-brothers would do
things no ordinary animal would do. For some reason,
perhaps that they were closer to natural power than
any white man we knew in Europe, picking fights with
them just wasn't any fun. It didn't feel right. So we
cohabitated, in harmony^ for a couple centuries."

Bob gazed at him thoughtfully. Though the human

WHEELS OF FIRE               13

didn't say anything, Al knew the keen mind was
absorbing everything he said. The young man was
quite interested - probably because he'd only heard
the alfar side of the story. The nordic elves never moved
from their chosen homes; instead, they had created
places where humans passed through without noticing
where they were - places that weren't quite in the
"real" world, but weren't quite Underbill either.

"Then the Europeans caught up with us. At first we
sympathized with them, these settlers who were trying
to make homes with next to nothing, and certainly no
•magic, in the wilderness. We had done it ourselves, so
we knew it wasn't easy. But with them came Cold Iron,
so we had to keep our distance from them. When their
settlements came too close to our groves, we played
tricks on them, appearing to them as demons in order
to frighten them away."

Al saw the hint of what might be the edge of a wry
grin of amusement. Like a shadow drowned with sud-
den light, the hint of a smile faded, replaced with Bob's
familiar unreadable expression.

"For a while that kept us entertained. Until they
started throwing knives and shooting at us ... which
put an end to that silliness. Especially since a lot of then-
weapons used steel shot as well as lead."

"I can see that," Bob commented. "I'd say Cold Iron in
that form would ruin any elf's day - and you people
aren't immune to a lead bullet if it's placed right."

Al nodded. "All we could do then was avoid all
humans. The Indians were slaughtered, absorbed into
the white population, or relocated, so we lost our allies
there. As more humans invaded the areas we once
inhabited, those Low Court elves unfortunate enough
to have located their groves near human cities had
serious trouble. The rest of us transported our magic
nexuses and Low Court cousins to places even the
humans wouldn't want. Isolation, and seclusion,

14

Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

became necessary for us once again. And, once again,
we were bored silly."

"Bored?" Bob said. "Eyah, I can see that. Live long
enough, you do about everything there is to do."

"A hundred times. And get almighty tired of the
same faces," Al agreed. "Now the story gets local,
though. A few human lifetimes after that, we started
seeing those new-fangled horseless carriages around
Outremer. And people were challenging each other
with them." He sighed, remembering his very first look
at a moonshiner-tumed-race-car, the excitement he'd
felt. "Well, what they were doing - races along
deserted country roads or on homemade tracks - that
was just like the old challenge-at-the-crossroad game,
only better, because it was not only involving the skill
and wits of the driver, it involved the skill and wits of the
craftsman. There's only so much you can do to
improve armor past a point of refinement, but an
engine - now, there's another story."

Bob's attention wandered for a moment as their car '
roared past, then came back to Al. "So you lot began
radng? Fairgrove, Outremer, Sunrising, that bunch?"

Al nodded. "I was all for it from the beginning; I was
a smith, and I hadn't had anything to do but make
pretty toys for, oh, a couple of centuries. Some of the
rest wanted to use elvensteeds shape-changed, but the
fighters really squashed that idea."

"Wouldn't be fair," Bob said emphatically. "Elven-
steed damn near breaks Mach one if it's streamlined
enough."

"Exactly. We wanted a challenge, not a diversion. So,
we started making copies of cars from materials we
covid handle, learning by trial and error how to
strengthen tham, and copying your technology when it
got ahead of ours." Al sent a probe toward the car, but
the engine was behaving itself, and he withdrew in
satisfaction.

WHEELS OF FIRE               15

"You wouldn't have dared let people get too close,
early on, though," Bob observed. "One look under the
hood, and you'd have blown it. So that's why you stuck
to club radng?"

Al nodded, with a little regret. "We still don't dare
take too much out of the dub." He sighed. "Much as I'd
love to pit the Fayetteville crews against the Elliot team,
or the Unser or Andretd families, or - well, you've got
the picture. Best we can do. Bob, is send you fosterlings
out there and take our triumphs vicariously."

"You're here," Bob pointed out.

"I'm one of a few that can be out here," he said
soberly. "Lots of the Folk can't even be around the
amount of iron that's at the Fairgrove complex, much
less what's in the real world. I can, though it's actually
easier to handle Cold Iron magically when it's heated.
That's why I try and do my modifications while the
car's running. Cold Iron poisons us, but like any
poison, you can build up a tolerance to it, if you work at
it. I worked at it. I still have to wear gloves, and it still
gives me feedback through my magic to have to 'touch'
it, though. And I'd have third-degree burns if I
handled it bare-skinned."

Al held up his gloved hands; the Firestone crew
thought he had a petroleum allergy. That was a useful
concept, since it would explain away blisters if he
acddentally came into contact with the Death Metal.

"We could get only so close to the real cars in the
beginning," he added. "When the manufacturers
began using alternative materials - like fiberglass
bodies, carbon fiber, aluminum parts - it became that
much easier. Some humans despise the concept of the
'plastic car.' We've been encouraging it for decades!"

"Eyah," Bob said, laconically. "Never could stand
disposable cars myself. I always thought a car should
last at least twenty-five years. The next time I see a plas-
tic car I'll think differently of it."

16

Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

Al gloated a litde over the "triumph" of getting Bob
to speak, with a certain wry irony. That was actually a
stimulating conversation.

But the respite was brief. The spark of conversation
dimmed, and their attentions turned to the track, the
team - the unrelenting heat, the hammer of the sun,
the fatigue setting over even the best-rested of them.
Weariness began to settle in around him again, this
time with a vengeance. How many laps were they going to
pull in that car today? he thought, now with some
irritability. The RV sounds mighty inviting right now.

He smiled a little at the idea of a Sidhe regarding
such a vehicle as a shelter. He recalled the time he told
Gundar about the RV, the human-made Winnie that
was sheathed with the Death Metal. It took some con-
vincing before Gundar finally believed one of the Folk
could live in such a thing; Al's friend had yet to build up
a tolerance to Cold Iron and shied away.

Al sat down on a stack ofchalkmarked tires, a few
feet away from Bob. He needed to keep his distance -
not from Bob, but from the rest of the team. The Folk
had a high degree of sensitivity to energies not usually
discernible by humans. Since Al worked closely with
humans, his shields had to be much, much better than
any of the Folk who never ventured out of Underbill.
He had learned when a youngster that he was
unusually sensitive to human emotions. His shields
had required some specialized engineering to filter out
the more intense or negative feelings generated by
many humans in order to be able to work around
them. Even Bob had caused him a few problems. He
didn't have to think about the shields much anymore;

the whole process of maintaining them was pretty
much" second-nature. The only time he remembered
the network was there was when an intense emotion
somehow managed to breach it.
Like - now.

WHEELS OF FIRE               17

Now what? Al thought, becoming aware of a nagging
feeling of someone in distress, somewhere outside his
shields. He reached inside his overalls and withdrew a
small package of Keeblers and starting munching
absently, his thoughts drifting beyond his immediate
world, seeking the source of emotion. The cookie
things helped him concentrate, though he wasn't sure
why. Maybe it was all the sugar.

He bit the head off an annoyingly cheerful vanilla
figure and considered: Something strong enough to leak
through my defenses must be hot stuff. Where is it coming from?
He glanced over at Bob, who was apparently studying
an interesting oil stain on the track.

No. It's not him.

Focusing on a broader area, Alinor reached, touching
the members of the immediate crew. Their emotions
paralleled the way he was feeling right now: exhaustion
and the heartfelt desire to start stacking a few Z's, coupled
with a subtle anxiety over their delicate, powerful crea-
tion hurtling its human driver around the track. That
wasn't what he wanted. Nothing they were feeling would
be strong enough to penetrate the shields.

Too low level. Boy, someone is really hurting out there.
Where is he? Or... she?

Now Al felt a definite female flavor to the emotion,
though it was overwhelmed by sheer asexual anxiety.
Ah. A clue. That should narrow the field. He knew it was
barely possible this meant there was some danger at
the track, perhaps even a serious problem with one of
the cars.

There's always worry, but this is close to hysteria, and we don't
need that right, now, he thought, regarding the other racing
teams around him. There didn't seem to be anything
urgentgoing on, though some of the teams were nodcably
restless, probably from being out here for so long.

Don't blame them, Al thought, his search distracted for
a moment. Fm ready to go in, too.

18 Mercedes Lackey (S Mark Shepherd

Although the world of racing remained male-
dominated even to this day, a fair number of women
were on the teams. But none of them were particularly
upset about anything.

Wives? The few who came to the competition at Hal-
let were not around today. During test lap days there
just weren't that many spectators, either local natives or
those cheering the teams.

Odd. He thought. Maybe I'm looking in the wrong place.
Who said the source had to be on the track! A barbed wire
fence surrounded the entire track, forming a feeble
barrier between Hallet and the surrounding
Oklahoma territory. Immediately behind them, about
a quarter of a mile away, was an ancient homestead, lit-
tle more refined than a log cabin, that appeared to be as
old as the proverbial hills. There, perhaps? Intrigued, Al
reached toward it, diverting his dwindling supply of
energy towards the house. Immediately his senses
were assaulted by -

A bedroom overflowing with fevered physical activity -
brass bedposts pounding like jackhammers against slatted-
wood walls pitted and dented by repeated sessions in the warm
afternoons and evenings....

Alinor staggered mentally backward as he recoiled
from the emotional violence he had inadvertently wit-
nessed, the steamy interplay in the farmer's bedroom.
Whoops! Lots of intense emotion there, but not quite the kind I
was looking for. He felt as if he had been drenched in a
scalding shower, and put up every shield he had to
protect himself for a moment.

Bob made no comment

By degrees his mind gradually recovered from the
thorough scorching it had received, and in about fif-
teen -minutes Alinor ^vas able to gather energies
around him again, retrieving his scattered pieces of
empathy from around the track.

He pulled his act together, took a deep breath and

WHEELS OF FIRE

probed again. He sent his thoughts out over a wide
area, hoping to pick up the source this way, a method
that had proven effective before. The lethargic feelings
of the pit crew were again a distraction, especially since
they so nearly mirrored his own. Echo effect, he
thought, shaking his head. Tends to block what I'm really
looking for. Maybe if I got some rest, came after this with afresh
set of eyes...

The moment he considered this, a blast of emotion
pierced his reassembled shields once again.

This time he was ready for it; on it as soon as it
penetrated. Yes, it was definitely from a female. Now he
could sense some other things. The woman was a
mother. Images, riding the current of the high emo-
tion, overwhelmed him with a deep sense of loss. But
not a permanent loss - the kind caused by a death or
irrevocable separation. She must be looking for something,
Al decided, wishing his powers would provide him a
clearer picture. Or someone.

Then as if a warm, stiff breeze had blown over his
mind, the final image came into focus. Al leaped to his
feet, now in a fully alert, combat-ready stance, even
though there was nothing here to fight.

She's looking for her child. And she thinks he's in danger.

• CHAPTER TWO

A blistering wind dried the tears burning Cindy
Chase's face as she stared at the race cars surging across
the black, twisting track. She leaned against a tree in a
poor parody of comfort. The oak bark pressed uncom-
fortably through her blue cotton blouse and into her
weary muscles. This tree was the only place she had
found that was even remotely cool. Her forearms, nor-
mally not exposed to the sun, were pink, probably
burned worse than they looked. This served only to
make her more miserable. It had never seemed this hot
in Atlanta.

The heat was only one component of her misery.
She'd have gladly traded her long, well-worn jeans for
a pair of shorts. Maybe even a miniskirt, she thought in an
attempt to cheer herself. Then maybe the men would pay a
little more attention than they have been. She had never felt
so totally worthless in all her life.

She'd had less than "no" luck since she'd entered the
gates of Hallet raceway. Everything she'd tried had
come out wrong. It seemed like the people she'd
spoken with thought she was asking them for money,
not help. Then again, in her rumpled clothing, washed
and never ironed, and not her best, she probably
looked like a homeless panhandler, or even a drunk.
She had never lived out of a suitcase before and had
never realized how difficult that could be. For too long
she'd taken for granted things like a'fully stocked
bathroom, an ironing board, walk-in closets filled with
clean clothes. . .

WHEELS OF FIRE               21

... and a family.

Cindy hadn't seen her reflection in a few hours,
which was just as well. She knew she probably looked
like hell. Her makeup had long ago melted in the heat

- if she hadn't washed it away with crying.

Maybe I should go back to the car, she thought dismally,
trying not to look at the little color snapshot other son,
Jamie, she clutched in her hand. Nobody here wants to
help me. Nobody cares, and they don't even look surprised! It's
like little eight-year-old boys disappear all the time in
Oklahoma. She wasn't normally a vengeful person, but
she couldn't help wishing some of these snots would
get a taste of what it was like to have a child kidnaped by
an ex-spouse and dragged halfway across the country.

Reluctantly, her eyes were drawn to the picture. The
lower right-hand corner was wearing away where she
had been holding it constantly for the past week. The
other corners were folded and fraying. For a week a
thousand pairs of eyes had stared at this picture, with
varying degrees of interest, or more often, disinterest A
thousand minds had searched memories for a few
moments. One by one, they had sadly -or indifferently

- shaken their heads: No, I haven't seen him. Is he your son?
Have you tried the police? Are you sure he didn't just wander off?
It was as if they were all thinking: Daddies don't kidnap their
own children. It just doesn't happen. It's just too horrible to
imagine. She wanted to strangle them all.

Yes, I know. Daddies aren't supposed to kidnap their
children, take then across the state line, and hide them from
their mothers.

But sometimes, they do.

She had carefully mopped up a tear that had
splashed on the picture, leaving behind a barely notice-
able spot on the photograph's surface. It was a school
portrait taken a year before at Morgan Woods Elemen-
tary, whenJamie's hair had been much shorter and
their lives were much different; normal, almost. Before

22             Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

his father joined the cult, anyway. The Chosen Ones. Chosen
for what?

Staring from the picture, Jamie's eyes locked on to
hers, pleading, and she knew that she wouldn't be leav-
ing the track just then. She had to keep looking now, on
this broiling racetrack, just a little bit longer. As long as

there were people to ask on this planet, she'd continue
the search.

Oh,Jcmw, damn it, she thought, crying inside. Why did
your daddy do this to us?

A car roared past on the track, jolting her from the
quicksand of self-pity she was suffocating herself with.
The race reminded her why she had come to this place
to look for her son. In Georgia we used to come toplaces like
these, a racetrack, any racetrack, no matter how small. He
loved them all, unknown or famous. It didn't matter if it was
paved, or a dirt track where they banged into each other until
only one was left running.

James, senior, had been burdened with many addic-
tions, the one most harmless being race cars. Every
weekend, no matter what the weather was like, he would
trudge to the races with family in tow;Jamie, too, seemed
to have inherited his father's obsession. Cindy had
resented the incessant trips to the races, the constant
shouting over the engines, the near incoherent babble of
car techese he shared with his son. "Car racing is a
science," he had said, over and over, in the face other too-
obvious disinterest. "And a racer is asdentist."

"So was Dr. Jekyll," Cindy had retorted, failing then
to see the eerie foreshadowing of her words. Though at
the time she grew weary of the races, she now dreamed
of those days and the unity of their family then. It was a
family Donna Reed would have been jealous of. At least that
was what I thought. I neven looked under the surface of things,
never asked questions; just mopped the floors and made the beds
and kept everyone fed and happy, she thought miserably.
And it was all a lie. FU be lucky if I ever find my son.

WHEELS OF FIRE               23

She'd seen signs of danger, but she was hard-pressed
to remember when exactly they had begun. James'
drinking, for instance, had increased so gradually that
she hadn't even noticed it.

Or, she realized in retrospect, she had chosen not to
notice.

Then had come the mysterious "bowling tourna-
ments" that took all night, from which James would
return with a crazed expression - and a strong odor of
Wild Turkey -babbling about bizarre, mystical stuff, a
combination of Holy Roller and New Age crystal-
crunching. At first she thought the obvious: that he was
seeing another woman. Which didn't explain his
increased sex drive, something he would demonstrate
immediately on his return.

That was when she realized something was wrong,
but didn't want to admit it. In the beginning she was
more afraid of what was going on with him than angry
- afraid of the unknown.

The man who James became was not remotely like
the man she had married. His behavior just didn't fit
into any other reality scenarios. It was all just too weird
to understand. The strange books he wouldn't let her
see, the things he rattled on about when he came home
drunk - it didn't fit any pattern she was familiar with,
nothing she'd seen on Sally or Oprah, either.

She gave up on her friends and neighbors when
they all carried on about what a good provider James
was, and how she should be grateful and turn a blind
eye to his "little failings." "Women endure," said her
nearest neighbor, who looked like a fifties TV-Mom in
apron, pearl earrings and page-boy haircut. "That's
what we're put on earth to do."

As things worsened, she lived one day at a time and
tried not to think at all. Her son saw that his daddy was
not acting normally. She kept thinking it was a phase,

24 Mercedes Lackey f^Mark Shepherd,

like the model-building phase, or the comic-collecting
phase. He'd get tired of it and go back to cars, like he
always did.

Then came the call from his employer, the owner of
an auto parts franchise. James had worked for him as
parts counter manager for ten years. That counter had
been their version of a wishing well - it was the place
where they had met. She had been buying wiper
blades, and he'd shown her how to put them on. Fred
Hammond, his boss, was calling to see if James had
recovered from the surgery, and if so when he would
return to work. The place was a shambles; he was
sorely missed there.

She had no idea what he was talking about.
Fred explained, in a somewhat mystified tone, that
James had taken a leave of absence from his job to go
into the hospital for "serious surgery" of an unknown
nature. Fred had gone to the hospital the day after the
surgery was supposed to take place and, when check-
ing with the information desk, found no record of
James' stay, even under every imaginable spelling of
'James Chase."

But Cindy knew that James had gotten up at the
usual time and, wearing the store's uniform, sup-
posedly went off to work in the pickup. Cindy
apologized and said she couldn't imagine what was
going on, but she would have him call as soon as pos-
sible. She hung up and stared at the telephone for a
long, long dme.

She remembered that day vividly, and she would
always call it "That Day." It was the day her life changed,
irrevocably. During a single moment of "That Day" the
thin, tenuous walls of denial had crumbled like tissue. It
was the day she realized that her husband had gone com-
pletely insane. Jamie was in the backyard when his father
returned that night, and for a desperate second she con-
sidered sending him to a friend's house in anticipation of

WHEELS OF FIRE                25

a major fight She decided not to. I don't know that anything
is wrong, she thought, clinging to the last, disappearing
threads of hope. It could be something like in a movie, could
just be a mistake, a misunderstanding. Maybeit-was evena crank

coll....

He had pulled into the garage, as usual, and he
came into the kitchen still wearing the uniform shirt
with "James" embroidered over the left pocket. He
even complained about what a bad day he'd had at the
store, something about an inventory of spark plugs
that just didn't jive.

She quickly pulled herself together and gently, like a
mother, put her hands on his shoulders and kissed
him, once. Her expression must have been strained,
she would later think, since a cloud of suspicion
darkened his face. He also smelled, no, stank, of alcohol,
though his motions didn't betray intoxication. He fixed
her with a raised eyebrow as Cindy blurted out, "I got a
call from your boss today."

"Oh?" he said nonchalantly, as he reached for a beer
in the fridge. "What did he want?"

Damn you, James, she thought violenuy. You're going to
make this as difficult as possible, aren't youf "He wanted to
know how the surgery went" She stepped closer, trying
to be confrontational, knowing that she was failing.
"Actually, I would too. What is he talking about, Jim?"

He said nothing as he started for the dining nook,
paused, and retrieved another beer before planting him-
self firmly in his usual spot at the kitchen table. Timidly,
Cindy sat next to him, touching his arm. He pulled away,
as if her hand were something distasteful. They sat in
silence for several moments, enough time for James to
take a few long pulls ofbeer, as if to bolster his courage.

"I've found the glory of God," he said, and belched at
a volume only beer could produce.

"I see," Cindy had replied, though she really didn't.
"I thought you were an atheist."

26             Mercedes Lackey 6? Afor^ Shepherd

"Not anymore," he said, taking another long drink.
"I've seen the light, and the wisdom, of our leader. I
haven't been at the store, in, oh, two, three weeks."

"Just like that," she said, starting to get angry. " 'I
haven't been to the store.' " She couldn't believe it. "So
what am I supposed to do now, throw a party? You

haven't been to work and that's okay. Am I hearing this
right?"

A serene, smug expression creased the intoxicated
features. "I didn't say I haven't been going to work. I
have been blessed with new work. I work for God now,
and we will be provided for."

As if punctuating the sentence, he crumpled the
empty can into a little ball, as if it were paper, and
expertly tossed it into the kitchen trash, which was
overflowing with the crushed cans. Cindy remembered
thinking that he crushed his cans like that so that he
wouldn't have to empty the trash so often.

Outside, Jamie had climbed into his treehouse,
taking potshots at imaginary soldiers with his plastic
rifle.

"Come with me tonight," Jim had said suddenly. She
jumped at the suddenness and the fierce intensity of
his words. He gripped her arm, hard, until it hurt.
"Come and meet Brother Joseph at the Praise Meeting
tonight Please. You'll understand everything, then,"

Reluctantly, she had nodded. Then she got up and
began preparing dinner for that night.

'Jamie is coming, too," he amended. She had wanted
to object then, but saw no way she could get a babysitter
on such short notice.

"Okay, Jim," she'd said, pulling a strainer down out
of the cabinet. "Whatever you say."

Fornow, she had thought to herself. Until I get a handle
on this insanity. Then watch out.

Now she regretted not paying more attention to the
particular brand of psychosis preached that night by

WHEELS OF FIRE                27

Brother Joseph, the leader of the Sacred Heart of the
Chosen Ones. Jamie stayed close to her the entire time,
apparently sensing something wrong with the situa-
tion. They drove for hours, it seemed, far out into the
country. James'again said little, commenting only on
this or that along the road, chewing on his own teeth,
biding time. As they came closer to the place of the
Praise Meeting, Jim became less talkative. A fog thicker
than the alcohol had descended on him, and he stared
blankly ahead. Cindy wondered if he wasn't insane but
just brainwashed, like in a TV movie. That was some-
thing that could be reversed, she hoped, and the more
she thought about it, the more the brainwashing
theory began to make sense. But it made hey even
more afraid of what was to come; she wished then that
she hadn't allowed Jamie along.

The little boy had inched closer to his mother in the
front seat of the pickup truck. They had turned onto a
dirt road and were immediately confronted by two
armed men blocking their way. They were wearing
berets and camouflage fatigues; their white t-shirts had
a heart pierced by two crucifixes, with some slogan in
Latin she couldn't translate. Even with the berets, she
could tell they had been shaved bald. They brandished
AK-47 machine guns; she knew about the guns from a
Clint Eastwood movie she'd seen about the Grenada
invasion. The weapon had a distinctive look; banana
clips curled from under the stocks. Jim stopped briefly
as the men shone blinding flashlights into the truck
and quickly inspected the bed, which was empty. With
maybe half a dozen words exchanged, the guards had
waved them through.

"Those were machine guns, Jim," she'd observed,
trying to sound casual and not betray the cold fear that
had been clenching her stomach. "Are they legal in this
state?"

"You're in God's state now."

28

Mwcedes Lackey 6f Mark Shepherd

Jim said nothing more as they drove on.
Cindy had closed her eyes, wondering what the
blazes she was getting into.

Finally the truck slowed, and she had opened her eyes.
Ahead of them, at the top of a hill, she'd seen a huge man-
sion, fully lit, with rows of cars and trucks, mostly
pickups, parked in front. More men in berets directed
them with metal flashlights the size of baseball bats, and
one led them to a parking spot. When they got out,
Cindy noticed a .45 automatic bolstered at his side.

"Brother Jim! Praise the Lord! You've brought your
family into the blessing of the Heart, God bless," the
soldier had greeted, slapping Jim hard on his back. Jim
mumbled something Cindy couldn't hear, but
whatever it was the clownlike grin on the man's face
didn't waver.

"Momma, I don't want to go,"Jamie'd said plain-
tively, pulling back, lagging behind. "They got guns,
Momma, ever'where. They're real guns, aren't they?"

"It's all right, hon," Cindy'd said, knowing it was a
lie. It felt like she was pulling the words out with pliers,
and all the time she had been thinking. Please God or
whatever you are, let us get through this nonsense intact!

The main sitting room of the huge mansion had
been converted into a churchlike sanctuary. Cigarette
smoke hung heavily in the air, amid a low rumble of
voices. Jim had led them to some empty metal folding
chairs on the end of a row, near a wall. There were
hundreds of people there; as she glanced around at
those nearest, she found an amazing number of them
to be normal country folk, many of them elderly
couples. Towards the front of the assembly there was
an entire section of middle-class yuppies, some drink-
ing designer-bottled spring water. And over to the side
she saw what looked like homeless people, dirty,
grubby, lugging ragged backpacks. Drinking out of
paper bags. Salt of the Earth.

WHEELS OF FIRE                29

This guy has all kinds, Cindy remembered thinking, as
they awkwardly made their way to the end of the row.
What is it about him that could make him so appealing to these
people ? These transients over here, they probably have nowhere
else to go. But those guys, up in the front. They look like they
just walked off Wall Street. What gives?

More soldiers stood at attention here, thin, lean men
in berets, bald like the guards at the gate. Spaced from
each other like stone carvings, about twelve feet apart,
they watched those around them with their hands
behind their backs. Solemn. Unyielding. At the end of
their row was a young man, about eighteen, who still
had his short, blond hair. He looked like he had been
pumping iron since he was eight. Tattooed clumsily on
his forearm was a crooked swastika, the kind of artwork
kids did to themselves out of boredom, with needles
and ball pen ink. He gazed forward idly, solidly, as if
cast in steel, looking like he hadn't blinked in a year.

I don't like this. I don't like this at all, Cindy had thought,
holding Jamie closer. And it hasn't even started. This has
been one big mistake. I can handle this madness myself, but I
should never have brought Jamie into this nest of snakes!

'James," she'd whispered urgently, tugging at his arm.
"I want to leave. Right now! These people are crazy!"

"Just relax," Jim had said, yawning. "It will be so
much better if you just relax. You haven't even heard
what you came to hear. It really does fall into place. It
becomes very clear, once you hear Brother Joseph
speak."

At some point during her husband's little rote
speech her eyes fell on the stage, and the large emblem
on the wall behind it, lit from beneath by candlelight. It
was a heart pierced by two crucifixes, the same symbol
worn on the shirts of the soldiers around them, and
was like no church decoration she had ever seen. It had
looked like the kind of "art" that was airbrushed on
black velvet and sold at flea markets. Totally tacky.

30 Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

A hush fell on the crowd and the lights dimmed, ever
so subdy. Large, silver collection plates die size of hub-
caps were passed around, supervised by the armed
men in berets. When one came their way James
dropped a crisp, new one hundred dollar bill into the
till - one among the dozens there already.

'Jim! What are you doing?" she'd gasped, when she
saw the money drop. The plate had already passed her,
she had realized in frustration, or she would have sur-
reptitiously salvaged it as it went past. Jim said nothing,
smiling blandly as the plate continued down the row.
People were dropping large bills, multiple bills,
watches, jewelry; she watched, stupefied, as the wealth
amassed. She sat back in the creaking metal chair and
folded her arms, in a mild state of shock. We don't have
that kind of money to give to a bunch of lunatics! Have they
drugged him, or is he just suddenly retarded?

"Only tithing members of the Sacred Heart will be
saved. Is this your first meeting?" an elderly woman
behind her had asked. Cindy made a point of ignoring
her, and the woman sniffed loudly in rebuttal.

"Touchy, isn't she?" the women said behind her.

James laughed in a goofy snort. At what, Cindy had
no idea.

Beside her,Jamie whimpered. "Momma, I want to
go home," he said. "This place feels icky."

"It feels icky to me, too," she'd whispered in his right
ear. "It will be over with soon."

"Hey, what's wrong, buckaroo?" the blond kid said,
kneelingdown next toJamie. "This your first time here?"

It's his first and his last, she wanted to scream, but as the
boy kneeled down, she noticed the assault rifle
strapped to his back. She didn't want to argue with
firearms. Jamie's sudden receptiveness to the boy
didn't help either. Her son traced a figure eight over
the crude swastika on the boy's forearm, apparendy
fascinated by it.

WHEELS OF FIRE                31

"It doesn't come off," Jamie said. "What is it?"

"It's a tattoo," the boy said, sounding friendly in spite
of the weird trappings. "And it's our salvation." He
looked up, meeting Cindy's stare with his soft, blue
eyes, a disarming expression that somehow took the
edge off the evil she was beginning to feel from him. He
smiled at Cindy boyishly, and from his back pocket he
pulled out a Tootsie Pop and gave it to Jamie, who
attacked and devoured it hungrily. He's almost normal -
at least on the surface. But he has Naa crosses tattooed on his
arm and calls them "salvation." A boy Jamie could look like
sameday, she thought, in agony. Why did I have to bring
him to this godawful place!

The lights dimmed further, and from somewhere
appeared the minister of the church. Brother Joseph,
didn't Jim say? No less than four armed soldiers escorted
him to the podium, knelt, and when Brother Joseph
dismissed them, took their places at die four corners of
the stage, glaring at the audience. The quiet was
absolute. Brother Joseph had peered into the
audience, his burning eyes sweeping the crowd like the
twin mouths of a double-barreled shotgun. In the utter
stillness, his eyes tracked through the different faces
and setded on Cindy. He smiled briefly then, and con-
tinued his inspection, lord of all he surveyed. Cindy
had thought she was going to collapse when their eyes
locked.

Jesus! Cindy thought in dismay. Those eyes.

He really thinks he's God's own Gift. And my crazy husband
believes him.

"Momma," Jamie whispered. "Can I have a tattoo
like his when we get home?"

"Shhhhhh!" the woman behind them admonished.
"Quiet. Brodier Joseph is about to speak."

What happened for the next three hours was a
vague blur of hate images, from which she retained
little. It wasn't a blackout, or even a full lapse of

32 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

memory. She retained pieces, fragments, of the "ser-
mon," and she wasn't certain if there was any coherent
How to begin with. Brother Joseph vomited a vile con-
coction of religion and white male supremacy that
would have made a Klansman blush. That was what
she remembered, anyway. The topic wavered from
fundamentalist Southern Baptist preachings, to New
Age channeling, to an extended foray into Neo-
Nazism, sprinkled liberally with passages Cindy
remembered from high school history class - Mem
Kampf. The audience sat, enthralled; it wasn't the ser-
mon that scared her so much as the unthinking
acceptance of the congregation. Brothel-Joseph could
have said absolutely anything, she Suspected, and they
would have bought it all without question.

After the sermon Cindy had made it clear to her hus-
band she wasn't about to stay around and socialize, she
wanted out now, and when she reminded Jim that she
had her own set of truck keys he finally relented and,
not particularly angry at having to leave, drove them
home. In silence.

The next day, a Saturday, Cindy tried to broach the
subject of his employment and, specifically, his income.
James brushed her aside, saying that she would never
understand, and asked her if she had any Jewish ances-
tors. She did, but didn't think it wise to tell him. He
went out and spent the rest of the day playing with his
son, and acted as if she didn't exist. On Sunday, he left
for somewhere he didn't specify and returned late that
night, almost too drunk to walk, and fell into bed.

On Monday James continued to live the lie, getting
up at six and dutifully donning his uniform. He men-
tioned the problem with the spark plugs and other
things she knew he would never deal with that day, and
after he was gone Cindy didn't answer the phone, for
fear it was his boss. She sentJamie off to school, the

WHEELS OF FIRE                33

only normal thing to happen in her life, the only thing
that made sense.

The next day was the same, and the day after. She
paid the bills out of the dwindling bank account, made
sureJamie did his homework, and watched her hus-
band deteriorate. Cindy also began contemplating
divorce, but taking the first tentative step towards
breaking up, like calling a lawyer, was too terrifying for
words. It was easier to live the lie along with her hus-
band and hope they would live happily ever after.

Weeks passed, and James Chase began coming
home later and later in the evening. For a while she
kept track of the odometer, and going by the miles
stacking up on the pickup, determined he was
probably going out to that mansion where the "Praise
Meeting" was held. If not that, then God only knew
where he'd been. Up and on the job for Brother
Joseph, every day, driving all over on errands for the
church, the Sacred Part of the Frozen Ones or some
such nonsense. She began to withdraw herself, never
going out except to buy food, and that the absolutely
cheapest she could find. She prayed the checks
wouldn't bounce after every trip.

Then finally Jim stayed out overnight, then two,
then three nights in a row. Cindy wasn't terribly
surprised; what surprised her was that he returned
sober once or twice. Sober, yet untalkative. Whatever
he was so fervendy pursuing during the day, whatever
his life had become as a new member of the Sacred
Heart of the Chosen Ones, it wasn't his wife's place to

know.

She had taken to sleeping in a bit more each day as
her frustration built. She got up long enough to send
Jamie off to school, then returned to bed. Sleep
afforded her one way to escape the craziness the
church had conjured.

She went back to answering the phone and talking to

34 Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

the neighbors, trying to hide the pain with makeup
and forced smiles. Then one particular morning she
answered the phone, after James had left for whatever
it was he did during the day. It wasJamie's school; with
a start she realized she hadn't seen him off that morn-
ing. The principal's secretary wanted to know if
everything was all right and reminded Cindy that call-
ing the parents was procedure when a child didn't
show up for class. Uncertain why she was covering for
him, she explained that he was home ill and that she
had simply forgotten to notify the school. She hung up
and began running through the house, calling Jamie's
name, looking for some clue as to his whereabouts.

Just when she thought she was going to lose her
mind she found the note taped on the refrigerator
door. It was in James' handwriting and it did ease her
mind - for a moment. It simply told her not to worry,
that he had taken Jamie with him for the day, though it
didn't specify exactly why.

Even though she didn't suspect kidnaping then, the
note opened up a Pandora's box of ominous pos-
sibilities. But before she could think coherently
enough to worry about what might be happening to
her son, the phone rang again. The bank was calling to
tell her that five checks had bounced, and that both the
share and draft accounts had been closed weeks before
by James Chase.

She hung up, numb with shock.

She ran for the bedroom. A brief, hysterical inspec-
tion showed that no clothes had been taken, at least
that she could tell. His shaver, shotgun, a World War II
Luger, a Craftsman socket set, were all still in the
house, and wouldn't be if James had really left. Not
wanting to even think about the notion, she decided
that it was too crazy even for James. She spent an
anxious day cleaning, releasing nervous energy,
venting her frustration. Around noon, she had an

35

WHEELS OF FIRE

anxiety attack, and for ten minutes she couldn't take a

breath.

Jamie is with those lunatics, she thought, repeatedly.

She finally calmed herself enough to breathe, but she
knew she could not go on like this, day after day,
wondering what twist her husband's insanity would

take this dme.

Late that afternoon the pickup pulled into the garage,
its bumper tapping the back wall hard enough to make
an audible crack. Cindy heard her son crying. She ran to
find Jamie in tears, her husband drunk, and a thousand
unanswered questions staring her in the face.

"Oh, ]amie, Jamie, what's wrong?" She'd held him,
getting no sense out of him. "What happened'? Did your
daddy do something to you? Did Daddy hurt you?"

She looked around furtively to see if Daddy was
around and within earshot; inside the kitchen, she
heard the hiss of a beer tab.

"No. Wasn't Daddy," Jamie blurted, through the tears.
"It was Br... Brothel-Joseph." He sniffled, glancing over
her shoulder, apparently looking for James. "Please,
Mommy, don't let him take me back there ever again!"

She held him closer, forcing back some fear and
trembling other own.

James stayed long enough to finish off the last of the
beer and left alone with vague promises to return soon.
As soon as he was gone she called a women's shelter and
briefly explained her situation. Soon a motherly, older
woman arrived to pick them up. At the shelter, a young
graduate lawyer eager to log some court experience was
waiting for them. He took down the essential informa-
tion and assured her that she had a good case, and would
probably get full custody. Cindy had a problem with that
word, probably, but got on with the business of settling in
at the shelter and quizzed Jamie on what exactly had
happened at the Chosen Ones' church.

On a bed in a common room they shared with

36 Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

several other women and their children, Jamie sat and
tried to tell his mother what had taken place in the
church, describing an odd ritual on the stage in the
meeting hall, in which he was the central figure. Twice
her son tried to tell her what happened, getting to a
certain point in the explanation, whereupon he would
burst into hysterical sobs.

What happened back there? she wondered, half sick
with fear that they had done something truly evil and
harmful, emotionally, to her son. Divorce seemed to be
the only answer, if she was going to protect her child.

Her uncertainties hardened into resolve. Never
again. That psycho is never coming near my son again!

She steeled herself for a fight, for some attempt by
James to counter her actions - but nothing happened.
The court proceedings went smoothly and without
incident. There were twenty or thirty other child abuse
cases pending against the cult in question, some of
which the police were already investigating. Thejudge
expressed the belief that Cindy had tolerated far more
than she should have, and if James Chase had
bothered to show up for the hearings he would have
no doubt received a severe tongue-lashing. During the
week preceding the hearing Cindy returned to the
house with two large men from the shelter and
retrieved a few missed items, and while there she dis-
covered that her husband had apparently left with his
clothes, the shotgun, the Luger and the tools. Though
the lawyer had papers served to James at the house, it
now appeared he had left for good. Taking no chances,
and at the strong urging of her companions, veterans
of situations like these, she remained at the shelter
undl after the hearing. With the help of the shelter, she
got a part-time job at Burger King. Thejudge granted
Cindy Chase full custody other son, ownership of the
house, and declared their marriage null and void.
Finally.

WHEELS OF FIRE                37

She had thought it was over, that they were safe.

That/awe was safe.

Then, on Friday of the fourth week following the
divorce, Cindy waited on the porch forJamie's school-
bus. Just like always.

The bus squeaked to a halt, disgorged its screaming
passengers, and shuddered away. There was no Jamie.

Cindy rushed inside and called the school. The
teachers told her that Jim had taken him out of class an
hour before the end of the day.

Hysterical, she notified the police, but the response
was underwhelming. After an hour an officer showed up
at the school to take a report. If the school's principal and
Jamie's teacher hadn't stayed to comfort her, she would
have gone over the edge right there. There wasn't a
whole lot they could do, the officer said ... there were so
many missing children, so few personnel, so little budget
She explained that this was different, that she knew her
husband had taken him, there were witnesses for cris-
sakes, and the cult was crazy, they had to do something,
right now before they...

The officer had sadly shaken his head and told her
they would do what they could. From his tone, how-
ever, it sounded like it wouldn't be much.

From memory Cindy drove to the cult's mansion,
where she had been to her first Praise Meeting. She
took several wrong turns, but after hours ofrelendess
driving found the huge house. Realty signs in the front
lawn declared the property for sale. The house, itself,
was empty. Cleaned out.

The police, as she feared, weren't much help. She
found herself in the position of thousands of other
parents whose ex-spouses had kidnaped their
children. Since she couldn't tell them where the cult
could have gone, their options were limited. Through
the parents of other child abuse victims, she learned
that other members of the Chosen Ones had also

38 Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

vanished. Bank accounts and personal property,
mostly cars and trucks, went with them. It was clear to
Cindy that the cult had staged a mass exodus from
Georgia. To where, she had no idea.

The only thing of value that James had left behind was
the house. That, Cindy surmised, was only because it was
too heavy to take with him. She needed money, lots of it,
to search for her son. She double-mortgaged the house
and sold everything out of it she could, all of the applian-
ces and Jim's stereo, which miraculously had been left
behind. With a certain wry satisfaction she sold her
engagement and wedding rings to a pawnshop and used
the money in part to pay for the divorce. Robert Weil,
"Private Investigator" suggested they first begin by put-
ting Jamie's picture on milk cartons. The Missing
Children's advocacy group was very helpful.

The rest other time and energy she spent keeping
herself together. There were any number of times that
she could have slipped over the edge and gone totally
bonkers, and often she wondered if she had.
Occasionally she slept, but most nights she did not. Her
employers were sympathetic at first, but as the weeks
passed, so did the sympathy. She began receiving
warning "talks," suggestions by her male boss that she
"pull herself together" and "let the professionals
handle it." She sensed an unspoken feeling that her
boss felt she was to blame for the entire mess....

Robert Weil, "Private Investigator," turned out to be
next to worthless to her search. He just wasn't doing any-
thing, so she fired him. Then the leads began to trickle in
from the Center for Missing and Exploited Children,
information that was the direct result of the milk carton
photographs. From Atlanta they began to track him west,
from three different sightings a day apart. She stocked
up the Celica with what she could from the house, quit
her job (just before they were about to fire her, she
suspected), and left, taking up the trail herself.

WHEELS OF FIRE                39

The money disappeared quickly. She checked in peri-
odically with the Missing Children's group, and finally
learned that the two had actually been spotted by several
witnesses in northeastern Oklahoma. Driving all night,
she arrived in Tulsa around daybreak, and after she
caught a few hours of sleep she asked the desk clerk if he
knew of any race tracks in the area. Not even involve-
ment in the cult had stopped Jim's addiction to racing
and cars before the divorce. The only track the clerk was
aware of was Hallet; he knew there were others, he just
didn't know where. She made plans to search out each
one, provided her money held out.

Right now it looked like she needed a miracle. I guess
nobody's handing out miracles today.

She stifled a sob, put the picture away in her purse,
and started looking for a restroom. If I'm going to get
anywhere with this I've got to make myself presentable. A place
to freshen up, maybe. I'm not going all the way back to the
motel. I don't have money to stay there much longer, anyway.
She trudged towards what looked like facilities and
fought back a wave of dizziness. The heat -

Her vision blurred, seeing blue sky, with the kind
face of an aging man in the center, like a Victorian pic-
ture of a saint. She blinked again.

"Are you all right, miss?" the man said in a rusty
voice. "You keeled plumb over."

She was lying on her back in the grass, and there was
a sore place on the back of her head. The man helped
her to sit up a little; from his blue coveralls she assumed
he was connected to the track somehow. He held a cup
of lemonade to her lips, which she gulped gratefully.

"Whoa, now, hold on! Not so fast. You'll make your-
self sick again," the man said. Around them, an
unwanted audience ofgawkers slowly formed in the
thick sludge of the heat.

"What happened?" she asked stupidly, feeling

40 MercedeS Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

vulnerable in her supine position, the words just com-
ing out automatically. She knew what had happened
Her brain just wasn't working properly yet.

"Well, you fainted, little missy! Would you like me to
call an ambulance?"

"No!" she exclaimed, not out of fear for doctors, but
out of concern for how much it would cost.

"Well, okay then, if you think you're all right," he
said, still sounding concerned. "You know, we have a
first aid tent near the concession stand," the man said.
"If you're suffering from heatstroke the thing to do
would be to get over there."

"No, I'm fine, really," she said, and she meant it.
With the cooling lemonade her energy returned
quickly. "I think I'll sit here a while and drink this, if
that's okay with you. I guess the heat just got to me."

"Of course it's okay. If you want a refill, just holler,"
the man said, winking in a friendly way. There wasn't
anything sexual about it, something for which she was
glad. He reminds me of my father, when he was alive, Cindy
thought, looking at the deep wrinkles in the man's face,
which seemed to be made of stone. When he winked,
the wrinkles fanned out over his face like cracks in a
windshield. He leaned closer, looking like he thought
he might have recognized her. "I've never seen you at
this track before, have I?"

"Well, I've been here all day," she said, trying and
failing to keep the frustration out of her voice. "Maybe
you can help me," she added, feeling a slight surge of
hope. Cindy pulled the photograph other child out of
her purse and handed it to the man. "I'm here looking
for my son. His name isJamie...."

She hadn't intended to tell him her life's story, but he
seemed content to sit and listen to her, shaking his head
and tskmg at the right moments. Finally, she thought, as
she prattled on about her husband, the cult, and her
missing son, somebody who'll listen to me!

WHEELS OF FIRE                41

Finally the old man nodded. "Miss, you ain't had
nothin' but bad luck, that's for sure. Sounds to me like
this fella is a pretty hard-core racing fan. And hard-care
fans tend to hang out with the pros in the pits. I haven't
seen your son, but maybe someone else has. Would ya
like to come have a look see?"

Without hesitation she accepted, and soon found
herself waiting for a break in the race, so that they
could cross over to the pits. When the break came,
another wave of heat came over her, and she thought
with a touch of panic that she was going to pass out.

Not again, she thought, and willed her strength back.

The moment passed, without her new friend notic-
ing. He escorted her - with an odd touch of gallantry
- past a short cinderblock wall where a man waited,
watching who came in. One nod from her heaven-sent
escort allowed them through.

When she entered the pits her senses were assaulted
with the sights and smells of racing. Everywhere she
walked, she stepped over oil-marked concrete, bits and
pieces of race cars lay strewn everywhere, usually in
the form of washers, bolts and brackets - she thought
irresistibly of a dinosaur graveyard, strewn with bones.

A blast of something aromatic and potent, which she
identified a moment later as high-octane racing fuel,
threatened another fainting spell.

Too overwhelmed by sight and sound, smell and
vibration, she stood, trapped like an animal caught in
the headlights.

Then the sound, at least, stopped. In the temporary
absence of engine roar, she found her ears ringing, and
when she turned to see where her friend had gone she
saw him rushing off to a race car that had just pulled in.
I guess Fm on my own now.

The people she saw were either frantically going
somewhere in a huge hurry, or doing nothing at all,
some even looking bored. It was this latter group that

42             Mercedes Lackey &f Mark Shepherd

she tried to talk to, praying under her breath that she
wouldn't get in the way. She hoped she knew enough
from her racing experiences with her husband to tell
when a crew was seconds away from swarming over a
car, or when they were just trying to kill dme.

She approached one team, who seemed more intent
on barbecuing ribs than changing tires on a race car.
Men stood around a portable grill, holding beer cans in
beefy fists, and stepping back when the grease flared.
Some of them were apparently drunk, and while this
reminded her uncomfortably of her ex-husband, she
went up to one anyway.

"Hi, I'm looking for my son, this is a picture," she
said, holding the photograph out. "Have you seen
him?"

The man's features softened briefly, but when he saw
the picture, they hardened. He said curtly, "No, I
haven't," and looked at her as if she didn't belong
there.

Another, younger man, who might have even been
the driver, smiled broadly and shook his head, and
then promptly ignored her presence, as if she had
faded into invisibility. She asked the next man, and the
next, feeling like a scratched record.

No, we haven't seen your son. Are you sure you're in the
right, placed

Then, one large man staggered over to join the
group, a hulk with a barrel-chested torso that could
have stored a beer keg, and probably had.

"I might have," the big man said, belching loudly.
He's so much like Jim, she thought, wondering if this man
might even know him. "But then again, I might not.
What's the story, lady?"

"He's my son," she repeated. Does he know something?
she thought madly, hoping that maybe he did. Has he
seenJamie or is he just playing with me? "My husband, his
name is James Chase, do you know him? He sort of

43

WHEELS OF FIRE

tookJamie away, we're divorced and I got full custody.
Tames took him out of school, in Atlanta, and they were

last seen in Tulsa."

"Maybe you should go look in Tulsa," he said rudely.
But then he continued, his eyes narrowing with
arrogant belligerence. "And what's this crap you're
saying about kidnaping, anyway? And how the hell did
you get full custody? Must have cost you a lot to take a

man's son away from him."

Cindy became very quiet, shocked into silence. The
man moved in closer to her, exhaling beer fumes in her

face.

"What kind of a mother are you, anyway? Jesus

Christ, lady, if you were a decent mother maybe your
son wouldn't have gone away with your old man.

Would he?"

His unfaimess and hostility conspired with die heat
to glue her to the spot, unable to move, like a
frightened kitten cowering away from a pit bull. The
man continued the tirade, with angry enthusiasm -
really getting into shouting at a woman half his size -
but she didn't hear any of it. The heat was catching up
with her again, and a race car started up and was rev-
ving loudly nearby, drowning out all the senseless
noises the man was attempting to make.

But in the nightmare the day had become, she could
read his lips. Let it go. Just let it go, lady, the boy's probably
happier with his father anyway. Go find another hubby and
raise some more brats.
The cars roared away.
"And no real woman would -"
That was the last straw. Unable to take it anymore,
without even the noise of the nearby car to completely
take away the man's unpleasantness, she turned
violently and stumbled away. She didn't want him to
have the pleasure of watching her cry.

She walked slowly, so that her blurring eyes wouldn't

44             Mercedes Lackey W Mark Shepherd

betray her into a fall, vaguely aware of the man shout-
ing behind her, unaware of where exactly she was. The
tears surged forth now, breaking through a wall she
didn't even know was there. She leaned on an oil bar-
rel, faint again from the heat, and let the tears come
freely. There weren't many witnesses here, and what
few there were didn't care, didn't matter....

"Al, what is it?" Bob asked, moderately concerned.
"Anything important?"

Alinor shrugged, feeling the source of the emotional
overload coming closer. She must be in the pit area by now.
Perhaps I shouldn't involve Bob yet... until I know a little
ware about what's going an here.

"Oh; I don't think so," Alinor said, forcing a yawn,
but Bob didn't look like he believed him. He knows me
too well, Al thought. He doesn't look it from the outside, but
for a young human he's darned sharp.

"I'm sure you won't mind if I tag along. The car's
going in anyway," Bob said slyly, as more of a statement
instead of a question.

"Yeah, sure," Al said, too casually. To say "no" would
certainly dp him off. Perhaps the gods intend for him to be
involved in this one after all.

"I've got a - feeling. Not sure if it's anything," Al
said conversationally, as they walked toward the core of
the paddock, the pit area where most of the cars came
in to refuel." Might be nothing, but then it might be -"

Al stopped in mid-sentence as he watched Bob's eyes
tracking like an alert scout's, first to the racetrack, then
to a group of men clustered around a grill.

Then came the emotion again, piercing his mage-
shields like nothing he'd felt in a long time, and he put
one hand up to his temple, reflexively.

"Is this what got your attention?" Bob asked calmly,
pointing at a large man who was yelling at a small
woman holding a photograph. From the emotion and

WHEELS OF FIRE                 45

thought-energies he was picking up now, Al knew that
the picture was of the child she had lost. He had seen
the man before, and knew he was a first-class
misogynist, a male chauvinist pig, an egotist, a jerk. A

general pain in the rear.

In short, Al didn't like him. And he would be
perfectly pleased to have a chance to show the bastard

up.

Saying nothing to Bob, he approached the pair. He

privately hoped Bob would stay back and remain out of
the situation long enough for him to find out precisely
what was going on.

The woman paled and turned away from the bully,
obviously fighting back tears. When the man took one
step after her, Al intervened, wishing he dared land the
punch he longed to take, but knowing he had to be far
more surreptitious than that.

You don't need to follow her, Al sent, winding the
impulse past the man's beer-fogged conscious. Go back

to the party. Leave her alone.

The man paused, shook his head, and crushed the
beer can in his right hand.

He hadn't noticed Al's little thought-probe as com-
ing from outside himself. Now Al was confident
enough about keeping his powers a secret that he sent
one final nudge: She doesn't matter. Besides, there's more beer

at the barbecue.

This last item seemed to get his attention away from
his victim. He turned and walked uncertainly back to
the barbecue, directly for the ice chest, ignoring the
ribs being served. No doubt of where his priorities lay.

Alinor waited a moment before approaching the
woman, who had obviously taken more than she could
bear this afternoon. For a moment he thought she was
going to pass right out and fall into the barrel she was
leaning against.

She is in such pain over her child, Al anguished with her,

46 Mercedes Lackey fsf Mark Shepherd

waiting for the right moment before going to her. I must
helpher. Thereismoneaboutthisthanisapparentonthesuiface.

"Excuse me," Al said softly, coming up behind her.
"Are you... all right?"

She sniffled, as if trying to get herself under control,
then turned slowly around. Their eyes met briefly
before she looked away, and he sensed she was embar-
rassed about her appearance. Her eyes were puffy and
red; obviously, she'd cried more than once today.
"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, between sniffles.

Al calmly watched her, waiting for her to respond to
the fact that he was not buying her story for even a
minute.

Her jaw clenched, and she choked on a sob. "No. I'm
not all right," she said, contradicting herself, but finally
admitting the obvious. "Please. I don't know who you
are, but I need help. This guy helped me get in here,
but I don't know how to get out. The rules. Whatever."

And then she burst into sobs again, turning away
from him.

Saying nothing, knowing that there was nothing he
could say for the human that could possibly help her at
that moment, he took her hand to lead her to a little
grassy area near the track that was reasonably quiet
and shaded. He sent Bob for cold drinks and told him
where they'd be. Bob rolled his eyes, but cooperated
nonetheless. Al ignored him.

He'll remember soon enough what it means to help a human
in distress, Al thought. /(will all come back clearly to him
when he sees what's wrong. He was on the receiving end once. I
don't know what it is involved in this yet, but I can tell this isn't
going to be light.

He saw to it that she was seated in a way that would
keep her back to most of the track-denizens, and
handed her a fistful of napkins to dry her tears.

Then he waited. The revelation was not long in com-
ing. When she had composed herself sufficiently she

47

WHEELS OF FIRE

showed him her son's picture and began her plea, her
words tumbling over each other as if she feared he
would not give her a chance to speak them. "That's
Tamie, my son. My husband ... I mean, my ex-husband
kidnaped him from his school in Atlanta, and -"

"Now wait, slow down," Al said softly. "Start from the

beginning. Please."

Cindy nodded, took a deep breath, then explained
to him what had really happened, telling him about the
cult and the eerie change that had come over her hus-
band. The parts about her ex-husband's alcoholism
reminded him of Bob's past history, and Al was grateful
the young mechanic returned with the drinks in time
to hear it. He saw Bob's eyes narrow and his lips com-
press into a thin, hard line, and knew that the human
had been won over within three sentences.

The story aroused many deep reactions in him, from
the near-insdncdve protective urges shared by all elves,
to the feeling that this was only the surface of a larger
problem. There was more here than just one little boy

being kidnaped.

There is death here, he thought, with a shudder he con-
cealed. None of the Folk cared to think about death,
that grim enemy who stole the lives of their human
friends and occasionally touched even the elven ranks.
But he knew it, with the certainty that told him his flash
of intuition was truth. There is death involved, and pain.
And not just this woman's pain, or her son's. He was not one
of the Folk gifted with Fore-Seeing, with the ability to
sense or see the future - but he had a premonition
now. This wasn't just about one small boy.

As she finished the story, Al studied the photograph,
engraving the image permanently in his mind. Now I
must help, he thought with determination. I could never
turn away from something like this. And, with ironic
self-knowledge, It was time for another adventure, anyway.

"And that's it," Cindy concluded, as if she felt a little

48 Mercedes Lackey S3'Mark Shepherd

more heartened by his willingness to listen. "I'm just
about at the end of the line. And I think I'm going crazy
sometimes. Can you, I don't know, ask around? I don't
know what else to do."

"I'll do anything I can to help you," Al said firmly, look-
ing to Bob for support. The human shrugged - both at
Al and at his own willingness to get involved - sighed
and rolled his eyes again ever so slightly. .

"I'll take that as a yes," Al told him, then turned to
Cindy. "When you feel a little better, we can start asking
around the track. I know the people here who would
be sharp enough to notice something odd about your
ex-husband and your son." He laughed a little, hoping
to cheer her a bit. "Most folks here, if it doesn't have
four wheels, it doesn't exist."

She looked from him to Bob and back again, grateful
- and bewildered. "Th-th-thank you, Al. And Bob,"
she said at last, looking as if she didn't quite believe in
her luck. "What can I do to, you know, pay you back?"

She sounded apprehensive, and Al did not have to
pry to know what she thought might be demanded in
return for this "friendly" help. " Not a thing, "Al quickly
supplied. "But I do need a little more information
about your son and your ex. We know he likes races.
What about some other things he enjoys? What might
attract him here in particular, and where else might he
go around here?"

No, he had not been mistaken; the relief she felt at
his reply was so evident it might as well have been writ-
ten on her forehead. Thank God, I won't have to - he isn't
going to-

Al sighed. Why was it that sex could never come
simply, joyfully, for these people? Along with the curse of
their mortality came the curse of their own inhibitions.

Ah, what fools these mortals be, he thought, not for the
first time - and turned his attention back to the far
more important matter of a child in danger.

CHAPTER THREE

Jamie winced. Jim Chase ignored him and banged
on the pickup truck's balky air-conditioner, which was
threatening to break down for the third time that week.
The once-cold air was turning into a warm, fetid blast,
and anybody with sense would just roll down the win-
dows. Jamie perched on the sticky plastic seat beside his
father, staring glumly at the Oklahoma countryside.
He counted cows as they passed a pasture, something
Jim had taught him to better pass the time. Meanwhile,
the hot air coming from the truck's dash made sweat
run down his neck, and he was trying his best to ignore

it.

Jim's large fist pounded the air-conditioning controls,
which had no effect on the temperature; the interior of
the truck was quickly turning into a sauna. Jamie calmly
reached over and turned off the blower, then cranked
down his own window. The air outside was just as hot,
but was drier, and at least it didn't smell of mildew.

His father muttered something about a compressor,
a word Jamie barely recognized. It sounded expensive,
which meant it would stay unfixed. Jim was still a
genius when it came to technical stuff. But when he
was angry, or when he drank joy juice, the genius went
away. Like now.

Jamie decided to see if at least he could get his father
to stop doing something stupid. "Daddy, isn't the com-
pressor in the motor? Under the hood?"

Jim's calm words seemed to come with great effort.
"Yes, son. The compressor is in the motor."

50 Mercedes Lackey ff Mark Shepherd

"Then why are you bangin' on the dash like that?"

Jim laughed, a little, at that. "Good question," he
said, leaving the dash alone and unbuttoning his shirt
in the heat. Jamie wished he had brought more of his
clothes on this trip; he'd managed to scrounge around
for a used tank top at the vacation place, and it was the
only clothing he had that was cool enough to wear on
these excursions. Even though it came down to his
knees, and felt more like an apron, it was more com-
fortable than the one shirt he still had.

Overall, this had been the longest and weirdest vaca-
tion he'd ever been on, especially since Mom wasn't
with them. At the vacation place, however, he had been
to a kind of school, which didn't make any sense at all.
You don't go to school on vacation, he tried to tell his dad,
but his father had insisted. Jamie attended class in a
single room with one strange old lady named Miss
Agatha who hated blacks and Jews and had a big gap
between her front teeth. She taught them her hate
along with readin' and 'rithmatic, or at least tried. Hate
was wrong, he knew, but since he was surrounded by
adults who seemed to think differently, he didn't ques-
tion them.

Much.

The classroom was filled with other children who were
just as confused as he was. Most of them were there be-
cause they weren't old enough to be in the Junior Guard.
The kids in the Junior Guard didn't have to go to school,
so it was something Jamie wanted to join, if for no other
reason than to get away from Miss Agatha. He even lied
and told them his age was ten and not eight; you had to
be at least ten to join the Guard and use an AK-47. But
they hadn't believed him.

Jamie had thought of this vacation as one big adven-
ture, in the beginning. But in the past couple of days,
he had begun to sense something wrong. He started
asking his father questions - about the whereabouts

51

WHEELS OF FIRE

of his mother, and why he was gone from his school for
so long. And why he didn't have any spare clothes.

He'd kept up an incessant barrage of questions,
couching the questions in innocence so that he would
stay out of trouble. He might only be eight, but one
thing he knew was his dad. James had bought it at face
value, looking pained, not annoyed, whenever his son
brought up the subject of his mother.

Finally today his dad had told him that they would be
seeing Mom on this trip to Tulsa. Why, Jamie had
asked, didn't Mom come to the vacation place? It was a
surprise, James had replied, and that seemed to be the

end of that.
They had made several trips to Tulsa since they

arrived here, each time loading up the truck with big
bundles of food and supplies. Sometimes they had to
stop at a bank and cash a CD, but Jamie had never
heard of money coming out of music before. Besides,
they didn't have a CD player; more mystery. James
purchased canned goods, mostly; things they wouldn't
use right away, food that was put away where no one
could see it. This category of grocery was called "in the
event of an emergency," according to Miss Agatha. The
rest of the food, the "perishables," was for the other
people, he knew that much, since he got very little of it

himself.

Now they were going to the store again, and like the

last time, the air-conditioner quit. No big deal for
Jamie, he didn't mind the heat as much as his father
did. It didn't matter, as long as he was outside the vaca-
tion place. It was a stifling place, especially when
Brother Joseph was around. All day Jamie had looked
forward to the trip, knowing that Mom would be wait-
ing for him in town. He didn't mention her to Daddy
during the trip, since he already felt like a nuisance

bringing it up before.

"Miss Agatha tells me you're a bright student,"

52             Mercedes Lackey W Mark Shepherd

James said conversationally, over the wind pouring in
through the window.

Jamie shrugged. "It's not like school at home. It's too
easy." He wanted to add that it was also pretty weird,
some of the things Miss Agatha taught them. And that
he was the only one in his class who wasn't afraid of
Miss Agatha. He had asked her why it was okay now to
hate when it wasn't before. After all. Mommy had
always said that it was wrong to hate black people
because of the color of their skin, or Jews because they
went to a temple instead of a church.

Miss Agatha had not been amused and told him that
the Commandments said he had to obey his elders and
she was his elder.

Then she went on with the same stupid stuff". Only
today she had also mentioned another group, the
homos, but he had no idea what made them different.
Miss Agatha had simply said to stay away from them,
that even saying "homo" was wrong, that it was a bad
wo/ill.

"When am I going back to the real school, Daddy?"
Jamie knew he had said something wrong then, by the

way his father's face turned dark and his lips pressed

together. Butit was a valid question, after all. Wasn'tit?
"Maybe it's time for you to learn what the big boys

know. The truths they don't teach you at that other

school, the one inAdanta."

The boy felt a shiver of excitement What the big boys
know. Like Joe. The things they haven't been telling me, that
big secret the grownups are all excited about but don't tell w. It
is tame for me to know that big secret now?

"Listen up. This is a Bible story, but not like any
Bible story you've ever heard before. Those other min-
isters, they don't have it right, never have, never will.
We're one of the few groups of people in the world who
know it straight, son, and by the grace of God we'll
spread the word further."

WHEELS OF FIRE                53

Tames paused a moment, apparendy gathering his
strength, as if summoning vast intellectual reserves.
Daddy was having trouble thinking, Jamie knew,
because he had run out of beer the day before and

hadn't had any since.

"Do you remember Miss Agatha telling you about
the beginning of the world? About how God created
the world and all die people on it?"

Jamie nodded, uncertainly. The big secret has to do with
tbaticky stuff? he thought, suddenly disappointed.

"And the story of Genesis, in the Bible. Most Bibles
don't tell you that before Adam, God had created
several other species of mankind, the black man, the
red man, the yellow. Some had civilizations and some
had nothing. Some could live in peace because they
were too lazy to do anything else, but most of the
inferior races could only make war. God made all these
people before Adam, long before he had it down right,
you see." James sounded earnest, but he was frowning.
"But most ministers, preachers, they don't know all this
'cause their churches didn't want them to know the

truth."
Jamie nodded, as if he understood, but he didn't.

This wasn't like any Bible story he had ever heard, or

even read.

"Now remember, and this is important. This is
before the white man. God saw that his work could be
better, that all these monkey races were turning back
into animals. He needed a perfect creature, and that's
when he made Adam out of the river mud. Right away
he knew he had something there. This one was dif-
ferent. This one was white. The color of purity, the same
color as God."

Already Jamie was getting uncomfortable. This was
not what he expected to hear. All that hate stuff again,
Jamie groaned inwardly. With big words to make it sound
important. Brother.

54

Mercedes Lackey 6? Afcw* Shepherd

"God could see that what he made was perfect, with
an intelligence higher than any creature's he had yet
created. And that included the black man. The Lord
God also saw that his new creation would bring peace
to a world filled with war, since it was an inherently
peaceful creature he had made. He was a higher being,
in every way. He had to be, since the Lord God was
creating a race of people to inherit the earth, to be
God's direct descendants, to be his children."

"Yeah, Dad," Jamie said, forcing politeness. He
didn't like what he was hearing, and he wished his dad
would finish. You made more sense when you were drinking
joy juice, he thought rebelliously.

"Then the Lord God saw that Adam was lonely, and
he created Eve. She was of the same race as Adam, and it
was God's intention that she bear Adam's babies, to make
a perfect race. But Satan, who was an angel rebelling
against God, he got involved somehow and mated with
Eve instead, and gave her his serpent seed."

"Is this the same Satan the Church Lady talks about
on Saturday Night Live?"Jamie asked, figuring this to
be on safe ground. Mommy had let him stay up one
Saturday, when his father was away, and watch the
show with her. Since then, he had always associated
Satan and women like Agatha with humor. But now,
Daddy didn't look like he was trying to be funny.

"Don't know what you're talking about there, son,"
James said, puzzled for a moment. "If that's some kind
of late-night religious show, it's probably only half
right. I'm telling you what's really right, all true. Pay
attention now - this made God really angry, since this
wasn't what he had in mind at all. Eve wasn't as perfect
as Adam, because she had let Satan do this to her -
which proved to God that women were going to be
naturally inferior to men. Now God's purest race was
polluted. Now Satan, since he was part of one of the
first races, is black."

WHEELS OF RRE              55

Jamie stifled a snicker. Boy, is that stupid! First he says Satan's
anangel, thenhesayshe'sasnake, andnowhesayshe'sblack.

"Eve gave birth to two sons, but that was how God
knew they must have had different fathers, because
one was black, Cain, and the other was white, Abel.
Cain was lazy and wanted to live on" the sweat of other
people, through stealth and cunning, which is typical
of the way the Jew serpent race thinks. Cain took off to
Babylonia and started his own kingdom, and this is
where the Jews came from."

Now Jamie knew that was wrong; he knew where the
Jews came from. The little bitty squiggly place, the one
litder than Oklahoma. Israel. And he'd never heard of
Babby-whatever. Unless it was that icky lunch-meat
they gave the kids here. But James was really enjoying
his captive audience, so Jamie sighed and pretended to

listen.

"Before long everyone was mating with everyone
else, mixing the races, committing sodomy - I'll
explain that one when you're a little older - and God
didn't like that. So he flooded the Earth with water, and
God started a new kingdom, but as it happened some
of the Jew serpent seed got onboard the boat anyway.
Before long the Jews gained control again. The Jews
and blacks are doing that to this day."

Then how come so many poor people are black? Jamie
asked silently. And how come there are people putting bombs
m Israel? He'd learned that in his real school. Esther had
brought in some scary pictures....

"When Jesus came, it was too late. The Jews were
already in control, and they crucified Jesus. The battle
between good and evil rages to this day, and now the
Communists are pawns of the Jews, and they're just as
bad. Any day now hordes of Jew Communists are going
to invade the United States, and only a select few are
going to be ready for it.. That's why we are called the
Chosen Ones, and we abide by no laws exceptdivine law."

56 Mercedes Lackey fs' Mark Shepherd

Daddy had completely lostJamie at this point. Was
that why James drove over 70 in the 55 mph zone,
because there was no "divine" speed limit? And was
that why he wouldn't wear a seat belt?

James was still babbling, like a tape player that
wouldn't stop. "The white race will reclaim its lost
status, but it will take time, and work, lots of work. The
ministers and churches today, they don't want to tell
the truth, they don't want to work, understand, but it's
all there for anyone to see. The other churches have
been diverting energy away from the real work, and
that's why we're here. This is what Brother Joseph is
teaching us. This is why you're in Brother Joseph's
school, instead of that unholy place in Atlanta."

"You mean, we're not on vacation?" NowJamie was
really confused.

James glanced at him sharply. "Of course we're on
vacation, but it's the Lord's vacation."

"Are we really going to see Mommy when we get to
Tulsa?"

Jim became silent then. It was the first timeJamie
had mentioned Mommy that day, and having finally
asked the question, he was suddenly nervous.

"Who told you we were soine to see Mommy in
Tulsa?"

The boy shrank, sensing that familiar anger which
often led to his father's backhanding him. "You did,"
he said, meekly.

James considered this a moment, then said, "That all
depends on Mommy. If she wants to see us, she'll be
there. If she doesn't want to see us, she'll stay home."

But we didn't tell Mommy where we were going, and we
didn't call her or anything to tell her we'd be m Julsa today.

"What if she's not in Tulsa?" Jamie said, holding back
the tears at this betrayal of a promise. "What if she's still
at home? What if she doesn't know we're going to be in
Tulsa today?"

WHEELS OF FIRE                57

"Then that'll be her fault," James said. "She's a Jew
woman or something."

When they pulled into the parking lot of Tom's
Wholesale Discount Market, Jamie searched for his
mother among the several faces he found there. Boys
in jeans, shirts and vests pushed giant trains of shop-
ping carts back to the front of the huge building, where
even longer lines of carts, stuck together by some magi-
cal glue, awaited shoppers. While they were waiting to
enter the store, Jamie continued the search, afraid to
ask his father about his mom. James had looked ready
to hit him back there, Jamie knew, and figured it was
time to be quiet. Through trial and error, he had
learned to gauge his father's temper.

James showed the girl their membership card and
entered the store, selecting a flatbed cart. Still, no
Mom. He followed his father silently, knowing that to
lag behind would mean to be lost, and to be lost would
eventually mean a backhand to the side of his head.
And with Mommy nowhere around, there was nothing
to stop James, nothing to restrain him. Jamie doubted
these strangers would do anything to stop his father
from hurting him; they never had before.

Tom's Discount was the only place Jamie had been to
that sold stuff by the case. The store was a big
warehouse. To reach some of the stuff, a forklift was
necessary.

Cases of canned food began to stack up on the cart,
and after a man helped them forklift some stuff down
from a high shelf, they proceeded to the freezer section.
Daddy had mentioned buying milk and cheese last,
because it was a perishable. He hoped, also, the sample
lady would be there so he could get some free cheese or
barbecue sauce or wieners, he was so hungry. But she
wasn't there, and he was starting to get unhappy about
that when something else attracted his attention.

58 Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

The freezer section was a catacomb of glass doors
and frozen goods. Blasts of cold, biting air nibbled at his
skin whenever someone opened a door. Over here,
though, was a row of refrigerators, with milk and milk
products stacked up inside the door.

His own face stared back at him.

He opened the door while his father, loading boxes
of cheese, wasn't looking. The milk cartons were con-
nected by plastic tape, so he couldn't take that one out.
But he read it anyway, recognizing his school picture
from the year before. It was his name, all right, and his
date of birth. According to the carton, he was last seen
with James Chase in Atlanta, Georgia. Jamie stared at
the picture for a long time, trying to figure out how he
could be on there, and why. According to the carton, he
was a "Missing Child." But I'm not a missing child. I'm right
here, with Daddy. Daddy knows I'm here, so there must be a
mistake. Is this what he meant about seeing Mom in Tuba ? Or
does Mommy have something to do with this picture being on
here?

As he was puzzling over this, he became aware of a
large presence behind him, and with a start he looked
up at his father. He pointed at the carton, tried to say
something, but only a squeak came out.

"What are you looking at there, son?"

James knelt down and studied the carton, taking it
out of the refrigerator. He looked at the picture, then at
Jamie. Then he looked up and down the aisle; nobody
was around just then. The boy noticed that he had the
look of someone doing something he shouldn't. He
began to feel all funny in his stomach.

"That isn't you," he said, simply. "That's another
boy. He's got the same name as you, but it's another
boy. Got that?"

Fearful of what would happen to him if he did other-
wise, Jamie nodded.

"That's good," he said, quickly going through the

WHEELS OF FIRE                 59

remaining cartons, checking the photographs on each
one. Apparently, he was holding the only one with his
son's picture; he found no others. "Start putting more
milk on the cart. This size, here," he said, indicating a
stack of milk cartons larger than the first. "I'll be right
back."

Jamie tried not to look, but out of the corner of his
eye he watched his father look around quickly before
dumping the milk in a large, plastic-lined waste can.

When he returned, his expression was somber. "It
was bad," he informed his son. "The milk was bad, so I
threw it out for them."

Jamie nodded, meekly, and continued loading the milk.

"Here. Let me give you a hand with that," James
said, as he helped his son load the flatbed cart.

For Jamie, the situation was becoming more
frightening than he wanted to admit. His first impulse
was to trust his father, without questioning him about
why Mommy wasn't around, why they were far from
home, why his picture was on a milk carton. It was
easier to just listen to Daddy and do what he said; this
gave some order to his world. It was also the best way to
avoid being hit. He loved his mother, but he had to
admit that during the divorce he felt very much afraid
without his father. When James returned to his school
to pick him up for the vacation, Jamie was thrilled,
though he didn't understand why Mommy wasn't with
him. The divorce was weird; Daddy explained it as
temporary, and it didn't really mean they weren't mar-
ried, even though that's what Mommy said it meant.
She was confused, he explained. He would explain it
all when she got to Tulsa, whenever that would be.

They drove away from the discount store with the
loaded truck, and Jamie stared out the window at the
other cars. Ahead was an Arby's, and the boy remem-
bered his hunger.

60 Mervedes Lackey £s? Mark Shepherd

"Daddy, I'm really hungry. Can we stop atArby's?"

James frowned, as if the request was too much to be
handled. ButJamie saw him stuff the wad of bills and
change in his pocket when they'd finished buying
things. Money, he knew, wasn't a problem.

"I don't know,Jamie. Brother Joseph wouldn't like
it."

"Why?" he wanted to know, flinching. He expected a
blow, not only for questioning Daddy, but questioning
Brother Joseph, which was an even more heinous
crime.

"Brother Joseph knows what he's doing," James
explained carefully. "He has tapped the Divine Fire
before, and through you he will do it again."

Hunger was gone, immediately, as his stomach
cramped with fear. No, not that again -

"But Daddy," he protested feebly, "I don't want to."

James shook his head dismissively. "That's because
you're just a child. When you get older, you'll under-
stand. It's all in Brother Joseph's hands. Fasting is
crucial in achieving the purity to talk to God. Some-
thing else the clergy in general doesn't know about.
Consider yourself fortunate."

The Arby's came and went. Jamie could smell the
odors of roast beef and french fries, and his stomach
growled loudly. "Perhaps he'll let you eat something
tonight. After the ritual. It will be special tonight,"
James said, as if savoring the prospect "Just you wait."

They drove on in silence for several moments, while
Jamie tried to concentrate on something other than his
complaining stomach. Fin so hungry, he thought, and
when he saw them pull onto the highway to get back to
the vacation place, he realized he wasn't going to be
seeing Mommy in Tulsa after all.

So I guess she isn't there, he thought, starting to feel a
little cranky instead of being unhappy, and beginning
to think he ought to push the issue. After all. Daddy

WHEELS OF FIRE                61

had promised. He was reaching a point where he
didn't care if he was hit or not. In a way, he felt like he
deserved it. / must have done something bad, or Mommy
would be here by now.

"There's something I got to tell you," James began,
and Jamie sighed.

He's lying again, he thought, somehow knowing that
what would follow wouldn't be the truth. He didn't
know how he had acquired the talent for spotting lies,
but he did know that Daddy had been lying a lot lately.

It seemed like James was waiting to get on the high-
way before telling him what, exactly, was going on.
James gunned the motor, bringing their speed up to
seventy before turning to his son.

"I haven't been telling you everything, because I
wanted to protect you. You probably think it was a litde
weird the way we left Atlanta. Took you from your
school and everything. There is really a good reason
for all of that Before I explain, I want to be certain that
you understand that I do love you, and I wouldn't do
anything that would harm you."

Jamie was feeling uncomfortable again, but he
nodded anyway. Whatever lie was coming, it was going
to be a big one.

"Good. I trust Brother Joseph without question, and
he wouldn't hurt you either."

Jamie wasn't sure about that, but he was too afraid to
question it. Brother Joseph is really weird, and he's why
you're so weird, isn't it. Daddy? He remembered the last
odd ritual, the fourth of a series, in which Brother
Joseph made him see and feel things he still didn't
understand. Scary things. It was like a big monster on
the other side of a wall, like the creepy thing he felt
under his bed while sleeping or lurking in his closet.
The thing that came to life in his room when Daddy
turned the light out. That thing; a dark something that
made wet sounds when it moved, the thing that

62            MercedesLachyWMarkShephenI

watched him when Brother Joseph shoved him
through the wall during the rituals. He forced Jamie to
see it, sometimes even to touch it. The wall wasn't solid,
he knew, but it was still a barrier. Walls were made for
reasons, he thought, and the reason for this one was
good. He pushed the memory away, at the same dme
dreading the coming ritual, where he knew it would
just happen all over again.

"I don't mean for you to worry about your mother,
but something has happened in Adanta that's put us all
in danger. We were going to see your mom in Tulsa,
but I guess she just hasn't made it yet"

Jamie stared glumly forward. "What's happened?"
he asked, resigned that whatever James would tell him
would be a lie, but hoping for some truth anyway.
"What's happened to Mommy?"

"Nothing," James supplied. "Not that I know of,
anyway. Back in Adanta, the police, they came and said
that I did something that I didn't. They think that I'm
involved in drugs; they accused me of dealing drugs in
your school in Atlanta. You know what I'm talking
about when I say drugs, don't you?"

Jamie nodded, remembering the cop who had
spoken to their class about the bad boys who were
smoking cigarettes and other things behind the school
during lunch, kids who were only a few years older
than him. The cop showed them the green stuff that
looked like something Mommy had in bottles to cook
with, and another baggie of little white rocks called
"crack." That was bad stuff, the cop told them, and they
had caught the man who had sold it outside their
school. When the cop told them about what drugs did,
Jamie was scared and decided that if he was ever
offered any, he would refuse. But his dad had nothing
to do with it; he knew that much for certain.

"Well, son, it's all a terrible misunderstanding. If it
weren't for blessed Brother Joseph and the Chosen

WHEELS OF FIRE               63

Ones, I'd be in jail right now. See, we've got to hide out
with the Chosen Ones for a little while, until things
kind of level out. I have a lawyer out there working on
the case. Your mother didn't know much about this at
first, but when I called her and told her what was going
on, she got all nervous about me and said I'd better
take you with me; she wasn't sure if she could handle
you all by herself. The police were wondering about
her, too. With the drugs, and all. But don't you worry
none. Momma will be here soon."

The sdnk of lie was thick. Jamie wondered why his
father couldn't tell how obvious it was. The boy
frowned a little, looked up at his dad, and wondered
when he was going to stop lying to him.

"You know I don't sell dope, son."

"I know that, Daddy. They caught who was doin' it.
I'm never gonna touch drugs. The police said they
make your head puff up and your skin turn green and
purple. They make you crazy and do awful things to
people."

"Good, son. That's just what I wanted to hear,"
James replied, absently, as if he hadn't heard a word
Jamie had said, once he got the initial answer. "Brother
Joseph, he's going to help us through this. He's done a
lot for us, and these litde errands we run, getting the
food for them and all, are a way of helping him back.
It'll all work out, you just wait and see."

It can't ever work out, Jamie thought, getting angry at
his daddy for making up-stories. Momma doesn't know a
thing about this, I just know it. This is all real wrong, I
shouldn't even be here, I should be m Atlanta going to my
school and not this icky place with these icky people Daddy likes.
Sarah would know what's right. She always knows what's
right. I'll ask her when I get back. She might even know where I
could get some food, without Brother Joseph knowing about it.

Jamie knew diey were getting dose to the "vacation

64 Mercedes Lackey y Mark Shepherd

place" when Tulsa dissolved behind them, and the ter-
rain became barren of civilization. There were a few
cattle in this part of Oklahoma, sprinkled among the
scrawny groves of native oak. The sun continued to
beat mercilessly against the earth, but now that it was
late afternoon, the temperatures inside the truck were
more bearable. They turned off to a lesser, two-laned
highway, then to a gravel road. After some time across
the bumpy route they came to the front gate, a large
steel barrier set in a bed of concrete. James unlocked it,
and they proceeded into what the soldiers called "the
Holy Land of the Chosen Ones."

Soon they reached a second gate, this one connected
to a tall chain-link fence topped by barbed wire. At the
gate was a sentry box, where two young men in t-shirts,
camo pants and combat boots intercepted the truck.
There was a brief inspection before continuing into the
main compound. Above them two dozen electricity-
generating windmills thwapped. Joe had toldJamie they
were connected to powerlines leading to the vacation
place.

The truck rumbled past a series of drab quonset-
style shacks. They seemed deserted; once his father
had remarked that this was where food and supplies
were kept, ready for the "invasion" the grownups were
always talking about. Other soldiers, more numerous
now than when they first arrived, were patrolling the
grounds. At the northwest corner of the compound
was an old log cabin that was now a sort of museum.
This was what the freedom fighters first lived in, he remem-
bered Miss Agatha saying on a field trip. /(stands as a
monument to their holy independent spirit and is an inspiration
tousaH.

Next was a cluster of plain, cinderblock buildings,
and more quonset huts that reminded Jamie of Corner
Pyle episodes. Beyond was the entrance to the under-
ground shelters, the vacation place, where Jamie now

WHEELS OF FIRE                65

lived, along with the rest of the Chosen Ones. Miss
Agatha said there were almost one thousand of the
"enlightened" living in the vacation place; since he was
the new kid, he felt like he was treated with a little more
suspicion than the rest.

After all Daddy does for them, they still don't like me.

He figured this was from jealousy, because he was
allowed outside, a privilege usually reserved for the
trusted few. His father's unique function in fetching
supplies had its advantages. Nobody else had a mem-
bership in Tom's, and Brother Joseph didn't want
anyone else to get one. He said it was a "security risk."
But since Jim had gotten the membership a long time
ago, there was no reason not to use it.

Jim drove the supply-laden pickup to yet another
checkpoint. This was at the mouth of the under-
ground, a gaping, dark hole at the base of a concrete
ramp. Jamie knew there would be dim lighting down
there that would never compete with the searing sum-
mer sun outside; his eyes would have to adjust, first
Going in always frightened him. It was like going down
the gullet of some prehistoric creature.

There was some consolation, though; Joe was one of
the guards working the gate today. He was just coming
on duty when they had left for Tulsa, and Jamie
figured by now it might be time for his shift to end. The
boy had met Joe at his very first Praise Meeting, and
Joe had been nice to him - he'd given him a Tootsie
Pop and showed off his tattoo. There was something so
- affable, genial about Joe; they had become instant
friends. His father approved warmly, and since Joe was
the only one besides Brother Joseph who would have
anything to do with him, they spent a lot of time
together hiding out in the nooks and crannys of the
uncompleted sections of the underground.

At first Jamie thought it was a little weird that Joe could
sometimes guess what he was thinking, and sometimes

5            Menxdes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

answered his questions before he could actually ask
them. And only yesterday, Joe had predicted that they
would be going out; in fact, said he would be seeing him
because he was working guard duty. When Jamie
quizzed him about his ability to read minds and see into
the future, Joe got real scared, and said for him to never
mention that again. He wasn't reading minds and he
wasn't seeing into die future, said it was something called
"deduction," like Sherlock Holmes did. He also said diat
if anyone thought he did read minds die/d both be in big
trouble. It was die work of die devil, such dungs, and no
Chosen One could ever have powers like that Jamie let
die matter rest.

Sure enough, Joe was standing there, at attention,
looking the same as he did when they left. The boy
looked up to Joe, admiring him in his uniform. He was
every bit a man in Jamie's eyes even though he was
barely old enough to be in die Chosen Ones' regular
Guard. He was eighteen, one of die few guards who
still had hair, Jamie hadn't asked why, because it
seemed to be a delicate subject. The rest of die Guard
were shaven bald, and it seemed to be some kind of
special diing, but he didn't know what it meant.

There were a zillion other questions he wanted to
ask Joe today as well, and the top of the list was: why
would his picture be on a milk carton?

And besides that, why hadn't his mother shown up
yet? He knew he was treading dangerously just to ask
Joe, since his fadier had already provided an answer. If
Joe squealed on him, he would be in hot water, and
he'd get beaten. Jamie decided to ask anyway, as Joe's
overall trustworthiness had never been in doubt, and
they shared mutual secrets anyway. And if Joe's answer
didn't sound right, diere was always Sarah. She knew
diings most people didn't, and her word was golden.
Sarah had never, ever lied to him, or acted as if he was
bad or stupid.

WHEELS OF FIRE               67

James turned off the motor. This was the last and
most thorough check in the land of the Chosen Ones,
and was used to detect the smuggling of undesirables,
spy devices or Communists into the underground
bunkers. Jamie had the impression the guards
trusted his father but had to do this thing anyway.
They went through the truck thoroughly, examining
the supplies, looking under the vehicle. His father
stood by quietly; this was a sacred ritual, as was any
procedure that protected the Chosen Ones from the
Jew Communist enemy, who was due to invade any
day now. Everything these weird people did seemed
to be in preparation for a war, and Jamie didn't
understand why anyone outside the compound
didn't share this sense of urgency. It must be one of
those "trudis" that Daddy mendoned, which only die
Chosen Ones knew about.

After the inspection Joe spoke briefly with Jamie's
father. "You go with Joe," Jim said, getting into the
truck. "I have to go unload these supplies. I'll see you
at supper, after I speak with Brother Joseph."

Go with Joe! That was exactly what he'd wanted to do.
He looked over at the young man, who was grinning as
he slung his AK-47 over his shoulder. Jamie had never
seen him widiout it, not even at the big communal din-
ner hall, and while at first it was a little scary, now he
didn't think anything of it. At the vacation place, guns
were everywhere. This was not like normal life. Things
are different here.

Before Jamie could react to the good news, his father
was in the truck and starting it up, the conversation
apparendy finished. Joe's relief had arrived, a scowling
man who looked like Daddy did a day after drinking
too much joy juice.

"Hey, buckaroo," the big boy said jovially, squatting
down to talk to him, "I've got something to show you."

Usually Jamie didn't like it when he knelt down like

68 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

that; it made him feel like a little boy, even though he
was. But this time was different, he didn't care much;

there was a surprise involved this time.

Instead of a surprise, Joe pulled out another Tbotsie
Pop. Jamie appreciated it, as any eight-year-old would
- especially with his stomach growling - but he tried
to not let the disappointment show.

"That's not what I wanted to show you," Joe said,
trying to conceal a snicker. "Come with me."

Joe led him through a series of tunnels and pas-
sageways, some nominally lit, which had been carved
into the earth by the Chosen Ones. Some of the digging
equipment was sdll here, Jamie noticed; he had never
been down this way before, had in fact been told to stay
away from this area of the tunnels, this being forbidden
to those under ten. But now the restrictions seemed to
have been lifted by his hero.

"You've never been down here before," Joe said,
"and it would probably be a good idea if you didn't tell
anyone we were here. It'll be our secret. Okay?"

"Awright!" Jamie said, with awe in his voice.
"What're we doing down here, anyway?"

"Nothing we shouldn't," he replied. It was hard to
keep up with him, he was walking so fast. His legs, too,
were that much longer. "I talked to your daddy about
this, first, so it's all right with him."

"What is this place?"

They came across a sign, with a drawing of a young
soldier holding an AK-47 over his head in triumph,
with the caption:

SACRED HEART OF THE CHOSEN ONES

JUNIOR GUARD

FIRST BATTALION

It took a moment for it to register; then surprise
spread through Jamie. "Am I joining the Junior
Guard already?" It was like a rite of passage here. It
had only been a few weeks since Jamie had arrived,

WHEELS OF FIRE                69

but he had come to recognize the importance of some
of the ritual elements of the vacation place. The
Junior Guard was one of them. "First Battalion? How
many battalions are there?" He wasn't sure what a bat-
talion was, but from the sign he gathered they were
important, and that there must be more of them.

"There's only one right now," Joe admitted, as they
entered another large, damp room, filled to overflow-
ing with every type of firearm he could imagine. Jim
had taken him to a sporting goods store once, with
what had to be a million guns on the wall, but it was
nothing compared to this. The rifles and assault shot-
guns were lined up in several racks. Beyond that were
thousands of wooden boxes, some of them open, filled
with bullets. Along another wall, behind a huge sheet
of glass, were small handguns, each with a name
affixed to a tag. The room smelled like gun oil and rub-
berized canvas; the odor gave him goosebumps on the
back of his neck. This is for real.

"I'm going to show you how to fire a weapon," Joe
announced proudly. "Do you want to leam a handgun
or a rifle?"

Jamie was struck speechless. Leam how to use - a
gun? Even the Junior Guard didn't start right away
with guns, he knew that much. Joe was providing
something special here, and he knew it.

"I want to learn that one," Jamie said, pointing at the
assault rifle slung over Joe's shoulder, so common it
seemed to be a part of him. "Your gun."

Joe laughed, but not in a way that humiliated him,
the way the other grownups did. Joe was his friend,
and his laugh didn't betray that. "Sorry, bucko, you're
gonna have to work up to this one. Come over here."
He led him to a rack of rifles, smaller and lighter than
most of the others. "These are all the right size to start
with. Hey, Jamie, I had to start with an air rifle when I
was your age. You get to use real bullets. You're lucky."

70 Mwcedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

Jamie studied the weapons. One stuck out, grabbed
his attention. It wasn't quite a machine gun, but it
looked a little more grownup than the others. It had a
block-letter J carved in its stock. "Thatone."

"Hmmmmm," Joe said. "Good choice. It used to be
my gun, when I was litde. Imagine diat."

Joe unlocked the gun rack and handed him the
weapon. "Never point it at anyone you don't want to
kill. Don't point it up, either, when you're down in the
bunkers. Always point it down. Roof's usually metal
here, and if it goes off accidentally the dirt or wooden
floors will absorb the bullet, but it would bounce off
metal and hurt someone."

He reached for it eagerly. "All right, Joe. Is it
loaded?"

"Always assume it is, even when you know it isn't. NO
- don't point it at me! There you go, down at the
ground. Good boy." Joe's voice took on a singsong
quality. "What you have here is a Charter Explorer
Rifle, model 9220. Takes eight .22 long cartridges. It's
notftilly automatic like mine, but it'll do for starters."
Joe picked up a box of bullets, and his voice returned to
normal. "Let's go to the firing range."

They walked in silence to the next room. The long,
narrow area was floored thickly with sand, and the roof
tapered down at the opposite end. This was, Joe told
him, to deflect weapons fire into the ground. Standing
in the firing area were several crude dummies, which
he thought were real people, at first. They were wear-
ing military uniforms, and some were holding staffs
widi flags on them. One he recognized as Russia's flag,
and another held a flag with a six-pointed star. There
were other items to shoot at in the sandy area, but the
primary targets seemed to be the make-believe people.
Jamie didn't like that very much. He hadn't associated
the weapons with killing people until dien, diough he
knew deep down that's what they were for.

WHEELS OF FIRE               71

Guns were something he was used to; sometimes
they were used to hunt animals, but not people. His
daddy had never mentioned killing when he was clean-
ing his Luger. And on die rare instances he had taken
Jamie along for shooting practice out in die woods, he
always shot at botdes and cans. Never people. And he
couldn't imagine Joe shooting and killing someone
else. The sight of die dummies standing diere, waiting
to be shot at, made him feel a litde sick inside.

But he didn't say anything to Joe, for fear of being a
sissy. Tm going to do this, no matter what, so nobody mill treat
me like a sissy no more.

Joe showed him three different sniper positions
before he even let him handle the loaded weapon; as
he lay there, belly down in the dirt, Jamie wondered
what dlis had to do widi learning how to shoot Finally
die older boy loaded the weapon with eight litde bullets
and carefully handed it to him.

"This is the safety," Joe informed him, lying prone
beside him in the sand. "This keeps it from firing
accidentally. Undl you're ready to shoot, leave it on."

The lessons progressed from there, and after learn-
ing to squeeze, not pull, the trigger, Jamie fired his first
round. It wasn't nearly as loud as he expected, but dien
his gun wasn't as large as Joe's. At Joe's urging he
selected a target and fired a few more rounds, remem-
bering to squeeze the trigger, and prompdy picked off
one of the objects in the sand. His first kill was a Hill's
Brother's coffee can, which wentpiniing as it flew back-
wards into the sand.

"Good shot, buckaroo!" Joe applauded. Jamie was
triumphant. "That's better dian I did my first time!"

Jamie was getting ready to draw on another target
when he became aware of someone standing behind
them. Another weapon wentsnik, swA-Jamie's arms
turned to putty, and the barrel of his rifle dropped.
"If I were aJew-Communist-pig you'd both be dead

72 Mercedes Lackey &? MIT* Shepherd

now. Private!" an ominous, and familiar, voice boomed.
Following Joe's example, he scrambled to his feet, leav-
ing the weapon on the ground.

It was Brother Joseph, standing there with Joe's AK-
47 pointed directly at them. As if to make a point, he
turned and fired a few rounds into a dummy.

"I'm sorry, sir," Joe stammered in the echo of the
gunfire. Jamie could see he was really scared; his face
had become whiter than usual, which probably wasn't
so bad, since these people seemed to value that color. "I
was just showing -"

"Silence!" Brother Joseph demanded, and received.
The man was wearing a strange military uniform similar
to the Guard, but it had a preacher's white collar incor-
porated into it. Jamie had never seen this particular
article of finery and assumed it was new. "On your
stomach. Fifty - no, one hundred push-ups. Now!" the
man barked, and the boy responded instantly.

Joe dropped to the ground, making his lean, mus-
cular body rigid as he began the push-ups, using his
knuckles for support. It was how the Guard always did
push-ups, Jamie observed, and it looked quite painful.

While Joe was doing this, Jamie could see a thin wisp
of smoke trailing out of the AK-47 and remembered his
own gun, lying on the sand. He thought it best to go
ahead and leave it there, to give himself rime to figure
out what was wrong, and what Joe had done that was
so terrible. Brother Joseph was angry about some-
thing, and although the anger seemed to be directed at
Joe, he did not feel at all comfortable standing in the
man's shadow. Even when he wasn't angry.

Joe counted out the push-ups, pumping them off
with ease; a slight sweat broke out down the small of his
back and beaded across his forehead. The beret had
been left on, as Brothel-Joseph had given him no per-
mission to remove it. Slowly but surely, Jamie was
beginning to understand the nuances of discipline

WHEELS OF FIRE                73

within the Guard, though he had never envisioned
Brother Joseph as the direct leader of them. The
Guard leadership seemed to be comprised of mid-
dlemen subservient to Brother Joseph; now the boy
knew the weird preacher was probably in command of
them as well. His new item of clothing supported this.

It was in moments like these, when the cruelty shone
through like a spotlight, that Jamie had second thoughts
about joining the Junior Guard. Then he would look at
Toe and see him endure the abuse and begin to wonder if
this really was the natural order of things everywhere. It
certainly was the natural order of things here.

Joe completed the punishment and leaped to his feet,
standing sharply at attention. His breathing was hardly
labored, and only the slightest gleam of sweat had
appeared on his forehead. What would have been brutal
punishment for most didn't seem to bother him in the
least; Jamie was in awe. Sameday, Trngmma he able to do that.

"Very well," Brother Joseph said, sounding a little
calmer. "Perhaps that will teach you never to leave your
weapon where the common enemy can take it and use it
against you. I know, son, it probably seems like there's no
chance for a Jew-pig to infiltrate, but you never know.
They're a cunning bunch, the spawn of Satan."

"Yes, Father," Joe said, looking down at the ground.

Son? Father? Is he Joe's daddy? Or do they just talk like that
because of who he is?

"So tell me, young guardsman, what were you doing
down here with this childf"

The question carried strange, accusatory under-
tones that Jamie couldn't fathom. Leaving the firearm
in the sand didn't seem a good idea, and he wondered if
now was a good time to bring that up.

"I was showing this youngster how to use a weapon,
Father," Joe said, pride slowly returning to his voice.
"He has a fine talent for marksmanship, if I do say so,"
he added.

74 Mercedes Lackey 6? Afarii Shepherd

"Glad to hear it," Brother Joseph said, and handed Joe
his weapon. "Strip and dean your weapon, son," he said.
"Your mother will be expecting you at our dinner table
tonight. You haven't forgotten her birthday, have you?"

"Of course not, sir," Joe said. "I will attend."

Brother Joseph regarded Jamie with a bemused,
patronizing expression, as if he'd just seen him for the
first rime. "Young James," he said. "So you have a gift.
That much was obvious, that first time we touched the
Holy Fire together." His eyes narrowed. "Yes. Special.
And very gifted indeed," he said in parting, and as he
walked away his laughter echoed down the metal walls.

The sound made him feel empty, and somehow
unclean. As Jamie watched Brother Joseph's back
recede he felt a new dread, a growing horror that
had no name. The Chosen Ones didn't see it, saw
only the bright side of him. They followed Brother
Joseph wherever he went. Sarah was the only one
who knew about it besides Jamie, that's how hidden
it was. And when the preacher made him "channel"
the Holy Fire, they both saw this darkness, so scary
that Jamie made himself forget what he saw and
touched, most of the time.

But every time he saw Brother Joseph he remem-
bered. And we're going to do it again tonight. Oh, no, he
thought, and shuddered.

In silence Joe finished cleaning his firearm and put it all
back together. He seemed humiliated, and justifiably so.
But Jamie still had questions to ask. About the milk carton,
about his mother. And he was going to ask them; they were
alone now, and there would be no better opportunity.

"Is he your daddy?" Jamie blurted, knowing no
other way to start.

"Yes. He is. And it's nothing we need to talk about. As
far as anyone is concerned, I'm just another soldier,
fighting for the cause. I get no special treatment," he
said, his eyes narrowing at Jamie. "And don't you treat

WHEELS OF FIRE                75

me no different. If you do that I'll have to rough you
up." He added that last, lightly, like a joke.

But in that second, with that brief, angry expression,
he looked just like Brother ]oseph. Joe, Joseph. Of course.
How come I didn't guess before? Jamie knew he could get
real depressed over this if he let it happen, but he tried
not to. Joe's still Joe. Even my daddy's bad sometimes.

"Why didn't you know your daddy was coming?"
Jamie asked, but immediately knew it was the wrong
thing to say. Joe was looking at the ground, apparently
not paying too much attention.

"Sometimes I just have to turn it off... ." Joe said
absently, then looked at Jamie in mild alarm. "No one
can read minds. Remember that. And don't call him my
daddy. He's my leader, and that's all that matters."

"Oh," was all he said, and Joe looked relieved.
Apparently, other people down here made a big deal
over it. But then, those other people liked Brother
Joseph. "Something weird happened today when we
were out getting supplies."

"What's that?" Joe asked, brightening up. He
sounded glad to change the subject.

"I saw my picture on a milk carton. It said I was a
'missing child.' What does that mean?" he said, waiting
for some kind of reaction from Joe.

He found none, absolutely nothing. A stone mask
went over his face, and Jamie knew something was
amiss. It was the same mask he had worn when his
father sneaked up behind them.

"Are you sure it was you?" he finally replied.

"Yep," Jamie said. "Sure was."

Joe frowned. "Did you tell your daddy about it?"

Jamie felt a little cold. "Y-yeah, and he said it was
someone else."

Joe stopped and knelt again, but it was with an
expression of such severity that Jamie wasn't annoyed
by it; he was frightened. "Then listen to your father. Do

76             Mervedes Lackey V Mark Shepherd

not disobey him. It is the way of the Chosen Ones. It
was wrong for you to ask another grownup when your
father already told you it wasn't you." Joe held his chin
in his right hand, forcing the boy to look directly in his
eyes. "If your father said it was someone else, then it
was someone else. Don't ask anyone about it again."

Jamie wanted to cry. This was the first time his friend
had spoken to him like that, and it hurt terribly. This is still
not right, he thought But he isn't gonna tell me anything else,
either. Maybe Fd better not ask about Mom, then. Daddy already
told me why she isn't here. It's because she doesn't want to be.

But as Joe walked him back to his room, he couldn't
believe this was the real reason.

Joe walked him back to the tiny cubicle that served as
his home. It was in a section of the underground that was
lined with sheet metal, forming tubular habitats for most
of the "civilian" Chosen Ones. That meant all the
women, little kids, and the few men that weren't in the
Guard, likeJamie's dad. The Guard and Junior Guard
lived elsewhere, in barracks-type quarters, austere living
for even a seasoned soldier. At first, Jamie had thought it
was a kind of jail, without the bars. Joe had showed the
Junior Guard barracks to him once, but it did not inspire
the awe the older boy had apparently hoped it would.

Jamie's quarters were cozy in comparison. The cult
had found scrap carpeting and had used it to create a
patchwork quilt on all the floors. The three pieces of fur-
niture were all used, and none of it matched: a chair, a
formica coffee table, a burlap-covered couch with the
stuffing coming out in white, fluffy lumps. For the first
week they didn't have a bed and had to sleep on blankets
and blocks of soft foam that had been in a flood, accord-
ing to Jamie's dad. The two twin mattresses they had now
were an improvement over the floor, but Jamie over-
heard one of the men who carried them in say they had
been stolen from a motel. Their lighting came from one

WHEELS OF FIRE                77

dangling lightbulb that had no switch and had to be
unscrewed each night with an "as-best-ohs" rag kept
specifically for that purpose. The bathroom and single
shower were down the hall and serviced the entire row of
ten tiny rooms. Moist, musty air occasionally blew
through a small vent, enough to keep the room from get-
ting too stuffy. But since they were underground, the
cool earth kept the temperature down.

At firstthe rugged environmentwasmoreexdting than
uncomfortable, this secret place where he hid with his dad
from the rest of the world. But as a week passed, and he
began to miss his mother and wonder about where she
was, the experience became disturbing. He missed his
things, his toys, and especially his clothes. He missed
having three meals, or even one meal, a day. He couldn't
remember the last time he'd eaten, other than Joe's gift of
candy. Itwasn'tyesterday. Ithink it was theday before. Whenhe
went to the dining hall, all they would give him was juice.
Orange juice at breakfast, vegetable juice at lunch and
dinner, and apple juice at night. Everyone else got to eat,

butnothim.

Joe's answer wasn't good enough, Jamie thought,
morosely. It wasn't even close. Didn't tell me nothin'.

Jamie sat on his bed and leaned against the curved,
metal wall. His father was not here yet, but it would
only be a matter of moments before he came and
fetched him for supper, which was served in a large,
communal hall. But I've got time to talk to Sarah, before he

gets here.

The wall was cool and pulled some of the heat out of
his body. Good. That'll help me to think real hard.

He closed his eyes. "Sarah?" he said. "Are you

there?"
•Tm hem, Jamie,: he suddenly heard in his head. :Iwas

getting worried.:

• CHAPTER FOUR

Cindy looked a little better now that she was in the
cool, dry air ofAndur's air-conditioned interior. Her
conversation was certainly more animated.

"Well, like I said, he's a car nut. That's why I was
here, looking for him at the track." Cindy repeated
herself often, apparently without realizing it, as Al's
elvensteed, Andur, pulled slowly through the paddock.

Andur was disguised as a white Mazda Miata,
although usually Andur was a much flashier Porsche
911. Andur's choice of form - and Alinor's transporta-
tion of choice - had changed through the ages. To flee
the Civil War, Andur had been a roan stallion. Some
years later he had manifested as a Harley Davidson,
but this had attracted the wrong kind of attention, and
Al had asked him to change to something less con-
spicuous. On a racetrack the little sports-car fit in quite
well; though it was an inexpensive one, anything more
ostentatious might have attracted questions.

Besides, Al rather liked Miatas. Their design was
rounded, purposeful and sensual, like a lover's body or
a sabre's sweep.

Andur in this form had only two seats, but Bob
claimed there were last-minute things to do at the pits
before calling it a day and sauntered off" to check on his
precious engine.

Al didn't spare a second thought for the man, who
seemed just as happy to deal with metal and machine-
parts, rather than an unhappy lady on the edge. In
some ways, Al didn't blame him; Cindy seemed very

WHEELS OF FIRE                79

dose to the end other resources - mental, emotional
and physical. Bob was young and might not be much
help with an emotional crisis. And he certainly couldn't
be counted on for sparkling, cheery conversation if

Cindy got too morose.

The summer sun was setting, casting an orange glow
on. the Hallet raceway, silhouetting Bob against the
red-and-gold sky. He appeared solid. Someone to be
depended upon. Al was very thankful Bob was here, as
he pulled away from the pit area, heading for the
nearby campground.

Cindy clenched her hands in her lap, as tense as an
over-wound dock-spring. Al's senses told him that her
anxiety attack had yet to run its course. She was not
paying much attention to things outside of herself,
which was all to the good for him, but that wasn't a
healthy state of mind for a human.

She was surely running on pure adrenalin by now.
Her hands shook slightly, and she still had trouble
catching her breath, and that also concerned him. He
wasn't a Healer, except maybe of metals. If she were to
become ill, he wouldn't know what to do with her.

How am 1 to calm her down? She can't have been eating
•well, lately - and the heat hasn't done her any good, either. I
have to get her settled and balanced, or she won't be of any use

ataU.

Alinor frowned as he considered her distress. From
the moment they began talking he had been forced to
put up an array of shields usually reserved for the most
intense of emotional moments. There was no doubt
that she was in dire need of some kind of release, and
out of consideration for her state of mind, he allowed a
small amount of her anxiety to seep through. She
wouldn't know what he was doing - not consdously -
but even though she was only marginally psychic, her
subconsdous would know that someone was "listen-
ing" to her, and cared enough to pay attention and not

80 Mercedes Lackey 6f Mark Shepherd

block her out. It was simply common manners among
elves not to shut someone out completely, unless
absolutely necessary; what he had done so far was
enough to keep Cindy from pulling him in with her.
Later, when he could concentrate on the task, he would
see what he could do to apply some emotional balm to
her misery.

On the other hand - so far as keeping his "cover"
intact was concerned - in her present state she
probably wouldn't notice that the Miata had no igni-
tion, or that it was driving itself. Al rested his hands on
the steering wheel, to make it look as if he was in con-
trol, but the elvensteed knew where they were going.

"1 think I left the air-conditioning on in the RV," Al
said conversationally, reaching forward with a tiny
touch of magic and activating the air-conditioning
switch. With any luck, it would be cool by the dme they
got there. Let's see... Gatorade in the fridge? Yeah, plenty of
that. And ice. We should be in good shape when we arrive. "It
has a shower," he added, hesitating. Al realized what
this might sound like, and he glanced over at Cindy for
a reaction. She offered none, gazing blankly forward,
apparently unaware she was tying the edge other
blouse in a knot.

At least she didn't take exception to that suggestion. That is,
if she even heard it. It wasn't as if he was trying to seduce
her in any way -

Even though shewas attracted tome, I could feel that....

But he wasn't demanding sex - he wasn't even
expecting it. It was just-

Damn. lam trying to seduce her. Am I flying to prove to her
that I'm attractive, or to myself? This is something that a good
session of sweat cannot fix. I should know better.

But she was very vulnerable at this point, and in
obvious need of comfort. Comfort which could be
physical or otherwise - and if physical, could take any
number of forms. And he was skilled at offering that

81

WHEELS OF FIRE

kind of comfort. He'd had lots of time to practice, after

all-
Stop it! he scolded himself. He was tempted to reflect

on the last dme he'd had any kind ofreladonship, but
he knew it would only heighten his desire. In his
childhood, so many years ago, the maxim had been
drilled into him by his father: never get involved emotion-
ally with a human, except on the most casual of terms. There
was a good reason for this guideline, as evidenced by
centuries ofelvenkind's experience. First of all, going
by most definitions of a "reladonship," the human in-
volved would eventually become aware of the
existence of the Folk and want to know what was going
on. With the exception of humans like Bob, the foster
children who were brought up Underbill, this was sel-
dom a good idea. Word could get out, and if enough
humans became convinced that elves were "real," the
elves in quesdon would have to go into strictest hiding.
This was usually done with concealment spells, but in
the more dangerous cases of hostile humans, an all-out
retreat to Underbill often became necessary.

But that wasn't the real danger. One way or another,
those situations could be handled. The Folk were ex-
perts at hiding from the humans, and throughout then-
long history had even enhanced their disguises with
"fairy tales" they had written themselves.

The main reason the Sidhe avoided relationships
with humans was simply that humans grew old and

died.

However, when Alinor was younger, he had decided

to ignore this advice. Being young, he had convinced
himself that he was immune to such pain -

And I told myself that killjoy adults didn't understand love.
They couldn't see how it meant more than life or death.

Or so he thought.

It had been around a century and a half ago. After
falling head over heels in love with a young pioneer

82

Mwcedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

girl, Janet Travis, they settled in what was now North
Dakota. They were one of the few settlers able to main-
tain a homestead in that area, as they were the only
wasichu who could get along with the Lakota Sioux
living there.

It helped that they honored the beliefs of the Sioux
themselves, hunting rather than farming, never taking
from the land more than they could use, never wasting
anything, and giving thanks for what the land gave
them. Alinor's magic, carefully disguised as earth-
medicine, brought the deepest respect from the tribes.

The years passed, the seasons turned, and Alinor
and his human bride enjoyed what seemed in
retrospect to have been an idyllic existence in the
Plains. It was the longest stretch of time he had ever
spent away from his own kind, and if it hadn't been for
this periodic sojourn Underbill, he might not have sur-
vived with his sanity intact. Janet only knew that he was
going out hunting - to trap furs to trade for the things
they needed. He never told her that he went off
Underbill to reproduce the flour, salt, bolts of linen...
and that the few things he did trade for, he went to the
Lakota for. Men did that, and she understood. He
would go off and return with three elvensteeds laden
with enough to see them through another six months
or so.

The problem was, it was hard work reproducing
enough goods to last six months. He could be gone as
long as a month. And time did not pass Underbill the
same way it passed in the real world. He never knew
exactly when he would emerge....

One bright winter afternoon, Alinor came back from
his semi-annual trip and discovered his beloved Janet
was dead.

He had never learned the cause then; and the
reason was still a mystery. The Lakota might have been
able to tell him, but they were in their winter hunting

WHEELS OF FIRE                83

grounds, and no one had been near the cabin. She
could have been hurt - she could have caught an ill-
ness - he had no way of telling.

She was forty years old, advanced age for humans of
that era, but she had been healthy and young-seeming,
without the burden of producing a child each year as
women of her time usually did. She had been fine
when he left her, and from the condition of their cabin,
whatever had killed her had sickened her so quickly
that she hadn't had time to do more than close the door,
put out the latchstring, and get into her bed.

He'd thought in the first month that he would join
her, dying of grief. He'd thought in the second month
that no one of the Folk had ever suffered so. In the
third month, he burned the cabin to the ground with
his power, gave his furs and treasures to the Lakota,
and returned to North Carolina and Underbill.

A little older, a little wiser, Alinor sought out the High
Court of Elfhame Outremer. He returned to his
brethren with his grief. There he learned that others
had made the same bonds to mortals as he had, and

understood.

Janet was many years ago, he told himself. I promised
myself I would never do that again.

Still, it had been a very long dme since he had taken a
human lover; despite her distress he found Cindy
appealing, and sensed that she was attracted to him as
well.

But not now. There is a time/or everything, he thought,
and the time hasn't arrived yet.

The RV was parked on a section of the Hallet grounds
reserved for campers. The camaraderie was as evident
here as at the races; the temporary city of tents, campers
and rec vehicles provided some sanctuary from the fran-
tic pace of the n-ack. The portable communities followed
the races much like the ranks ofcamies did at the state
fairs, and the faces were always familiar. Al could have

84             Mercedes Lackey £sf Aforfe Shepherd

walked the distance, but Cindy had seemed ready to melt
- and Andur had been right there. And, truth be told -
human women found sports-cars exdting. He'd been
strutting like a prize cock, hoping that she would admire

his "Miata," and that some of that admiration would spill
over onto him.

They pulled up next to the RV, near a copse of trees that
offered some shade. "My paren,ts had an RV like this. A
Winnie, isn'tit?" Cindy said asshegotoutofthe Miata.

"Class C Winnebago. With a bunk over the cab," Al
said. "Did you say you have parents?"

"Had. They died last year. I had to sell the RV to help
settle their estate or I'd still have it," she said. Her
words trailed off, and she seemed to withdraw a little.

I guess Fd better not pursue that one, Al thought, realiz-
ing that he'd touched on a sensitive subject. Sounds like
this poor girl is all alone in this mess. Without even parents to
fall back on. Hearing that surprised him somewhat. For
the most part, his small sphere of friends, though far
away, were Sidhe. Al thought in terms of the Kin's lon-
gevity, not humans'.

The interior of the RV was pleasantly cool, to Al's
relief. But as they entered the door, he found himself
embarrassed by the state of the interior. He wished that
he had cleaned the place up a little; he couldn't even
see the second bed under all the animal, vegetable and
mineral flotsam that somehow migrated into the cabin,
seemingly of its own volition.

I think junk breeds in R Vs.

He scooped up an armload of dirty clothes - and
other things less identifiable - then dumped the
entire load in the tiny bathroom to be sorted. Later.
Then he popped the table up, making the bed into a
place they could both sit.

"Cozy," Cindy commented, but it sounded like she

was trying to be polite. He noticed her nose wrinkling
at an odor.

85

WHEELS OF FIRE

Yes, I know. The place smells, Al thought apologetically.
But at the moment she looked like she didn't care too
Hiuch. Why clean the place every day when I can effortlessly
make it into my normal nest? Being one of the Sidhe had its
advantages; Al could conjure whatever he wanted for
the interior. On most days, his digs would make a
Pharaoh envious. Silk sheets covered the beds, and
intricate, woven tapestries draped the walk and ceiling
of the compact RV, giving it more depth, an illusion of
space it just didn't have. Bob certainly never had any
complaints about it. But all that luxury would have to
stay in magical "storage"; at least until Cindy was safely

stowed away somewhere else.

His harem of illusory dancing girls, complete with
fans, grapes and feathered garments, would also have
to remain in hiding, stashed away in the netherlands of
his magical universe. Only his statue, an ornamental
metal reproduction of an art-nouveau Phaeton mas-
cot, could remain the same. When "activated," it
became a graceful, liquid-chrome servant. In its
inanimate state, however, it looked like something that
had been stolen from someone's lawn. He'd have to do

without her as well.

He sighed. For the time being his home would have
to remain a plain, unaugmented recreational vehicle,
complete with a monumental mortal mess.

"I don't think I have to ask if you're thirsty," Al said,
pulling a large square jug of orange Gatorade from the
fridge. "Despite appearances, the cups are clean. I
promise. And so is the ice."

Cindy settled down at the smallish table, letting the
cool breeze of the air-conditioner brush across her face.
"That feels so good," she said. "I don't know how to
thank you for all this. Are you sure your friend won't
mind if I stay here tonight?"

"Positive. We'll work something out," Al said, though
he didn't know what it would be. He sat at a second place

86            Menedes Lackey £s?Mark Shepherd

at the table with the other plasdc cup ofGatorade. "Feel
better?" he asked, as she gulped the orange potion.

Thatmuchwehavein common. Webothneedtkismagicalstujf
afterallthatheat. Italwaystastesgoodwhenyoureallyneedit.

"Much," Cindy said, sounding like she really meant it.
"Tell me, what exactly do you do at the racetrack? You're
notall dirty and grubby like most mechanics I know."

Like her ex, Al thought with hostility, but set the feeling
aside. You, don't know he was a mechanic. Parts store, rsmember?

"Originally I'm from the East Coast." Fve come from
many places. I'd better tell her one she'll believe. "North
Carolina, mostly. That's where the South Eastern Road
Racing Association is based. SERRA, for short. And the
firm I work for, Fairgrove Industries. We're running a
test-project for the Firestone team." He didn't mention
he had conjured an engine block from thin air, and was
here with Bob to watch how it performed.

"So what, exactly, are you doing here?" she quizzed.
"This must be small time compared to what you're
used to."

"Well no, not really," Al lied. "Hallet is unique. It
takes skill to keep our cars on this one at the speeds
we're traveling. This is a good venue to heat-stress test
the cars and their engines. I'm on loan to the Firestone
team as I said - what I'm actually doing is monitoring
one of our cast-aluminum engine blocks. Different
drivers, different conditions, out in this neck of the
woods. A good way to make sure that what works at
Roebling Road or Road Atlanta will work everywhere."

"I see," Cindy said, but it looked like he was losing
her again. A faraway, distant look fell over her. Think-
ing other things.

"Do you think I'll ever find him?" Cindy finally said,
looking at him as if he was the original Sibylline Oracle,
oranArchdruid.

He spoke from his heart. "Yes, I think we will. But
first things first. Are you dred?"

WHEELS OF FIRE               87

"Exhausted," she said, yawning. "This cold air. Feel's
good, but..."

"Putting you to sleep, isn't it?" Al observed, wryly.

"Some," she admitted. "What dme is it, anyway?"

"Eight something, probably. Why don't you go
ahead and crash? I have to go check some things before
I turn in."

"You're sure I'm no trouble?"

"I'm certain. Go ahead, scoot. Take the bunk over
the cab. That plastic curtain pulls across for privacy
and snaps at the corners. I can make this table back into
abed for myself."

Which should reassure her as to the purity of my intentions.

Cindy finished off two more cups ofGatorade before
she climbed the ladder into the overhead and finally
gave in to sleep. It didn't take long. She must be
dehydrated, Al decided, leaving a fourth cup of iced
Gatorade in the well at the head other bed, in case she
woke up thirsty.

Before leaving the RV, Al stood in the doorway, look-
ing back at Cindy, lying there asleep. So trusting of
strangers, he thought She doesn't know anything about me,
yet she falls asleep so easily, leaving herself vulnerable. Either I
look completely harmless, or the poor girl is very, very naive. Or
else she's so desperate she'd take an offer of help from anyone.

Alinor left the RV, locking the door and making cer-
tain it was secure. He seldom locked it, having his own
devices for safeguarding the Winnie, but this dme he
made an exception.

Night had fallen on the track, and locusts and crick-
ets were out in full force, replacing the race-car roars
that had dominated the daylight hours. Around him
were small impromptu parties, barbecues, none of
which would last very long. Racers tended to respect
the next man's sleep time, and brought the noise inside
after about nine or ten at night, adjourning to quiet
poker games or TV. Some of them traded videotapes,

88 Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

and a couple had Nintendos casting their spell. A tran-
quil atmosphere fell over the little makeshift city of
tents and campers at night, reminding Al of why he
liked radng in general, and these humans in particular.
It was as an RV marketer had advertised once, "a com-
munity on wheels," where the people next to you were
your neighbors, even if for only one night at a time.

Al walked beyond the campers to an emptying park-
ing lot. Not a lot of spectators on trial days. Only
hard-core racing fans showed up for days like these,
and those that were not friends of someone here were
long gone. This was a good day to look for her child, Al
thought. If he had been here, he would have been easy to spot.
Too bad they weren't here. Maybe tomorrow...

Maybe - but he didn't have a lot of hope that they
really would show up.

Cindy looked a lot like Janet; flyaway brown-blond
hair, freckles over the bridge other nose, direct, blue
eyes. Really, allowing for the differences in clothing,
she looked amazingly like Janet. He guessed that her
sense of humor would be very similar too - and that if
she ever really smiled, it would light up her face and
make her dazzlingly lovely.

And he was afraid of the effect that would have on
him.

He told himself that he had other things to think
about, and plenty of them. / will deal with that later.

So, what should they do about this missing child? Sit
around and wait for him to appear on their doorstep?
It didn't seem a very logical way to handle things. We
could keep an eye out for her child tomorrow, but it sure feels
like a longshot. I didn't want to tell her that, since this is her
only hope. What if they don't come tomorrow? What then?

Feeling tired, and just a little depressed, Al sat on a
tire-wall, watching the sparse traffic on the nearby
Cimarron Turnpike. His vision blurred as he gazed at
the occasional retreating red taillights, and he began to

WHEELS OF FIRE               89

see how dred he really was. His thoughts turned to his
partner. Bob. He's not going to Kke this one bit. And I didn't
even ask him if she could stay. It's my RV, but it's his home, too.
I just took it far granted that he wouldn't mind.

But then, what else could he have done? She was
alone and broke, and a child was involved....

How could he turn his back on a child - or on some-
one as childlike in her distress as Cindy?

But then again, he didn't know exactly what he was
getting into and was beginning to feel a little put out
with himself for getting so deeply involved so quickly. I
know what Bob will say: leave it to the Sidhe to stick their noses
in where no one else would. But that thought simply
catalyzed his resolve again. Well, so be it! That's why we get
things done.

Al paced the edge of the parking lot; the asphalt
radiated heat and the scent of baking petroleum, still
warm from the day's sun. Portions were cracked and
dry, the result of years of weathering. A lone Hallet
employee wandered the empty parking lot with a bag,
picking up litter. If I had lost a child in this part of the
country, how would I go about finding him?

It didn't take long for him to see that he knew very
little about how the mainstream of human society
worked. He might as well have been from another
planet. For years, especially recently, in modem times,
he had relied on humans like Bob to provide a
smokescreen for him, concealing him from suspicious
eyes and coping with the intricacies of the modern
world for him. In fact, of all the Folk Al knew, only
Keighvin Silverhair in Savannah knew enough of the
modern world to move about in it unaided.

Even at Hallet, Bob played interference for his
partner. This was a world within a world, essentially
transparent to the rest of the population. His niche as a
SERRA and Fairgrove mechanic made him part of the
landscape; nobody asked questions around the track if

90             Mercedes Lackey £s? Mark Shepherd

you were an insider, and SERRA automatically
qualified him as that. Only outsiders were subject to
suspicion. Outsiders - like Cindy, which was probably
the reason she'd had so much trouble this afternoon.

When anything went wrong, if an accident hap-
pened, there was always a human there to pick up the
pieces, to drive the ambulance, to call the hospital. Al
had never had to do any of those things. On the rare
occasions that police were involved, Al had observed
from a distance, preferring to keep his presence as dis-
creet as possible, even throwing in a concealment spell
for good measure. But out here, there were no police
to call - those were attached to cities, and Hallet
hardly qualified as that. There was someone else in
authority in these parts, but he couldn't remember
who, or what, they were.

Blessed Danaa, Al thought, throwing his arms up in
helplessness. Where does one go for help around here ?

He had no idea. Back at the RV he had felt rather -
superior. What was it Bob said? Macho, that was it.
Macho to be able to help Cindy out like he did. Then he
was in control of the situation. And he was also on his
own territory, the racetrack, the Winnie. But now,
faced with the prospect of going Out There, into the
humans' everyday world, he was at a complete loss.

Then he remembered an ad he'd seen once. Can't
find it? Try the Yellow Pages.

"The phone book. Of course," he whispered, barely
realizing he'd spoken aloud.

Near the observation tower was a row of public
telephones. Al had generally avoided such devices,
even when they were in their infancy. There was some-
thing inherently wrong about one of the Folk using
such a contrivance, when he could send his thoughts
and messages to faraway places without them. It was
like using crutches to walk when nothing was wrong
with your legs. But he went in search of one, and

WHEELS OF FIRE                 91

spotted it by the lighted symbol built into it, with the
phone book attached by a chain. Some of the pages
even looked yellow.

"Let's see, her ex-husband's name was Jim Chase.
That's the same as James Chase, I think," he muttered
to himself. He fished out the last of his cookies and ate
them while he thumbed through the book. The phone
book was a bit thinner than the ones he had seen,
which might have been a clue to its usefulness had he
been operating on the proper wavelength.

Nothing. Not even a "Chase" was listed.

Ok, then. Be that way. Can't find it? How about "missing
children" in the yellow pages?

No luck. Hallet wasn't exactly a large town. In fact,
the directory listed several other towns in the same
directory. Frustrated, and tired, he gave up on the
phone book. Time to find Bob, Al finally admitted. Maybe
he'll have an idea. After all, it's his society.

Bob wasn't very talkative, as usual, and suggested
they tackle the missing child situation in the morning.
They had both had a long day, he pointed out, and
besides, tomorrow their crew had a day off. Good time
to play private investigator. Al agreed, finding it dif-
ficult to stay awake. He'd been short on sleep last night,
and his body knew it. A few hours from now, he'd be
alert, his mind running at top form. Now was not the
time to try to solve problems.

But there was the need to figure out where to put

Bob-
He solved the sleeping logistics by having Andur
turn himself into a white van, complete with bed -
truth be told, a much nicer environment than the Win-
nie was at the moment. Bob volunteered for it without
Al having to ask; Al retired in the table-turned-bed,
with Cindy chastely asleep in the loft, and instantly fell
asleep, the woman's proximity notwithstanding.

92 Mercedes Lackey 6f Mark Shepherd

Dawn brought something besides the crowing of
roosters in the nearby farmyards. There were sounds
of someone stirring in the RV. Not unusual; Bob often
got up before he did, and sometimes even started
breakfast, if he felt motivated enough. But the sounds
he heard were different, not of someone making a new
mess, but of someone... cleaning an old one up.

This was terribly out of place. Alarmed, Al sat up
abruptly.

"Good morning," Cindy greeted him cheerfully,
from an arm's-length away. "When was the last dme
you guys cleaned this dump?"

Egads. A morning person, Al thought muzzily, as the
evening's events came flooding back at him. I took this
Cindy under my wing last night, didn't I? If she's going to be
awake and active this early in the morning, maybe I'd better
think about putting her somewhere else. Al fell back on an
elbow, watching her sweep the narrow aisle of the RV.
The place smelled strongly of ammonia and Lysol, in
spite of the fact that the windows were open, the air-
condidoner off.

"We have a broom?" Al inquired, yawning.

"Yes, you do," she replied. "It was in the back of the
doset. Soil wrapped up with the cardboard thingie on
the back. Never used."

Horrified, Al watched her sweep up the dust into a
shoebox and begin wiping down the plastic runner
with a sponge.

"We don't have a..." What was it called? Oh, yeah, "A
mop. Didn't know you could do it that way."

She paused, then looked up with a faint smile. "I can
tell. Don't worry, I'm almost done. And I guarantee
you won't be able to find a thing."

"That's nice to know," Al said, uncertain of what
exactly she meant. He realized that he was still fully
clothed, either because he had been too exhausted to

WHEELS OF FIRE                93

remove his garments the night before, or in his foggy
state he was too modest around Cindy to get comfort-
able. He'd even left the track cap on, with his hair
pulled back into a thick ponytail, so as to better hide his
ears. Good. Saves me the trouble of getting dressed. He
glanced out the little side window at the white van that
was his elvensteed, and reached with his mind to the
sleeping human within. Bob wasn't sleeping; in fact, he
wasn't even there. Must be off doing something.

He sat up and regarded his small -but now spotless
- home. The sink and stove had been cleaned, as had
the microwave and refrigerator. These items were now
new colors, ones he didn't recognize. Even the cabinets
had been wiped clean. He was suddenly ashamed that
this human had had to stay here without the usual con-
cealing spells that made its squalor into splendor.

She deserved better. He began moving the foam-
block cushions to make the bed back into a breakfast
table, pondering the changes in the RV, and the more
unnerving ones deep in himself.

Something was missing, but in this unnatural state of
cleanliness, he didn't know what. It was all so... different

My clothesi he realized, in panic, remembering the
crumpled, smelly pile of fabric that was developing a
life of its own, a fixture that was moved from one loca-
tion to another without ever really being dealt with.
What did she do with them?

"Bob is at the laundromat," she said, as if reading his
mind. "I had to show him where it was."

Which answered two questions. "It is sort of hard to
find," Al said, wondering where it was himself.

She eyed him strangely, then said, "Would you like
me to make coffee?"

Caffeine! Blessed Danaa, no....

"Uh, no thanks, Cindy. I don't drink coffee." Or any-
thing else with caffeine. "Hard on my stomach. I'm -
uh - allergic to it. To caffeine. Badly." Al checked his

94 Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

wristwatch. Ten-thirty. "It's early. And it looks like
you've got a lot done. Why don't you take a break?"

"I think I will. Oh, I wanted to ask you. Where did
that white van come from?"

Al feigned nonchalance. "Oh, that's ours. The
crew's. It kind of gets traded around," he said, hoping
she believed him. / meant to have that changed back to the
Miata before anyone got up, he thought, and hoped that
Bob told her the same, if not a similar, story.

Cindy dropped into the tiny booth the bed had
become. Al opened a Gatorade, his standard breakfast
fare. "How do you feel?"

"Much better. Since it was cool this morning, I went
ahead and opened the windows. The cleaners, and all."
Al nodded; it was still an uncomfortably strong scent.
Guess that's what clean smells like. "Thank you for letting
me stay here. Hope you don't mind the cleanup."

"Oh, not at all. I'm glad you did. Forgot what the
place really looked like."

Bob came into the narrow door, first shoving in a
huge laundry bag that Al was distantly aware of
owning. It was stuffed to its maximum capacity with, he
assumed, clean clothes. A rare treat. It caught in the
doorway, and with a visible effort Bob wedged it
through.

"]ust set it up there," Al said, indicating the now
vacated loft. "We have things to do today."

Bob looked around at the RV and the sparkling
results of Cindy's work. "Jesus," he said, and sat.
"You've been busy. I've been asking around about your
boy, Cindy. Nobody here knows anything. Might be
they've never been here."

Cindy looked down, to hide the sudden surge of
despair. Al felt it anyway. "Oh well. It was worth a try,"
she replied, sounding defeated. "I don't know what
else to do now."

"Have you called the sheriff's office?" Bob asked.

WHEELS OF FIRE               95

"I've talked to the Tulsa police. There wasn't much
they could do about it. Then I called the Tulsa County
sheriff's office, and they were sympathetic, but not
much help either."

"Eyah," Bob said. "But we happen to be in Pawnee
county here. What you say we give 'em a call? If those
nutsos that your ex is involved with set up shop around
here, you can bet the Sheriff will know it And in a place
this small, everybody knows everybody else. A new
man in town with a small boy is likely to get noticed."

Al finished his Gatorade and all three trooped to the
pay telephones to call the Pawnee County Sheriff's
office. Bob gave Al a nod and a significant look; Al
shrugged and stood aside to let Bob make the call.

"Well, I think we might be in luck," Bob said, hang-
ing up the phone. He had spoken for several minutes
in a hushed monotone that was hard to listen to. The
one-sided conversation shed little light on what the
person on the other side was saying. "Deputy named
Frank knows about some kind of whacked-out
religious cult in this area. Actually, it's closer to Pawnee
than Hallet, from what Frank says. He wants to talk to

us.

"Well, then," Alinor said. "Let's go."

"In what? The Miata's only a two-seater," Bob said.

Al gave him the hairy eyeball, cleared his throat
loudly, and continued. "The crew gave us the van.
Rememberf"

"Oh, yes. The van," he responded, while Al wondered
what he had told Cindy about the elvensteed and the
mysteriously appearing and disappearing van.

But at the moment, Cindy didn't seem to notice the
awkward exchange, or care. She had a gleam in her
eye, excitement that could only be a glimmer of hope.

Pawnee was a tiny little burg nesded among the roll-
ing hills of Northeast Oklahoma, similar to a dozen

96 Mercedes Lackey 6f Mark Shepherd

other towns that Bob and Al had passed through on
their trip to Hallet. Pawnee itself was built on a series of
hills, giving it an uneven, dited look. It looked old, and
for Oklahoma, which had been granted statehood in
1907, that meant sometime early this century. The
dates on the masonry of some of the buildings con-
firmed this: 1911,1922,1923. City Hall was behind an
elaborate storefront, on a red brick street unevened
with time. Across a street-wide gulfofdme and technol-
ogy was a Chevy-Geo dealership, displaying the latest
Storms and Metros in the same showroom window that
once must have hawked carriages, Model T's, and
Woodies.

Al had a definite feeling ofddjd vu, thinking maybe
he had been here before, in his youth, when horses
and sprung carriages were just starting to replace
horses and buckboards. Even in modern times the
town maintained a tranquil, relaxed atmosphere.

They passed a Texaco, a mom and pop steakhouse, a
tag office, a Masonic temple and assorted dty blocks of
ancient brick structures that had no obvious function,
their windows boarded or bricked over. Pickup trucks
and enormous cars from the sixties and seventies
seemed to be the preferred mode of transportation
here. Townfolk strolled the sidewalks, casting annoyed
or disdainful looks at the few hopped-up teenmobiles
haunting the streets. Lunchtime, Al noted, thinking
there was probably a high school nearby.

In the center of Pawnee was a grassy knoll, sur-
rounded on three sides by brick streets; Al had
forgotten such anachronisms still existed. The seat of
Pawnee County government sat atop the knoll,
guarded by a large piece of artillery, a museum piece
forever enshrined on the front lawn. Behind this stood
a WWI memorial, a statue of a soldier with flowers
spelling "PAWNEE" at its feet. The courthouse was a
three-story brick building, surrounded by a few cedar

97

WHEELS OF FIRE

and oak trees. Carved in stone, across the top of the
structure, were the words: PAWNEE COUNTY COURT-
HOUSE.
As they approached, Al could see a single car in the

parking lot, with the traditional silver star of authority

painted proudly on its side.

"This is it for the whole county?" Bob exclaimed as
they climbed out of the van. "Doesn't seem like much."

"Pawnee County is not highly populated," Al
reminded him, then jibed, "I thought you didn't like

metro areas."

"I don't. I just expected more, is all."

Cindy held her purse closer, as if it were a teddy bear.
Then she checked to be sure the photo ofJamie was
still inside. "I don't care if it's a shack, as long as they can
help me find my son. Is the Sheriff's office in there?"

"Should be. That's where the car is. Let's have a

look."
The courthouse smelled old; smelled of dust, layer

upon layer of ancient floorwax, more layers of wood-
polish, of old papers stuffed away in boxes and
forgotten, and of heat-baked stone. There was no air-
conditioning in the central part of the building. The
floor was hand-laid terrazzo, cheap and popular in the
thirties, and worth a small fortune today. In the
hallway, handpainted signs hung over battered,
wooden doors, thick with brown paint applied over the
years. There was not a person in sight in the over-
powering silence. Al began to wonder if they were in

the right place.
"Is there anyone here?" Cindy said, as they walked

uncertainly down the hallway. "No people."

"This is it Look," Bob said, going towards a sign that
said "SHERIFF'S OFFICE," with an arrow pointing
down. They took a short flight of stairs to the court-
house basement, and found the Pawnee County
Sheriff's office behind a glass door.

98 Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

Again, the place seemed to be staffed by ghosts.
They looked over a receptionist's counter into a
well-furnished office. The walls were half-faded
government-blue and half-wood paneling. Then,
from an adjacent office, a chair squeaked, and a
deputy appeared.

"Yes? Can I help you?" the young man said. "Are
you..."

"We called a half an hour ago," Bob said.

"You must be Cindy Chase, then," he said to Cindy.
"Please come in. I'm Frank Casey, I hope I can help you."

Frank was exactly what a deputy in Oklahoma
should look like, Al decided. He was sizable, with short,
coal-black hair, dark skin, high cheekbones. He was
without a doubt part Native American, a large man who
barely cleared the doorway to his office. He wore a
dark brown uniform with tan pants, and had a deep,
booming voice that commanded immediate attention.
He moved slowly, as if through water, and had a gaze
that suggested he was drowsy. But AI saw he was
anything but dim; his eyes shone with subdued intel-
ligence, an intensity that seemed appropriate for
anyone in a position of authority. He was capable, and
concerned about Cindy. Al decided that he was an ally.

Frank pushed open a creaking brass-trimmed door
and led them to his office. Three ancient varnished-oak
folding chairs had been set up, apparently in prepara-
tion for their visit, in front of a pressboard computer
desk with a gleaming-white IBM PC sitting incon-
gruously atop it.

"Have you filled out one of these?" Frank asked
right away, shoving a piece of paper across the desk to
Cindy, a form for a "runaway or missing person
report."

She nodded without taking it. "In Atlanta, and again in
Tulsa. Last dme they said it was already in the computer."

"Good," Frank said, sitting at the computer. "That

WHEELS OF FIRE               99

will save dme. Lets see what the NCIC has to say about

it."

"NCIC?" Al asked.

"National Crime Information Center." Frank
tapped away, and soon a menu filled the screen. "If you
filled out a report in Atlanta, then it was entered there.
This will tell us if anything else has developed lately
that you don't know about yet."

After a few moments he frowned and said, "James
Chase, Jr. Kidnaped from school by one James Byron
Chase, your husband -"

"Ex-husband," Cindy quickly interrupted.

"And last seen in Tulsa, a week ago. Hmm. And now
you think he's in Pawnee County?"

"I thought he might have been at HalleL You know,
the races. They're big car fans, the both of them...."

"Tell me about it," Frank said calmly. "Tell me the
whole story. From the first time you thought something
was wrong. There might be something there I can use
to help you, and we've got dme."

Al paid no attention to the words; this dme he
narrowed his eyes as he tried to sort out the feelings
involved. As Cindy told the deputy about the changes in
her husband, Al had the feeling she was somehow
trying to justify the search for her son, emphasizing that
James Chase was no longer the man she married, that he
had become a monster and was nothing like the
caring, giving father of her son that she knew.
Almost... apologetic. For as many years as those two had been
married, there must have been some kind of ongoing emotional
abuse for her to feel so responsible about the situation. Emotional
abuse results in emotional damage. Great Danaa, look at Bob
when we rescued him. Gundar thought he was autistic until he
peeked out from under that thick, defensive shell.

When she got to the part about the Chosen Ones,
Frank became visibly more alert. "After that first
meeting I knew I had to getJamie to a shelter, but I was

100 Mercedes Lackey EsfAfarfe Shepherd

too afraid to do anything. Then, after James dragged
him off the second time, he came home in hysterics.
Something happened - I still don't know what But it
was the last straw."

Frank's eyes burned with an intensity that made Al
think of the Lakota warriors he had known so many
years ago. "I see. And the leader of this cult, what was
his name?"

Cindy bit her lip. "Brother something. Brother
Joseph, I think it was. Totally nuts."

Frank calmly got up and went to a file cabinet. When
he returned he held a thick file, and opened it out on
his desk. He handed Cindy a glossy photograph from a
stack of others. "Is this the man?"

Cindy stifled a gasp as she looked at the picture,
holding it by the edges as if it were tinged with
poison. "That's him, all right," she said, half in fear
and half in anger. "Those eyes. I could never forget
them."

"Then it is true. More evidence. Another angle to
this mess."

"What mess?" Al asked.

"This cult," Frank said, speaking the word as if it tasted
vile. "They've set up shop right here in our county.
There's hundreds of them, perhaps thousands. For the
past three years they've been building this damned thing
right under our noses and we never knew about it until
recently. Here. Look at these."

Frank handed her what looked like an aerial
photograph. Bob and Al, sitting on either side, leaned
in doser for a look.

"What am I looking at?" Bob asked.

"We asked the State Highway police to fly in and take
some pictures a few months back." Frank's eyes con-
tinued to smolder, and Al sensed a deep and abiding
anger behind the calm facade. "The construction you
see there is pretty much done by now. But there you

WHEELS OF FIRE              101

can see the equipment in use. From what I can see
from these, and it's not much, it looks like they're dig-
ging bunkers for World War III."

"That would make sense," she said thoughtfully. "I
remember something from that sermon, or whatever it
was, about an invasion that was going to happen any
dme now."

Frank raised one eyebrow. "From any particular
direction? Any special enemies?"

Cindy shook her head tiredly. "The Soviets, the
Jews, the blacks, the gays, the Satanists, pick a group -
any or all together. They didn't seem to differentiate
one from the other. But from the sounds of that bunch,
I don't think it would matter. He could say hairdressers
or Eskimos and diey'd still believe him."

Frank sat back in his chair and fingered one comer of
the file folder. "We've tried to get a search warrant to kind
of check things out. No luck. They have a dght-assed
lawyer - pardon my language, ma'am - who has filed
injunction after injunction, blocking die warrants. The
judge has no choice but to grant them. We don't have
enough evidence. The lawyer, as crazy as he is, knows his
business. Especially the loopholes in our legal system.
You'd dunk he wrote 'em, he knows diem so well."

"What about building codes?" Bob asked. "Those
bunkers look a litde questionable."

"That's the sad part about it," Frank said. "That
part of the county is unincorporated, so there aren't a
lot of permits you have to get. We already cleared
them, including the Environmental Impact Assess-
ment, years ago, without really checking it out. The
inspector in charge back then has since retired, when
we found out he had serious problems of a nature I'm
not at liberty to discuss. We even have the blueprints
to the place they filed when they applied for the per-
mits. It looks like they built more than originally
declared, but it's all underground, and we can't tell

102 Mercedes Lackey WMmk Shepherd

from outside. And we can't get a warrant to go in."

"Can we see the - blueprints?" Al asked, though he
wasn't sure what a blueprint was.

"Nothing much to see," Frank said. The blueprints
were in a desk drawer, and he spread them out over the
open file.

"All this here, and here, looks like living quarters. The
area isn't zoned so we couldn't get them on zoning viola-
dons. The rest, I don't know. But itfs legit All of it At least
everything they actually filed for." He folded the blueprint
up and returned them to his drawer. "After they scared the
EPAguy off with a squad of six armed bald goons following
him around, nobody wants to go in and inspect. And
there's nothing leaking into the aquifer or spilling into the
creek, so we can'tgo in thereonthat excuse."

"They had guns. Lots of guns. What do your laws
say about that?" Cindy asked.

"They're legal, on private property. To own and to
discharge. They're not within any city limits. They're
their own city. Unincorporated, of course, but a dty
nonetheless. And if they ever incorporate - they can
make their own laws."

"Even machine guns are legal?"

Frank gazed at Cindy a long moment. "Are you
referring to assault weapons?"

"I guess," she said doubtfully. Frank got to his feet,
amazingly agile for such a big man.

"I'll be back in a minute," he said.

While Frank was gone Al leaned forward and
glanced through the file. On top was a map, crudely
drawn, which seemed to be of the cult's hideout in rela-
tion to the land and roads around it. He leaned back in
his seat before Frank returned.

"Did they look anything like this?" Frank said, bran-
dishing a fierce-looking rifle. "It's a ColtAR-15. If they
have too many of these I'll be most displeased."

"Well, they had some of those." She frowned. "But

WHEELS OF FIRE               103

there were other kinds, too. Can I have something to
write with?"

"Here'sa pad," Frank said, shovinga notepad and pen-
cilacrossthedesk to her. "Can you drawwhatyou saw?"

She was already sketching. Frank stowed the assauk
rifle and returned; she gave him the rudimentary
drawing of a weapon.

He frowned. "This looks like anAK-47. The clip
curled out, like this?"

She nodded vigorously. "Uh-huh. They had other
guns - .45s, shotguns, 30-30s. My husband owns a
World War II Luger. He has it with him. But I saw an
awful lot of the ones with the curled dip."

"Christ on a crutch," Frank muttered. "Just what we
need. A nest ofcrazies with assault guns in our hills,
waiting for Commies."

"It's the same group," Bob interjected. "The same
ones we know James Chase was with. And we know he
took the boy and vanished when they did. Isn't that
enough for a search warrant?"

Frank gave him an opaque look. "To search for
what, exactly?"

"To search forJamie. That's why we're here today,"
Al pointed out.

Frank frowned, and said slowly, "I'll talk to the DA, but
I don't know. I would have said 'yes,' but that was a while
back. I've already locked horns with these crazies and
come off losing too many times. There were some things
about this cult that I thought were cut and dried, but I
was dead wrong. Can't shut someone down for their
religion, no matter how weird, and their lawyer knows
every angle of religious-discrimination law. And they've
ded themselves in to being a Chrisdan group, and Chris-
tians have the swing around here. That's the story."

"How much evidence do you need?" Cindy said,
sounding mystified. Al was just as frustrated, a hard
ball of tension forming in the pit of his stomach. He

104 Mercedes Lackey S^Mark Shepherd

could not believe this group was getting away with so
much, as Frank phrased it, right under their noses.
Brother Joseph is a shrewd one, to have picked this mmmumty.
He did his homework.

"I understand your frustration, Miz Chase," Frank said,
rubbing his temple with his knuckles, as if his head hurt.
"And I have my own set of frustrations. I'm the only one
around here who wants to get exdted about it. I think part
of the problem is folks around here, they don't quite grasp
the magnitude of what's taking place. Those people don't
come into town, not even to shop. They do that in Tulsa, by
the truckload. Most of them stay cooped up in that com-
plex. Those that do leave, they leave their guns behind,
except for maybe rifles in the gunracks in the cab window
and big crucifix stickers, and you see that everywhere."
Frank shifted in his chair, looking thoughtful. "What I've
seen up dose I don't like either. They have guards at the
gates leading into the complex, and they politely ask me to
leave whenever I show up. There are probably more
children in that place than we realize, but I've only seen a
half-dozen of the kids go to the schools here."

"They what?" Cindy said, sitting up. "IsJamie one of
them?"

Frank shook his head, and motioned for her to calm
down. "Don't think so, ma'am. I mean, I can't be sure
without checking, but I truly don't believe they'd let
him off their grounds if they have him. I've talked to
some of the teachers. Kids seem to be from all over the
country, complete with school records. They're legit, all
right. But, the teachers say the kids are basically quiet;

sort of keep to themselves, don't say much about
religion or anything else. They don't trust the other
kids. They move around in a tight little huddle, staying
together. You can talk to them, but they won't talk to
you. They just stare at you till you go away. And that
pretty much describes everyone at the compound."

"Could I talk to one of them?" Cindy asked hopefully.

WHEELS OF FIRE               105

Frank shook his head. "Even if you could get one to
talk, might not be a good idea. Could tip them off. If
they sent your husband andJamie out of this county,
there's nothing we could do about it. My guess is these
kids are brainwashed to the point of being 'safe' to let
outside the group. Doubt you'd get much more out of
'em than I have."

Soon, after more dead-end discussions, both parties
came to the conclusion that there wasn't a great deal
that could be done right then. Cindy's frustration was
obvious even to the deputy; Bob had his jaw clenched
tight, and Al felt the muscles of his back and shoulders
bunching with the need to do something. But there was
nothing to be done.

Legally.

And that's the real trick, isn't it?

Frank wished them well and gave them each his
card, with his home number on it, along with instruc-
tions to call him "if anything came up." Al noted later
that the deputy seemed embarrassed that he couldn't
do much. Something else was holding him back, but
Frank wasn't saying what it was. He also had the feeling
that if they did something a little on the wrong side of
the fence to get information, Frank would look the
other way, even cover for them. He didn't come out
and say that, but he kept giving both him and Bob sig-
nificant looks whenever he mentioned how much his
hands were tied.

That doesn't matter; we don't really need him now. We know
their location, some of their habits, and we have a lead, he
thought, plans of his own beginning to form, as they
left the county courthouse. / think IshovM, go check out
these people myself.

CHAPTER FIVE

The day after Jamie and his father had gone to Tulsa
for supplies, Jamie gave up the search for allies, espe-
cially regarding the question of his missing mother.
Nobody, including Joe, wanted to discuss it.

That negative reaction from Joe had been a disap-
pointing surprise. He'd always thought he could tell
Joe anything - and he knew how much Joe loved his
mother, even though he never said much about it. He
was always taking her bunches ofwildflowers. He'd
thought Joe would understand how much he missed
her....

Anyone he'd even mentioned his mother to specifi-
cally forbade him to bring the subject up with anyone
else; so by the time he talked with Sarah, he had
already decided to keep quiet about it, even with her.

But today he was having second thoughts about
that, as the situation at the vacation place began to
weigh more heavily on him. They still weren't letting
him eat anything, and the juice they gave him never
came close to filling him up. Hunger pangs came and
went, with increasing frequency and intensity. Some-
times lately he had trouble standing up, and he always
got dizzy if he walked too far. If he was getting sick, he
knew it would be his own fault because he didn't have
faith in Brother Joseph; at least, that was what
everyone else would tell him. Then they'd tell him he
had to confess his lack of faith and be healed.

Not a chance! He'd rather just suffer. Brother
Joseph was too frightening to trust, but try to get the

WHEELS OF FIRE                107

rest ofthem to see that! If you had faith, everyone told
him, you wouldn't get sick. If you didn't, you did.

So he didn't tell anyone about the fainting spells, but
he knew the dme would soon come when he wouldn't
be able to keep them secret.

In the meantime, he drank all the juice they'd let
him have, and lots of water. He was still allowed to do
that, and if you drank enough, the hunger went away.

For a little while.

He had trouble sleeping again that night, and not
just from the hunger, since Daddy had brought several
bottles of joy juice to their room. the strong, amber
kind, in funny-shaped bottles. The only word he could
read on the label was Kentucky, and why it was on
there he didn't know, 'cause that was a state. When
Daddy drank that kind of joy juice something hap-
pened to his throat that made him snore real loud, and
he rolled around on the bare mattress in his sleep. To
keep from getting squished Jamie slid off the mattress
and curled up in the corner with a blanket that was

covered with tiny bugs.

But that didn't really matter to him. He just wanted
to sleep. The bugs didn't bother him as much as usual.

He got up before Daddy did and went down to the
showers, where other kids were getting ready for
school, too. He had forgotten to wash his clothes out
the night before, so he would have to wear them again,
with that funny smell they got when he slept in them. A
week earlier one of the other boys had stolen his
clothes and hidden them down the hallway while he
was in the shower, but his daddy caught him and
whipped the living tar out of him. Jamie overheard
some of the things they said, things he didn't like. The
daddy told the boy that Jamie and his dad were poor
and homeless before joining the Sacred Heart, and
that it was wrong to pick on needy people like that.
Jamie never thought of himself as poor, and he knew

108           Mercedes Lackey &' Mark Shepherd

they had a home; Mommy was there, or at least that
was what he thought, since she wasn't in Tulsa.

Now the boy would have nothing to do with him,
and had turned the others against him as well, because
he'd been punished. The other kids said nothing as
they got cleaned up, andJamie started to feel a little bit
to blame for the whipping the first boy got. It hurt
when they ignored him, although k made him even
more grateful that he had Sarah for a friend.

School that day was a little different They didn't talk
about Jews and blacks much, or Israel or the divine
plan Brother Joseph had in store for them. Part of the
day was spent studying a machine for making drinking
water. The process was called "reverse osmosis" and
Miss Agatha made them memorize it and spell it fifty
times on the chalkboard. "There will come a time when
we will need this," the teacher admonished; Jamie
didn't understand the need for the machine when you
could just turn a faucet on, but he didn't ask any ques-
tions. Miss Agatha would just have made him write
something else fifty times on the chalkboard, and it
would probably be nasty and full of hate.

During lunch break, Jamie was sent to a room all
by himself with his juice while the other kids went on
to the cafeteria. He was still under orders to not eat
until they summoned the "Holy Fire," Miss Agatha
reminded him.

He tried to make the juice last, but it was gone all too
quickly. Funny, he'd never liked V8 before, but now he
would have drunk as much of it as he could have got-
ten. He wished that Brother Joseph would go and get it
over with. His stomach was not hurting as much
anymore, but he did feel weaker today. Daddy had
slipped him some crackers and cheese the night before,
and that helped a little, and there had been Joe's Tbot-
sie Pop. But sitting here alone in the empty,
thick-walled room, with nothing but a chair and a

WHEELS OF FIRE                109

lightbulb, made him want to cry. He heard Miss Agatha
say something about "sensory deprivation" and this
room, but didn't understand any of it. He just knew it
was boring in here.

Nobody was around, not even Miss Agatha. After a
while, he realized that would make it easy to talk to

Sarah.

"Sarah," he offered cautiously. "You there?"

.•Right here,: she said, her voice filling the space
between his ears. Jamie had put a pair of stereo head-
phones on once, and this was the same kind of effect.

.•They're all gone?:

"To eat," Jamie said dejectedly. "There was some-
thing I wanted to talk with you about yesterday. But I

was afraid to."

Jamie sensed anger, which quickly dissipated. :You
don't have to be afraid to talk to me. You know that.:

"Sorry," he said. "It was just, I was confused, you
know? First Daddy gets weird, then Joe yells at me...."

:It was about the milk carton, wasn't it?:

"How did you know?"

Silence.

"Okay, okay," Jamie said, a little sullenly. After all, she
was only a girl - she didn't have to rub it in how much
more she knew. Everybody here said girls weren't as
important as boys. "You know a lot more than I do. You

already fold me."

:I see more, is all,: Sarah said, impatiently. .-And you
know everything else they tell you is a lie. Why shouldn't I see
more thanyou do? Because I'm a girl?:

He blushed with embarrassment at getting caught
thinking nasty thoughts. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Just,
they keep telling me -"

.'And it's hard to keep remembering how much they lie. I
know, Jamie. What's bugging you?:

Jamie had the feeling she already knew, but he told
her anyway. "I haven't seen my mother in a long time.

110 Mercedes Lackey fsf Mark Shepherd

Daddy said she'd be in Tulsa, but she wasn't there.
Nobody around here wants to talk about it. What's
going on?"

.Tm not sure, right now,: Sarah said, hesitandy. Jamie
didn't know if he could believe her or not. It wasn't like
her to not know everything. .-Look, it's not 'cause I can't tell
or won't find out. I need more - stuff. Think about your
mother. Think about what she looks like.:

Jamie did, fully aware that Sarah could see exactly
what was going on in his mind. This once made him
uncomfortable, when he remembered all the bad
things he used to think about girls, and even some of
the mean tricks he used to play on them at school in
Atlanta. But if Sarah saw these things, she didn't let on.
She accepted him unconditionally, the only one besides
his mother to ever do that. He reminded himself just
how much he trusted her. Hey, she'd even been nice
when he was thinking girls weren't as good as boys....

:She's not here, not at their Sanctuary anyway,: Sarah said
suddenly. .'But I think... she's close. Nearby. She's not as far
away as Atlanta, anyway.:

Hope flared. "In Tulsa?"

:Idon't know. Don't give up, all right? I'll keep looking.
Until I find her, though, you can trust Joe. I think I could even
talk to him directly, if he didn't close his mind off the way he
does. He has... things he can do, but he doesn't want anyone to
know, because of what they would all think about him. They'd
figure it was the work of the devil, and there's no telling what
they would do about it.:

There was a warning in her voice that made him
shiver. Miss Agatha had hinted some horrible things
about what was done with people who were "possessed
of the devil."

"I dunno," he said doubtfully. "I mean, his daddy
is Brother Joseph. I don't think he'd snitch on me,
but-"

:His father might be Brother Joseph, but that doesn't mean

WHEELS OF FIRE              111

Joe's like him. There's a lot of good in Joe, and he doesn't agree

•with much of what his daddy does. He'll help you, the same way
he tried to help me.: She sounded very positive, and very

dred.
But he hadn't known Joe had been helping Sarah.

"What happened, you know, with you and Joe?"

Again, silence. Jamie had learned that this usually
meant she didn't want to talk about something, and he
let it rest. He sat on the crude chair for some time,
wondering if she had left, when she spoke again.

:Joe will see you after school. Go with him.:

And she was gone. Her presence vanished, like a
candle blown out by the wind. In the past he had tried
to get her back, but once she was gone, he knew diat it
would be a while before she would return. He wished
he could have had time to say good-bye. As usual, he
didn't. That was just Sarah's way. Maybe she didn't like

saying good-bye....
Joe will be there, after school. We'll get to go do something,

•maybe go outside, Jamie thought, as the lingering traces
of Sarah disappeared. The prospect of being with his
"big brother" was enough to dissipate die misery, even
enough to make him forget his hollow stomach. Oh boy!

And even though his gnawing hunger made him
forgetful, so that he made mistakes when Miss Agadia
asked him questions diat afternoon, talking with Sarah
must have brought him luck. Miss Agadia just nodded
indulgendy, said something to die others about "the
special Gift Jamie has is coming through," and
prompted him until he got the answer right. That
didn't earn him any friends among the other kids,
ttiough, because Miss Agadia was even harder on them
as if to make up for being easy on him -

But in the end, he didn't care. He had Sarah, he had
Joe. If the other kids were going to be dumb-butts
because ofsomediing he couldn't help, let diem. They
were jerk-faces anyway. If he'd been home in Adanta,

112 Mercedes Lackey WMwk Shepherd

he wouldn't have hung around with any of them. All
they did was parrot Miss Agatha's hateful stuff and play
games like "coon hunt" and "burn the nigger." That
was what they called blacks; niggers. Jamie knew that
wasn't right - his teachers in Atlanta, the ones he
trusted, said that calling a black kid a "nigger" was like
calling a kid in a wheelchair "cripple" or "freak."

After school was over, Joe was waiting outside for
him, just like Sarah said. It wasn't the first time Joe had
met him afterwards, but since his guard duty usually
ran past the time school was out, it was rare to see Joe
right after class. As always, he was wearing his uniform,
with his AK-47 slung over his shoulder alongside a
backpack.

The other children coursed around him like a flood-
ing river around a solid rock. Some shot him angry
glances, including Miss Agatha, who sniffed as she
walked past. Jamie had sensed the contempt earlier,
some sort of jealousy over his relationship with Joe,
and as usual he disregarded it.

"Wanna go fishing?" Joe asked right away, and
instandy.Jamie's world lit up.

"Sure!" he replied enthusiastically. Then he
frowned, not knowing where exactly you could fish
around here. Unless Joe wanted to go to a park some-
where else; but that would mean leaving the vacation
place, and he had never been allowed to do that, unless
he was with his father. After drinking as much joy juice
as he had the night before, James wouldn't be very
good company today. "Where?" he asked doubtfully.

Joe chuckled. "There's a pond over near the north
side of the complex. Only a few of us know about it.
We'll have to stop and get a bow to fish with, though."

Jamie had thought the only way to fish was with a
pole, or maybe even a net. But as they walked, Joe
explained how it could be done with a bow and arrow,
if you were good. There were plenty of hunting bows

WHEELS OF FIRE              113

in the armory. Joe had a special bow in mind, one his
dad had purchased for him when he wasJamie's age.

After the revelation that Joe was Brother Joseph's
son, Jamie had begun to see that his friend had a few
more privileges in the Guard than others his own age.
They were, he realized, exercising some of them now;

nobody else had unlimited access to the armory. At
least, not among the kids.

"Let's walk," Joe said. He had talked about borrow-
ing a motorcycle, but had apparently decided against
it. "It's not as hot today. Rained this morning."

Living underground, you didn't notice things like
rain or sunshine. Jamie squinted at the bright glare of
the sun. It reminded him again how dim it was below.
They passed by guards periodically. Joe waved and
they waved back, letting them out of the complex
without question. The boy knew that the story would
be different when they came back through, when they
would be searched. But he wasn't going to worry about
that yet. When they came to the final gate, Joe told the
guard they would be fishing a while and would be back
before too long. The guard wished them luck and lock-
ed the tall chain-link gate behind them.

It occurred to Jamie that if they caught fish, he might
be able to get a bite to eat. But eating meant cooking,
and cooking meant a fire and things to cook with,
things they didn't have. Jamie remembered something
called sooshee that was raw fish, and before today the
idea never appealed to him. Today was a different
story. If Daddy could cheat and sneak him some cheese
and crackers, maybe Jamie could do the same with the

fish they could catch.
So he asked him, "Hey, Jamie, when we catch the

fish, can we make sooshee out of it?"

"Naw," he said. "We have to cut them up for the
other fish and throw them back." Then he eyed the boy
warily, as if suddenly understanding the purpose of the

114 Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

remark. "You know you're on a strict Holy Fire fast. I'd
get in big trouble if I let you eat anything."

Somehow Jamie wasn't surprised. Even though Joe
was his best friend, next to Sarah, he was still under
orders from Brother Joseph. Now that he knew
Brother Joseph was Joe's father, that added a new
dimension to the threat. Jamie knew you couldn't get
into nearly as much trouble with other daddies as you
could with your own.

He dropped the subject about food, remembering
the vehemence with which Joe had responded to the
milk carton question. He didn't want a replay of that
miserable scene.

The barbed wire fences receded behind them as they
took a trail through the oak forest skirting the north-
ern edge of the complex. Jamie felt a little happier,
knowing the other kids, who would kill for a chance to
go into the woods and play, were sitting somewhere
underground dreaming about what he was doing now.
Birds called and flew overhead, and something skit-
tered through the grass and leaves along the path.
Presently they came upon a clearing.
Jamie suddenly felt cold. There was a foreboding
sense of dread attached to the place, a feeling of evil, or
suffering. He was sort of seeing things inside his head.
The vague images flowing through his mind were shift-
ing and confusing; having been told by Brother Joseph
not to share these impressions with anyone else, he didn't
tell Joe about his feelings or what he was seeing.

"You've never been to this place before," Joe said
firmly. "And don't you never tell anyone you were here."

Jamie nodded, feeling a little sick to his stomach. The
images grew stronger, and he began to wonder if Sarah
was feeding them to him. She had done that before,
when they first met, but that was a long time ago and they
were good friends now. Sarah could talk to him in person
now. That is, if she wasn't afraid of coming to this place.

WHEELS OF RRE               115

"We had to bury somebody here," Joe said suddenly,
and the words shocked Jamie. "She died real young,
but the Chosen Ones, we bury our own here."
"This is like a graveyard?" Jamie asked, hesitating.
Joe nodded absently. "Yep, but no one knows about

it."
Jamie looked about in alarm. "What 'bout the

headstones?"

"Like I said, nobody knows about it. If there were
headstones, everybody would know, wouldn't they?
Daddy was afraid of putting tombstones up because he
was afraid they'd be visible from the air-" Joe
suddenly cut his sentence off, sounding like he'd said
something he shouldn't have. Jamie acted like nothing
was wrong, even though the bad, dark feeling was
getting stronger. It was different here than it was with
the Holy Fire, and not as bad. The feeling was more a
terror of something that had already happened, as
opposed to something that was about to happen to him,
as during the rituals with Brother Joseph. But he also
suspected the two feelings were related, in a distant

sort of way.

They went over to a mound of dirt about as long and
wide as a beach towel. The earth had been turned
sometime recently, maybe this spring, but Jamie could
see that it had been more than a few weeks. Wild weeds
had sprung up, while the more permanent grass,
which took longer to grow, came in around the edges.
It was plainly somebody's grave, and the revelation left
him feeling hollow and icky inside.

Joe knelt and took off the backpack. From within the
front pouch he pulled out a battered bouquet of
wildflowers. Must have picked those while I was in class,
Jamie thought, surprised. Must have been someone impor-
tant, whoever this was.

"I hate to think nobody remembers Sarah," he said
as he lay the flowers on the mound.

Sarah? My Sarah?

Joe sighed. "You wouldn't remember her. She died
long before you came here."

"But... "Jamie blurted. He didn't know what to say,
other than: Sarah can't be dead, I just talked to her! In my
head! But that sounded too strange and unbelievable,
so he didn't. Besides, Sarah was his secret, and lately
Joe was showing basic problems where certain topics
were concerned. Not untrustworthiness yet; but, well,
there were things he just wouldn't discuss with some-
one who had blown up the way Joe had over the milk
carton.

Joe just knelt there, staring at the grave.

Suddenly, despite the fact that he didn't want to
believe it, Jamie knew this was the same Sarah. Had to
be. As he looked at the mound of dirt, images formed
mistily in his mind, a gust of something, a spirit, a smell,
like baby powder, only a little sweeter. Sarah's scent.
Jamie watched Joe in concealed horror, finallyaccept-
ing that all along he hadn't been talking with a person,
exactly.

He had been talking with a ghost And ghosts were
supposed to be scary.

But Sarah's not scary, he thought, in confusion. Sarah's
my friend! He stared at the grave, while Joe bowed his
head like he was praying.

The images that had been lurking at the periphery
of his mind now sprang into full, vivid Hfe, coalescing,
condensing, forming a story, a kind of movie in his
head. A scary story - the kind his mommy wouldn't let
him watch on TV. He knew that without knowing how
he knew it And he knew he would have to watch this
story, because it wasn'tjust a story, it was real.

Jamie saw herclearly now, standingjust beyond the clearing
on a short, grassy knoll. Sarah was a girl his age with black hair
and delicate fnmun eyes, m a calico dress thatfluttered slowly in

117

WHEELS OF FIRE

the windless afternoon. Joe didn't see her, andJamie knew that
was mly because she didn't want to be seen.

Her mommy and daddy had joined the cult, too,
only they had disappeared suddenly, and nobody
knew where they were. Brother Joseph told Sarah that
they would be back, that they had just gone to Tulsa for
a little while. Sarah didn't believe it then, but played
along because she feared Brother Joseph, just like

Jamie did now.

And for the same reason. Brother Joseph had been
starving her just like he was being starved, and had
used her as an instrument for communicating with the
Holy Fire. At first her parents had objected. Then they
went along with it, or at least they told her to do what
Brother Joseph said, until they worked things out.
Then, they disappeared. Sarah was afraid Brother
Joseph had something to do with that- The weeks went
by slowly, and still no parents. This was starting to

sound familiar to Jamie.

Meanwhile Brother Joseph held the Praise Meet-
ings, and the Black Thing came closer to Sarah no
matter how hard she tried to keep it away. Sometimes,
during the same rituals that Jamie dreaded, she
actually touched that dark, horrible thing, but most of
the time she pretended to see it, telling Brother Joseph

what he wanted to hear.

The preacher said it was a good thing, this Holy Fire,
but Sarah knew better, and kept it at bay as best she

could.
Then one night it came too close, and she couldn't

repel it. The hunger had been intense, and the lack of
food had weakened her will as well as her body.
Brother Joseph yelled at her to touch it - and, unable

to fight him, she did.

The suffocating thing tried to pull her in. She cried
hysterically and broke with it. Brother Joseph ordered
the congregation to leave, informing them the Praise

118 Mercedes Lackey ^Mark Shepherd

Meeting was over. When they had gone, and his per-
sonal bodyguards had locked all the doors, he turned
to Sarah and grabbed her throat with his perfectly
white manicured hands.

"You will do what I say, you little slut, always!"
Brother Joseph screamed, and the images became
shaky as Sarah lost consciousness. Then the series of
images ended, and Jamie was vaguely aware of... a
different kind of darkness....

'Jamie! Jamie, what is it?"

When he opened his eyes Joe was looking down at
him, his face contorted with concern. "Are you okay?
What's the matter?"

Jamie's vision blurred again; he closed his eyes to
keep from being sick, and he felt Joe pick him up and
carry him away from Sarah's grave. He felt something
wet and cold at his lips, and he drank deeply. The water
had a funny metal taste to it, but he didn't care as he
guzzled all that was offered.

He opened his eyes again. Joe was kneeling in front
of him, his expression a mixture of concern and fear.
The clearing where Sarah was buried was in sight but
further away, making it tolerable now. Above, an enor-
mous oak shaded them from the summer sun, and
nearby he heard water running.

"You passed outback there." Joe frowned. "Weak?"

"I guess," he said, and admitted to Joe what he
hadn't told anyone else. "I feel funny."

Joe felt his forehead. "You're warm, but that ain't
nothin' in this heat. Are you going to be all right? You
wannagoback?"

Jamie sat up, finding his strength returning - as
much of it as there was, anyway. He didn't want to go
back, so he forced a smile and said, "I'm fine now. Let's
go fishing." He looked behind him, toward the sound
of running water. "That a creek back there?"

WHEELS OF FIRE              119

Joe seemed to be having second thoughts. "No, I'd
better get you back. I don't like the way you just
dropped like that" He paused, as if considering some-
thing. "You said you knew Sarah, back there. After you
passed out. What didja mean 'xacdy when you said

that?"
"Dunno," Jamie said. "I'm okay now," he added,

trying not to let the disappointment show in his voice.
"We'd better hurry, if we're going to get to supper on

dme."
About halfway back to the vacation place, Jamie

remembered he wasn't going to be getting any supper.

Frank Casey felt his dred eyes drying. He'd stared at
the computer screen for a solid minute before blinking.
There it was, right in front of him, all the information
he needed to find a kidnaped little boy. And not a
damned thing he could do about it.

The three people who had just left his office, the
boy's mother and the two oddball road-warriors, were
the only people in the county who seemed to care
about this peculiar cult setting up shop in their back-
yard. When he first learned of the Chosen Ones, Frank
had been willing to live and let live, until he saw the
clues that people were being controlled in some
obscure, sinister way. And after listening to Cindy talk
about the assault weapons, and the other implements
of destruction the cult seemed to take a keen interest in,
not to mention the power that one man had over the

whole lot...

It was all just too damned dangerous. Frank Casey
could almost smell the grape Kool-Aid and hear the
zipping of body bags.

The cutbacks in the department couldn't have come
at a worse time. Given that the county's economy was
mostly tied to the price of a barrel of oil, the decrease in
revenues from real estate and other taxes was

120 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

inevitable. With fewer men, he couldn't collect
evidence and be discreet at the same time. But if he
spent enough rime - some of it his own - he would
probably see something that would justify a warrant,
something that their high-powered attorney couldn't
block.

Frank Casey remembered the glint he had seen in
Al's eye when he mentioned the stakeout, and smiled.
The man was smart; so was his partner. They'd seen
the hints, he was sure, just as he was certain they'd act
on them. Yeah, you're hungry far it, too, the tall Cherokee
thought I can't authorize civilians to do stakeouts, but if you
ftnd something Fm sure gonna back you vponit. Every inch of
the way.

Al waited, his arms crossed over his chest, projecting
every iota of authority he had - not as Al Norris,
Fairgrove mechanic, but as Sieur Alinor Peredon,
Knight-Artificer in the service ofElfhame Outremer,
who had once commanded (small) armies.

Now all he had to do was convince one human of
that authority....

Bob sighed, finally, and shook his head. "All right,"
he said, though with a show of more reluctance thanAl
sensed he really felt "All right, I'll cover for you here,
and I'll keep Cindy from asking too many questions, if
that's what you really want"

"It's what I want," Al said firmly. "Absolutely. I don't
want to raise her hopes that I'm one of your foolish
movie-star corambos -"

"That's commandos, or Rambos," Bob interrupted.

"Whatever. I don't want her thinking I'm going to
charge into unknown territory and carry her boy off. I
want to get the lay of the land and check defenses." Al
frowned, though it was not intended for Bob. "The fact
is, there is a very odd feeling about that place, even at a
distance. The Native man, the deputy sheriff, he feels it

WHEELS OF FIRE               121

too, although he considers himself too rational and civ-
ilized to admit it. I am not going to stumble about
blindly in there -"

"Fine, fine," Bob interrupted again. "But while
you're off with Andur, where am I supposed to be
sleeping?"

"Ah," Al said, grinning with delight. "I have solved
that small problem. Behold -"

He took Bob around to the side of the RV; parked
there, beside the Miata, was a white van. He enjoyed
the look on Bob's face; enjoyed even more the expres-
sion when he opened the door to reveal the luxurious
interior. Not as sybaritic as the RV would have been had
Cindy not been with them, but a grade above the RV in
its current state.

Bob turned back to him, his incredulity visible even
in the dome light of the van. "How in hell did you do
that?" he demanded. "I know you didn't ken the van,
you'd need more time than a couple of hours to make
the copy-"

"This is Nineve," Al informed him smugly. "Andur's
twin sister. I called her from Outremer last night, when
I realized that we would need two vehicles. You rightly
said that the elvensteeds can crack Mach one in forms
other than four-legged; she arrived here as soon as
darkness fell." He permitted himself a smile. "Now you
have lodging and transport."

Bob regarded Nineve with a raised eyebrow. "Hope
she was in 'stealth' mode, or there's gonna be UFO
reports from here to Arkansas." Then he unbent and
patted the shiny side of the van. "Thanks, Nineve.
You're here in right good time. And you sure are
pretty."

The van's headlights glowed with pleasure.

"Now listen," Bob continued, "I got an idea. How
'bout we put Cindy in Nineve, and you an' me go back
to bachelor quarters, eh?"

122 Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

Al thought about that; thought about it hard. Not
that he had any doubt that a strong reason for Bob's
request was his inherent puritanical feelings -

But with Cindy in the van, he would be able to trans-
form the RV into something far more comfortable -
so long as he remembered to change it back before she
entered.

And I won't have to wear a hat to sleep, either.

He sent a brief, inquiring thought to Nineve, who
assented. Andur's twin spent a great deal of time with
the human fosterlings of Fairgrove and liked them.
Just as she had liked Janet....

"Good idea," he said, thinking happily of a long soak
in a hot shower when he returned, and a massage at
the skilled hands of his lovely chrome servant - small
as she was, her hands never tired.

Doubtless Bob was thinking of the same things.

Better to get Cindy out, of the way of becoming a temptation.
Bob is right about that much.

"Well, fine," Bob said, a slow grin spreading across
his face. "I'll move her things now. Soon's she gets back
from the laundry with her clothes, I'll intro - I mean,
show her the new quarters. That oughta keep her busy
enough that she won't be asking too many questions."

"And I had best be on my way," Al observed, "if I am
to learn anything of these people tonight."

Andur revved his engine a little, as if the air-
conditioner compressor had come on, to underscore
his eagerness to get on the road. It had been a long
time since he and Andur undertook a rescue mission.
It would be good to get back into harness again.

Andur popped his door open as Al approached the
driver's side of the car and shut it as soon as he was
tucked into the seat. Al let the four-point seat-harness
snake across his shoulders and his lap, and meet and
fuse in the center of his chest. Not that he often needed
it-but no one allied with racing ever sacrificed safety.

WHEELS OF FIRE                123

Or an edge.

Andur flipped on his lights, turning everything out-
side the twin cones of light to stark blackness by
contrast. Despite the impatient grumble of the pseudo-
engine beneath the hood, Andur had more sense than
to spin his wheels and take off in a shower of gravel.
Such behavior at a track was the mark of an amateur, a
poseur, and would earn him and his rider as much
respect as Vanilla Ice at a Public Enemy concert.

Instead, Andur prowled out with slow grace, making
his way to the single unlocked gate for the after-hours
use of mechanics and drivers. They proceeded with
courtesy for the few folk still about and on their feet after
the long day. Alinor thought briefly that it was much like
being back at Court; it was considered good form to be
socially graceful as a means of preparing one's mind
before an imminent battle, and the coolness displayed
gained one more status than strutting or worrying.

Al did not have to touch the steering wheel; Andur
was perfectly capable of reading his mind to know
where they were going. Down the gravel access-road to
the roughly paved county road that led to Hallet, and
from there to the on-ramp for the turnpike -

And there he paused, while Al read the map of the
area and matched it with the one in his mind; the one
that showed the rough details of the cult enclave. The
turnpike was one possible route -

But there was a better one; so in the end they passed
the turnpike and took another county road, then
another. Andur knew precisely the route to take, so Al
. leaned back into the embrace of the "leather" seat, and
let his mind roam free.

This was a land like a strong, broadwinged bird -
with a deadly, oozing cancer. In this area's heart hid a
festering wound in the power-flows of the earth, a
place where energy was perverted, twisted, turned into
something it made him sick to contemplate.

124 Mercedes Lackey ^SMark Shepherd

He might not have noticed if he hadn't been looking
for it; it was well-hidden. He might have dismissed it as
a stress headache. There was no doubt in his mind that
this was the work of "Brother Joseph"; it had that
uniquely human feel to it, of indifference to conse-
quences. There was also a hate, an anger, and a twisted
pleasure in the pain of others.

He opened his eyes and oriented himself, calling
back the suppressed elven night-vision that made the
darkened landscape as bright as midday sun. Andur
had long since darkened his headlights; he certainly
didn't need them to see his way. And now as Al
watched, the shiny white enamel of the hood
darkened, softened, going to a flat matte black. The
engine sounds quit, too - they rolled onto a gravel-
covered secondary road with no more sound than the
crunching of gravel, which also quieted as Andur
softened the compound of his tires. The sound of the
cicadas in the trees beside the roadway drowned what
was left.

Then Andur turned off the road entirely-

And Al was sitting astride a matte-black stallion, who
picked his way across the overgrown fields like a cat
crossing ice. The hot, humid air hit him with a shock
after the cool of the wind and Andur's air-conditioner.

Al realized that his white track-suit was not the best
choice of outfits for a scouting mission. With a
moment's thought, he changed the Nomex to a light
garment of matte black silk; then blackened his face
and hands as well with a silken mask and gloves. His
feet he shod in boots of lightweight black leather, easy
to climb in. In this guise they approached the first of
the three fences surrounding the complex.

This far from the road, there was only the patrolling
guard to worry about - and the trip-wires and fences.

He felt Andur gather himself and hung on while the
elvensteed launched into an uncannily silent gallop,

WHEELS OF FIRE                125

the only sounds muffled thuds when his hooves hit the
ground. Then he felt Andur's muscles bunch -

He tightened his legs and leaned forward, as Andur
leapt.

No human would ever have believed his eyes, for the
elvensteed began his jump a good fifteen feet from the
fence, cleared the top of it with seven feet to spare, and
landed fifteen feet from the fence on the other side.

Without a stirring of power-flows. The magic ofgaod
design, sweet Andur.

They passed the second fence the same way, but
halted at the third, innermost fence; the one that sur-
rounded the compound itself. This was as far as Al
wanted to go right now. There was no way he was
going to go nosing about an enemy camp without
scouting it first.

Andur concealed himself in a patch of shadow, and
Al climbed a tall enough tree that he was able to see the
compound quite clearly. Whatever the sheriff might
have imagined at his most pessimistic, the situation was
worse.

The guards prowled within the fence like profes-
sional soldiers. There were a lot of them, and the
number of life-essences Al detected below ground indi-
cated that this "Brothel-Joseph" must be fielding an
army.

There was Cold Iron everywhere, low quality iron
which disrupted his senses; it was difficult to con-
centrate when using his Sight, and even more difficult
to find ways around the barriers. And deep inside the
complex was that evil cancer he had sensed before. It
was not a spell or item, but itwas magical. It wasn't
elven in origin, nor was it human... no, something old
and experienced had created the magical "taste" he'd
sensed. There was something alive and not-alive shift-
ing its enchanted form inside the compound.

It was quiescent when he first approached it, but as

126 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

he studied it, die diing began to rouse. He drew back,
thinking that he had caused it to awaken and stir -but
then his questing thoughts brushed the thoughts of
humans - many humans - in the same area, and he
realized that they were the ones waking it.

He withdrew a little further, heart racing despite his
wished-for cool, and "watched" from what he hoped
was a safe distance.

The humans were gathered in one of the under-
ground areas for a spectacle of some kind.

Could this be one of the "Praise Meetings" that Cindy
described?

Something - someone - moved into his sensing
area. Another human - but where the life-fires of the
others burned with a smoky, sullen flame, more heat
than light, this person's burned with the black flame of
the devourer, who feeds on lives. Even more than lives,
this human thrived on the hate of those around him. Al
knew him without ever seeing his face. This must be
Brother Joseph.

With him was a tiny, fitful life-spark, so close to
extinction that Al nearly manifested in the full armor of
an elven warrior-noble and carved his way to the
child's side. For it uios a child, who had been so starved,
so abused, that his hold on life and his body was very
tenuous indeed.

Jamie. It had tobeJamie.

And as Al held himself back, with anger burning in
his heart, the evil thing at the heart of the gathering
woke.

And reached for the child.

• CHAPTERSIX

By the time the Praise Meeting started, Jamie was
having a hard dme keeping himself from throwing up
even though there was nothing in his stomach but
water. And he couldn't stand up for very long; he
shivered and his skin was clammy, and he had to lie
down on the floor because sitting in the chair made
him dizzy.

He knew the Praise Meeting had started, because he
heard the organ; it vibrated the walls all the way back
here, in the very rear of the building. The vibrations
disoriented him; he had his eyes closed when the door
to the litde room finally opened, and the two big guards
came in to get him.

Brother Joseph always sent two huge men withAK-
47s to get him. It was just one of the hundreds of things
Brother Joseph said and did that didn't make any
sense. But maybe it was a good thing they'd been sent
this time; when one of them ordered Jamie to stand, he
got as far as his knees before that soft darkness came
down on him again, and he found himself looking up
at their faces from the ground.

He was afraid for a minute that they'd hit him - but
they just looked at one another, then at him, then
without a single word, picked him up by the elbows,
and hauled him to his feet. His toes didn't even touch
the floor; that didn't matter. The guards carried him
that way down die long, chilly corridor to the door that
led to the back of the Meeting Hall.

They came out on the stage, at the rear. The four

128 Mercedes Lackey £s? Mark Shepherd

spotlights were focused on Brother Joseph, who was
making a speech into a microphone, spitting and yell-
ing. Jamie couldn't make any sense of what he was
saying; the words kept getting mixed up with the echo
from the other end of the room, and it all jumbled
together into gibberish.

The two men didn't pay any attention, either; they
just took him to an oversized rough-wood chair in front
of the black and red flag that Brother Joseph had
everyone pledge to and dropped him into it, strapping
down his arms and legs with clamps built into the chair
itself.

Jamie let them. He'd learned the first time that it did
no good to resist them. No one out there would help
him, and later his father would backhand him for
struggling against Brother Joseph's orders.

Brother Joseph continued, so bright in the spot-
lights that Jamie had to close his eyes. It seemed as if the
only light in the room was on the leader; as if he sucked
it all up and wouldn't share it with anyone else.

Brother Joseph's voice, unintelligible as it was, ham-
mered atJamie's ears, numbing him further. He was so
hungry - and so dizzy - he just couldn't bring him-
self to think or care about anything else.

Finally the voice stopped, although it was a few
moments before the silence penetrated the fog of indif-
ference that had come overJamie's mind. He opened
his eyes as a spotlight fell on him - light that stabbed
through his eyes into his brain, making hot needles of
pain in his head. But it was only for a moment; then a
shadow eclipsed the spotlight, a tall shadow, with the
light streaming around the edges of it.

It was Brother Joseph, and Jamie sdfled a protest as
Brother Joseph's hand stretched out into the light, a
thin chain with a sparkling crystal on the end of it dan-
gling from his fingers. Jamie knew what was coming
next, and for a moment he struggled against his bonds.

WHEELS OF FIRE               129

But dizziness grayed his sight, and he couldn't look
away from the twirling, glittering, sparkling crystal.
Brother Joseph's voice, a few moments ago as loud as a
trumpet, now droned at Jamie, barely audible, words
he tried to make out but couldn't quite catch.

The world receded, leaving only the crystal, and
Brother Joseph's voice.

Then, suddenly, something different happened -

This was the part where the Black Thing tried to
touch him, only it didn't this time. This time he was
somehow standing next to himself; he was standing on
the stage, and there was someone between him and the
boy strapped to the chair.

Sarah. And she stood as if she was ready to fight
something off, in a pose that reminded him of the way
his mother had stood between him and his daddy the
first dme he'd come home after Brothel-Joseph had -

.•After Brother Joseph used you, like he used me,: said a
familiar voice in his head. :For that -:

The girl pointed, and he saw the Black Thing slip-
ping through a smoky door in the air, sliding towards
the boy in the chair.

Only now he could see it clearly, and it wasn't really a
shapeless blot. It was - like black fire, swirling and
bubbling, licking against the edge of the door. Like a
negative of flames.

It was bad, he felt that instinctively, and he recoiled
from it. But he found he couldn't go far, not even to the
edge of the stage. When he tried, he felt a kind of tug-
ging, like he was ded to the boy in the chair with a tight
rope around his gut.

.•Don't worry, Jamie,: said Sarah. .-I'll keep it away from
you. It won't mess with me now.:

The Black Thing moved warily past her - then
melted into theJamie-in-the-chair.

Jamie jerked, as pain enveloped him.

Sarah stepped forward and grabbed something

130 Mercedes Lackey 6f Mark Shepherd

invisible - and then it wasn't invisible, it was a silver
rope running between him and Jamie-in-the-chair.
And the minute she touched the rope, the pain
stopped.

"Speak, 0 Sacred Fire," Brother Joseph cried out, as
the boy in the chair jerked and quivered. Brother
Joseph's voice sounded far away, and dnny, like it was
coming from a bad speaker. "Speak, 0 Holy" Flame!
Tell us your words, fill us with the Spirit!"

Jamie-in-the-chair's mouth opened - but the voice
that came out wasn't Jamie's. It was a strange, hollow
voice, booming, like a grownup's - like James Earl
Jones'. Gasps of fear peppered the audience when he
began speaking, outbursts which the people quickly
stifled. The audience reaction turned to awe as the
echoing voice carried into the crowd. It said all kinds of
things; more of the same kind of stuff that Brother
Joseph and Miss Agatha were always saying. All about
how Armageddon was coming, and the Chosen Ones
were the only people who would be saved from the
purifying flames. About the Jews and the blacks and
the Sodomites - how they ran everything, but after
the flames came, the Chosen Ones would run every-
thing.

But then the voice said something Jamie had never
heard Brother Joseph say -

"- and you, Brother Joseph," boomed the voice.
"You are the Instrument of the Prophecy. You will be
the Bringer of Flame. You will be the Ignitor of the
Holocaust. In your hand will be the torch that begins
the Great Conflagration -"

Brother Joseph began to frown, and his frown
deepened as the voice went on with more of the same.
This must be new -Jamie thought.

:It is new,: said Sarah, relaxing her vigilance a little,
and turning to look over her shoulder at him. Even
though he knew she was a ghost now, he was somehow

WHEELS OF FIRE              131

no longer afraid of her. In fact, in his present state, he
felt closer to her, like they were the same kind of people
now. And it helped to be able to see her. He moved a lit-
tle doser to her, and she took his hand and smiled.

.'This stuff is all new,: she said without moving her lips,
cocking her head to one side. .-And Brother Joseph doesn't
Hke it. Look at him.:

Indeed, Brother Joseph's face was not that of a
happy man, and Jamie could see why - for out in the
assembled audience there were stirrings and murmurs
of uneasiness.

But when the voice stopped. Brother Joseph
whirled and raised his hands in the air, his face all
smiles. "Halleluia!" he cried. "Praise God, he has
chosen me to lead you, though I am not worthy! He
has called me to witness for you and lead you, as John
the Baptist witnessed before the coming of the Lord
Jesus and led the Hebrews to the new Savior! You've
heard it from the mouth of this child, through the
instrument of His Holy Fire - I am the forerunner,
and it is my coming that has been the signal and paved
the way for the end - and our beginning!"

Cries of "Praise the Lord!" and "Halleluia!"
answered him, and there were no more murmurs of
dissent. Brother Joseph had them all back again.

••Now comes the part they've really been waiting/or,: Sarah
said, an expression of cynicism on her face that was at
odds with her years. :The miracles.:

"Half Hi to win, Saturn Boy to place, and Beauregard
to show in the second," boomed the voice. "Righteous to
win, Starbase to place, and Kingsman to show in the
third. Grassland to win, Lena's Lover to place, and
Whatchacall to show in the fifth -"

.•Miracles?: Jamie said, puzzled.

.•Those are all the horses that are going to win at Fair
Meadows tomorrow,: she replied. .'They're going to make a lot
of money by betting on them.:

132            Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

"Fifth table, fourth seat, TomJusrin," said the voice.
"Tom should get in line behind the fat woman in a red
print dress and take two blue cards, two red, two yellow
and two gray. Sixth table, twelfth seat, Karen Amber-
dahl. Karen should get in line behind an old man with
a cigar, a turquoise belt buckle and a string tie with a
bearclaw slide, and take one of each color."

:And those are the people that should go to bingo tomorrow
night, where they should sit, and what cards they should take. If
they do that, they'll have winning cards.: Sarah's lip curled.
••But it won't be a lot of money. They're just making the seed
money for the real stuff. The horse races, and, what comes later.:

Finally the voice stopped; Jamie felt dizzy, and when
he looked down at himself, he was kind of -
transparent. He could see the floor through his arm.
Had he been able to do that when he first found him-
self here? He didn't think so.

.•You're fading,: Sarah said, looking worried. :I don't know
why. I think the Black Thing is usingyou up, somehow -:

She didn't get a chance to elaborate on that; the
guards were escorting everyone except for a chosen
few out - those few filed up to the front and waited in
a line just below the stage. Jamie noticed, as they
arranged themselves and waited for the guards to get
everyone else out, that he was getting solid again. So -
the Black Thing used him up when it spoke. And if it
wasn't talking, he got a chance to recover.

"All right," Brothel-Joseph said, in a brisk, matter-of-
fact voice that was nothing like what he used when
preaching, "We got the El Paso crack shipment tonight
on the airstrip. Bill, you're new; hold your questions
until the Holy Fire is done speaking."

What came out ofJamie-in-the-chair's mouth then,
was not anything like what he had expected.

"Apartment 1014B over in the Oaktree Apartment
Complex is a new dealer, he'll pay top prices to you
because he's been having visions. His line dried up. Sell

WHEELS OF FIRE               133

him a quarter of the shipment. You've got enough
regulars for another quarter. For the rest, take a
quarter to Tulsa, peddle it Friday on Denver, on Satur-
day over by the PAC, Sunday on the downtown mall.
The narks will be elsewhere. Don't talk to anyone in a
blue Ford Mustang, license plate ZZ611; they're cops.
Get off the street on Friday by two in the morning,
there's going to be a bust. Take the other quarter to
Oklahoma City and -"

:Is he talking about drugs?: Jamie asked Sarah,
bewildered. .-Like dope? Like they said to say no to in school?:

She nodded grimly. .-That's where the real money is com-
ing from,: she replied. .-Brother Joseph is a dealer, and the
Black Thing knows where all the cops are, and. where the best
place to sell is.:

The man Bill, who had been designated as "new,"
looked unhappy, and as if he was trying not to squirm.
As the voice finished - and another wave of dizziness
and transparency passed over Jamie - he saw that
Brother Joseph was watching this man very closely.
And before the man could say anything, Brother
Joseph spoke, in still another kind of voice. Friendly,
kind, like Daddy used to be before all the joy juice, back
in Atlanta.

"Now, Bill," Brother Joseph said, "I know what you
must be thinking. You're wondering how we, the
Chosen of the Lord, could stoop to selling crack and ice,
this poison in the veins of America. How we could
break God's law as well as man's."

Bill nodded, slowly.

"Bill, Bill," Brother Joseph said, shaking his head.
"This is part of our mission. The Holy Fire instructed us
to do this! We aren't selling this to innocent children -
it's going to Satanists and Sodomites, uppity Jews and
niggers, Commies and hippies and whores - all
people who'd poison themselves with the stuff anyway,
whether we sold it to them or not. They're killing

134            Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Sheplierd

themselves; we're no more to blame than the man that
sells a suicide a gun. And what's more, we're drying up
the trade of the regular dealers, godless nigger gang
members. The ones who do sell this poison in
schoolyards."

Sarah snorted. :No they aren't,: she said angrily. .-That's
a lie! They're supplying the guys who sell dope to kids. White
and black.:

Jamie nodded, remembering the stuff about "the
dealer whose supply line dried up."

Bill looked unconvinced and replied, hesitantly, "But
- what about the bingo games, the horse races -"

"Peanuts," one of the guards scoffed, in an insulting
tone. "Grocery money."

"Now Tom, that's not fair," Brothel-Joseph told him,
in the tones of a parent mildly chiding a child. Then he
turned back to Bill. "He is right that it's really just the
cash for our day-to-day expenses," the preacher said.
"Bill,)ioM know what an AK-47 costs these days, I know
you do."

Bill nodded, reluctantly.

"And we have hundreds - thousands. And that's
just one of the guns we have stockpiled. Then there's
the anti-tank weapons, the grenade launchers, the
SAMs - that's just weapons. We bought those tractors
and bulldozers, outright -"

"I was a farmer," Bill said slowly. "The gear you -
we - have is about a quarter mil per tractor, and I
dunno how much them earth-movers run. But - we
never win big at the track or the bingo games, and I
know there's big pots-"

"And there's IRS agents waiting right there at the track
and the parlor, waiting for the big winner," Brother
Joseph interrupted. "We can't let the gov'ment know
what's going on here, and if a lot of our people start win-
ning big, not even our fancy lawyer is gonna be able to
keep them off our backs. Hell, Bill, that's how the

WHEELS OF FIRE               135

eov'ment gotAl Capone, didn'tyou know? Tax evasion!"
"Dope money's big, it's underground, and can't be
traced," said one of the other men, complacently. "And
nobody in this state would put dope and a church

together."

Bill thought for a moment, then nodded again,
but this time with a lot less reluctance. "I guess
you're right-"

"It was I who ordered them," boomed the voice of
the Black Thing, unexpectedly, startling them all.
"Holiest Brothel-Joseph was reluctant, but I showed
him the way, the way -"

"The way to acquire the money we needed without
hurting innocent children," Brothel-Joseph took up
smoothly, when the voice faltered.

"Well, I guess it's all right, then," Bill said, looking
relieved, and glancing out of the corner of his eye at
Jamie-in-the-chair, nervously. "If the Holy Fire
ordered it."

"That will be all, then, soldiers of faith," Brother
Joseph said in his old, commanding tone of voice. "You
have your marching orders. Tomorrow you will be
assigned and go forth to implement them, in the name
of the Holy Fire."

The guards herded the last of the Chosen Ones out,
leaving Brother Joseph alone with Jamie. And the Black
Thing. And Sarah -but he didn't know she was there.

Brother Joseph turned to Jamie-in-the-chair, with a
terrible, burning hunger in his eyes, a hunger that
looked as though it could have devoured the world and
not been satisfied.

"Tell me," he ordered, in a harsh voice. "Tell me
about the End. Tell me about my part in it."

The voice began again; more of the same kind of
stuff it had told the crowd at the beginning, but more
personal this time. About how Brothel-Joseph was the
One True Prophet of the age, how he would lead the

136 Mercedes Lackey ^Mark Shepherd

Chosen Ones in a purge of all that was evil on earth,
until there was no one left but his own followers. How
he would be made World President for Life in the ruins
of the UN Building; how he would oversee the build-
ing of the Promised Heavenly Kingdom On Earth.

There was a lot of that stuff, and Brother Joseph just
ate it up. AndJamie faded and faded -

Finally even the hunger in Brother Joseph's eyes
seemed sated. The voice stopped whenJamie was like
one of the transparent fish he'd seen in the aquarium
at school, or like a boy made out of glass.

And so dizzy he couldn't even think.

"Blessed be the Holy Fire," Brother Joseph said,
standing up straight and making a bow that was half
adoration and half dismissal. "Blessed be the Sacred
Flame. I thank you in the Name of God, and in the
Name of Jesus -"

The Black Thing started to dissolve fromJamie-in-
the-chair, pulling out of him, and Sarah let go of the
silver cord. She stayed protectively between it and him,
though; until it went into that door in the air -

The door in the air shut - and another kind of door
opened behind it. And the Black Thing somehow dis-
solved into the/lag.

Or the flagpole -

That was the first dmeJamie had ever seen that -at
least, that he remembered. But then, a lot had been dif-
ferent tonight. He'd never been shoved out of his body,
either. He turned to Sarah, suddenly desperate to ask
her questions -

But Brothel-Joseph clapped his hands three times -
and suddenly he was back in the chair, in his body, and as
nauseated and dizzy as he had ever been in his life.

His gorge rose, and he couldn't help himself or con-
trol it anymore. As Brother Joseph released his arms
from the straps, he aimed as best he could and made
Brother Joseph's white shoes not so white.

WHEELS OF FIRE               137

After Brothel-Joseph hadJamie taken away, the
preacher retired to his private quarters. Exhausted,
he stood in the clothes closet that was as long as a
hallway, the aroma of cut pine overpowering in the
bright fluorescents. The evening's events swirled in
his mind like a lazy tornado, and he knew he was on
an emotional roller coaster, swaying between doubt
and conviction; as soon as he thought that the Sacred
Fire had turned against him, he saw that it was,
indeed, still in his court, shucking and jiving to mark
his way to the top, spewing the useful information
like a self-digging gold mine.

Hanging from brass rods were a hundred or so suits,
worth anywhere from two hundred to a thousand dol-
lars each, wearing a thin plastic wrap from the dry
cleaners, each embodying its own, distinctive memory.
Brothel-Joseph often surveyed his collection of expen-
sive clothing in dmes of turmoil and change, to remind
himself of the tribulations and triumphs that had
already taken place. The suits reassured him and
quelled his doubts, reminding him that he still held
power, that his gifts were infinite.

Much of his preaching, especially after the founding of
the Sacred Heart of the Chosen Ones, incited his crowds
to violence. These suits had seen riots and marches and
demonstrations against the unholy, and had born wit-
ness to his struggle. They felt like faithful supporters,
always there when the important things happened; like
the protest of the godless Unitarians, who questioned the
Bible, slandering its very truth. The demonstration his
people staged at the YMCA (so weak was their minister
that they couldn't even raise the money to build a decent
building!) was a wondrous thing, especially when the riot
broke out. Joseph spotted the suit he'd worn that day, a
conservative gray Oxford, and gloried in its cleanliness.
The bloodstains which once darkened its immaculate

138 Mercedes Lackey WMarkShepherd

surface were now only a memory. His suit, like his minis-
try, emerged from the wreckage of that incident
unblemished. A good lawyer could prove - and dis-
prove - anything.

At the end of the closet, hidden where only he could
find them, were his white Klan robes, where it all began.

Ah yes, he thought nostalgically, savoring the sudden
memory the robes brought. The beginning of wy struggle.
The end, alas, of my youth. The smell of gasoline and
burning wood, the secret meetings, the handshakes,
the passwords. The hillsides filled with the faithful,
their pointed hoods aimed heavenward, toward God.
The sweet hatred that flowed in the gatherings, lubri-
cated with cheap beer and even cheaper whiskey.

Those were the glorious days.

He'd joined the KKK as a teenager, and insisted
early on that he be permitted to participate in a real
nigger lynching, that nothing else would hold his inter-
est. He just wanted to kill niggers. The old-timers, they
seemed to find him amusing if overly rambunctious.
He had been all of seventeen when he joined. He
looked older, and was able to pass as a twenty-year-old,
not that it would have mattered if they'd known his
true age. The Klan loved new, young blood. His raw
hate sustained him for some dme, but as he matured,
he began to need specific reasons for the hate - he
began to doubt, when he saw others his age burning
with the same fervor for causes the very opposite of his.

Justification came bound in faded black leather; the
Grand Dragon began quoting scripture. In the light of
a burning cross, somewhere on a hillside in Mississippi,
he saw the glimmer of his true destiny. The feelings of
hate he had for the godless actually had a meaning
behind them, reinforcing his beliefs. He could attach
names to the things he hated, and they were impressive
names, all of them: Satan's spawn, heathens, the
non-believers. His soul had swelled with pride. His

WHEELS OF FIRE               139

feelings, after all, were justified. And others enabled him
to act them out.

It was the first dme the Bible had any meaning for
him, the first time its truth made any sense to him.
There is only one right way, and I know what it is. So he had
believed, and the Bible provided proof. The Bible was
all the justification he needed.

After all, look at how many people lived by it.

He thought he had found his place, his kindred. But
as the months progressed, he had participated in only
two lynchings. Any more, and the FBI will cone after us,
one of the senior members of their Klan said.

But Brother Joseph knew it wasn't prudence that
had spoken; it had been cowardice. They didn't have
the guts, he knew then, and his faith in the Ku Klux
Klan faltered.

By the time he had turned twenty, the Klan began
admitting Catholics for the first time in its history, and
he realized it was time to leave. They just didn't have it
straight, was all. Time to forge a new organization, a
new group.

A... church.

He never attended a formal seminary; he earned his
sheepskin through a four-week correspondence
course. All he needed was a piece of paper to hang in
his "office," to point at when anyone questioned his
credentials. He knew it was a facade, but a necessary
one needed to carry out his work. He knew thereal
truth, and in his hands he held the secret to the One
True Church. He stumbled across a passage in the
Bible, and from this he produced a name for his move-
ment: The Sacred Heart of the Chosen Ones.

He studied the Bible night and day, highlighting the
passages which lent particular weight to his beliefs.
These were the passages he emphasized in his ser-
mons, adding some flourishes of his own.

He preached hatred. Hate was cleansing; the Sword

140 Mercedes Lackey Ssf Mark Shepherd

of the Lord - didn't the Bible speak over and over
about the Wrath of God? Hate purified. Hate
separated the weak from the strong, the doers from the
idle, the pure in spirit from the dissenters, the
doubters. Hate separated the men from the boys -
and from the women. He knew about women. They
were too weak to truly hate. They were inferior to men.

There were many men who came to him just on that
basis alone. And women, too, the real women who liked
being told their place and liked a strong man who'd
keep them there. Like his own wife, who went where
he told her and never lifted her voice or her eyes....

He claimed credit for the killing of Martin Luther
King during an especially rousing sermon before a
congregation of a dozen men and twenty elderly
women. The next day the FBI came by, asking him to
expand on that sermon. Nervously, he explained to
them that he meant it in aspirittwl sense, that he hadn't
pulled the trigger after all. Votreally.

This was back in the sixties, and the ball had barely
begun to roll.

His congregation slowly built to around a hundred,
and peaked there for several years. He had
masqueraded as a Baptist minister because he'd heard
those people could sure fork out the money if you
pleaded hard enough. With a minimum of hassle he
found the necessary contacts to forge the proper docu-
ments to become a "bona fide" Baptist minister. After
skimming the till for five years, stashing a good chunk
of it in gold and CDs, his credentials came into question
when he refused to attend an annual Baptist minister's
conference in nearby Atlanta.

Before the darkness could gather completely he
absconded with what he could and assumed a new
identity in California, where he took to the airwaves as
a radio preacher. As "Father Fact" he had enjoyed a
sizable following for close to a year.

WHEELS OF FIRE              141

Then, as the spirit moved in him, his sermons took a
more radical slant. More and more often, his true feel-
ings began to overcome him in the midst of a sermon,
raising the ire of the Federal Communications Com-
mission. Soon "Father Fact" became "Father History,"
and after several unsuccessful attempts to find similar
employment with other stations, he holed up in a
cheap hotel in Los Angeles with one hundred
thousand dollars in the bank and a fire in his gut.

At the San Jose Hotel he had a revelation, sent to him
directly from God. At first he interpreted the message
to mean that he was to become the second Christ.
Then, as he mulled it over a bit, he decided instead that
it was time to write a book, a manifesto, for his new
church. It was time to come out into the open, to
preach his new school of thought unfettered by anyone
else's rules. The time of hiding behind the "estab-
lished" order of religion had come to a screeching halt.
He started using the name "Brother Joseph," which at
first was going be a pseudonym only, since he
suspected the authorities in Georgia might still be look-
ing for him. But he liked the sound of it, and it stuck.
"Brother Joseph, leader of the Sacred Heart of the
Chosen Ones," was a fitting title. But the movement
would need a users' manual, and over the next four-
teen months, with an old Underwood, he hacked out
the Manifesto of the Sacred Heart of the Chosen Ones. Edit-
ing or retyping, he had decided, would not be
necessary. After all, this was the divine word of the
Lord; who was he to decide what the Lord wanted left
in and what He didn't? Had the Apostles edited the
books of the New Testament? Had Moses edited the
Ten Commandments? Those were not choices for a
mere mortal, he reasoned then and now, so he let the
work stand as written.

Unwilling to trust the task of publishing his holy book
to anyone else, the Brother Joseph purchased an old

142 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

offset press and developing equipment. Stray lumber
and cardboard became a darkroom. For weeks, after
typing God's Word on nine by eleven rag, he shot the
individual pages directly from the single-spaced
typewritten sheets.

The manifesto wasn't simple; Brother Joseph re-
quired 1532 pages to explain his leap of intellect,
excluding the table of contents and index- On the "ref-
erence and bibliography" page the word God
appeared seven hundred and seventy-seven times. In
all-caps.

With some basic binding equipment, which was used
to make cloth-bound books the old-fashioned way, he
went to the next phase of his project. Between inex-
pensive meals of Discount Dan's macaroni'n'cheese
and cold Van de Camps Pork and Beans, selected from
his immense survival cache, he lovingly handcrafted
each volume. They were easily the size and weight of
an unabridged dictionary. On a good day, he could
produce three to five books, which were soon given
away. The preacher sent the very first volume to the
newly elected Ronald Reagan, with a simple note read-
ing: "Have your men read this immediately."

Six months later he signed and numbered the five
hundredth volume. The four hundred ninety-nine
volumes preceding it had been given away to
Klansmen, defrocked ministers, congressmen, mayors,
governors, shriners, a hundred right-wing organiza-
tions, and anyone else he thought would be interested.
But that day, holding volume number five hundred,
Brother Joseph frowned and scratched his head.
Despite the address he had clearly printed on the title
page, no tithes were pouring in to finance the new
movement. Not even a letter or a postcard. Nothing.
Although he had close to seventy thousand left in the
bank, he didn't want to dip into that yet. He simply
couldn't understand the lack of interest. He had

WHEELS OF FIRE               143

thought that by now someone would have seen the wis-
dom in God's words.

Fifteen years and a thousand miles away. Brother
Joseph stood in the closet of expensive suits, regarding
with a sense of melancholic nostalgia the box of books
marked, in purple crayon, "original manifesto." There
was only one of the hefty tomes left, and it was stored
here. The dme would soon come when he would have
to publish the full-length manifesto again. With new
plates, of course - hell, in fancy, scrolled type, scanned
from the original book and set by computer and fed
directly into the bowels of his own printers. Now he
owned his own little publishing empire. Never again
would he have to type a word.

During the early years of the Chosen Ones, some-
one convinced him to condense the book a little, to
where it was only about eighty pages long. It wasn't
even an outline of the original masterwork - it was a
mere pamphlet. The decision angered him, but he per-
mitted the sacrilege in order to attract more followers.

In 1983 Brother Joseph purchased a stolen mailing
list from The Right Way, an ultraconservative monthly
which featured articles on assault weapons, Israel
Identity theory, the Jewish Question, survival tactics,
quilting tips and home cooking recipes. With the pil-
fered list he mailed, at great expense, one hundred
thousand copies of the condensed Manifesto. The new
edition contained simple instructions on how to start
your own Sacred Heart chapter.

The ruse worked. Almost overnight congregations
began to pop up all over the country, mostly in the
South and Midwest. Ten in all, in the beginning, and
he kept himself busy ministering to each. Money
poured in. A few of his larger CDs, left over from his
Baptist preaching days, began to mature. In the con-
servative atmosphere of the Reagan Administration,
his church flourished. Congregations swelled. Finally,

Mercedes Lackey &' Mark Shepherd

his message was receiving the attention it deserved.
Humanity might survive after all.

Reluctant to end his brief jaunt down memory lane,
Brother Joseph disrobed and hung his latest acquisi-
tion, a tailor-made Sacred Heart uniform with all the
relevant religious markings, in a separate valet in the
closet. The coat alone was a work of art, with Sacred
Heart insignia, military decorations of his own crea-
tion, gold cord and epaulets. The severe black shirt and
white collar gave it a religious look, and despite its
Catholic undertones he let the creation stand. It looked
more impressive, after all. The entire outfit cost nearly
two thousand dollars to have made and it fit perfecdy; it
was his most treasured possession.

Nothing too good for the founder of the Sacred Heart, he
thought.

As he selected one of fifteen bathrobes, each a dif-
ferent shade of blue, gray or black, he noticed a plaid
suit. He hadn't worn this one very long because of a
certain place in the trousers where it was too right, but
nevertheless, he remembered the circumstance of this
particular outfit, and scowled.

That reporter will never stand on Sacred Ground again, he
seethed, tying the robe. He meant to have the suit
burned, to erase the bad memories it represented, but
had never got around to it. He had worn it once during
the early growth of the church, about six years before,
when he was attempting one of the first channelings
during what he would later call "Praise Meetings."

There had been a new lamb in the fold, a young man
who had been to the meetings for the past three months
or so. Brother Joseph had picked him to be the vehicle
for the channeling session, and he had agreed. The
young man was an admitted Democrat, and that alone
should have tipped him off, but in those early days fol-
lowers were coming out of the woodwork from every
conceivable direction, and he hadn't really cared. The

145

WHEELS OF FIRE

"channeling" went well, and the subject had shown every
indication of the holy trance. The original plan was to
channel John the Baptist, but somewhere it all got
sidetracked and the subject recked passages from the
Bible, claiming to be one of the twelve disciples. He never
said which one, an omission which should have been
another clue. The response from the gathering was
questionable, but Brother Joseph declared the session a
success and adjourned the meeting. The subject
vanished soon afterward, and after a cursory asking
around, nobody seemed to know who he was.

The next day, on the front page of the Wichita Eagle,
Brother Joseph saw an article prominently displayed
in the upper half of the paper. "Eagle Reporter
Infiltrates 'Channeling Cult,' " read the headlines, and
accompanying the article was a photograph of the
reporter. He was, indeed, the same subject who had
"channeled" the night before.

Aghast, Brother Joseph read on. The "sting" had
taken three months, and while it had been unplanned,
the leader of the cult had picked him to be channeled.
In detail the reporter described the "high visibility" of
firearms and the "gullibility of the audience, who
seemed to come from rural, uneducated back-
grounds." As the final insulting touch, it seemed that
the "scripture" he'd quoted while in the "trance" was
all fabricated, but had been accepted as "fact" by
Brother Joseph and his followers.

Brother Joseph, staying at the house of one of the
flock, packed his bags and left Wichita, Kansas, in a
hurry. He left the situation in the capable hands of one
of his followers, hoping the brouhaha would remain
local. During the next month it appeared that it would,
but the preacher had learned his lesson. To the best of
his ability and the ability of the chapter members, each
new member had a thorough background check.

The incident had happened many years before, but

Mercedes Lackey (s! Mark Shepherd

still it grated. He had been so certain he had a true
medium sitting before him. In time it would become
clear to him that a true channeling would be much
more compelling and believable than an agent of Satan
spouting made-up scripture.

Putting the distasteful experience behind him,
Brother Joseph entered the bathroom adjacent to the
long hallway, finding one of his servants sitting at the
makeup table, reading a Bible. Brother Joseph recog-
nized him as one of the Junior Guard, with beret,
t-shirt and camo pants. Within the walls of his private
living quarters full assault rifles were waived; this
youth wore what appeared to be a WWII Luger
sidearm. The young man looked up expectandy, clos-
ing the Bible.

"Your bath is prepared, Brother Joseph," the boy
said, standing and bowing slighdy.

The leader nodded, noting the perfect way in which
he had been addressed. I must remember to compliment his
CO when I see him, he thought complacently.

"Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable, young
man," Brother Joseph said fondly It felt good to have
servants, especially the faithful young followers who
were so bright, so energetic, so enthusiastic for the
Church and what he wanted to accomplish with it.

To call this room a "bathroom" would be a disservice,
Brother Joseph mused, as he eased into the immense
marble bathtub. The bath, which was installed on a
raised platform surrounded by roman columns, could
have held at least five people at once. But such a thing
would be wanton and sinful. This was his solitary
pleasure, his just reward for serving the Lord, to be
shared with no one.

"More patchouli," Brother Joseph said, and the boy
poured more pink powder into the swirling baths.
"More air in the jets," he added, as an afterthought,
and the boy adjusted the knob to make the water more

147

WHEELS OF FIRE

bubbly. The flowery fragrance rose from the steamy
bath. To call this heaven would have been a sacrilege.
But then, the preacher speculated, maybe God
provided a tiny piece of heaven for his top workers.

Once Brother Joseph's needs were seen to, the
Junior Guard lad bowed and returned faithfully to his
Bible. Fine young man, the preacher observed, trying to
ignore his own shriveled skin, the liver spots, the flab,
and other nagging signs of aging. He thought of his
age in terms of what he had told his congregation, not
the date on which he was born. Instead of being fifty-
nine, he was actually forty something. Nobody
questioned him. Being leader of the Church had its

advantages.

So much accomplished, so much more to do, he thought,
glorying in the evening's events. These Praise Meet-
ings energized him in ways nobody even suspected; he
felt years younger after a successful night like tonight,
and if there had been time he would hold one every
night. But it was late when the meetings concluded,
including the little private meeting afterwards, and his
people needed rest to be able to put in a full day for the
Church. The information he had gleaned from the
Holy Fire would take days to process. Any more meet-
ings, and the data would be wasted. Such a waste, the
preacher calculated, could well displease the Holy Fire,
^ and that was the last thing he'd wanted to do.
|| Overall it was a pretty good Praise Meeting. At least until
|| the little brat threw up on those shoes. Brother Joseph
' thought, melting further into the hot, steaming bath. /
didn't like throwing that pair out, but I didn't exactly have a
choice. Oh, well. Plenty more where they came from. Adjoin-
ing the long closet was another closet, which held
around two hundred pairs of fine dress shoes, each
pair assigned to its own cubby-hole in the extensive

shelving he'd had built.
Despite that disgusting display of nausea there at the end, the

148 Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

boy is a remarkable tool. The fasting had been so effective
that the preacher was contemplating extending the
fast until the next Praise Meeting, three days hence.
No resistance to the Holy Fire this time - and that
seemed to please it a great deal.

And what it said... Brother Joseph was still wallow-
ing in that praise, an honor bestowed to him. Now he
knew what Christ felt like: powerful, right, still the
obedient servant of God, yet also the Sword in His
hand.

This was, he reflected, all he ever really wanted to
do, since the days of the burning crosses and the dan-
gling niggers, and throughout his long days in the San
Jose Hotel. Yes, this was all he wanted to do, this service
to the Lord.

Especially now that he was much more than a mere
servant. The Sacred Fire surpassed his wildest expecta-
tions tonight. It not only affirmed his position in the
Church, but in the God/Man hierarchy. Tonight, his
status went up more than a few notches. The memory
warmed him like a fine glass of burgundy. He raised his
arms out of the steamy, fragrant water, half expecting
electricity to arc between his hands.

Life is grand. It's good to be the one on top.

Until now, everything the Holy Fire had allowed
him to do had been mere parlor tricks. He reminded
himself that the parlor tricks had convinced many a
borderline believer in his power, and in his ability to call
forth the glory of Jesus and God.

But the boy - the boy - that his key to glory should
be one small boy, who might not ever have come into
his hands....

He suppressed that thought. Itwould have hap-
pened. The Lord willed it. Just as the Lord had willed
that he find that flagstaff.

He had been looking for a suitably impressive staff
for the church flag, the symbol of all they stood for, the

WHEELS OF FIRE               149

banner under which his armies would eventually
march to victory. But the stores that sold such things
had only the same wooden poles, topped either with
brass spearheads, eagles, or round knobs. He had
wanted something more.

And something not so... expensive.

Surely God had directed his steps to the htdejunk
shop in Lafayette, Indiana, a place run by two senile
old people, so identical he could not tell which was the
husband and which the wife. One of them had directed
him to the back of the room when he answered their
vague mumbles with "I'm looking for a pole."

Wedged in a space between two enormous oak dish-
cupboards, pieces that would fit only in a room with a
fourteen-foot ceiling, had been a selection of poles.
Curtain poles, fishing poles, poles for punting -

And yes, flagpoles.

Standing tall among the others was a grime-
encrusted flagpole of indeterminate age and origin. It
stood taller than the two dish-cupboards that flanked it,
its top ornament hidden in gloom. When he reached
out to heft it doubtfully, he received a double shock.

First - it was heavy. Too heavy to have been made of
wood.

Second - a real, physical shock, like a electrical
spark that arced from it to his arm. It only lasted a
moment, but in that moment, he knew he had to have
it.

He carried the thing forward to the old couple -
who, when they learned it was to be used for a church
banner, refused to accept any money for it.

He remembered thinking as he carried it out that
even if it wasn't quite suitable, the price was certainly
right.

Back at the revival tent, he began cleaning his find -
and discovered that under the years of dirt and grime,
the pole was of hollow brass, three sections fitted

150 Mervedes Lackey S^Mark Shepherd

together like a portable billiard cue. He had expected
that the threads would have corroded together, but
they unscrewed smoothly, as if the pole had just been
machined and put together for the first time.

But it was the top ornament that took his breath away
and made him realize that the piece had been waiting for
him - for decades, perhaps even for centuries. A Hat
piece of brass, it proved to be engraved - with the
Church's own emblem, the Sacred Heart pierced by twin
crucifixes, the sole difference being that this heart was
engulfed in flames. There was writing around the edge
of the plaque, but it was in Latin and what he thought
might be French, so he had ignored it.

And it was from that moment of discovery that the
Holy Fire began whispering in the back of his mind,
bringing the Word of God directly - if imperfectly -
to him. It was then that he had dedded to try channel-
ing again, after that disastrous incident in Wichita. And
that was the first dme he had actually gotten something,
through the medium of little Sarah.

And now, even more effectively, the Fire acted
through the medium of young Jamie.

The boy had proven to be an effective bridge. On the
very first channeling he allowed the preacher to invoke
a ball of flame, which he held in his unprotected hands.
The Fire spoke then, but he later learned that only he
had heard it. The next Praise Meeting he had
arranged to have a bed of hot coals ready, and at the
appropriate moment, to the horror of those attending,
he walked barefoot over it. Only once, though. He
didn't want to fry the patience of the Sacred Flame by
showing preference to another, lesser flame. That one
time though had been enough. The congregation
flocked to the stage to examine his unblemished feet.
And then, surprisingly, to kiss them.

As he thought back on his career in the light of the
Sacred Fire's words tonight. Brother Joseph began to

WHEELS OF FIRE                151

see a pattern emerge, one which placed him at the very
center of things. Gradually, since the lynching days of
the KKK, through his rise in the Baptist Church to the
present. God had slowly but surely been revealing
truth to him, and only him. Those other would-be
leaders, as he was so fond of preaching, didn't have it
right, never did, never would. This latest revelation,
for it was truly a revelation, put him in a position only
slightly lower than Jesus himself.

Though he hadn't felt that way when the boy threw
up on him. Had Jesus had people throw up on his holy
robes and sandals? At least nobody had been around to
see it. If anyone noticed the condition of his shoes after
leaving the altar, they had politely, and intelligently,
withheld comment. Still, he didn't like how that
memory played in his mind. It seemed like Satan might
have had a hand in this -

No, that wasn't possible, since Satan was too afraid to
mess with personal friends and agents of God
Almighty. Satan's tools didn't projectile-vomit no mat-
ter what was in the movies.

It couldn't have been interference. The boy simply
lost his control, and whatever it was he drank last, from
the sheer excitement of channeling the Holy Fire.

At least, he hoped that's what it was. But as he con-
sidered this, an alarming thought came to mind. What if
this was some kind of signal, sentby God, to warn him that
the boy was going to be trouble? A similar signal had been
sent in the case of the little brat Sarah, in the form of a
sickness during one of the Praise Meetings. That had
been embarrassing, and it had required maximum use of
his silver tongue to quell the audience. It had looked like
some sort of epileptic seizure at the time. Eventually the
congregation returned to their seats, including her
parents, and watched as the girl flopped around on the
stage; possession, that's what he'd said, he remembered.
This incident had happened weeks before he had to

152 Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

actually kill her, and now it seemed to have been a sure
sign that trouble was to follow.

Time will tell, he thought, with a sigh. The water's heat
was making him dizzy, but he stayed in nevertheless. He
didn't feel clean, not yet The preacher had made sure that
the boy had been taken back to the isolation room, away
from his father. It had come to his attention that Jim Chase
had been drinking a bit heavily in his private room with his
son. That just didn't seem right Also, he wasn't sure if he
could trust the man to maintain the integrity of the fast and
had suspicions that he'd slipped the boy some food.
Tonight, at least, Jamie would have to be separated from
his father. Perhaps the separation should be permanent
The boy seemed more exhausted and muddled than the
last dme, but the preacher didn't worry; God would see to
it that the boy survived. His body, anyway. It really didn't
matter if the boy had a mind or not. He was only a mouth-
piece, to serve the Holy Fire as an object, not a thinking
being. And his soul would surely be purified from contact
with the Holy Fire. Why, if the soul could talk to him
direcdy,itwould probably be thanking him rightnow.

"After all," he'd told the boy's father, while escorting
the boy to the isolation room. "Children are the
property of the parent who gave them life. And now,
Jim, you owe me your life. You should rejoice that I
have a use for your son."

Jim had agreed, nodding numbly, shuffling off to his
room after locking the door onJamie's new home.

The Holy Fire would protect the boy, as it always had,
despite the apparent exhaustion he was displaying.

The Holy Fire always survives. He knew that, as surely
as he knew his own name. Brother Joseph.

If the boy became unsuitable, there would always be
others. The boy could even be buried beside Sarah and
her parents.

As could his father, if he objected in any way. This,
however, was unlikely; the man was a faithful,

WHEELS OF FIRE               153

unthinking servant. The best kind. Meanwhile, so
was the boy, though he had little choice in the matter.

Neither did Sarah, he reminded himself.

The pitiful creature never once understood the
importance other sacrifice, and that in itself was a
tragedy. It was ironic that he hadn't even been trying
for the Holy Fire, didn't even know that it existed. He
remembered Sarah's parents telling him how receptive
she was, how special. And he remembered how the
voices whispering in the back of his mind had urged
him to try channeling again, that this dme it would be
different. So he had tried using Sarah to shoot for a
garden variety prophet, like Elijah.

But instead, he got it. The Holy Fire. The same fire
that had spoken to Moses from the burning bush.

Never, ever, had he thought he would reach some-
thing like that. It had all come about so casually -

almost by accident.

Channeling was very big, he had realized, after read-
ing an article about Shirley MacLaine. Californians
were making lots of money with this idea, and while he
didn't believe for a second that MacLaine was telling
the truth, it had a certain macabre appeal. And surely
in the hands of the God-fearing, if anything happened,
it would be with God's will.

So he gave it another try. Sarah seemed pliant, her
parents appeared cooperative, and he staged a "chan-
neling" one night where there were few in the
audience, before he had moved all of the Sacred Heart
chapters to this central location. After several
unproductive tries at contacting "Elijah," it happened.
The Holy Fire spoke through the girl, in a voice that
made her sound like Satan. As the girl spoke, it dawned
on the preacher that it was not Satan but God, the real
God, that was talking to him directly.

Cunning, the Holy Fire was; in its first message it
told the preacher what he would have to do for it so

154 Mercedes Lackey £s? Mark Shepherd

that it could aid him in his mission. It could assist the
Chosen Ones in attracting new members, give them
information on gambling, tip them off when the police
were nearing their operations. All sorts of helpful
things, meant to bring wealth to the faithful and to con-
found the unbelievers. And money meant power, in
anyone's language.

But the girl proved a disappointment. She resisted
any further attempts to channel the Holy Fire again,
much to his humiliation and, later, rage. Oh, the Fire
came through, but it was a struggle, and the informa-
tion it was able to convey was meager compared to
what he knew it wanted to give.

Yet Brother Joseph had not given up. He knew
enough about the Holy Fire to begin seeking another
suitable subject.

It didn't take long. In fact, the father had practically
dumped Jamie in his lap. Jim had been attending the
Atlanta Praise Meetings intermittently at first, but then
he began appearing on a regular basis. He had men-
tioned to the preacher that he had a son, a trusting,
receptive child. Something about those words triggered
an excitement in him. "Would you like to bring the boy to
the next meeting?" Brother Joseph had asked, and Jim
did.

Along with his mother. She should have been left
behind, the preacher realized instantly when he first
saw her. She sat stiffly in the audience, full of resistance,
looking scared and angry at the same time. Over the
years the preacher had learned to spot that type, the
unbeliever who would always be an unbeliever, a wife
or a husband who had been dragged along. The infidel
who would compete with God for the ear and soul of
the newcomer, and sometimes even win.

But the boy - the boy was special, more than Jim
realized. And from the first moment he'd set eyes on
Jamie, he knew that the Fire wanted him.

WHEELS OF FIRE              155

Jim had brought Jamie by himself one day, and
Brother Joseph seized upon the opportunity. The
faithful were anxious for a good channeling, and he
had prayed earnestly for success before it began. He
wasn't disappointed. The boy proved to be a superb
conductor of the Holy Fire.

Then the mother had intervened, before he could
get Jim to turn the boy over to his hands.

The divorce came as a surprise, to both himself and
Jim, he had to admit. The preacher hadn't thought
she'd had it in her. The whore, he thought, seething. The
woman and her son went into hiding before he and Jim
knew what was happening, but when the divorce
papers were filed by that smart-assed lawyer. Brother
Joseph knew what to do next: wait. Eventually, she
would have to let her guard down. Just let her think
Jim was gone, and then go in for the boy. Once she
thought she was safe, she'd go back to the old house,
the familiar surroundings. The preacher assigned a
private in the Guard to discreetly watch the school for
Cindy, and a few days later, after she showed up, Jim
went in to pick up his son.

The father had been wired with a remote microphone,
which they used to monitor the situation. Fifteen Chosen
Ones waited beyond the school's perimeter in three
separate vehicles, ready to go in and take the boy by
force, if necessary. It wasn't; the school had no idea what
was up. In fact, they had been downright helpful, to the
delight of those listening in. Within moments Jim
emerged with his son and quietly drove off in their
pickup, followed close behind by a Bronco, a Cadillac and
Brother Joseph's God-given stretch Lincoln. The convoy
of Chosen Ones were well on their way to Oklahoma
before the mother had any idea of what had happened.

A brilliant mission. Brilliantly planned and brilliantly
executed, just. . . brilliant, gloated Brother Joseph. He
looked up from the swirling waters, just in time to see

156 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

the young guard bring a snack in on a silver tray.
Cheese, crackers, caviar. A kind of salad he didn't
immediately recognize. And the police in this county still
don't suspect a thing.

He knew this was primarily because of their lawyer,
Claudius Williams III. The old man came down with
the Detroit Hock three years ago, a true believer in
God, Country and AK-47s. In his collection of assault
weapons he had fifteen of the Russian-made rifles, all
of which he cheerfully donated to the Sacred Heart
armory. As a citizen of Detroit, Williams had practiced
law during the week, favoring the male side of divorce
proceedings. On Saturday, he had participated in a
white supremacists' organization. On Sunday, he had
been a church preacher, teaching the Israel Identity to
hungover auto workers. All in all. Brother Joseph
thought, a well-rounded individual. Even though he wanted
to continue preaching. He saw, with God's help, the light of
wisdom. After all, we needed his expertise in the legal field.
And his performance in that capacity has been exemplary.

Once the underground lair of the Sacred Heart was
discovered by the county's law enforcement, Claudius
Williams III went into action. For months prior to
moving to Oklahoma, he had studied the local laws in
books acquired by Guard agents, finding loopholes,
exploiting weaknesses. Pawnee County turned out to
be ideal for their purposes. Since the building permits
had already been granted, it was a simple matter to
keep the sheriff off their property. What the law didn't
cover, court injunctions did. In Pawnee County, it was
difficult to obtain a search warrant.

And it didn't hurt that the district judge was an old
college buddy of Claudius. The judge had been bat-
tling with the DA and sheriff for years now, over
run-ins with his own friends and relatives, so naturally
the granting of injunctions was a simple matter,
reduced to a rubber-stamped formality. The judge and

WHEELS OF FIRE               157

lawyer smiled and shook hands, the DA and sheriff
fumed and scratched their heads, and the Sacred
Heart of the Chosen Ones existed, more or less, as a
sovereign state.

Brother Joseph chuckled at the sheer perversity of it
all; his young servant looked up quizzically from the
Bible. Their eyes locked for a brief instant before the
boy looked away, apparently embarrassed.

"I must awe you," Brother Joseph said. "I know that
service in my private quarters is a rotational thing, but
you must feel a chill of excitement to be here. Am I cor-
rect?"

"Ofc-course, sir," the boy stammered. "Is there any-
thing I can get you?"

"My bathrobe, my boy," the preacher said. The boy
scrambled for the robe, lying on a chair on the other
side of the immense bathroom. "And a towel. I'm
through here for the night. Secure the area and report
to your CO. You will be commended."

The boy blushed when he handed the preacher the
robe. Such a young face. And such dedication to one he wor-
ships. What, Oh Lord, have I done to deserve such favor?

Jamie was only vaguely aware of the two beefy fists
gripping his arms as he was led away from the Praise
Meeting. Behind him he could hear Brother Joseph
talking some icky stuff to his father, none of which
really made much sense. It was just more gob-
bledygook. More of the same.

When the man grabbed his arm he realized that his
arm had gotten smaller, and that he felt lighter. These
facts didn't register immediately, but somewhere along
the way he saw what it meant, and wondered if he would
go away if they didn't feed him. His body, he reasoned,
must be feeding on itself, and pretty soon he would be all
gone. Would his real body fade away like the ghost-one
had during the Praise Meeting, going all see-through,

158 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

until there was nothing at all? Or would he turn into a
stick-figure, like the pictures of Ethiopian kids?

ThenJamie was dimly aware that he was going
someplace different, that he wasn't going back to the
old room. In a way that made him glad. He wouldn't
have to worry about being rolled over on, and he
wouldn't be using a blanket full of little white bugs. He
didn't really care where he was going, though he was
fully aware that it could be far worse than his room, if
Brothel-Joseph was taking him there. His conscious-
ness was fading, and he wondered if you could walk
and sleep at the same time.

Somewhere in his schooling he had heard about the
place they took bad boys who ran away from home,
played hooky or used drugs, the place called "juvie
detention." If that was where he was being taken, he
now knew that you didn't have to do something bad to
get there. But he wasn't scared about it, and he
wondered why.

Finally they put him into a little room that had a little
bed in it, but no carpet or other furniture. The blankets
on the bed smelled clean, something he had barely
noticed when they put him down on the bed; all he
could do then was lie there and pant, and look at the
stars that sparkled in his vision.

The darkness became absolute when they slammed
the door on him. Jamie let out a little whimper before
falling asleep, into a world of nightmares he was too
tired to wake up from.

• CHAPTER SEVEN

Al climbed a little higher in the tree, further away
from the chain-link fence. The added distance he'd put
between himself and the steel decreased the inter-
ference that disrupted his senses, and made it easier to
get around the metal barriers, but it didn't make him
feel any better about what was taking place down there
at the "Praise Meeting."

In fact, the impromptu fine-tuning made what was
happening down there all the clearer, and it took every
ounce of his willpower to keep from dashing to the
boy's rescue.

No heroics, he lectured himself. / can't do Jamie any good
if I'm shot full of holes. Lots of holes, by the look of those auto-
matic weapons they're lugging around. But anxiety knotted
his stomach, and the urge to get over there and do
something kept him in a state of nervous tension.

When he remembered what he looked like, in black
clothing, boots and mask, he couldn't help but
grimace; he looked either like a Ninja or a black-power
commando. With this group, who hated black and
Oriental people as much any other scapegoat, he
wouldn't last very long. In the bright lights he would
make an easy target. He didn't think he could dodge
that many bullets, even with Andur's help. The
elvensteed could run fast, but notthat fast.

When the gathering began, and his brief glimpses
into the humans' minds gave him more and more
information, Alinor quickly identified this as the same
kind of "Praise Meeting" that Cindy had told him

160 Mercedes Lackey ^Mark Shepherd

about. Everything matched what she'd described,
including the peculiar flag in the stage's background.
What he hadn't expected was the evil thing that
Brother Joseph summoned as soon asJamie arrived.
Al had not expected ritual magic, not here. He had
assumed that the dark power he'd touched had been
something the culdsts didn't know about, or something
that was using them without their knowledge. It
seemed he was wrong - terribly wrong.

Given the magical power of the entity, he was still
afraid that it might have detected him, there at the
beginning of the ritual. He couldn't shake a sense of
familiarity, a haunting foreboding that he had, indeed,
seen this thing, or something like it, in the past. Alinor
had to admit that it wasn't often these days that he ran
across such things. One was more likely to encounter
such things in the halfworld, beyond the borders of
Underbill, not in the technological environment of the
"real world." But here it was.

And it threatened Jamie's very survival. It would
have to be dealt with, destroyed. At the moment, Alinor
was most likely to be the one to face the beast.

Provided it didn't find and devour him first.

After he'd withdrawn his probes from the immediate
vicinity of the entity, he studied its reactions. Soon he
was satisfied that it hadn't sensed him, and that the
humans who had gathered were responsible for its
waking. And then the creature saw the tiny life-spark
that had to beJamie, and reached....

But instead of devouring the boy, the child's soul
switched with the dark thing. Alinor did a double take;

suddenly, outside the boy's body, stood the boy - or
rather, the boy's spirit. And speaking through the body
was the evil force, in full control of mouth, tongue and
vocal cords.

The elf's first reaction was awe at the expertise this
human, Brother Joseph, had with the magics of the

WHEELS OF FIRE               161

halfworld. But as Alinor surreptitiously explored this
"expertise" he found the preacher wasn't responsible
for the shift at all. In fact, the switch took place mspite of
the preacher and all he did. He saw the interference
the emotional energies were creating: strong, gusty
waves of hate and fear, intermingled with the human
excitement of the Praise Meeting. Brother Joseph
didn't engineer the switch, the evil force did, deftly
sidestepping the waves ofpsionic energy the meeting
generated, shunting them off.

Alinor narrowed his eyes and frowned, gathering his
thoughts. His perch in the tree was getting uncomfort-
able, but he dared not move. If that thing didn't notice
him, the guards down there might. The entity might
even see him then, a complication he quite easily could

live without.

I'm assuming too much, he decided. / don't know that it
perceives magics and energies the same way 1 do. In fact, it
probably doesn't see it the same way. It seems quite alien -
and it's not like an Unseleighe creature, either. The emotion-
driven psychic force that Brother Joseph is raising may be
acting as food to it, not a loud distraction. I wish I had someone
with more experience here with me....

As the darkness enveloped the boy, Alinor became
aware of yet another creature, creeping quietly out of

the halfworld.

Who is she? Alinor wondered, suddenly aware of the
being's gender. This was not something cut from the
same fabric as the present occupant of Jamie's body.

She was quiet, yet strong. And the fact that she
retained a sex, and a vaguely human semblance, finally
gave him the clue he needed to identify what she was, if
not who.

A human ghost.

Al sighed. A ghost tied to this place could only mean
that it was bound somehow to Brother Joseph or the
cult. Such bindings were rarely anything other than

162 Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

tragic. 5o much unhappvness in this place, invoked by a crazed
human preacher who doesn't even know what he's done!

And now there was another complication to what
had seemed straightforward last night That this was a
ghost withJamie told him a great deal. The woman, no,
girl, had evidently died a violent death. Spirits with that
kind of ending frequently lingered near the earth-
plane, still not convinced that they had died;

wandering about aimlessly, knocking things over and
making a general nuisance of themselves. The very
tragedy of their death acted as a burden, an anchor
weighing them down until the conflict surrounding
their demise was resolved.

Yet even as he thought that, he knew that wasn't the
case here; he could sense it. This spirit had a purpose,
and the purpose involved Jamie.

Was this her way of dealing with her own death? Al
wondered as he watched the flicker of light take form.
The girl sentJamie's spirit a thin tendril of energy,
which began blocking the boy's pain.

Well done! Alinor complimented silently. I hope that
before this is all over and done with Fllget to meet this little one,
and perhaps help her leave this plane....

But this was getting more complicated by the
moment; not the simple "snatch and grab" of the usual
elven rescue. His premonition had been correct. There
had been death, sadism and violence here, and there
was more to come.

He resisted a particularly strong urge to contact the
ghost-child. Allies in this situation could only help to dp
the odds in his, andJamie's, favor. But to reach out to
her could alert the beast to his presence and, con-
ceivably, to hers. How she had managed to aid Jamie
was something he would have to ask later.

Alinor listened, and watched.

The thing began to speak through Jamie, and the
reaction from the audience was dramatic and varied.

WHEELS OF FIRE                163

The thing fed on the roiling emotions of the preacher's
flock. A true parasitic spirit, Al thought. Parasites in any
world were disgusting things to him, especially when
they attacked children. This one seemed particularly
insidious, in view of the total possession the thing had
of the boy's body. He wondered what would happen if
it weakened Jamie to the point where it could make
that possession permanent.

The entity spoke, ranting in the same vein as
Brother Joseph, and an outpouring of racial hate and
convoluted biblical theory that was enough to make
him ill. It made even less sense than Brother Joseph,
something Alinor had to hear to believe.

And he could not shake the nagging sense of
familiarity.

Where else have I seen this thing? Al asked himself, now
certain he'd encountered it, or perhaps a relative of it,
before.

It began saying things, things the preacher seemed
unprepared for. The man stood back, apparently
trying to form some kind of rebuttal to what was com-
ing out of the boy's mouth. You, Brother Joseph, you are the
instrument of the Prophecy. You will be the Bringer of the
Flame.... The boy's distorted voice ranted on, while the
preacher just stood there, open-mouthed, slack-jawed,
for once at a loss for words.

Alinor took note of how the preacher reacted to this
unexpected tirade. Brother Joseph did not like what
he heard - but more importandy, the words disturbed
the audience as well. The congregation shifted ner-
vously, and the deep wrinkle between Brother Joseph's
eyebrows deepened.

But like the professional orator he was, he bounced
back from the uncomfortable moment as soon as the
entity gave him the chance to speak, replying with a
rambling continuation of his previous sermon.

Within moments he had reconciled everything the

164 Mercedes Lackey WMwk Shepherd

creature had said with his own words, exerting a
powerful charisma to charm the flock and lull them
back into their feeling of comfortable belonging.
Apparently relieved that what the Sacred Fire had to
say was no real surprise, they responded with mindless
shouts of "Praise the Lord," resolutely erasing any
lingering doubts from their own minds.

A guard passed by the tree Al was sitting in, startling
him and catching him unawares. He pulled his atten-
tion back to his immediate surroundings. Need to watch
that, he thought, as his stomach lurched in alarm. lam,
after all, sitting in a tree in hostile territory.

But the guard continued his patrol around one of
the buildings. Apparently he had not noticed Alinor
perched above him. This time he'd been lucky, but luck
could only stretch so far.

Al checked cautiously for other guards, found none,
and eventually sent his mental sight back to the Praise
Meeting. But now the hall had been cleared of all spec-
tators, except for a handful of men gathered at the foot
of the stage. The boy continued speaking, but what he
was saying...

Alinor smiled sardonically. Now we get to thepracticalpart
of this evening's programming, he thought, making mental
notes on the kinds of information the entity produced for
Brother Joseph. Bingo. Horse racing. Gambling. What else?
he wondered. And then he heard what else -

Drugs. Information on the police. Great Danaa, this
thing has a lead on just about everything. It knows more about
the humans and their world than they do. Not only that, but it's
engineering the sale of drugs... to children.'

Now he was not only sickened, he was outraged. The
man is a monster. He has the ability to manipulate whoever lis-
tens to him - and he uses it for this. And beneath it all, he's
still a puppet, a tool. The thing that controls him, that's the
culprit, the blackness behind this entire charade masquerading
as faith... some Christian, he hasn't got a clue....

WHEELS OF FIRE              165

Then, with a cold shock of recognition, Alinor finally
remembered where he'd seen this thing before. The
church and all its esoteric trappings, he chided himself
angrily. Brother Joseph, and all his blithering religious
lunacy, should have been a dead giveaway. Of course - of
course. I know where this thing came from - what it is. It's
been nearly a thousand years, but I shouldn't have forgotten,
no matter how long ago it happened. This dark creature, this
blackness, this thing, this blot of evil, this...

Salamander.

It shouldn't be happening again. But it was.

Only this time, the Christian soldiers weren't toting
shields, swords and arrows. They were armed with the
latest in automatic weaponry, killing tools designed to
exterminate humans by the hundreds.

Yet how could it be happening here, now? When he
had witnessed the creation of the United States, Alinor
had thought that the Constitution would prevent
religious crusades from destroying lives and souls ever
again. The Constitution was, after all, designed to
protect all religions, not just the Christian one. At its
inception the new nation was easily the freest place in
the world. It still was, though the Folk still needed to
remain concealed.

The Salamander is behind it. Blessed Danaa - he
thought angrily; wishing, as he had so many times
before, that he had found a way to do away with the
creature, or to at least send it back from where it came.

And nothing has really changed since the last time.

The last time, ten centuries ago.

I was only a child....

It was his first excursion outside Scotland, to the
home of his mother's people. He'd looked, at the time,
like a teenaged human boy, and although he was con-
siderably older than he appeared, he acted and
thought like the sheltered youngster he was.

166 Mercedes Lackey Ssf Mark Shepherd

His father, Liam Silverbranch, had taken him to
meet his mother Melisande's kin in Elfhame Joyeaux
Garde in France.

His mother's mother had been Elaine du Lac, who
had fostered the famous Lancelot du Lac, and both
parents had deemed it high time that he meet his
celebrated relatives and learn the Gallic side of his
heritage. But there had been no one near his age there,
not even human fosterlings, and the older elves had
gotten involved in hunts and Court gossip and politics.
Eventually they had left him to his own devices. He had
run off on an exploration of his own as soon as the idea
occurred to him.

It was his first chance to see mortals in any numbers,
humans other than the fosterlings. The humans were
so - bewildering. He had wanted to see them up dose,
to see the way they really lived; their capacity for
violence astonished and intrigued him with morbid fas-
cination. They seemed to throw their short lives away
on a whim, to court injury and death for the strangest
of reasons or no reason at all. He had to leam more.

He had slipped off in human guise when his father
and King Huon were off on a three-day hunt. He had
planned to stay human for several months, knowing
that the time-slip between the human world and
Underbill would make it seem only a day or two - five
at the most - for the elves. He had even picked out a
human to imitate.

His intent, originally, was to pass as a tanner's appren-
tice. The boy was being sent from a cousin in another
village - the tanner had no idea what the boy looked
like, only that he was coming. What he did not know -
because his cousins didn't tell him - was that the boy was
much younger than he'd been led to think; instead of
being an adolescent, the proper age for an apprentice,
he was only six. The cousins had hoped to fob the boy off
on their richer relative; since he was already foregoing

WHEELS OF FIRE               167

the usual apprenticeship fee, they figured once the boy
was in his custody, he wouldn't turn him away. He'd lost
his way and been found by one of the fosterlings, who'd
taken him Underbill with her.

Alinor turned up right on schedule. For a few
months all was well; the tanner was relatively
prosperous, and since he catered to the wealthy with
his finely tooled leather horse-goods, Alinor got to see
all the violence he wanted, quite dose. But in the third
month of his apprenticeship, his master had died of a
madness that, he later learned, had been caused by a
poisonous mold in rye bread. Knowing that it would be
unwise to be associated with a human who had gone
mad, he attempted to return to Elfhame Joyeaux

his

Garde.

By that time, he was weary and sick of the mortals
and their unfathomable ways, and he had seen enough
of the humans' world by then to extinguish any linger-
ing desire for adventure. The bloody battling of the
humans, their insatiable desire for conflict, was all very
fine in a ballad or tale - but when you stood close
enough to the scene of the battle to be spattered with
blood from the combatants, it was another case entirely.
He was tired of the poor food, the unsanitary condi-
tions, the coarse garments. He was tired of being either
too hot or too cold, and very, very tired of rising before
dawn and working until the last light had left the sky.

But the ruling council of Joyeaux Garde forbade his
return. And that had come as an unpleasant shock.

After all, he had left on his own, without asking leave of
the ruling elven royalty, without even telling his parents.
Such carelessness had led to exposure in the past- led
to the deaths of elves at the hands of mortals, led to witch-
and demon-hunts. Or so the ruling council said.

So he was to learn a lesson about the consequences of
selfish and unthinking behavior. Alinor suspected that
his own father Liam Silverbranch had something to do

168 Mercedes Lackey ^Mark Shepherd

with the "exile." Uam had admitted to being worried sick
over his disappearance, and Uam did not care for being
inconvenienced or discommoded in any way. He espe-
cially was not amused at his son's audacity in addressing
the council without even a touch of humility. And since
Alinor was too old for a switch to his rear, he would
receive a punishment equivalent to the crime.

It was. King Huon explained (looking much like one
of the pictures the humans painted in their churches of
a stern and unforgiving God), time for him to get a
good dose of the humans. Especially since he had left
his rightful home and Underbill without regard for
rule ofelven law or the feelings of his elven kin.

Alinor knew that he had not been mature in any
sense, back then. / was such a little - what do they call it
these days - "rug rat?" Trying to be an adult, without the
mental equipment to do so. It's a wonder I didn't get into mare
trouble than I did. The Court gave him a year, human
time, before he could return to the elves' world, and in
that year he was told to survive as a human, not as one
of the Folk, and face death if he was exposed as Sidhe.
Which meant, in so many words, use your wits, not
your magic. Fortunately the humans were wearing
their hair long in those days, and most peasants wore
hats or hoods night and day, making it easier to hide his
conspicuous, pointed ears.

Rebuffed, Alinor did as he was told. To a point. He
wandered aimlessly, in the guise of a peasant, which
wasn't too difficult since he didn't have a pot to pee in
anyway. For a few days he managed to convince himself
of the romantic nature of his travels, living on the edge,
evading the Death Metal of humans' weapons by a hair's
breadth. Great adventure for a youth, and it would have
gone on for some dme, except for one thing.

Alinor was cold, tired and hungry.

In any of the elven enclaves, food was available in
abundance. But in the humans' world, starvation

WHEELS OF FIRE              169

prevailed - at least for the lowest classes. Drought and
floods regularly wiped out much of the agriculture,
and what the weather left, insects and plant diseases
ravaged. Small game was difficult to catch without a
^ow - which, as a peasant, he was not permitted to
o-^n - and it was nearly impossible to find a forest that
some human noble hadn't already staked a daim to, a
claim which was enforced by sword- and arrow-
wielding sheriffs. His early attempts at kenning
eatables resulted in a tasteless, unpalatable mush that
mules would turn up their noses at. Before a week was
out, the youngster knew he was in trouble, and began
searching for a human he could influence and to leam
the mundane ways of making a living as a freedman of
some kind. Not even he was romantic enough to think
of the life of a serf as something to be pursued.

Alinor had been contemplating pilfering and
slaughtering a chicken, and wondering if it was worth
the risk of being caught. The farmer in question had
several fierce dogs guarding his property; Alinor had
thought he would be able to lull them into sleep, but
what if he missed one? He finally decided that it wasn't
worth the risk and was going in search of a field he
could loot for turnips after dark. That was when he
came across an elderly man wearing a peculiar robe
and a towel around his head, muttering something to
himself as he trudged along a dirt highway. He was
leading a sickly mule and cart, and nearly walked into
the youngster.

The old man had stopped dead in his tracks and
gazed at him strangely for a moment. Where he had
come from, and what he was doing here, Alinor had no
idea. And at the dme Alinor couldn't have cared less; he
was starving.

And whoever the old man was, he didn't speak
French, Norse, Saxon English, or Gaelic, the four
tongues Alinor knew. After several aborted attempts at

170 Mwcedes Lackey Ssf Mark Shepherd

communication, the elf finally conveyed his need for
food, and to his surprise, the old man gave it to him.
Though it was only a bit of bread and a stick of dried
meat, gamy and heavily seasoned, Alinor had
devoured it hungrily. Only after finishing the meal did
he realize that, by accepting the gift, he had become an
indentured servant to the man.

Not that it really mattered. Here was the help he'd
been looking for. Alinor had even felt very clever,
knowing he could leave at any time, since the old man
was weak and helpless. Besides, he had reasoned, this
had the potential to be interesting.

Over time Alinor learned that the man was known in
the region as Al-Hazim, also called the "Mad Arab,"
though he was neither Arabic nor mad - he was, in
fact, a Moor from Alhambra. After some time, he
wondered how Al-Hazim escaped being set upon by
the other humans - he was, after all, an infidel and fair
game. He finally decided that most humans thought
the old man was a Jew, not an Arab -Jews had a
tenuous immunity from persecution, since when a
noble needed money, he had to go to the Jews for it, his
own fellows being forbidden to lend money by the
Church. This led to a kind of dubious safety; no one
wanted to kill the man who would lend him money, but
when the debt came due, sometimes it was easier to end
the debt with the life of the creditor....

And those that knew the old man was Arabic had
another reason to fear him and leave him alone.

He was a magician. He might traffic in demons. He
might be protected by horrible creatures. No one
human wanted to chance that, and by the time the local
Church authorities were alerted to his presence, or the
local nobleman was told the Arab was on his property
- or a mob was gathered from the braver folk of the
village - the Mad Arab was long gone. He never
stayed anywhere that he was known overnight. Alinor

WHEELS OF FIRE               171

had the feeling he'd probably learned that lesson early
in his career as a wanderer.

Al-Hazim was an alchemist by trade and possessed a
handwritten copy of the Emerald Tablet a rare and
eagerly sought-after book. Though the book was a
famous treatise on Arabian alchemy, it had never been
translated because it was knowledge that had been
uncovered by the infidels, and for a fee the Mad Arab
would read it aloud in broken but understandable
Latin. To Alinor it was only so much gibberish, but
"scientists" in the towns they passed through would
provide food and shelter for the privilege of transcrib-
ing while Al-Hazim spoke.

The elf couldn't understand the reverence other
alchemists paid the Emerald Tablet. It was all just half-
mystical nonsense compounded with human
ignorance, and Alinor privately thought the work and
its owner equally ridiculous.

They fell into a pattern of traveling from town to
town, usually in search of "scientists" and the very few
churchmen who were interested in the Emerald Tablet
and its secrets. Alinor listened to them debate the
secrets of alchemy, and absorbed this "great wisdom" to
the best of his abilities, at least until he couldn't stand
the cryptic nonsense anymore.

Alchemy, he learned (albeit reluctantly), was con-
sidered to be more than just a science, it was a
philosophy that supposedly represented mystic, occult
knowledge. Al-Hazim's goal was to produce the
"elixir," which could be used to convert cheap metal
into gold. Alinor knew something of metals; every
Sidhe did. What the alchemists were talking about was
possible, but not in the way that was outlined in the
Tablet. When Alinor was able to examine a nugget of
pure gold, payment from an isolated monk from the
Saint Basil Monastery, he kenned it thoroughly. The
gold was the purest Al had ever actually touched, for

172 Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

the Folk preferred ornaments made of silver over those
of gold, and the contact enabled him to ken it well
enough to produce a perfect replica.

Now he could assure the prosperity of his "master" -
and not inconsequentially, himself. And all without risk-
ing the exposure of his magic-use by the Folk.

Of course, he couldn't claim responsibility for doing
so. It had to appear to be the work ofAl-Hazim the
Alchemist, notAlinor of the Sidhe.

So he produced a nugget of gold in the crucible at
the appropriate moment, the next time Al-Hazim
made the attempt for some of his fellow scientists.

Needless to say, it caused a sensation.

This would not have been the first time the Sidhe
had produced gold for humans - though usually, it
was as a gift to a mother with hungry children, or a
father with girls to dower and no money. But Alinor
had been specifically forbidden to work this kind of
magic by his elders....

He decided, rebelliously, that he didn't care. Ifhe had to
substitute gold for a few worthless lumps oflead in order to
fill his belly, then that was what he would do. After all, he
wasritgetting the credit-and notoriety.Al-Hazimwas.

Word of the Mad Arab's success filtered down
through the countryside, and as they neared towns
the populace cleared out of the streets, avoiding them
at all costs. Only the few who sought knowledge,
power or greater wealth - often at risk to their souls,
according to the Church - ever sought them out.
Perversely, this increased their safety. The lowborn
were terrified of the demons Al-Hazim must have had
to protect him; the highborn were well aware of the
tale of the goose that laid golden eggs and were not
inclined to risk either the demons or the loss of the
secret of making gold to the hands of a torturer.
Al-Hazim was careful with his "talent," changing only
the "choicest leads" to gold, and small nuggets at that.

WHEELS OF FIRE                173

Meanwhile, Alinor worked the magic that created
the actual miracles, while Al-Hazim conjured the
"elixir" over the tiny brazier they carried with them.
Chanting passages from the Emerald Tablet, the Mad
Arab carefully heated the vessel, a small copper pot
with tubes running back into it, like a still, while his tiny
audiences watched.

In a trance, the Mad Arab held the vessel over the
coals, sometimes for hours, often in conjunction with
astrological conditions, while onlookers stared at the
flames, mesmerized. Alinor became a little uncomfort-
able in the intense emotional energy generated at such
gatherings, but he held his youthful impatience in
check, reminding himself what this was all for.

He had to work stealthily, so that his "mentor,"
Al-Hazim, got the credit, and sometimes he was a little
jealous at the attention the decrepit old Moor received.
But the astonished looks and hysterical applause when
a little chunk oflead "turned into gold" was well worth
a little discomfort and unrequited envy. This was the
most fun he'd ever had, and behind the curtains of the
wagon the youngster would break out in unrestrained
laughter, holding his sides, chortling until he wept.

All this, for a little lump of yellow metal. Alinor would
shake his head and chuckle, as the gold was
scrupulously divided between the Moor and whoever
had provided the costly ingredients of the elixir. Soon
they were able to buy a healthy pair of horses and a
full-sized wagon, so they could ride instead of walk-
ing. They began to wear decent clothing, and Alinor
took on the look of a young nobleman. They stayed in
a well-appointed tent instead of sleeping in the fields.
Life was a little better, when alchemy worked the way
it was supposed to.

"Everything comes from the One and returns to the
One," the Mad Arab chanted from memory, as they
traveled. They were on their way from Toulouse to

Mercedes Lackey WMwk Shepherd

Clermont in the southern part of the Kingdom of
France, in early November of what - these days - was
denoted as the year 1095. Back then, calendars were few,
and dates a matter of guess. "It is truth and not lies. What
is below is what is above, as all things have been from One
by the mediation of One," he continued. From that he
went into a recitation in what Al had determined was his
native language. Al-Hazim had been particularly pleased
with himself lately. They had received word from none
other than the "king" of the Catholic nation. Pope Urban
II, that their presence was requested in the city of
Clermont-Ferrand. The messenger had been sent with a
considerable sum of gold coin, with promises of more
when they arrived.

The youngster had gotten the distinct feeling that the
old man's excitement had more to do with who they were
seeing than what they were receiving for coming. AHnor
had only a vague understanding of the humans'
religions at the time; to him, it all seemed completely
nonsensical, whether it was Al-Hazim's brand of
Mohammedism or the local variant of Catholicism.

Still, it could not be denied that the Church had con-
siderable significance; indeed, most of the towns and
villages they'd passed through seemed to be governed
by the Church, with a king or lord installed as an after-
thought. The Pope seemed to be a particularly
important figure. Al gathered that it wasn't the man's
religious significance, though, that Al-Hazim was
ecstatic over. He was, after all, a follower of a different
faith. It was the man'spolitical power that interested the
Mad Arab.

Alinor studied his strange mentor as they traveled
the mountainous terrain south of their destination. Not
quite as mad as he would have us think, he observed,
wondering if this was something he had overlooked, or
if the man had actually changed. The recent sessions
with the "elixir" - a mixture of blood, ground pearl,

WHEELS OF FIRE               175

mercury, sulfur, and several herbs Alinor couldn't
identify - had generated vast amounts of psychic
energy, powers which Al-Hazim could not see, and
which Alinor had thought at first that he was probably
not aware of.

Alinor had known just enough to be a bit worried
about that. Such situations, or so he had been told,
were dangerous in the extreme. Most humans could
not see these powers, or what they could do, but that
didn't stop pockets of power from forming, usually in
places where they could do the most harm.

This seemed different somehow, as if Al-Hazim, in
spite of his apparent lunacy, knew what he was dealing
with. Alinor could not be sure, and it worried him now
and again. But he was easily distracted by the novelty of
their journey, and he kept forgetting to be concerned.

The last town they stopped at before Clermont was
not much more than a church and an inn that served
cheap ale and sour wine. Here, as at the other towns,
Al-Hazim's fame preceded them, but this time the
locals were less afraid and more in the mood to be
entertained, as if the Moor were some kind of show-
man. Alinor was dred and a little irritated, and his usual
envy for Al-Hazim's fame had become amplified in
proportion to the size of the new audience. When the
Moor agreed to perform his usual transformation
ritual, the youngster decided for him to have a lapse in
abilities.

The villagers gathered around, determined to see
the miracle occur, as Alinor stood in the shadows. For
hours Al-Hazim gazed at the litde brazier, occasionally
adding coal to keep it going. As night fell, more vil-
lagers, now finished with their work in the fields,
wandered into the inn to witness Al-Hazim's Great
Work. Some became impatient and began ignoring
him in favor of the strong, sour wine, but the Mad Arab
continued with his tedious task unperturbed.

176 Mercedes Lackey £s?Mark Shepherd

Alinor gleefully listened to the villagers murmur dis-
satisfaction with his mentor's work.

See. He's not the great -wizard you thought he was, is he? It
urns me all along, and I still have the power to make him look
thefool!

The copper vessel simmered and boiled, and when
Al-Hazim tested the elixir on a sample piece of lead,
nothing happened. The Mad Arab frowned-out con-
tinued his chanting, while the villagers around him
became more and more vocal in their dissatisfaction.

Alinor found this increasingly amusing. He con-
sidered giving the poor Moor a break and producing
an unusually large nugget of gold. When the time is right,
he promised himself. Let the old fool sweat first.

Finally the villagers got downright disgusted with
the whole thing and began jeering at the old man,
threatening to pelt him with refuse, although none of
them quite dared to do so. The grumbling went on for
some time, growing in intensity, and Alinor became a
little nervous himself. Before he could give the
audience satisfaction and produce the gold, the Arab's
mood suddenly changed.

The old man looked up sharply from the brazier,
fixing the peasants with a dagger-like glare for a
moment, and the noise dropped somewhat, but did not
entirely cease. Then he snarled, silently, and his chant-
ing changed to an evil-sounding, gutteral verse that
Alinor hadn't heard before.

Suddenly a sense of impending danger fell over the
gathering; a feeling of a vast shadow creeping over the
audience, a shadow that held the chill of death in its
depths. In panic Alinor tried, in vain, to exchange a
large lead weight at the Arab's feet for gold, but some-
thing, something strong, was blocking him. Nothing
ever raised by a mere human had ever been potent
enough to do this before, and at this point Alinor was
well and truly scared witless.

WHEELS OF FIRE               177

What is that thing? Alinor had thought, in a state of
panic. Normally sensitive to what humans were think-
ing around him, his mental gifts also seemed to be
impeded. But the humans' expressions of cruel mirth,
now turned suddenly to fright, said it all. The evil
essence seeped into every corner of the inn, sending
them into silence, while the elf tried desperately to
determine where it came from and, most importantly,
whatitwos.

For the first time since being cast fromJoyeaux
Garde, Alinor considered calling for help. King
Huon, certainly, would know how to deal with this
thing; it was probably beyond Alinor's abilities. As the
youngster considered this option, however, it seemed
less and less feasible.

First of all, they might not come in time, or come at all.

Secondly, though it might solve the immediate prob-
lem, it would make Alinor seem incompetent, and very
much the child the other elves apparently thought he was.
No. Thatwmildn'tdoatail. Itwouldonlyshcwthemthattfwywere
rightaUalong, thatIcmiMn'thandkthehumans'world.

The Mad Arab turned his attention to the fire blazing
in the little brazier, which itself was beginning to glow red.
In the fire Alinor saw a dark shape take form, a creature
that writhed and exulted in the flames. Al-Hazim
apparently saw it, but no one else seemed to take notice of
it besides Alinor. As the thing grew, the youngster saw
what it was; it looked like a large, black salamander,
moving in the fire but unscathed by the heat. Indeed, the
thing seemed to thrive in the flame, and Alinor flinched
when the black shape turned and winked at him.

He sees me, and he's letting me know it, he had thought in
alarm. He remembered the elements of alchemy, in
particular the animal symbols, which represented the
four elements of Earth, Air, Water, and Fire. Fire was
represented by the Salamander. Until this moment, he
had thought the Salamander was a creature of

178 Mercedes Lackey S^Mark Shepherd

complete myth; he'd never seen one Underhill, and
he'd certainly never seen one here.

That only he and Al-Hazim could see the thing told
him that it was not of the humans' world, that it was
from the halfworld of spirits. So far, everything he'd
seen had made him more and more alarmed. And it
didn't help that it could also see him.

The essence of the Salamander wafted int6 the inn as
the Mad Arab continued with his dark chants, as if he
was adding power to the creature he had conjured.
Fights began to break out - apparently spontaneously
- over minor things, and he and Al-Hazim might just
as well have been invisible. No one seemed to remem-
ber they were there at all.

Alinor knew the Salamander was behind it. And in a few
more moments he watched it actually take possession of a
few of the younger men, whose minds were more malle-
able than their elders, whose emotions flared with a little
less urging. It seemed to avoid the older men altogether,
perhaps because theyweren'tresilientenough.

The fights quickly escalated. Mugs, then bodies
began to fly through the air. The innkeeper locked up
the liquor, corked the keg, and disappeared.

Alinor began to look for an exit, not liking the
dangerous state of things one bit. He could feel the
creature probing his shields briefly, looking for a way
into his soul -

Before he could move for the door, a newcomer
blocked his way. It was a monk wearing a long dirty
robe, bald and disheveled, like a hundred other men-
dicant friars on the road. He wouldn't have warranted
a second glance ordinarily.

But there was something unique about the man and
the handful of peasants that had followed him in. The
monk was definitely the leader, as the others deferred
to him. The monk and his entourage had an air of
presence about them -

WHEELS OF FIRE              179

Or at least, they acted as if they were vastly more
important than they seemed.

The Salamander seemed startled, as if it had seen
them too - and didn't like their presence at all. Now
Alinor was puzzled and abruptly changed his mind; he
had to see what would happen.

The monk cleared his throat and made some kind of

an announcement -

And the fighting stopped. Gradually, but it did stop.

The monk spoke again; it was in some tongue Alinor
didn't understand. What he heard instead was the
muted whispers as the inn's clientele slowly noticed the
monk. "Peter the Hermit," they muttered, turning and
pointing. They seemed in awe, as if he really was as
important as he was pretending to be.

Now the elf noticed what he carried with him; a
small copper box just large enough to contain an
apple, with intricate metalwork decorating it. Alinor
admired the work, but assumed it was a reliquary for a
religious object and dismissed it as unimportant. There
was a much more interesting conflict shaping up -
between his master and this newcomer.

He still might have to run for it - so far they hadn't
had any trouble with religious types, but Al-Hazim was
an infidel, and as such, was likely to come under the
censure of the Church and its agents. This Peter might
just give them some trouble.

Now Al-Hazim looked up, his eyes narrowing as
they met the Hermit's. They silently exchanged some-
thing between them, something not particularly polite;

it was as if they had seen each other before and had
some unpleasant dealings. The monk held the copper
box out and opened the lid. The container was empty.

With a resigned air about him, Al-Hazim began
chanting again, only this time it was something dif-
ferent, more intense. The foreign words did not
resonate with the same dark evil as the ones before, the

180 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Slieplurd

passage which had summoned the Salamander in the
first place. But the Salamander responded, albeit
reluctantly; the box the monk held seemed to act like a
magnet, pulling the creature towards it.

The peasants of the inn became quiet and looked
confused, as if they weren't certain if they should be
angry with each other or turn on these newcomers.
Dark powers fluctuated violently in the room, giving
AUnor a screaming headache.

Gradually, the Salamander was sucked into the cop-
per box. As soon as it was inside Peter the Hermit
sealed it tightly with the lid, tying it with a strip of
leather and a crucifix on a silver chain.

With that, the atmosphere changed again. The
people even seemed to have forgotten their disap-
pointment in the Moor's performance; seemed, in fact,
to have forgotten the Moor altogether. The fights that
erupted ceased, the opponents now slapping each
other on the back and wandering out together.

Whatever this thing is, Alinor thought, it brings out the
ugliest feelings from humans, makes them hate. The hate was not
directed anywhere, so the nearest person became the object of it.
He shook his head at the pure insidiousness of the thing.
And Al-Hamn must have had it tucked away somewhere. The
peasants angered him, and he set this thing loose to cause mischief.

He's a crazy old man, but he's dangerous. Now, I think, is
the time to leave him. He doesn't know I could see what he did.
Afterall, nobody else saw his pet. If I let on that I did, notelling
what he might turn on me!

While the monk was holding the copper box, as if
savoring its contents, Alinor stole away through the
kitchen, leaving behind what few possessions he'd
acquired while in the Mad Arab's employ.

Then he encountered another obstacle. Outside the
door a large number of peasants had gathered, some
with packmules.

He slipped out of their way as silently as he could,

WHEELS OF FIRE               181

thanking Danaa that their attention was all on the inn
door and not on anything else. Within moments, he
had attained the road and was heading for the forest,
congratulating himself on a successful escape.

Then he stopped - feeling suddenly guilty.

He pondered the unexpected reaction as the
raucous sounds of the inn faded behind him, giving
way to the more familiar and comforting sounds of the
forest.

Where to go now? Returning toJoyeaux Garde still
wasn't possible; his year of exile was barely half over.
And now he had a better understanding of how the
humans' world worked. It wasn't so hard to make your
way about, if you were clever. Perhaps he could even
set himself up as an alchemist and turn lead to gold,
just as he had been doing with Al-Hazim.

I can get by just fine without him, Alinor had told him-
self. I don't look like an infidel, lean speak the language better
than he does, and as long as lean wear my hair long lean keep
my ears concealed. Or I can even chance the spell being
detected and disguise myself. On the surface, it sounded
like a good plan: ken the appropriate objects for
"alchemy," perform the proper "rituals" while heating
and cooling the "elixir," and he would soon be able to
support himself quite well.

But - he would have to be very careful that the Folk
didn't find out about his exploits.

Would that be possible? The result was tempting; to
return home dressed in human finery, showing them
all that he knew how to take care of himself and that he
was a real adult, not just a naughty child.

But what about the Salamander?

That was a real problem and, he had realized, the
source of his guilty feelings. Leaving the situation at
the inn felt like he was leaving behind a responsibility.
He had heard Liam and the other older elves talk
about the evil things they came across in the humans'

182 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Slwjiherd

world, and what they did to eliminate the problems
before they threatened Underbill.

It wasn't just a tradition; it was something that was
ingrained in each of them, Alinor realized. He had to
admit that he felt a distinct tugging as he walked away
from the Salamander, a tugging that became stronger,
not weaker, the further he moved away.

It would be so easy to just walk away from that evil thing
back there, he thought. Nobody would know the difference.
Nobody in the elven kingdoms would know that I ran from the
thing. A Salamander... this entity, a foe far beyond anything I
can handle anyway!

Nobody would know ... except me. I'm telling myself I'm
grown up-a full adult. But can I really believe that if I don't
at least try to do something about this - creature - before it
becomes a danger to me and my kin?

Alinor stopped walking. Slowly, he turned back
towards the inn, still visible at the side of the winding
dirt trail leading from it. Oh great Danaa, he thought, at
length. Does this mean I'm getting a "conscience"? That thing
the Court sages claim raises us above the beasts, makes us
greater? Whatever it is, it makes me feel larger, stranger-and
frightened. Think of the trouble it could lead me into. . . .
Alinor smiled. Trouble indeed.

He watched the monk leaving the inn, followed by
the handful of followers who had escorted him. Out-
side, a hundred or so peasants gathered around him
and cheered.

Who is this Peter the Hermit, with all these followers? he
wondered. Now that he has the Salamander, what is he going
to do with it? The thought of this man in control of so
many people made him nervous, to say the least. Add
in the Salamander, and there was no telling what would
happen. The humans' world is my world, for the time being,
he accepted, grudgingly. I've partly caused the
Salamander's summoning, and now the thing is in the
possession of this monk, whoever he is. A man who had no

WHEELS OF FIRE              183

trouble capturing the Salamander. There's no point in return-
ing to Al-Hazim, he no longer possesses the thing. He might
have other powers, but that can be dealt with later. Peter the
Hermit, on the other hand . . . Alinor frowned, knowing
then what he would have to do.

Peter the Hermit had a following far larger than the
group accompanying him to the inn. They were,
Alinor later found out (after blending in with the rest of
peasants), some of the first to throw in with him and
were escorting him for protection. Alinor had no
trouble joining ranks with the motley crew that
wandered back to the encampment along another dirt
road; they accepted anyone and everyone who was
willing to follow their leader. For the rime being, Alinor
kept his questions to a minimum, choosing instead to
look and listen carefully to what was going on around
him. The bulk of the monk's people were at a camp
some miles away, and cheered loudly as the ragged
procession reached the edge of the assemblage of carts
and crude tents.

It was just as well he had left behind what valuables
he owned; from the villainous look of some of these fel-
lows, he guessed that a fair number of "followers" were
thieves as well.

He learned he was right, after fending off the pluck-
ing hands that tried to take his clothes when he "slept."
And not just thieves; the gatherings that sprung up
every night in the encampments were the loudest he
had heard yet in this land, and the religious meetings
often turned into drunken orgies once the Hermit had
retired for the night. Apparently all the rules of Good
Christians had been suspended for this lot. And the
monk was a different sort from the priests Alinor was
familiar with. The more he saw, the more confused he
became.

After some searching - and a few misunderstandings

184 Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

as to his intentions - the youngster found a lad who
appeared to be around his own age and fell in with him.
The boy was talkative and spent most of his waking hours
with a skin of ruby wine constantly at hand. He seemed to
be better dressed than the majority of the Hermit's
company, and Alinor soon discovered he was the son of a
knight. He was quite at ease with Alinor, probably
because the Sidhe was dressed in similar wealth and style,
and spoke with the accent of the nobility rather than in a
crude peasants' dialect. Alinor had left the Mad Arab with
literally the clothes on his back - but they were fine
clothes, and clothing in the humans' world marked one's
status in life.

The boy had done nearly the same as Alinor, run-
ning off from home with little preparation. The boy's
name was Albert, Alinor learned, and when he told the
young man that he had just joined the group that day,
Albert launched into a lengthy paean to the holiness
and mission of Peter the Hermit.

Occasionally his words slurred, but for the most part
he was coherent. Coherent in spite of the wine he gulped
at every pause for breath from the skin tied at his side.

"Peter the Hermit is God's true prophet, incarnate,"
Albert said, though in a hushed toned that suggested
that not everyone in the camp shared quite that same
belief. "The Turks tortured him when he went to
Jerusalem on a pilgrimage. He brought back
monstrous tales of barbarians seizing the Holy Land.
He'll take anyone in, as long as they follow him on his
journey and pledge to fight beside him."

Where then, Alinor asked delicately, was this journey
leading?

"Why to the Holy Land, of course!" Albert
announced proudly. "To free Jerusalem and return it
to Christian rule. He doesn't have full support of the
Church yet, but he will, when he goes to Clermont.
He's to see the Holy Father, the Pope himself."

WHEELS OF FIRE               185

Alinor remembered that Al-Hazim had been sum-
moned to Clermont by the Pope, and wondered if this
had anything to do with the Salamander. Cautiously,
he inquired about the dark entity and the copper box
_ and the visit to Al-Hazim that had ended with the
Hermit's capture of the creature.

"Salamander?" the boy said, obviously puzzled.
"Don't know anything about a salamander. Today
Peter went to reclaim something that had been stolen
from him by that Arab, Al-Hazim, but I don't know
what it was. Some kind of power to fight the infidels,
they say. Why an infidel like Al-Hazim would be in pos-
session of it - well, who knows what an infidel will do,
or why. Unless he took it to keep Peter from using it."
He took another gulp of wine and grew bolder. "He
should be burned. They should all be burned, the
heretics, the Jews, the Turks, the Arab dogs - they're
all in league with devils."

Which explains the odd exchange between the two men,
Alinor thought. The Salamander was stolen.

When Alinor turned his attention back to the boy,
Albert was happy to continue the conversation, espe-
cially when the Sidhe asked him about himself. "Where
we come from, it's been dry for three years. Witches,
again, I think. Drought wiped out the crops. Our fief
isn't doing well, father says. He's gone back to tourna-
ments for prize money to pay his knight's fees and
everything. My older brother went with him as his
squire. They left me at home, and I was sick of it, sick of
hearing Mother and the rest whine about money. This
pilgrimage, this crusade, is a godsend. I mean, besides
being holy and all. Anything would have been better
than staying there."

The next morning, as it turned out, only a portion of
Peter the Hermit's followers went on to Clermont. The
majority remained as before, preparing for the long
journey to Jerusalem. What they were going to do

186 Mercedes Lackey 6f Mark Shepherd

about the "invaders" once they got there was a point
Alinor must have missed, since most seemed unsuited
for warfare. Beggars, children, old women made up a
large part of the mob, and those young men, including
Albert, who were fit for combat did not seem to be
armed. However, those who were picked to go with
their leader were the few knights and noblemen who
were armed. Alinor volunteered to go, and was offered
a ride by a very young knight, newly dubbed, who had
little in the way of armor. A leather tunic, a helm and a
short sword was his entire outfit, so riding double on
his mare would not add too much weight.

The ride took two days, with an overnight stop near
a brook where all (for a wonder) bathed. Afterwards
Peter the Hermit told them great stories about the holy
city and the barbarians they were to battle. Alinor made
himself inconspicuous, but spied on the monk when-
ever possible, seeing the little copper box either in his
possession or somewhere nearby. He never let the
creature escape while talking to his men; Alinor
suspected that he was saving the Salamander for future
use. He had an idea what that use might be - but he
couldn't be sure. He tried not to think about the fact
that once he did know, there still wouldn't be much he
could do....

The group following Peter the Hermit didn't attract
much attention, as there were similar groups of armed
men converging on the dty ofClermont. The town was
larger than Alinor expected. There were whole streets
of houses and taverns, and pavement beneath their
horses' hooves. On the other end of the town where
the houses thinned, they came to a field where a large
number of people had gathered. Nearby was fountain
and a huge, partially built church; someone whispered
that it was the Notre-Dame-du-Port, but Alinor wasn't
sure if it was the building or the fountain they were
talking about. In the center of the gathering a throne

WHEELS OF FIRE                187

had been erected on a platform, where a king sat, sur-
rounded by bishops, fully armored knights and more
religious clerks and monks than Alinor had ever seen
in his life. After listening to the hushed whispers, he
discovered the king was not a king but Pope Urban II,
the very Pope that had summoned Al-Hazim. Ner-
vously, the Sidhe cast surreptitious glances around
him, looking to see if the Mad Arab had appeared after
all. Gratefully, he saw no sign of the Moor or his cart.

The Pope was giving a speech, but it was difficult to
hear in the open field. Alinor caught parts of it, enough
to gather that the Pope was raising an army to fight the
Moslems, who had apparently invaded his Holy Land.
This was a holy crusade to save Jerusalem from the
hands of the infidel.

"Now that the barbarians have taken the holy dty of
Jerusalem, of what use is our religion?" Pope Urban II
shouted over the not-quite-hushed masses. "The
Church of the Blessed Mary, the Temple of Solomon,
the very streets where trod Christ Almighty! Taken
from us, by the godless!"

The people did not seem particularly upset by the
revelation. Alinor didn't understand why, unless they
did not value their religion as much as the Pope
thought they should. Mare human folly, Alinor thought.
To construct a religion, and then fail to abide by it. I wonder if
their god knows about such stuff? Perhaps he's busy. This Holy
Land is too far away for most of them; they're far more worried
about their neighbors than the Arabs across the sea. They look
ready to walk off at any moment.

But the Pope didn't give up so easily. His voice rose
as he chastised all those present for being sinners, for
fighting and robbing their neighbors, for taking the
Lord's name in vain. He invoked the name of a warrior
of the past, Charlemagne, who had also defended the
Holy Land from invading pagans. Alinor flinched at
that last statement, remembering that no few of the

188 Mercedes Lackey Esf Mark Shepherd

Sidhe ofJoyeaux Garde had gotten involved in that
litde altercation. And that Charlemagne had inadver-
tendy mistaken a few elves for demons and had them
burned at the stake when he could capture them. Only
King Huon had managed to setde the mess widi a min-
imal loss of life. The whole thing was beginning to
make Alinor just a little nervous, especially after
Albert's ranting about "witches and Jews and demons."
Nearly everyone he'd seen in his travels had been
unhappy, hungry, ill-clothed and ill-housed. It didn't
take much to start a witch-hunt among people as dis-
contented as these were.

The reactions of the people around him were mix-
tures of boredom and suppressed hostility; either the
men didn't like being lectured like litde children, or felt
diat the Pope could have condemned others - such as
the nobles who guarded him - with greater cause.
Alinor realized what the Pope was trying, widiout suc-
cess, to do: whip the crowd into a frenzy, so tfiat they
could storm off to the Holy Land and pound others
into the dust. This was exacdy the kind ofendiusiasm
Peter the Hermit had managed to invoke in his own
people, and in large numbers. But this Pope didn't
seize the imagination of these people the way Peter did.

Peter the Hermit smiled smugly; diere was no doubt
in Alinor's mind that he was well aware that die Pope
was failing where he succeeded. In that moment die
monk's old face resembled one of his mules, and
despite the gravity of the situation, Alinor fought to
keep from laughing. Meek and defenseless as that old monk
may appear, the elf thought, he's managed to do what the
Pope has not.

But then his blood chilled; for widiout a word, Peter
the Hermit pulled the little copper box from beneadi
his doak.

Of course! he could have shouted. That's why he needed
the Salamander. Now he's going to release it in this mob!

WHEELS OF FIRE              18"

Fighting an urge to dismount and run for the
wilderness outside the town, Alinor watched with
dread as the monk opened die copper box.

Magic had been at work to imprison the
Salamander; now die bond was released, and die crea-
ture escaped from its cage.

Alinor felt the rush of magical wind wash over him as
the Salamander dissolved into the air, and its essence
dispersed into the crowd. As before, it was invisible to
all but himself- and the monk.

I can't let them know I see it, he reminded himself.

The effect of die Salamander's presence was imme-
diate. It was as if the crowd had been doused with a
bucket of ice-cold water from the Allier. Utter silence
made die Pope's words dear and diunderous; sudden-
ly he was die center of all attention, as if he spoke widi
Divine inspiration.

"Are you men, or cowards?" the Pope continued,
angrily, not yet realizing that die crowd had changed its
mood. Even to Alinor, the Pope seemed larger, and the
throne itself began to glow, ever so subdy, drawing
more attention to its occupant. "Prepare yourselves for
batde. It is better to die fighting for die Holy Land than
it is to tolerate dlis invasion of your sacred places. Arm
yourselves, if you are Christians!"

The cheers were as sudden as diey were deafening.
Alinor could feel, beneath their horses' hooves, the
ground shake widi die cries for batde. Peter die Hermit
stepped back at die heartfelt outcry, but quickly regained
his composure. Alinor expected him to take command of
the situation while the Pope was still surprised by the
sudden turn of mood, but the monk remained quiet,
with a subtle smile creasing his bland features. The
Salamander, with its insidious power, was doing all die
speaking for him - and it seemed diat he did not care
who roused die crowd, so long as it was done.

Knights rallied around the Pope, dismounted, and

190           Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

began taking vows on their knees, their hands shaking
with fervor. Ordinary townsfolk began dismantling a
cart, converting it to staves and clubs, apparently not
knowing their Holy Land was thousands of leagues
away. All around were cries for war and conquest. At
the Pope's feet, a wooden bowl began filling with coins
and jewelry, contributions for the glorious crusade.

A crusade of anger and hatred, fueled by the
Salamander.

Peter the Hermit made no attempt to retrieve his lit-
de demon, and that was ominous.

Alinor learned, to his dismay, that the monk had
several of the dark creatures in hiding. Back at the camp,
Alinor spotted him rummaging about a wooden trunk,
which contained an array of oddly shaped copper boxes.
Orders among his followers were that none of these con-
tainers were to be touched by anyone but the leader. And
those orders were enforced with fists and cudgels.

Before he had left Clermont, however, the monk
had rallied all those townsfolk die Pope would not ac-
cept as fit for battle. Pope Urban wanted only young
knights for his sacred army and would not take ordi-
nary folk. Very well, then; Peter would take those who
had been rejected by the Pope in disdain for their lowly
status, and they, not the over-proud knights, would be
God's Army, the true instrument of freedom for the
Holy Land.

Peter sowed hate for the nobility right along with
hate for the infidel, and the common folk devoured it
all with glee.

The Salamander had done its work well; Jews had
fled their path, for fear of being "converted" in the
knights' wake. By the time they left Clermont, the Her-
mit had assembled a small army from those rejected by
the Pope. He had led the mob back to the camp, looting
and pillaging the houses identified as belonging to

WHEELS OF FIRE

"Jews and heretics" along the way. "We will begin the
crusade here\" he had shouted. "We will first puige ow
land of the unholy, then take the purifying fire to
Jerusalem!"

Alinor was profoundly grateful that he had not been
with Al-Hazim; they would have arrived at the scene
just in dme to stand in the path of that unruly mob.
And he had no doubt how that would have ended.

The high number ofnoncombatants continued to
amaze Alinor. They're going to fight some of the greatest
armies m the world, and who do they take with them? Women,
children, old men, boys barely old enough to think about grow-
ing beards. The Salamander has poisoned everyone with hatred
and anger.

It was insane. Utterly insane. Not even religious fer-
vor could account for it. This entire venture is hopeless.
They gladly march into battle with this Salamander riding their
backs, as long as they're promised a direct trip to heaven when
they die.

Then there was the question: Why was he still tag-
ging along?

It wasn't a sense of responsibility, since now he knew
he wasn't to blame for the Salamanders. Peter the Her-
mit had obviously been keeping several for years. In
fact, the Salamander Peter released was probably not
the same one Al-Hazim had conjured, judging by the
collection of copper boxes.

If anything, Alinor was following the army of crazed
idiots out of curiosity, or at least that was die most com-
forting thought for a young Sidhe not yet used to his
nagging conscience. After all, what could he do? One
Salamander was too much, never mind the nightmare
stashed away in the wooden trunk. Following dlis rag-
tag bunch out of conscience - well, that was as
foolhardy as their quest, wasn't it? Must be curiosity.

The army was a little better behaved when they
marched to Cologne in April. Armed guards appeared

192 Mercedes Lackey &f Mark Shepherd

when they passed through certain territories, but the
townspeople welcomed them graciously, and even
added more volunteers to their ranks. More armies
were meeting in Cologne, most better organized and
better equipped than the Hermit's. The French army
started off immediately after Easter while the peasants'
army organized and stocked themselves as best they
could. Alinor noticed that the monk was carrying an
empty copper box immediately after the French left,
apparently having "seeded" their ranks.

Peter the Hermit and his army set out across
Europe, gathering strength and attracting volunteers
along the way. Their pace was slow; it was no trouble to
keep up. Alinor stayed at the head of the group,
shadowing the guards that watched over Peter, and as a
result, shared in their relative prosperity.

It was amazing. Chests filled with gold and silver
wherever they went. Food was not a problem. The
townspeople, having heard of the looting - or holy
provisioning - elsewhere, put all of their goods out-
side the city walls in full view, for the crusaders to help
themselves as needed. Then they closed themselves
behind their stout gates and city walls.

Alinor helped himself along with the rest,
accumulating bedding, clothing, even weapons - but
he wondered about those in the rear of the army;

mostly very old or very young, female, weak or crip-
pled. Here at the front there was no suffering, plenty
for all. But there were thousands of people in this
so-called army. How were the ones behind faring? This
march across Europe was tiring even for him; he slept
long and hard these days, and the journey was turning
him from the soft, spoiled elven-child he had been into
a hardened and seasoned traveler, wary and cunning.
What about those for whom this was not as "easy"?

They proceeded to the Kingdom of Hungary
without serious incident, their army now amounting to

WHEELS OF FIRE              193

twenty thousand. Alinor had seen the monk release
Salamanders to encourage volunteers in Vienna, and
then again in Budapest and Belgrade. They ran into
resistance at Nish, when a Salamander seized control of
some of the knights, who in their anger set fire to
houses and farms. The local militia, city guard and
army responded, rounding up a fair number of the
crusaders. Meanwhile, Peter hurriedly captured the
renegade Salamander and returned it to its copper
prison. It was the first time Alinor saw the monk lose
control of one of the creatures.

It was not to be the last

The majority of his troops intact, the "army"
marched to Constantinople, where they set up camp
beyond the dty walls.

And that was where the Hermit's troubles truly began.

By this dme, Peter appeared to have lost control; his
people looted and pillaged within the walls of Constan-
tinople on any pretext - only now it was all the dme,
instead of just at the Hermit's behest. Alinor guessed
there were sdll three or four Salamanders loose in the
camp. The monk gave all the signs of being unable to
catch his little monsters, and now they were inciting his
troops to ever-increasing excesses and violence.
Angered, the Byzantine Emperor Alexius told Peter
the Hermit to take his people out of his domain. Faced
with the prospect of seeing the emperor's troops -
real troops, armed and trained - descend on his own
"army," the monk readily complied, although it took all
of his eloquence and promises of further riches to coax
the mob outside the city, towards Jerusalem.

And there they stayed, camped far enough outside
the walls that it was not possible for the Hermit's fol-
lowers to wander into the city to loot at will. The sun
beat down on them by day, and scorpions and snakes
crept into their shelters by night. Food was becoming
scarce even for the Hermit's followers, and when food

194 Mercedes Lackey &' Mark Sheplierd

could be found, it was full of sand, half-rotten or
withered. The Hermit couldn't seem to get his troops
to move on, nor could he turn back to Constantinople.
Alinor became more restless as the days went on. He
yearned to return to the Kingdom of France and
Joyeaux Garde. By now he knew only too well that
there was nothing he could do, either about the
hundreds of thousands of innocents in the ranks of
Peter's army, or the Salamanders that drove them here.
He was no longer even curious about the humans and
their ways; he was sickened to the heart by the useless
violence, the pettiness and the waste of lives. As long as
they were letting themselves be led about, the humans
never had a clue of their potential. It was sad, so unlike
the ways of Underbill. All he wanted was to go home.

Unfortunately, he had no way to get there. The army
was in the middle of nowhere, camped on the shores of
the Sea of Marmarra. There were no horses to be had
at any price, and no ships to carry him back across the
sea. Peter the Hermit had gone back to Constantinople
to parley with the emperor.

Alinor privately thought he had done this not to gain
shelter for his followers but to escape the effects of the
Salamanders running rampant through the camp. Iso-
lated groups from his army began sacking and burning
the Byzantine Christian churches along the shores,
killing Christians and infidels with a blithe disregard
for anything other than blood and loot. Alinor was
deeply afraid and withdrew into himself, becoming sul-
len, speaking to no one. On a day when he realized he
had not heard singing or laughter for a month, he
dedded to leave for Constantinople, trying to avoid the
madmen of the crusade until he got free of them. He
planned to blend in with the locals once he reached the
city. The prohibition against magic - and his year-
long exile - were long since expired. He could cast
whatever illusions he chose, replicate some of the local

WHEELS OF FIRE               195

coins until he had enough money to travel properly -
perhaps even buy comfortable passage on one of the
Italian ships. There's nothing I can do about the
Salamanders, he told himself. It's not my doing, and it's not
my responsibility. Fd better get out of here while I can.

He had the strange premonition that something ter-
rible was going to happen. And he didn't want to be
around when it occurred.

That night he slept fitfully under a cart in which a
human couple did what passed for lovemaking. He
was afraid the rickety thing would collapse, after all the
stresses of the journey, but at the dme it was the safest
place to be. Orgiastic drunkenness ruled the camp
these days, and he was soul-sick with it. These humans are
terrifying when intoxicated, he observed, as the cart
above him rocked and squeaked with the humans' rut-
ting, and there is no passion in their lovemaking in that state.
They're like dogs making puppies in the fields. Staying under
the cart ensured some privacy, however dubious.

When the horizon had begun to lighten, Alinor was
up and around. Enough light to see by, at least. All I have to
do is follow the shoreline back to the Bosporus. Provided the
Turks don't kill me first. After what we've done to their land
and their people, I wouldn't blame them.

We?

The Sidhe slipped silently across the field of sleeping
bodies. There were a few others who were slowly waking,
some with more energy than others. Somewhere he heard
a priest saying the morning mass to a flock of early risers.

Peaceful. And totally unlike the way the camp would
be in a few short hours.

He thought he had cleared the camp when he was
confronted by something in the half darkness that rose
up to block his path and spoke to him, mind-to-mind.

••What are you?: the voice hissed. .-You can see me, where
the others cannot. Who sent you here, and why have you been
watching the Hermit ?:

196 Mervedes Lackey £sf Mark Shepherd

Alinor stifled the scream that tried to claw its way out
of his throat as a Salamander materialized before him,
an outline against the sand that gradually became
solid. There was only one, but it was enough; it grew as
he shivered before it, until it was easily the size and
mass of a warhorse. Half shadow, half dark fire, it
seemed slightly transparent - but Alinor was not
going to be fooled into thinking it couldn't hurt him.

But it's not solid, he told himself, debating whether or
not he could flee the thing. After all, he had never felt its
effects. Maybe he could evade any magic attacks it made
so long as he ran from it rather than confronting it

:Ku were with Al-Haum,: the Salamander continued,
and Alinor realized this was the same creature that the
Mad Arab had conjured, and the Hermit had seized, at
the inn. .-You owed him servitude, but instead you abandoned
him for this,: it hissed, and the stubby, black head jerked
towards the camp. Then the creature gave him a wry,
intelligent look. .-Butyou are not a fool. You have beenfol-
lowmgme, observingwe. That you can see me means.. .you're
not human? Is that why the detachment, boy?:

Alinor fought the urge to run, barely winning.

:/ cannot feed on your anger like the others. And you smell
like a spirit.: It drew closer, so dose that the Sidhe could
smell its foul, stinking breath.

:I ask you again. What are you?:

It was the breath that did it. Alinor turned to run
towards the beach - he heard waves pounding the
shore, and that gave him direction. But then, behind
him, from the camp, came screams which increased in
volume and number.

What - the elf thought, and the Salamander was
gone, bounding towards the screams, which were now
coming from everywhere.

Without thinking, Alinor sprinted for the beach,
then looked back to see what was going on.

The camp was being rushed by an army of Turks.

WHEELS OF FIRE               197

The remnants of what must have been a raiding party
were running back to the camp in terror, pursued by
Turks on foot and on horse. The camp, undefended,
vulnerable, not even all awake, was a prime target for a
well-organized force.

And this was a real army, not a handful of Moslem
traders or Byzantine monks.

Peter's followers were doomed. Alinor watched in
horror as entire regiments of mounted, armored and
sword-wielding Turks rush the camp, killing every-
thing in sight. Turkish soldiers put everyone in their
path to the sword, without regard to sex or age. A sea of
horses poured into the camp like locusts as blades and
arrows bit deeply into anything that moved.

His first instinct was to fling himself into the midst-
to save the little ones from the swords, the arrows -

But he was only one. And they were wielding Death
Metal.

A stronger instinct - that of survival - overcame
his initial impulse. He could grieve later that he had
been unable to act. Great Danaa, I have to run! They'll just
as quickly kill me!

And he did run, with a desperation and speed he
didn't think was possible. Even the Salamander couldn't
have inspired that run, he would later think. But that was
many years and miles later.... Perhaps it was wy own con-
science I was trying to outdistance ?

Alinor struggled to sit up. He hadn't realized he'd
almost nodded off on the tree bough until he'd
teetered, and the sudden shift in gravity urged him
awake. The Sidhe looked down at the ground, seeing
gravel and fallen oak leaves instead of sand, wondering
briefly why he didn't hear waves washing over a beach.

Time check. This is the twentieth century now, he thought,
wondering why he suddenly felt so exhausted. / must
have gone into a light Dream, he decided, still shaking the

198 Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

confusion. Down on the ground, in the compound of
Brother Joseph's domain, soldiers stood guard, but
instead ofTurks waving bloodied swords, radical Chris-
tian crazies waved AK-47s and AR-15s.

Even after nearly a thousand years, it's amazing how some
things simply don't change for these humans. The elf's
thoughts turned grim, however, when he remembered
what else was inside the Chosen Ones' complex.

Something that wasn't human at all.

What he saw the Salamander doing withJamie was
much more subtle than its crude manipulations back in
1096, when it simply reached out for young, flexible
minds and started brawls in a tavern. Or, on a larger
scale, when it possessed the thousands of peasants
during Peter the Hermit's crusade, inciting them to go
forth and reclaim the Holy Land for Pope Urban II.
No, not now; the times had changed dramatically since
then. Afine degree of stealth was required to operate in
this modern world, where communications were
instantaneous, and strong, central governments had
formed, accompanied by equally strong and effective
law enforcement

To be a Salamander, one still had to find niches, gaps
in the fabric of society to operate in relative freedom.
Gaps like Pawnee County.

And niches likeJamie.

Alinor seethed as he began to piece together the
creature's true nature; not only did it need a place
where laws were not easily enforced, it chose a vehicle,
a resilient vehicle, far younger than the brash, sword-
toting hotbloods led by the Pope. He remembered the
effect the child had had on the Praise Meeting crowd,
saw it for more than the stage show he had thought it
was. Using Jamie, the creature had seized control of
those people just as surely as it had seized control of the
crusaders, using religious hate and intolerance as the
catalyst

WHEELS OF FIRE               199

The girl, with as much skill as she's showing in the spirit
world, must have had a medium's abilities before she passed
over. Didn't Cindy say something about Jamie being sensitive7
This would explain why he was chosen, and kidnaped, instead
of Brother Joseph using one of the other kids who were already
in the cult. The Salamander is now speaking through its
vehicle, baiting its followers directly with wealth and power,
something I don't remember it doing before.

I think we are all in deep, deep trouble.

• CHAPTER EIGHT

Al closed his eyes, and reminded himself that not
even an elven warrior and magidan could take on an
entire army of humans single-handedly. He was not a
movie hero, or a superman, who could charge through
waves of men with machine guns. If his captors had
planned to keep the boy protected against elven med-
dling, they could not have chosen better. He was walled
away from the outside by Cold Iron; to get at him, Al
would have to go inside one of the steel-sided bunkers
and past several iron-reinforced walls. His magic
couldn't hold up under that; iron pulled Sidhe spells
awry.

And he had no real-world proof that the boy was
there, nothing he could bring to Deputy Casey to
invoke the human authorities. They needed evidence
in order to act; a change in human legal process that
now turned out to be a hindrance. Used to be, we could
stir up a population to do just about anything, just by convinc-
ing them that what we said was the truth. Damn nuisance, this
need of hard evidence for due process, sometimes. Still, it means
there is no room for doubt -gwlty is guilty this way.

In point of fact, there was very little he could do,
either with his own powers, or with the humans'. First
of all, there was the Salamander; his powers were not
equal to taking it on. He had never been one of the
greater warriors of the Folk; he'd never been one of the
more powerful mages. His success these days lay in his
adaptability to the humans' world.

There was nothing he had learned in all of the

WHEELS OF FIRE                201

centuries since he had first encountered such a crea-
ture that could be used to counter it. Nothing. In fact,
all he had learned was that he didn't want to meet it on
its own ground. And this, without a doubt, was the
creature's own ground. The last time he'd seen a
Salamander, he'd turned tail and had run away. The
second time, he'd headed for the nearest walled
fortress. But this time he couldn't run.

He ground his teeth together in frustration. Up undl
now, whenever he'd had to pull a rescue, it had been a
fairly simple operation. He would find the child in ques-
tion, spirit it away from its parents, take it Underbill, and
one of the others would cover his tracks.

Quick. Easy. Painless.

So all right, what can I do? he asked himself, angry at
his impotence. How can I at least give the poor little lad a
respite? Give them something else to think about ?

First, he had to calm himself; find the quiet place
deep inside himself where his power lay.

He took two long, slow breaths. By the time he
exhaled the second, he had achieved the calm he
needed. He called up his mage-sight, and opened his
inner eyes on the world.

Everywhere he looked, Cold Iron thwarted him,
standing like dull, barbed barriers against his Sight.
This was the Death Metal at its worst; if his power
touched it, the metal would drain energy from him,
spinning his spell-traces away into shreds too fine for
him to collect back. It would be very difficult to
insinuate his powers into this stronghold in anything
other than a passive manner. Cold Iron protected then-
machineries, their storage places, themselves - even
their weapons were of Death Metal. And here was an
unpleasant surprise. Even some of the bullets were
sheathed in it. Now he not only had to fear a direct hit,
but agmzing hit might poison him.

But wait - he extended his senses a little further,

202 Mercedes Lackey fc? Mark Shepherd

frowning with concentration. A headache began just at
each temple, but he would not let it distract him, reach-
ing a little further into the maze of threatening metal
and humanity.

Everywhere there was Cold Iron, there was also
something else that might provide an insidious path-
way for Al's power to penetrate Brother Joseph's
citadel; a network of copper tendrils weaving through
the complex in an elaborate network of support. The
electrical wiring system, of course; it hummed with the
power coursing through it, and was as obedient to Al's
touch as the Cold Iron was hostile.

A frail enough pathway, and one that had severe
limitations, but it was better than nothing.

Perhaps Al didn't know a great deal about ordinary,
day-to-day living for humans - but he knew electrical
systems and knew them very well. He'd amused him-
self long ago with his "playing with lightning," but
tonight there was nothing funny about it. He sent a lit-
tle tendril of power questing curiously along the
network, testing it, seeing where it went, how it was
constructed. This system was mostly new, and all of it
was less than five years old. Humans tended to distrust
the very new, or the very old; this network of wiring
was neither. They wouldn't be expecting any troubles
out of it. And they depended on the electricity it carried
so completely that he found himself smiling grimly.

He explored further. There weren't any voltage
regulators except on the main circuit breaker; even the
computers had only the simplest of surge protectors on
them. Those would protect against sudden surges;

they wouldn't protect against something a little more
- subtle.

Al opened his mind and his magic to encompass the
entire system, holding it in his metaphorical "hands"
like a cat's cradle. Then, slowly, he began decreasing
the resistance of the wiring across the entire network.

WHEELS OF FIRE               203

This was the sort of thing that happened naturally
with age and generally never caused any harm. But
then, few people ever had the voltage regulators that
maintained the level of power in their systems fail on

them.

Soon the system was running "hot"; capable of car-
rying voltage of around 140 instead of 110. Which
didn't matter, since 110 was all it was getting. Of course,
that was about to change.

Al carefully skirted the iron clips and bolts around
the aluminum main breaker box, and adjusted vol-
tages at it. Slowly, so no surge protectors would trip.
Eventually he brought the voltage all the way up to
what the system would carry - and there were few
pieces of equipment here meant to operate on 140

volts.

Now motors would run faster, burning themselves
out. Electrical circuits would overload and blow. Com-
puter equipment would be fried. But none of this
would happen all at once; a lot would depend on how
delicate the equipment was. Whatever; they would
have to replace everything that burned out - then the
replacements would fail - again and again, until they
thought to check voltages. They would have to replace
every bit of wiring before he was through, from the
breaker boxes outward. They wouldn't discover this
until they had lost several more machines and had
replaced everything else. This meddling was going to
cost the cult a lot of money. And time, and trouble;

unfortunately, it would not be as difficult to pull the
wiring as it was in a normal building, but it would be
troublesome enough, and they would have to do
without power in the entire circuit while they replaced
the wires.

If something happened that forced them to use then-
emergency generator, it would all happen that much
faster. Al took out the voltage regulator entirely on it.

204 Mercedes Lackey S^Mark Shepherd

Power levels would fluctuate wildly as pumps and air-
conditioners came on- and off-line.

He contemplated his work with satisfaction. Already,
all of the electric motors in the complex were running a
little faster. Pressure was building in some equipment,
several water-pumps, for instance.

Hmm. They are using common white plastic pipe. There is
no more resistance to my magic than wood or leather would
give. A little weakening of the pipes at the joints...

There. In a few moments, the joints would burst, at
least in those portions of pipe that were under pres-
sure. There was some kind of elaborate arrangement
in one corner, for instance, that was going to go up like
a water festival before too long.

Using his magic - finally doing something - had
cooled his temper enough that he could think again.
With luck, the fanatics would be so hard-pressed for
money by his sabotage that they would act hastily, per-
haps get caught by the police. It occurred to him that
the more havoc he could wreak that Brothel-Joseph
himself would have to attend to, the more likely it would
be that the bastard would believe some outside super-
natural force was opposing him.

Of course, it is. And for once in his life, he will be right.

When that happened, Brothel-Joseph would be
kept so busy trying to find the source of the inter-
ference that he would have little time for anything else.

He might leave the boy unguarded, or relatively
unguarded. At the least he would leave the child alone,
give him a chance to recover. IfAl could not get in, per-
haps the boy could escape on his own.

So, it was up to Al to make Brothel-Joseph's life as
miserable as possible. This, of course, would make Al's
life infinitely more pleasurable. A man has to have a
hobby he enjoys.

He only wished he could tell the boy's mother about
this - that he could tell her he knew for certain that

WHEELS OF FIRE               205

Tamie was here. But if he did, not only would he betray
that there was something supernatural about himself,
he might inadvertently tempt her into going into
danger to save her child.

No. No, for all that it would comfort her, he could
not tell herJamie was here. Not until he had some-
thing more concrete to offer her than that
information alone.

So, back to work. How about a bit of blockage in some of
the pipes that are not underpressure^ That should be amusing.
He knew those pipes that were attached to pumps, but
the rest - only that they carried water. The Cold Iron
interfered with his perceptions too much to be more
specific than that. Right now Al could not tell whether
the pipes took fresh water into the complex, or waste-
water away, but in either case, there would be problems
if he blocked the pipes - say, by reaching out, just so,
and touching the pipes to make them malleable, then
- pinching them, and letting them harden.

There. That should do it. Not all at once - but like the
electrical failures, these should cascade.

He withdrew his senses - carefully. He couldn't
detect the Salamander, but that didn't mean it didn't
have ways of watching the world from wherever it was
hiding. More than Cold Iron, he feared it.

I couldn't defeat it back then; I don't think I can do so now.
The best way to deal with it for the moment is to avoid it. It can
do nothing without human help and a human to work through.

He considered what he had accomplished, as he
molded himself to the trunk of the tree he had chosen
and scanned the area for more guards.

Another pair of them passed about twenty feet away
from his tree, peering from time to time through some-
thing attached to the top of their rifles. It wasn't until
after they had passed that he realized what those
instruments must have been.

Nightscopes.

206 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

He belatedly recognized them from the action-
adventure movies he'd watched over the years, in city
after city, racetrack after racetrack, late at night when
the humans slept and there was little for him to do.

Nightscopes: instruments that gave humans the ability
to see like an owl or one of the Sidhe at night. He wasn't
exactly certain how they worked - but he shivered,
realizing that the only reason the men had missed sight-
ing him was that they simply hadn't been looking
through the nightscopes when they passed him.

And what would they have done if they'd seen him?

The answer to that question didn't take a lot of
reasoning. They'd empty those clips into him without a
second thought.

No illusion he knew of would fool nightscopes -

But he could reproduce - on purpose - what had
occurred by accident.

He closed his eyes again and took a deep, deep
breath, and as he exhaled, hepushed the outermost
layer of his shields, expanding it outwards, slowly, until
it reached about thirty feet from where he sat. Then,
within that shell, he set a compulsion: don't look at me.

It was just that simple. Once guards reached the
perimeter of his defenses, they simply would not be able to
look in his direction. Any further away, and the trees would
hide him, even from the sophisticated scope. He wasn't
worried about And ur; if the guards saw the elvensteed,
they'd simply assume he was a stray horse. They could try
to catch him, of course, but the operative word was
try. Andur would happily lead them a merry chase over
halfofthe county before vanishing to return toAlinor.

Feeling a little more secure, he turned his attention
back to the Chosen Ones' compound. There was still
plenty of night left; surely he could do more than he had.

The problem is, everything I've done to them can be fixed.
It'll cost time and money, but it can be/md. I wed wmelhmg
that can't be undone

WHEELS OF FIRE               207

Well, the one thing that mankind still hadn't com-
pletely conquered was - nature. What was there
about this area thatAl could meddle with?

There was a spring running under the property; it
was the source of the cult's water, and came to the sur-
face to form a pond and a stream leading from it at the
far end. But that wasn't the only place where it could
surface, if the conditions were right.

There was a crack in the bedrock just under one of the
cult's buried buildings; the building itself rested a few
inches above the surface of the bedrock, on a cushion of
sandy soil. IfAl widened it just a bit and extended it down
to the channel of the spring, the water would gradually,
over the course of the next few days, work its way to the
surface and emerge at the rear of the building.

This was a storage building of some kind; not one for
euns or ammunition, but full of heavy wooden crates
piled atop each other. The crew that had built this place
hadn't known what it was going to hold, evidendy, for
the concrete floor wasn't strong enough to support
what was resting on it. The concrete had already
cracked under the weight in several places. When the
spring water worked its way up through the crack in
the bedrock, it would soon seep into the building
through the cracks in the floor, soaking, and hopefully
ruining, everything on the bottom layer. By the time
they found the damage, the entire floor of the building
would be under a six-inch-deep sheet of water that no
pump would ever cure.

That was something they could neither replace nor
repair. They would have to abandon the building. He
contemplated other possibilities, but there weren't
many at the moment. He could induce mice to invade,
of course; plagues of bugs -

But that would mean a certain amount of hazard for
the rest of the children. Mice could get into their
things; would bite if cornered or caught. Insects could

208 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

bring disease... some of the insects native to here were
scorpions, whose sting was poisonous and painful, and
could be fatal to a small child.

And there were snakes aplenty around here; he'd
been warned about them when he first arrived. Three
kinds of them were poisonous: rattlesnakes, copper-
heads, and water moccasins. No, he couldn't turn those
creatures loose where there might be children.

Well, maybe just that one area where there seems to be a lot of
plumbing, of electrical circuits. Where there doesn't seem to be a
lot of people. That might be Brother Joseph's quarters, or those
of his high-ranking flunkies. If it is, it's about to become unliv-
able over the next couple of days.

He widened cracks in foundations, opened seams,
created hundreds of entrances for insects and other
vermin. Then he created another kind ofglamorie -
one that would attract anything small, anything
hungry. From there the insects, mice and reptiles
would work their way into the rooms, and there were
no children in this bunker. Adults, he reckoned, would
get what they deserved.

That should settle the account a little more.

It was scarcely more than an hour or two past mid-
night. If he and Andur got out now, he'd even have a
few hours to sleep before he had to get to the track.

If only he could tell Cindy what he knew....

Well, he couldn't.

He opened his eyes again, on a world still dark and
full of night sounds: cicadas, coyote howls, the bark of
foxes, the cry of owls -

And, far off, too far for human ears to hear -
footsteps, trampling methodically through the grass.

Brother Joseph's perimeter guards were still on duty.

He called Andur with a thought; the elvensteed
slipped out of the shadows of the trees like one more
cloud shadow, ghosting across the fields of grass,
chased by the night breeze.

WHEELS OF FIRE               209

Al didn't bother to climb back down the tree; he
wasn't that far up. As Andur positioned himself under
the branch, he simply dropped straight down onto the
elvensteed's back, a move copied from late-night cow-
boy shows.

Then, in a heartbeat, they were away, retracing then-
path over the fences and out to the road.

Once again, Andur became a sleek, matte-black,
Miata lookalike. Once again, Al was cradled in air-
conditioned comfort. And yet it provided no real
comfort to him.

He was restless and unhappy, and only too glad to
leave the driving to Andur. For all that he had done, he
had accomplished so little.

So damned little....

He brooded all the way back to the track, by which
rime Andur had bleached to white and acquired head-
lights again. When he got out of the elvensteed, with a
pat of gratitude, he remembered that Cindy had gone
to sleep in Nineve, rather than the RV. In a way, that
was something of a relief. It meant he didn't have to
hide what he was, and it meant he could convert the RV
into something like its usual glory - and comfort.

Ah, well. He sighed philosophically as he entered the
door and locked it behind him. Perhaps it's better this way.
Bob always tells me that it is a human proverb not to mix busi-
ness with pleasure - and she is business of a kind.

He held perfectly still for a moment, standing in the
narrow aisle between the stove and the propane fur-
nace, and mustered a little more energy. It wasn't going
to matter how keyed up he was; when he finished this,
he was going to be so exhausted there would be no
chance insomnia would hold him wakeful.

He held out his hands in the glow of the tiny over-
head lamp and whispered a cantrip.

Power drained from him like water running out of a
sink.

210 Mercedes Lackey W Mark Shepherd

And the RV rippled and flexed, like an out-of-focus
movie - and changed.

Now there was a full bathroom with a whirlpool tub
behind him; he stood beside a counter loaded with the
delicacies of Underbill. Beyond him was his silk-draped
bed and one of his construct servants, a lovely animated
Alphonse Mucha odalisque, to massage his weary
shoulders. Beyond that, where a set of curtains waved in
a lazy breeze from the silent air-conditioner, was what
had been the overhead bunk. Now it was Bob's cubby-
bedroom, with a bed as comfortable asAl's own.

Al snatched a handful of grapes and a bottle of wine
from the bounty beside him, and shed his uniform and
cap by the simple expedient of ordering them else-
where. With a nod to his servant, he headed for the
bathroom and the whirlpool. Between the bath, the
wine and the massage, he should sleep very well.

My father, Joe Junior thought, has finally gone wacko.

He stormed down the narrow, steel-covered pas-
sageway that only he and a select few knew about, fists
clenched. Ready to explode. Motion detectors
activated lights and deactivated them in his wake. The
illuminations winked on and then off, as if seeing his
sour mood and sulking back into the darkness to avoid
him. His boots echoed hollowly on the damp, concrete
surface, as he dodged the worst of the puddles and
splashed angrily through the rest. He wanted to punch
a hole in the wall, but to do that down here he would
need ajackhammer. He contemplated finding one.

His anger continued to simmer, just below the sur-
face, ready to blow at any moment, as he pushed
himself further and further away from the others. And,
especially, away from his father.

He recalled that when digging this tunnel they had
come across a small water source of some kind, a seep
or a spring, and had partially rerouted the tunnel to

WHEELS OF FIRE               211

avoid it. But the attempt hadn't entirely worked. Ahead
he heard the steady drip, drip of water that had no
obvious source, hidden behind one of the walls. Peri-
odically, workers had to bail the passageway out -
from the look of things, they would have to do it again
soon. He remembered the fit of rage his father had
when they were building the tunnel and couldn't get
the drip to go completely away. It's as if he thought he
could control nature, he thought, still furious with what
he had seen at the Praise Meeting. And it TVOS betraying
him by not doing exactly what he wanted.

The boy was putting as much distance as he could
between himself and the Praise Meeting, which by now
was probably adjourning to smaller, special-interest
groups. Like the one dealing drugs, he thought, biting his
tongue against the anger. He was afraid to even think
these treasonous thoughts around the others, in part be-
cause his body language often gave him away. In spite of
the fine physique he'd been cultivating since before he
could shave, he hadn't quite learned how to control his
body, and often it revealed his emotions. A rigid stance, a
certain frozen look in his face, had both conspired to
betray his thoughts to his father and those close to him.
He was hiding his body, at least temporarily, so that it
wouldn't reveal what he was feeling now.

Then there was that other liability, the one he had
been stifling since he was a little boy. It was something
he tried to forget about but couldn't, because it went

with him everywhere.

Everywhere, waking or sleeping. He heard what
other people were thinking, whether or not he wanted
to, especially when he, or they, were emotionally

wrought up.

The ability had appeared at puberty, and for a while
he was too busy sorting through his newfound raging
hormones to properly assess it.

Then his thoughts began to intrude on his mother's;

212 Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

just a little at first, then with greater strength and clarity
as he battled with the roller coaster of emotions any
thirteen-year-old experiences.

He discovered to his mingled apprehension and
delight that he could read his father's mind as well as
his mother's. If father was angry, he knew it and could
avoid him in time to save himself becoming the target
of his father's frustration. That was useful; it made up
in part for some of the other things he read. That his
father thought about other women besides his wife was
a little distressing, especially since he was a preacher,
but Joe began to form the opinion that half of what his
father said in church was for show anyway.

That would have been enough, but a few weeks later
came the next revelation. Not only could he read
people's minds, he could decide more or less what then-
thoughts would be.

At first it was funny, to send thoughts into his father's
head, get him stirred up and watch him make a fool of
himself. After the first few trials, however, he began to feel
a little sick about it. It didn't seem right, actually; as if he
was using his physical strength to bully weaker people,
and he stopped playing around with other people's
heads - on purpose, anyway. And he began to wonder
where this power came from, since his father preached
that any "ESP" was the work of the devil.

Was he being influenced by Satan, or was his father
just being paranoid?

Whatever the cause, Joe had learned through trial
and error that whenever he was angry he ran the risk
of intruding his own thoughts on the minds of the
people around him. These thoughts, especially when
they were as treasonous as they were now, could get
him into deep trouble. They would sound as if he had
said something out loud, since emotion was behind
them, rather than guile and stealth.

If anyone is being influenced by Satan, it's my father, he

WHEELS OF FIRE              213

thought angrily as he came to the end of the tunnel.
Here stood a tall metal door which looked something
like a walk-in safe. Joe inserted a card with embedded
chip data, identifying him as Brother Joseph's son. The
huge metal door swung open, allowing Joe entrance to
the private health dub. Here only the elite branch of
the Sacred Heart of the Chosen Ones could enter.

It was empty, as usual. His father certainly never
came here, and rarely did the officers of the Guard and
Junior Guards. The others who came here, the first
lieutenants and one of his father's personal body-
guards, used the place occasionally, but that was
generally before dawn, before his father had risen;

while Brother Joseph was awake, they were always on
duty. And during a Praise Meeting, and shortly after-
wards, he was almost guaranteed solitude here.

Much of the new Universal and Nautilus equipment
had been moved from their mansion in Atlanta. Other
items had appeared recently, including one puzzling
piece of equipment he'd never understood or seen
used, which looked like something used to balance
tires. The room was decorated with chrome-rimmed
mirrors, red and black velvet wallpaper, and black vel-
vet trim, reminding Joe of a funeral home.

Joe stripped out of his uniform. He peeled it off,
quickly, handling it like a dirty surgical glove, now a lit-
tle disgusted with what it represented. His glance fell
briefly on the sloppy swastika he'd tattooed on his
forearm while inspired by a fifth of Wild Turkey. Wish
rd never done that, he thought regretfully, now noting
how the swastika had crept down his arm, almost to his
wrist, as he'd grown to maturity.

Wasn'teuenswrewhatasluastikawas, uhmldidit. Knewithad,
something to do with the war. Knew it had something to do with killr
ing Jews. Daddy hated Jews, so I guess I thought it would be cool.
Mn't even remember doing it until I saw it the next day. How old
ttiasi? Thirteen? No, Ithmklwastwelve. Notateenageryet.

214 Mercedes Lackey Ssf Mark Shepherd

He threw on some tattered shorts, not bothering
with a tank top. He needed dead weight, and lots of it,
to vent his anger tonight.

The fifty-pound barbells were shiny chrome, reflect-
ing halogen light in bright arcs as he lifted them high
overhead in short, intense repetitions. The wall was
one huge mirror, and he stared at his own snarling
face, at the veins that bulged from his temples. Muscles
swelled. Perspiration broke, beaded, dripped. He
repeated the exercise, this dme lying back on a bench,
shifting weight, working different musdes.

They warned me not to get attached to the little boy, he
seethed. Even Father, after he'd managed to kidnap Jamie.
He didn't seem to mfnd before! He wanted me to be friendly
while the poor kid had a chance to get away -- but now that he's
ours - he's just another tool, another toy, another magic-trick
for the crowd. I played right into it!

Weights clanked angrily as he brought them
together over his head, making a satisfyingly aggres-
sive sound. Though this was normally not good form
when doing reps, he clanked them again. The sound
felt good, appropriate.

Luke never liked it, the way I favored the boy, Joe thought,
remembering the reaction of one of the lieutenants,
one of the first followers in the early days of their
church. He told me it was going to be a problem. He pretended
to be my friend, but I know he went to my father. The first time I
objected to the channeling, when Jamie was still new. He
winced when he remembered the crack of his father's
riding crop, the liquid fire that poured across his naked
back. He remembered his own screams exploding
from his mouth, and the hoarse voice he spoke with for
days afterwards. Some of those welts never seemed completely
healed, he thought to himself, painfully aware of the
ridges flexing and hurdng even as he exercised. Either
said they should be a reminder.

What he was thinking now would qualify him for

WHEELS OF FIRE              215

such punishment again, but he guessed that next time,
if it came to that, it would be more severe. If such a
thing were possible.

They can't do that to Jamie again, he thought, his atten-
tion turning from himself to the boy. I'd gladly take
another whipping if that would get Jamie away.

Normally at a Praise Meeting he would have been on
the stage, guarding the proceedings with the others.
But not tonight. Apparently his father, at Luke's
urging, had seen what a liability he had become when
dealing with Jamie. Tonight he had been given "leave,"
to observe the channeling if he so desired, but not to
participate in any way.

Guess he figured I'd just get in the way. Weights clanked.
Joe counted. Seventeen, eighteen. Guess he figured right.

He exhaled explosively, as weights flopped out of his
hands onto the padded floor with a muffled thud.

He didn't starve Sarah like this. At least not for this long.
The boy had become visibly thinner over the past few
days, and weaker, and his eyes had developed a vacant
look. Like someone on drugs, he thought. Only, I know he's
not on drugs. Jamie didn't smile now, except for a few
moments when Joe greeted him. Then the smile faded
quickly, like a candle's flame blown out by the wind.

Joe dosed his eyes. It's the guilt, isn't A? he thought. Tm,
not angry at my father. Tin angry at me. Jamie has looked up to
me like a little brother, and I haven't done a thing but manipu-
late him. I'm the one who's lured ham into this, told hum it was
all okay when I knew what was going to happen. And now he's
starving to death. And worse, he's being wed by that thing that
Father thinks is God. I think he's wrong. It's not God, it's not
even close.

He crawled into the bleep curl machine, sitting on
the short bench and reaching under the bar where the
weights connected. No one had used it since he'd been
there; no one else could pull eighty pounds. Luke
certainly couldn't. But Joe used Luke's image to fuel

216 Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

his strength, using the anger to pull the bar up under
his chin.

Luke sure has risen in status in the past few weeks, he
observed cynically. Joe had always resented the man,
even back when he was very little and Luke was still a
newcomer. He had been around their family for as
long as Joe could remember, being one of the few fol-
lowers who remained faithful to his father, even when
his ideology shifted from one political spectrum to the
other. Not surprisingly, his loyalty had been repaid in
high rank within the Chosen Ones hierarchy. Joe was
beginning to see how much he really resented that.
And how much power Luke's position had.

A year earlier, his father had suggested they form a
special security division separate from the Guard, one
that would oversee internal threats from within the
United States and the Church itself. He had hinted,
rather strongly, that Joe would be offered the position
of security chief, as he would be eighteen by then and a
man. As a member of Brother Joseph's immediate
family, he would also presumably be trustworthy, more
so than the any rank-and-file Chosen One. But Joe had
learned recently that when such a division was formed,
Luke would be in charge, not himself. He had yet to
confront his father about this, and when he thought
about it, he knew that he probably never would.

"He doesn't trust me anymore. If he ever did," he
whispered aloud, and looked around in panic, to see if
anyone heard. Of course, no one was in the club at the
time, but he was still uneasy. Microphones were
everywhere, and he wouldn't put it past them to put one
here. None of them trust me, he said, this time to himself.

But Joe had something on Luke, something that
went way back, when he was only a child and still
respected the older man. He had never used it - but
the time might be coming when he had to, to save
himself and Jamie.

WHEELS OF FIRE              217

Joe's parents had gone away to some tent revival in
Oklahoma and Luke was put in charge of baby-sitting.
Luke didn't like being left behind, he had wanted to
stand at Brother Joseph's right hand and bask in
reflected glory. But, being the faithful follower he was,
he accepted the task cheerfully and without complaint-
Joe liked it even less, as he'd wanted to get away to see a
forbidden movie. The Last Temptation of Christ, with a

friend.

Luke's presence, of course, screwed these plans up
royally. But when Luke got into Brother Joseph's
liquor cabinet and started to drink, putting a serious
dent in the whiskey supply, Joe thought he might be
able to get away if he drank himself to sleep. He'd seen
Luke do that before, and there was a good chance he'd
do it that night, too.

But this time was different; Luke became drunk and
started talking, saying strange things. Then he started
to make advances - sexual advances. At first Joe had
no idea what he was doing until the man grabbed him
when he stood up to go to the bathroom, groped him,
and stumbled forward.

Joe just froze, then, unable to think.

Luke's thoughts poured through the booze and
struck Joe's mind at full strength; the images were so
strong, it had felt like a flame had just licked his brain.
Joe jumped back, squirmed out of his grasp, and found
temporary refuge in a corner. But it was only tem-
porary; he knew he was trapped.

Joe hadn't thought about his other ability, that of
making people think what he wanted them to, for some
time. It had a way of coming and going, and lately it was
doing more going than anything else. But Luke's
thoughts were so clear they seemed to be super-
charged, and the lust that poured over Joe was a slimy
thing that made him ill.

When their eyes met, Joe could see exactly what

218 Mervedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

Luke wanted to do to him. The images were clear and
well-defined. Joe had reached further into Luke's
mind, more in a reflex than a conscious action, and saw
that Luke had done this to other boys before.

It would hurt, he had realized. What Luke wanted to
do to him would hwtreal bad. He could already feel
the pain, as if it was already happening; he began to
whimper, like a dog, as he froze in fear and shock. Luke
had stumbled forward, one hand on Joe's leg, the other
on his own belt buckle.

Joe screamed - but not just with his voice.

The old man stumbled back for a moment, as if he'd
been slapped, and Joe had screamed again, but only
with his mind. Luke had crumpled to the floor.

Joe scrambled away and ran for his bedroom, which
had a lock. Luke lay on the floor, yelling at Joe to come
back, he wasn't finished yet. Joe locked the door and
waited, afraid to even breathe. Soon Luke fell asleep,
snoring loudly from a few feet outside the door, and
Joe felt safe enough to cry himself to sleep, with a pil-
low muffling his sobs.

Or at least he had tried to. He didn't sleep much, and
when he did he would jolt awake at any little noise from
where Luke was. The next morning when they woke
up Luke said nothing about the incident and went
about nursing a hangover. Joe was too mortified to
bring it up and wondered if he would tell his parents
when they got back.

That afternoon, Brother Joseph and his wife
returned. Joe was watching them drive up the hill to
the mansion when Luke had turned to him and said,
soberly, "If you tell them about what happened last
night, I'm gonna kill you. No questions asked."

Joe believed him. So he didn't tell them about Luke's
attack. Then, or any time since.

After that horrible experience he began stifling his
ability to sec into other people's minds. What he saw

WHEELS OF FIRE               219

coming at him from Luke's drunken brain was some-
thing he never wanted to see again. The man hadn't
physically raped him, but after seeing the images of
what Luke wanted to do - and had done before -
Luke might as well have, since he lived through it all,
every horror Luke had planned for him. He felt hollow
and wooden after that night, and made a vow to him-
self to leave other people's minds be. He told himself
that most thoughts are better left alone.

And, he had to admit then, his special power could
have been the work of Satan. It sure/eft like it.

Over the years Luke had provided several more
reasons to be hated, reasons that went far beyond what
happened that night while his parents were away. The
way he treated Jamie was one of them.

In fact, Luke was "guarding" Jamie now, he'd over-
heard at the meeting. Guarding against people who might
bring him some food. But then, I have privileges. I could take
him somewhere. Fishing, or-

His thoughts stopped there, when he remembered
the last rime they'd gone to the pond, or at least in its
general direction. / could have fed him then, he told him-
self. He hinted that we could catfish there, and I ignored him.

He wasn't sure why, but the incident reminded him
of Sarah and what his father had done to her. He didn't
know I was watching, from a distance, when he did - that.
His arms grew a little weak and he paused, forcing the
image away from his mind. / wasn't supposed to see that.
No one was suppose to see that! He had been hiding and
had been unable - or unwilling? - to betray himself
by bursting out and coming to the girl's rescue. He
recalled with clarity the morbid fascination that had
seized him, how he had watched his father grab the
girl's thin, delicate neck. The blue color her face
turned. The sudden weakness that came over the girl,
the absolute limpness of the body. The brief surprise of
his father. The lack of remorse. Then, or now.

220 Mercedes Lackey &" Mark Shepherd

And remembered Jamie, withering in the isolation
room.

Joe saw what he would have to do. Resolutely, he put
the weight-bar back down and went back to the lockers.
The scar tissue on his back throbbed in a strange sort of
sympathy as he thought about whips.

He's not going to do that to Jamie, he thought as he pulled
his hated uniform back on. FU never let him do that to Jamie.

Joe hadn't really considered how he was going to
approach this. In his pocket he carried a piece of beef
jerky and some dried fruit, which in itself was not very
substantial. But it was something, and it was easier to
conceal than, say, a sandwich. As he came to the sector
where the isolation room was, his lack of planning now
added a new, frightening dimension to what he had in
mind.

He bad, however, thoughtfully left his sidearm in the
health club. It was a.44 Magnum and its size was
enough to raise the hackles of any gun enthusiast - as
any Chosen One was likely to be. Once, that model had
been considered the most powerful handgun in the
world. That was before .577s with Glaser slugs, and the
other toys around here. He'd left his Rambo knife with
the gun. He had nothing but his hands and his body -

But that body was hard and lean, in itself a for-
midable weapon.

Especially when fueled by anger.

The place where they were keeping Jamie was a
hodgepodge of interconnecting rooms that originally
were to be used as warehouses, but to date had only
partially served that purpose. One of those huge
rooms was where they kept the drugs, but he was never
privy to which one - or the rimes they were full. He
had gathered that the storage was only temporary,
usually only overnight, and changed from one room to
another. The blueprint of the sector, and what was

WHEELS OF FIRE               221

actually built, never completely jived either. There
were formations of rock that were either too hard to
chip away, or served as strategic supports for the upper
strata, and had been left alone. Where possible the
rooms were paneled with sheetmetal and were further
divided with chain-link fencing. The entire sector had a
cold, metallic atmosphere about it. But then, Joe
reflected, so did the rest of the underground complex.

Joe peered around a corner at Luke and another
guard, someone whose name he didn't immediately
remember, standing in front of a double door with a
padlock. This was probably where Jamie was, and he
ran through his mental map of what adjoined this par-
ticular room.

Back watt is solid rock; room would have been a little larger if
they'd had the right equipment. Room itself is large, divided into
storage bins with fencing. Jamie must be m one of the bins. Get in
through the top? Joe racked his brains for what was in the
level above them, and came up with: That's Esther's private
quarters up there. Well, scratch that. Other rooms beside it
had sheetmetal walls, and although cutting through
would be possible with a saw, the noise would be prohibi-
tive. Overall, a good, secure place to imprison someone.

Time to deal with Luke and his partner, he thought, and
shivered with mingled apprehension and tension.

Luke was reading a Bible; his partner, a man Joe
now recalled was known only as Billybob, was reading
a weapons manual on the Colt AR-15. The gun itself
was lying across his lap as he sat reading. Joe hadn't
intended to sneak up on them, but his footsteps simply
didn't make any noise. When they finally did see him,
they jumped into action and had their weapons drawn
on him, cocked and ready. Bible and weapon book fell
to the ground, forgotten.

"Oh Lord," Luke said, relaxing some. "It's)ioM. Why
you sneaking up on us like that?" He didn't seem at all
pleased and continued to aim his gun at Joe.

222           Menedes Lackeyf^ Mink Shepherd

Joe shrugged, feigning innocence. "Wasn't sneaking
up on you." You just weren't paying attention, you lazy puds,
he wanted to add, but chose diplomacy by default. 'Just
walk kinda quiet in these tennies."

Now that the immediate crisis was over, Luke relaxed
into his accustomed superior attitude. He was about
forty years old with an immense potbelly that made him
looklike agiantlightbulb. Even afterthe briefexcitement
of being surprised, he was breathing with difficulty, and
his face was flushed from the exercise of getting suddenly
to his feet Not surprised, after seeing what he eats for breakfast.
A slab of greasy bacon the sae of a brick, friedpotatoes, scrambled
eggs. Every single day. Gowia have a heart attack before too long.
Too bad it's not right now. He didn't seem to notice the bad
effects of poor health, or the fact that he was woefully out
of shape. Instead, Luke put on his normal, superior
sneer, an expression more-or-less permanently carved
into his fatty features. Buck teeth protruded promi-
nently from his face, and he looked like a pig doing an
Elvis imitation.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Luke asked,
slowing his breathing with a visible effort.

"I dunno," Joe replied, intentionally sounding
stupid. "Late, I guess."

"It's two A.M." Luke said, arrogantly. "Any idea why
your father put me on duty here?"

Joe gazed blankly and shrugged.

"To keep people away from our little treasure in
there," Luke said, jerking the barrel towards the room
they were guarding. "Who, by the way, is sleeping.
What do you want, anyway?"

"I wanted to see Jamie," he replied. "I kind of
promised him a bedtime story. I was gonna tell him
about Daniel in the lion's den."

"You know what your father said," Luke said, shift-
ing the assault rifle in his arms. "He wants no one near
the boy. That includes everybody. That mdudesyou."

WHEELS OF FIRE               223

"He's real lonely." Joe said, but he knew how help-
less that sounded. "You could -"

"No. I couldn't."

Luke advanced menacingly, quickly, as if he was con-
sidering shoving Joe away with his own massive weight
Joe stepped back automatically as his body began to go
into defense-mode, automatically tensing some muscles
while relaxing others, a well-honed response due to
years of self-defense training. Training, in part, received
from Luke, before he'd put on the weight.

And Luke saw it. "Go ahead. Try it. I have a witness.
You don't. Your father will believe me, whatever you do."

Billybob made several snuffling noises that
approximated laughter. Joe absendy toed a rock with
his right combat boot

"That is, if you lived," Luke continued. "Why are
you here, Joe? You don't mean to tell me you actually
feel something for the little lump of shit we've got
stashed away back there?"

"Well, no," he lied. Now he regretted not having a
plan. But this will only help me if it makes me look like a fool.
Luke is less defensive if he thinks he's dealing with someone
more stupid than he is.

"I just wanted, you know, to study him. See what
kind of effect food deprivation has on a person. Look, if
we're going to be doing this we need to see how far we
can push."

"Depri-what?" Luke asked, seriously confused. He
always did have trouble understanding words with
more than two syllables.

"Means starving," Billybob informed him.

"Oh," he said, with a knowing look. But he frowned
anyway while a rough, blistered thumb toyed with the
safety. "Still don't like it. Listen, you go get permission
from Brother Joseph and I'll let you see him. I mean,
how am I supposed to know this isn't a test and all?"

"You don't. But I guess you're right," Joe said,

224            Mercedes Lackey SSMark Shepherd

knowing that to push now would only arouse more
suspicion. "I'll go talk to my dad now."

Luke nodded. Billybob made more snuffling noises,
this dme sounding like a hog rooting for food, sounds
that had no dear meaning.
"Where is he, then?" Joe asked, withatouchofanger.
Luke shrugged. "Back in his quarters, I guess."
Joe saw an opening. "You mean you don't knowf"
The superior sneer faltered; Luke knew the rule as
well as anyone else; the first lieutenant must always know
•where the leader is, for security reasons. Not knowing was a
punishable offense. Luke stammered. "I - I - he
must be in his quarters now. He is. Yes, he is. I know it."

"That's better," Joe replied, privately delighted at
the tiny victory. He turned to leave, effectively ter-
minating the conversation.

He's a fool, if you know what buttons to push. No wonder he
followed Father for so long. He glanced back, catching
Luke as he stood there, mouth hanging open,
apparently still trying to piece together what just
transpired. You'd need a brain like a sponge to stay on with
Brother Joseph all these years.
Joe smiled - but only to himself.
Luke qualifies.

Out of range of the two idiots guarding Jamie, Joe's
thoughts turned dark. He was, after all, no closer to
getting food to the boy. The giant piece of beef jerky
jabbed him in his pocket, reminding him of his failure.

I failed because I didn't have a plan, he reminded him-
self. I can try again, but this time Fd better be smart.

In the Guard, one was taught to use one's assets to
their fullest advantage. Being the son of the founder of
the movement, he had barely scratched the surface of
those assets. For example, he could go places where
very few, even within the Guard, were permitted. He
went to one of those places now.

WHEELS OF FIRE               225

Using the card again, he entered one of several
remote security stations, small rooms paneled with
heavy-gauge metal and stuffed to the rafters with high
tech surveillance gear. Against one wall was a pickax, a
firehose, and a set of bolt cutters behind a glass pane.
Along the opposite wall, ten tiny black and white
screens blinked back at him. This particular station, he
knew, was redundant. These same feeds were going to
the main security station, which had a wall of screens
that dwarfed this rig. This station served only this sec-
tor of the underground, whereas the main station had
camera feeds to everything. The Guard monitored the
main station, and at least one member would be there
now. Eventually, when they had more manpower -
women didn't count - all stations would be manned,
giving redundant security everywhere. The small
screens here had various views of the hallways and tun-
nels. Some angles, he saw to his surprise, were new.
Looks like they've put new cameras up. Gotta watch that. Must
assume I'm being watched at all times.

Which prompted him to look up. Good. No cameras
here. Every time he used his card, a record of where and
when it was used was stored in the cult's computer, also
located in the main station. They'll know I was here. Ami
they might want to know why. He knew, however, that it
would be at least a week before they ran the reports
that showed security card usage. For the time being,
anyway, he was off the hook. In a week, surely, he'd be
able to come up with a plausible excuse.

He studied one screen, which gave the view right
outside Jamie's isolation room. Luke and Billybob sat
reading their respective books. The other nine screens
didn't show anything particularly interesting: empty
hallways and views of the storage rooms, and other
things that weren't important. One screen was turned
off. When Joe turned it on, a camera view from within
the isolation room came to life.

226 Mercedes Lackey £s? Mark Shepherd

Jamie was lying on a mattress, sleeping fitfully,
having what appeared to be nightmares. Joe was
stunned at first; he hadn't expected to find a camera
inside the child's room, but when he thought about it, it
made sense. Jamie was important. Jamie had to be
watched. On the little black and white screen the boy
seemed thinner than he'd been at the Praise Meeting.
Joe remembered when, as a litde boy, he'd found a kit-
ten swimming frantically down a stream. He had
plucked the animal from the water, and for several fas-
dnated moments watched it stretch out and go to sleep
in his palm. Wet, it had looked like a dying rat, its tin1,
lungs heaving against a frail rib cage. That was whai
Jamie looked like, lying on the mattress.

As pitiful as the boy looked, the sight only cemented
Joe's resolve. The question is, when am I going to be able to
get in there without Luke knowing? He debated over
whether or not to wait until their shift changed over.
They might even put Junior Guards down there,
though this was unlikely. At any rate he might have
more leverage with their replacements, being the son
of the leader. Some members of the Chosen Ones held
him in awe, prompting some enthusiastic followers to
speculate out loud that Joe was the grandson of God.

He had never taken full advantage of these atten-
tions, this being one of the assets he couldn't fully
exploit while keeping a clear conscience. Not that my
conscience has been too clear lately anyway, he thought,
remorsefully. Taking advantage of those people who think
Tm divine might be tempting. But that wouldn't make me no
better than my father. God, what a prick he is! He manipulates
them so well, especially when he uses Jamie to invoke that thing.
If I start doing the same crap, what's to stop me from becoming
just like him? Do I really believe in what he's doing?

Which prompted another distinct stab of doubt. Do I
really have faith?

As if on cue, the power failed briefly, then returned.

WHEELS OF FIRE               227

Lights in the security room blinked. As one the ten
screens went to static, as if switched to a dead channel.
In the distance, Joe heard an alarm that he couldn't
immediately identify. Water gurgled nearby, as if a pipe
had ruptured behind one of the walls.

Down the hallway, someone shouted. Running
footsteps followed the shout, came near, then retreated
into the distance.

Wide-eyed, Joe stood perfecdy still, keenly aware of
every sound around him. His faith in God, now, was
completely restored.

Four of die screens flickered to life. One of them dis-
played the view of the hallway outside Jamie's isolation
room. Luke and Billybob had abandoned their posi-
tions, it seemed; their books lay idle on the empty
chairs. The two guards were nowhere in sight. Franti-
cally, Joe banged on the screen that had the interior
view, getting no results. The screen continued to dis-
play snow, with an occasional horizontal line.

He must still be in that room, he thought. They just ran off
to see what the commotion was. Then, There was a reason for
this to happen now. Joe eyed die bolt cutters on the wall,
saw what a perfect tool it was for dealing widi padlocks.
Joe found a rag, wrapped it around his hand, and
punched out the pane of glass. After removing the
major shards from the frame, he took down die pair of
bolt cutters and made for the door.

The alarm was a little louder now and seemed to
originate at the end of a long corridor. The shouts
became more numerous and confused, and it sounded
like whatever happened would keep the two guards,
along widi many odiers, busy for some dme. It never
really occurred to him that whatever the emergency
was could be a danger to himself or Jamie. His only
impulse was to move, and move now.

Abrupdy, the power went off altogether. For several
moments he stood in total darkness, unable dien to see

228 Mercedes Lackey £s? Mark Shepherd

his hand in front of his face. In the security room
behind him, muffled by the thick steel door, several
electronic gadgets whirred to a halt. The alarm cut off
completely.

Good Lord, Joe thought, taking a tentative step for-
ward. What a time for this to happen. During the early days
of living in the underground, when all of the bugs in
the electrical system hadn't yet been worked out, he
had carried around a flashlight on his belt just for such
emergencies. But it had been months since the last
blackout, and since then everyone had become com-
placent about the power system, taking it for granted.

Then, further down the passageway, a light winked
on. From the ceiling a thin finger of light touched the
concrete floor below. Emergency backup, he remem-
bered. This is going to work even better.

Somewhere in the underground, he heard someone
shout" Fire!" followed by a scream and the blast of a fire
extinguisher. Again, he felt strangely calm, although it
occurred to him that maybe he should feel a little more
alarmed. Since there wasn't much that was burnable in
the underground caverns, not much attention had
been paid to drills should a fire occur -

It didn't matter. What was important was to get a
piece of beef jerky and dried fruit to a starving boy.

He knew the passageways from memory and was
able to navigate back to where Jamie was being held.
Emergency lights periodically illuminated the way.
Still, there were sections of darkness that most people,
unfamiliar with the floorplan, would have balked at.
Presently he found himself in front of the unguarded
double doors. Inside, Jamie whimpered.

'Jamie?" Joe said, careful to watch his volume. "It's
Joe. Sit tight, I'll be inside in a minute."

In seconds he had clipped through the padlock with
the bolt cutters and opened the twin doors.

Joe immediately saw by the light creeping in from

WHEELS OF FIRE              229

behind why the boy was crying; there was no emer-
gency lighting inside, and he had been lying in total
darkness. Before doing anything else, he reached up
and turned off the security camera. The power wasn't
on yet, but when it did come on he figured this would
be one of the first rooms security would be most inter-
ested in investigating.

"Here, partner," Joe said, holding out the jerky. "Eat
this. If you see them coming, hide it. Don't let them
know you have it."

But Jamie was too busy hanging onto Joe's knee to eat
"Where have you been?" the boy managed to blurt out.

The effort of sitting up and talking seemed to
exhaust him. Jamie flopped back down on the mat-
tress, sitting up on one elbow. Slowly, he took the jerky,
regarded it for a moment, then started stuffing his face
with it.

"Whoa!" Joe said, nearly grabbing the boy's arm to
keep him from wolfing down the gift. "Slow down.
You'll make yourself sick eating fast like that."

"I'm already sick," Jamie pointed out. "When did
they decide to start feedin' me?"

Joe stared at the boy until finally their eyes met.
"They haven't. I'm doing this on my own."

Jamie gazed at him severely. "You're gonna get your
ass whipped for this."

"Probably. But I don't care. It ain't right to be starv-
ing you like this. And then making you talk to that
thing... ."Joe froze then, wonderingifhe should have
mentioned it. Instead of the fear he expected to see in
the boy's face, he only saw blank incomprehension. He
either doesn't remember, or he's too tired to think straight now,
Joe speculated.

Jamie was paying attention to other things. "Is that
fire?" he inquired innocently as he gnawed on the stick
ofjerky.

"It's... "Joe said, momentarily confused. That VMS a/we

230 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

back there, and I wasn't even paying attention. I was concentrat-
ing too damned hard on finding Jamie. If the place is on fire, then
maybe I should get him out of here, he thought stupidly.

Joe looked up and saw the thin film of smoke licking
across the ceiling. He sniffed and smelled the smoke for
the first time. But it wasn't like any smoke he'd smelled
before; this stench was laden with plastic and synthetic
smells, sort of like when an alternator on a car is about
to go out, or when a fuse box overloads.

That's easy. It's an electrical fire, he thought, frowning.
This didn't make the situation easier to handle.

This room is no longer safe, he declared. I'm taking him
out now and to hell with the consequences! After all, this was
what he wanted to do all along.

"Come on, buckaroo," Joe said, scooping him up in
his arms. He felt the difference in the boy's weight
immediately; ten, maybe twenty pounds. "We're get-
ting out of here."

"Okay," the boy replied calmly. "Got any more jerky?"

"Not with me," Joe said. "Too much food will make
you sick right now. Hang loose for a while." He
remembered reading about concentration camps in
Nazi Germany, and the prisoners who, once liberated
by the Allies, ate themselves to death. He wondered
about this when he saw Jamie, but didn't think he was
that far gone. A little food. No more. At least until I figure
out what kind of condition he's in.

And what I'm doing here, and how I'm going to get him out,
and what I do then.

Joe carried him out of the isolation room with a dis-
tinct feeling that he was being watched. Paranoia, he
decided. The power is off. The cameras are out. There's not
enough light in here to see by if they weren't.

The commotion at the end of the hall was still in
progress, but now seemed farther away. From the melee
he was able to pick Luke's voice out, an insistent, frantic
wail trying in vain to seize control of the situation.

WHEELS OF FIRE               231

What is going on up there? Joe wondered, becoming a
little more interested in the emergency Luke and
Billybob ran off to tend to. Soon I may just find out. Those
two, they'll be back soon. I need to make this look innocent if
they find me. No, when they find me. There's no way out of this
place, even if I did try to make a run for it. This last thought
disturbed - and intrigued - him more than he
thought it should. Have I completely lost my mind ?

He took Jamie to another wing of storage units,
where the lighting was still next to nonexistent. He
found tall stacks of boxes piled on pallets, their contents
unknown. Probably food, Joe thought. But no more for
Jamie. It could kill him. They were well hidden here, and
in the darkness he felt like it would be a less likely place
for Luke to find them. Luke is afraid of the dark. I remem-
ber that. Could be why he left Jamie and ran for the fire. The
fire has light. Had they gone further they would have
walked into a highly traveled area; somewhere around
here Joe remembered an access tunnel that would take
them to the garage, where he could take a truck and
maybe even crash the gate....

There I go again. Thinking crazy thoughts. They'd shoot me
and Jamie both, if I tried to get away. We'd be so shot full of
holes there wouldn't be anything left.

"Try to stand up," Joe said, setting the child down on
his feet. "How do you feel?"

"Sleepy," Jamie said, yawning. "But I don't wanna go
to sleep." He looked up at Joe with brown, questioning
eyes. "What's going on, Joe?" he asked. "Why won't
they let me eat?"

Joe sat down on a bare pallet, which rocked a little as
his weight settled down on it. Now they were on eye
level, making it more difficult for Joe to talk to the boy.
He wanted to shrink into a little ball now, the respon-
sibility for this predicament pressing a little more firmly
on his shoulders.

"I'm a little confused right now," Joe admitted.

232            Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

Jamie's look became puzzled. "I don't know what
they're trying to prove back there, making you talk to
that thing like that, but it ain't right and it's not good for
you. There are some things that just aren't meant to be
messed with, and that thing that took control of you
tonight is one of them." Jesus, Joe thought. Where are
these words coming from? He listened to his mouth rattle
on, uncertain if it was him who was talking, or some-
one, or something, else.

"But I can tell you this," Joe continued." It's not right
what they're doing. And I'm partway to blame for it. I
don't know if I can get you out of here now, but I will
someday. I promise you that."

Jamie gazed at him solemnly, his lower lip curling
out into a pout. Then the expression changed to anger.
Eyebrows arched, his forehead wrinkled.

"]oe, where is my momma?"

Joe tried to gaze directly into his eyes, but his look
wavered and glanced away. He doesn't know what's up ami
what's down anymore. Everyone in authority has been feeding
him lies, and now he knows it. He's looking to me for the
answers. I've got to tell him the truth, or he'll never trust me
again. And, if he doesn't trust me, he doesn't have a chance in

thisplace.

"I don't know where your mother is," Joe said slowly.
After saying it, it was a little easier to look up. "I never
did. Look. The grownups around here, they haven't
been telling you the truth."

Joe had expected tears; he got a dull resignation. "I
guess that means she's not coming here. To the vaca-
tion place."

He uttered the sentence with such a total lack of emo-
tion that Joe shivered a little. It's almost like that thing was
talking through him again. Like maybe a little bit of it stayed
behind or managed to bum out some of his emotions. Or else that
he's so used to disappointment that he doesn't care anymore.

"That's right, Jamie," he said with effort. "She

WHEELS OF FIRE                233

probably doesn't even know where you are." He
looked up. "You stay here a second." Joe got up and
peered out of the storage room, down the corridor.
The sounds that echoed through the corridor indi-
cated that fire was gone, but that other things were
keeping the guards busy. We're safe fora little while longer,
he dedded. Better make the best use of this time I can. After
this it will be impossible to get close to Jamie again. When he
returned, he continued. "Your mother didn't know
you were being brought here. Your daddy, you see, he
took you away from your school so she wouldn't know,
and brought you here so that you could be with him."

Jamie looked confused. Why shouldn't he be? Joe
thought, resisting an urge to pull his own hair out. God,
I hope I'm going about this right. This had better not be causing
more damage than good.

"ButwAy?" was the logical response.

A simple question with a damned difficult answer. It's too
late to back out now, I'm already ass deep in this one.

"Your ma and pa stopped getting along together.
You're smart, even you could see that." Meekly, Jamie
nodded. "And well, he heard about the Chosen Ones
and started to come to meetings. And before long he
was a believer, and a follower, of Brother Joseph."

"Your daddy"

Joe winced. You could have gone all night without saying
that, he thought, cringing inwardly. That's one thing I
would really like to forget right now.

"Yeah. My daddy," Joe said. It felt like he was admit-
ting to a crime against humanity. "He needed someone
who could talk to the Holy Fire. Someone young, and
smart, like you. Do you remember the Holy Fire?"

"I remember," he said. If the memory was frighten-
ing, the boy concealed it well. "But it was okay. I had a
friend to help me out."

"Good, that's good," Joe said condescendingly. I had
an imaginary friend, too, a funny fox. Sometimes, he was the

234            Mervedes Lackey^ Mark Shepherd

only one I had to talk to, when one of Dad's flunkies wasn't
around. "When you're hungry, you can talk to the Holy
Fire better.That's why Brother Joseph is doing this. He
wants to know things from the Holy Fire, things that
will help the Chosen Ones."

He had nearly said, "help us out," but that didn't feel
right. He didn't really feel like a Chosen One anymore.
If I'm not a Chosen One, then who am I? came the thought,
but he shelved it for later consideration.

"You don't understand, do you?" he sighed, when
Jamie didn't react with anything but acceptance.

ButJamie shook his head. "Oh, I understand," he said
matter-of-facdy, "Sarah explained everything to me."

Joe felt the room get fifteen degrees colder. Did he say

-Sarah?

He stared at the little boy, unsure what he should say, or
whathe could say; it didn't help to ask him again. He heard
the name right the first time. Hesaid Sarah. But it can't be.

"She's dead," Jamie supplied, with his head cocked
to one side as if he was listening to two conversations at
once. "She says not to worry, she doesn't blame you for
what happened. But she would like to know why you
didn't do anything to stop him. She says you were
standing right there. When he did it."

"I -" Joe said, but the sound came out a weak
gurgle, the kind of sound someone would make when
strangling. Like the sound she made. Oh God, this can't be
happening! Is he talking to spirits9 Spirits that can read my
mind? Is this Satan's work?

He felt the walls of his father's religion closing
around him, warding off the fear of the unknown that
this conversation was invoking. I can't go back to those
beliefs, he wanted to scream. It's all nonsense, Fve already
decided that, or why else would I go against him, take Jamie out
of his prison and feed him. But this, with Sarah, this is what the
demons do. It's what the devil does! What else do I have to
protect myself with, besides the Church?

WHEELS OF FIRE

235

But - once again, his father had lied.
He told me she went to heaven!

She couldn't have, not if she was talking to Jamie -
Or was she an angel, some kind of sword-wielding,
avenging angel, cutting down anyone who had any-
thing to do with her death?

Jamie continued the conversation, like he was on one
end of a spiritual telephone. "Sarah says that the forces of
darkness are what your daddy attracts, not what she is. She
also says you aren't in danger. At first she was mad at me for
telling you about her, but now she says it will help all of us,
letting you know she's still around. You can help me, she
says." For the first time, Jamie showed some spark of inter-
est "How can you help me?" he demanded.

Joe had fallen off the pallet and was now on his
knees, praying. He wasn't even certain what he was
saying, but he hoped the emotion of what he was feel-
ing would convey his message.

Jamie peered down at him. "]oe, whatcha doin'
down there? You gettin' sick?"

"He's going to be a lot worse off than that," a loud,
booming voice shouted from somewhere behind him.
Joe jumped up and turned around suddenly, habitual-
ly reaching for his sidearm, a .44 that wasn't there.

Luke. Oh good God.

From the darkness came the snick, snick of a shell
being pumped into a shotgun. Another, softer snick
betrayed the presence of a pistol.

"I suggest that if you've rearmed yourself to drop it.
But I don't think you have. You're not that smart."

The large man's weight shifted the pallet as he
stepped on one of the bare wooden platforms. The pal-
let creaked, protesting loudly. More footsteps; one set
no doubt belonging to Billybob. A third person shined
a bright spot in Joe's face, panned back and forth
between him and Jamie.

"Yep. That's them. They're both here," Billybob

236 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

said. It was the first coherent sentence Joe had heard
the man utter.

"What the hell did you think you were trying to do?"
Luke said, taking a few steps forward. The spotlight
continued to shine, silhouetting the huge man. "How
far did you think you were going to go with him?"

Joe glanced over atJamie, who had - thank God -
eaten everything he had given him. If I play my cards
right, I can get out of this one untouched. If.

"Not sure what you mean, Luke," Joe replied. "I was
just getting the boy clear of the fire. That is what you
abandoned your post to go tend to, isn't it?"

Luke's expression wavered slightly. A flicker of con-
cession passed over his face and then was gone.

"Guess that's what it was," Billybob said. "Wasn't

sure."

"Shut up!" Luke screamed. His intensity startled
Joe. "What I want to know is what you were planning
to do with this kid?"

Joe assumed an expression of surprise. "I wasn't
planning anything. What I did was take him to safety. It
was pretty clear to me that he was in danger, and that
you left him in danger."

"Enough of this crap," Luke said, cutting him off.
"Billybob, you and Jimmy take the kid back to his
room. I'll deal with Joe."

"But Luke-"

"But nothing. No arguments," he replied, a little

softer.

Joe didn't like this one bit. It began to feel like a
setup, and when he looked around at his surround-
ings, he had a creepy feeling he might not walk out of
there alive. This is the kind of place where people die, he
thought, trying hard not to let his fear show through.

Billybob hesitated, something Joe had never seen
him do in Luke's presence. Luke's eyebrow raised in
response.

WHEELS OF FIRE               237

"I said now," he said, quiedy.

"You're not going to, are you?" Billybob asked,
somewhat fearfully.

Joe could tell he was getting impatient. 'Just take the
kid back to the room now," Luke ordered. "I'll see
about you later."

That last statement had an ominous feel to it, and
Billybob took the boy by the hand and led him away
out of the darkness of the storage room. Joe couldn't
see Luke's expression very well, as the light from the
hallway emergency light came in behind him. Jimmy
followed Billybob out, casting a glance behind him that
turned his blood to ice.

He's going to kill me, Joe thought. The realization left
him feeling vaguely calm, in a detached sort of way.
The fear he would have normally expected just wasn't
there. He's going to kill me, and it's not going to make any dif-
ference. He'll make up some story about how I tried to take the
gun away from him.

"You've gotten awfully uppity lately. Who do you
think you are, anyway? Seems like you think you're
better than me these days." Luke shifted his immense
weight, cradling the shotgun carefully. The barrel
never wavered.

"I know I'm not better than you," Joe pleaded,
trying hard not to grovel. "Its just, things are happen-
ing so fast around here. The drugs and all, seems like
something's going on there all the dme."

"Why don't we just talk about that," Luke said. "Why
don't you help with the deliveries? Distribution? You
think you're a prince or somethin'?"

"I'm just busy with the Junior Guard," Joe lied. "You
know that's what Brother Joseph wants me in. There's
no time for nothing else." If 1 keep him talking, maybe lean
get out of this.

Luke sneered. "I've been waiting for you to screw up
for a long time. I knew you were trouble a long dme

238           Mwcedes Lackey 6f Mark Shepherd

ago. Knew you would never follow orders from your
superiors. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

He knew all too well. "I think so," he replied, not
wanting to get specific. What is he leading up to?

"The Chosen Ones will be purified by this," Luke
said, raising the shotgun to shoulder level, and taking
careful aim at Joe's midsecdon. "You just sit still, it'll be
over with before you..."

At that moment the power returned, at least partial-
ly, to the sector. Fluorescent lights flickered on
overhead as something went wuuummmmph in the dis-
tance.

"Shit," Luke whispered, looking around him fur-
tively.

Above, located behind Luke, a remote camera
whirred back to life. It panned back and forth, its red
LED light blinking. Luke spotted it at the same dme
Joe did and dropped the shotgun to his side.

"There's someone watching us," Joe said. "If you
killed me now there'd be witnesses."

"I wasn't going to kill nobody," he said, forcing a
smile. "Where'd you get that idea anyway, son?"

"Sure looked that way to me," Joe said.

"What's going to happen now," Luke said, starting
for the entrance of the storeroom, "is this. I'm going to
report to your father, see, about how you tried to kid-
nap Jamie and take him out of our little sanctuary here,
into Pawnee. The whole story. I'll just let you worry
about that."

Joe shrugged. "That's fine with me," he said, not
sure where his cockiness was coming from. "But I'll tell
you one thing. And I'll let you worry about this: my
father is going to find out about what you tried to do to
me when I was a kid. Do you remember? Or should I
refresh your memory?"

Luke froze in his tracks. "What are you talking
about, boy?"

WHEELS OF FIRE               239

"You know exacdy what I'm talking about. He might
understand you fooling around with litde girls, but lit-
de boys? And hisaw?"

Luke actually looked white. "He won't believe you."

Joe kept his eyes locked on the older man's. "Are you
real sure about that?"

Indecision tortured his face. Joe could almost see the
gears turning, however slowly, behind the man's eyes.
Brother Joseph might not believe his own son on something like
that, but then he wight, Joe imagined him thinking. Can I
take that chance? As hot as things are around here? Brother
Joseph, he likes to kill things when he's under a lot of pressure.
Like now.

"I got a better idea," Luke said, after long moments
of consideration. "Why don't we just forget this whole
thing ever happened and pitch in and help with the
mess we got going back there?"

Joe exhaled a breath he didn't realize he was holding
in.

"Yeah, Luke. Sure. Let's go."

Prick.

Al couldn't decide if it was the massage, the bath, or
the wine that put him out, but whatever it was he slept
like the dead. He barely woke as Bob got up and passed
his couch, chuckling over somediing known only to the
human; he thought he said something, but then went
right back to sleep. He woke a litde after that, with the
realization diat he had only an hour to track-dme.

No matter. The rest had done him a world of good,
completely restoring his energies.

After helping himself to bread and fruit from the
sideboard, he ducked into the bathroom for a quick
shower. Then, with a sigh of regret, he tapped into one
of the local energy-foci, and transformed the interior of
the RV back to its usual mundane appearance.

Pity. But I can't have someone walking in on this.

240 Mercedes Lackey (c)' Mark Shepherd

He left his favorite servant, the Phaeton mascot, in
animated form, however. He had his hands full with
breakfast and a brush, and he needed one extra hand
to hold the blow-dryer. The mascot provided that,
readily enough. She never tired and never got bored;

she would hold the hair-dryer for him until the Trump
of Doom if he asked it other.

A quick peek out of the curtains showed the van was
quiet and the Miata was gone; that meant that in all
probability, Bob had taken Cindy somewhere before
track-dme. With her out of the way, it was safe enough
to let this litde evidence of his power remain active long
enough to give him a litde help.

But just as he thought that, the door opened.

Cindy had gotten up early, but even so, one of the
racers had beaten her. The Miata was gone - although
there was evidence by the slight motion of the RV that
there was someone sdll inside.

She was glad now that she'd talked Bob into taking
back his bed last night. Al was an attractive man; too
darned attractive. It would be easy to fall right into bed
with him. And she didn't want that - or rather, she did,
but not right now. If she were to indulge herself- and
that was the only phrase that described it - with Al
right now, she would be betraying Jamie by taking
away time and energy that could be used to search for
him. The fantasy also had a slight edge of fear with the
desire, which fluttered madly in her stomach; her
ex-husband Jim had been her first and only bed
partner. Just leaping into bed with someone she had
recently met, who she wasn't even in love with, grated
against her upbringing. She could almost hear her
mother lecturing her for even considering it.

But she wasn't a virgin, wasn't at home, and her
mother was dead. Al seemed to be a very nice man, and
he was definitely a hunk. She wasn't even married

WHEELS OF FIRE              241

anymore - and she'd kept taking the Pill even after
the divorce, as a kind of reflex. There was no reason
not to-

No. No, that would only make her feel more guilt, and
she had plenty ofthatrightnow; she didritneed anymore.

The van had a kind of friendly feeling about it; a
sheltering quality. Cozy, that was what it was, and wel-
coming. As if she'd spent the night in the arms of some
kind of nurturing earth-mother. She hadn't slept so
well or so dreamlessly since Jamie had been stolen.

But her stomach woke her, soon after dawn, remind-
ing her that she hadn't had much lunch and only a
salad for supper. Maybe Al had come back last night
with a litde more food. She'd even cook it for him, or
rather, for them both.

/ wonder what he usually survives on: Gatorade and
concession-stand hot dogs? I'd hate to see his cholesterol count.

She pulled on her old jeans and another t-shirt, slid
out of the van, opened the RV door, and stepped up.

She poked her head around a comer - and froze.

Al was stark naked, combing his wet hair with one
hand, and eating with the other, while blow-drying his
hair. Holding the blow-dryer was a litde silver statue of
a woman; an odd sort of prop, but if it worked -

Dear God, he's a hunk, she thought in one analytical
comer other mind. Al still hadn't noticed her; the noise
of the blow-dryer must have covered the sound of her
entering. She felt like a peeping Tom -

She'd seen professional body-builders with better
bodies-butnot many. Did radngbuild musdes like that?

If that was what Gatorade and concession-stand hot
dogs did, maybe she ought to change her diet.

Caught between embarrassment and an undeniable
attraction, she started to back out and ran into the
corner of the cabinet instead. "Excuse me!" she
blurted, as Al suddenly looked up into the mirror and
met her eyes.

242            Mercedes Lackey £s?Mark Shepherd

She froze like a deer pinned in a car's headlights.
The little silver statue was alive and moving. It turned
to look calmly at her, still holding the blow-dryer. The
dryer cord dangled straight down, and though the
dryer was running, it wasn't plugged in.

The startled eyes that met hers in the mirror were
emerald green and slitted like a cat's. And the ears,
standing up through the wet hair, were pointed.

At first, as she took in the sight ofAl's reflection, she felt
calm. The strangeness of what she was seeing took
several moments to sink in, as there was nothing in her
experience, beyond cheap horror sci-fi movies, that she
could relate this to. Her mind became a total blank and
unable to assign this anywhere to the reality she knew.

Then it suddenly dawned on her: Al wasn't human.

She yelped and backpedaled into the Winnebago's
interior as Al swung around, grabbing wildly for - not
his privates - but his ears, confirming her suspicion
that he wasn't human. His elbow hit the blow-dryer
and knocked it out of the little statue's hands as he
lunged for Cindy; she found herself trapped against
the sink, and she acted instinctively. She kneed him,
right where it counted, then froze again.

He might not be human, but the salient parts of male
anatomy were in the same place. He gasped and folded,
giving her a clear view of his ears. They were pointed.

In the bathroom, the tiny silver lady had picked up
the blow-dryer and was calmly turning it off. Cindy's
mouth was dry and her hands were shaking - and she
was sure, now, that she had somehow gotten into some
place that wasn't on earth. That, and she was finally
losing her mind. Or - was this RV some kind of dis-
guised flying saucer?

Al still had her blocked in, and the moment she
broke her paralysis to shove past him, he moved like
lightning, recovering much faster than any human
could have.

WHEELS OF FIRE               243

He grabbed her arms and held her, this time pinning
her legs as well, his strange eyes glaring at her with an
anger that made them burn like twin green flames. He
was angrier than anyone she had ever seen in her life.
Even Brother Joseph hadn't frightened her this way.

She shrank back, so terrified she couldn't speak, her
teeth chattering like castanets, wondering when, and
how, he was going to kill her -

An expression of disgust passed over his face, and
the glare of rage in his eyes dimmed. Suddenly, he
pushed away from her, stalked into the bathroom, and
pulled the vinyl curtain shut violently.

Before she could move, he jerked the curtain back
again; now he was wearing pants, at least, and was pull-
ing on a shirt. "You try my patience and my temper
more than you know, human," he snarled, his hair
standing out like a lion's mane. "If there were not a
child involved -"

"Human?" she blurted. "What are you, a Vulcan?"

He stared at her a moment, shirt half on and half off
- and began laughing. First it was a chuckle, then a
full laugh, then loud roaring howls of laughter that
reverberated in the RV.

Now Cindy was confused. Hell, if he was laughing,
he couldn't be a Vulcan. So much for Star Trek. She
stared at him as he tried to collect himself. Was she
being overly sensitive, or did the laughter have a
strange hollow sound that just wasn't human? At some
point his eyes went back to being "normal," but the
ears remained the same. Al managed to get the shirt
buttoned on, and when he looked down, it was one
button off. He seemed to find this even funnier and
began laughing more.

I guess he isn't going to kill me yet. He rebuttoned his
shirt, still chuckling, and she amended that. Maybe he
isn't going to kill me at all.

As some of the initial shock wore off, Cindy began to

244            Mercedes Lackey £s? Mark Shepherd

relax. But it seemed as ifAl now found the situation -
and her terror - quite amusing.

Cindy had been afraid, but that was shifting to
anger. She didn't think this was anything to laugh at

"And what is so damned funny?" she finally said,
fuming. Then something else occurred to her - and
her anger faded as it occurred to her what she had

sounded like.

There was a long silence as Cindy sat down at the
table, and Al remained standing. The silence thick-
ened, and neither of them could find a way to reach
across it. He sounds different now, she thought. He's not
coming across as the techie racing mechanic anymore. I can't
place his accent, hut it's not from North Carolina- he sounds
like he was from that Robin Hood movie. What is he?

"Well," Cindy finally said, after she couldn't bear the
lengthy pause anymore. "What are you then?"

"It would take a long time to explain," Al said, then
stopped. She had the feeling now that he really didn't
want to reveal anything to her, but that he didn't have

much choice.

"I've got all the time you need," she said, and crossed
her arms over her chest. This should be very interesting,
she thought. "Go right ahead. Nothing you say is going
to surprise me more than what I've already seen."

"Perhaps. But an explanation has become necessary.
I would have preferred to keep it a secret," Al said, and
shrugged. It appeared, at that moment, to be a very
human shrug. "But, as you say, the cat is out of the bag."

Cindy waited for him to speak, patient as only the
mother of a young boy could be in waiting for an

explanation.

Al sighed and poured himself a Gatorade. "We go
back many thousands of years, our folk. Your people
call mine elves now." He waited, as if assuming she'd
laugh at the word. She only blinked.

I suppose that makes as much sense as space aliens.

WHEELS OF FIRE               245

"We have..."

"You don't bake cookies, do you?"

Alinor glared. "No. We have known about your people
from the beginning, and have always known we were a
minority, and were in many ways physically inferior to
humans. We have - weaknesses, vulnerabilities, that you
do not have. But we have magic. We have always had
magic. For a while that was a protection, and even made us
superior."

"And it isn't anymore?" she asked, matter-of-facdy.

He shook his head. "No, and now we are even more
in the minority. As your human civilization grew, we
isolated ourselves even more. Some of us were careless,
were discovered. The humans quickly put them to
death. We were never tolerated. We have learned the
fine art of being invisible."

Al gestured to the orange jug of Gatorade, offering.
Cindy shook her head. The mechanic - or whatever
- took a seat opposite her, his motions careful and
precise, as if he was trying not to arouse any more fear.
The act was reassuring. The tale he was telling, how-
ever, was not.

"We appear in mythology, folklore, fairy tales. Some
of these we planted ourselves. Some, though these are
few, are true accounts that have been distorted with
time. We call ourselves elves because in your language
there is no other suitable alternative. 'Sidhe' sounds
just like 'she,' after all."

As Cindy listened, she realized her mouth was hang-
ing open.

"Are you sure you don't want anything to drink?" Al
asked, starting to sound concerned.

Again, she shook her head. "You mean all this time
you and - ? What about Bob? Is he one, too?" The
prospect added another uncomfortable dimension to
the situation.

"No, Cindy. He is as human as you are," Al replied.

246           Mercedes Lackey £s?Aferfe Shepherd

"Which takes me to another aspect of our existence.

The children."

Cindy suppressed a shudder and tried to make her
expression as bland as possible.

Al seemed to read her mind, which did nothing to
put her at ease. "No, no. Nothing sinister. We have a
low birth-rate, and we treasure litde ones, - perhaps
more so than you humans do. We often step in to save
them from a variety of fates, from drowning, from fires,
from falling. We always have." His expression
darkened. "Sometimes we save them from their blood-
parents. Sometimes we save them from other things,
like Brother Joseph."

Cindy relaxed a litde. For some reason, she believed
him. Well, why not? There was certainly no other
reason for him to have come to her aid.

"Children are most precious to us," Al explained, his
compassion reaching her through her fog of con-
fusion. "For reasons that extend beyond survival of die
human race. Despite some ways we have been
received, we need you." He chuckled a little.
"Children. You could say that it is the way we are
hardwired. No one really knows why. The children we
save do grow up, of course - and if it is their parents
that we save them from, it is often to other parents,
loving ones, that they are given. It is true, we have
human helpers, like Bob, who help us fit into society
and also help keep us concealed - and some of those
were human children who were so badly hurt that we
were die only folk fit to raise diem."

"Hurt, how?" she asked. Fear began again. Would
dlis creature saveJamie only to take him away again?

"Abuse - profound abuse. Physical, emotional -"
He gave her a hard look. "Sexual. You might not
believe some of the stories. You would not want to. For
some children, there is no way that they will find
healing in your world. For them, there is ours - a

WHEELS OF FIRE

world from their fairy-tale books, a world where nc
harm from 'die real world' can intrude to touch them
A place where they can learn diat there is such a diing
as love and caring, and where they can leam to defend
diemselves so diat die real world can never hurt diem
again."

Cindy thought about one of the women who had
shared the shelter with her - a woman with three
young girls, and all four of them testing posidve foi
syphilis. Only when the doctor had confirmed die fact
- and confirmed that the children had been brutally,
repeatedly, molested - did the woman believe what
diey had been trying to tell her about their fadier.

Their father. She had wanted to throw up. But-
wasn't that the same thing that Jim had allowed
Brodier Joseph to do toJamie's mind?

She swallowed. "All right," she said, "But what about
other kids? The ones who've got at least one good
parent?"

"LikeJamie?" He looked at her solemnly. "We would
have helped as soon as we realized there was a prob-
lem. Your husband: classic case of abusive alcoholism.
That alone would have qualified your son for our help,
if you are in any doubt. But this Brodier Joseph diing,
that goes well beyond what we would consider accept-
able. I can only hope that when we retrieve Jamie, he
will be able to forget what has happened to him. If he
cannot forget, then we can help him deal with it intel-
ligendy. A child must never be underestimated."

They regarded each other in silence for several
moments, and die refrigerator started making sounds
she hadn't nodced before.

"You must believe me when I say that we only want
to help your son, and to return him to you." There
was a distinct emphasis on that last that comforted
her. "It is only a matter of time before I think we can
accomplish this."

248 Mercedes Lackey 6f Mark Shepherd

Cindy slumped against the backrest. There it was.
Things hadn't changed that much. At least Al wasn't
something from another planet, or from hell. She still
didn't know how to handle the elf thing, though....

Never mind. The important thing wasJamie.

As incredible as the story sounded, she knew, some-
how, that it was all true. She'd seen the eyes, the ears -

The little silver lady sashayed across the floor
towards Al and tapped his knee. He looked down and
handed the creature a plastic cup filled with Gatorade.
She took it, then hip-waggled her way to Cindy's knee
and offered it.

Trying not to lose her jaw, she accepted the cup, and
the silver lady sauntered back into the bathroom, hips
swaying gently from side to side.

Well, there's nothing wrong vnth his hormones, if that's what
he keeps around instead ofpmups....

"Is that-" She faltered.

He raised an eyebrow. "Magic? Yes. It is."

She swallowed a large gulp of Gatorade.

It could have been worse, she thought. He could have
been a giant bug in a man-suit, or something....

She saw then that his eyes had gone back to the slit-
pupiled green they had been when she barged in and
sensed that Al was presenting himself now as exactly
what he was, and that he was no longer holding back
anything that would distort the true image of himself.
She noted, idly, that his ears continued to protrude
through his hair even as it dried straight, and remem-
bered that she had interrupted his grooming.

"I should let you get back to what you were doing
when I came in." Her eyes fell on his right ear. It was
hard to resist. "You don't mind if I - ?"

Al's eyes shifted momentarily, as if he was about to
object. Then he smiled warmly.

"Go ahead. But don't pull on it. It's very sensitive."

Gently, she touched the tip of the pointed ear,

WHEELS OF FIRE              249

relieved for some odd reason that it was, indeed, real. It
sprang back, as soft and as warm as any human's. This
simple act of touching the feature reassured her that
she wasn't going mad after all.

"This is going to take some getting used to," she said.
"I mean, it's not every day that I meet an elf."

He chuckled. "It's not every day that I get to
acquaint a human with our species."

Cindy frowned. "You make it sound like you're from
another planet or something. Really, now, you don't
look that much different than a human." She blushed,
seeing that she was flirting, although indirectly. What is
it about him, even with the pointed ears, that is so compelling?
Christ, if we ever had children they would probably all look like
little pmk Yodas. But then, you know what they say about men
with long, pointed ears... or was that noses?

"You're being kind," Al said, and Cindy looked at him
askance. Ishereadmgnymmd, too? No, thatwas to something I
said earlier. But what if he can read minds? "But there is a
great deal of difference between our two races. It
wouldn't be wise to introduce you to all of these things
now, especially the things we can do. It has already been
quite a shock, whether or not you realize it."

"Of course I realize it," she objected, but she knew
her words were falling on deaf, if pointed, ears. Cindy
couldn't help but notice her sudden calmness and the
distinct feeling of somehow being manipulated into
losing her fear.

But then her thoughts returned toJamie, and the
darkness came again, swooping over her like a raven
that had been waiting in the shadows to rouse her
depression. And for all of Al's self-assured words, his
magic, she couldn't see how she was going to find him,
much less get him back.

Are we really any closer to saving him from those crazies?
Can little magic statues do anything besides hold blow-dryers?
All that talk about saving children, and holding them in such

250 Mercedes Lackey 6f Mark Shepherd

esteem - that's nice, but iffamie's in there, there's an an >
between us and him! How can this eWreally help us when t ^
county Sheriff can't get inside that compound?

"Well. Now that we've got that out of the way," Al
said, though Cindy was not entirely certain what that
was, "there are some things you could tell me that
would help me locate your son. Unusual things. Tb
things someone else might not believe."

"Like?" she asked.

Al waved a hand in the air. "Psychic experience
Sleep walking. Talking in his sleep, especially if'"
seemed as if he was having a lucid conversation with
someone. Anything at all?"

"You're talking about the Praise Meeting," she said
in an accusatory tone she was trying not to use. "Th :

weird stuff that happened there."

He shrugged. "That and, well, other things. SimiL
experiences that may have happened at home. But i
you like, you can start with the Praise Meeting."

She sighed and straightened up, looking down a
her hands while she gathered her thoughts. Thoug';

her first impulse was to reject the notion, she kne-v
that, in a way that only Al would know, this was impor
tant. He mentioned other abilities. Could that be why th^
monster wanted Jamie in the first place? "Like I'd told you
didn't want to go to that church thing at all."

Al shook his head. "No, not the first meeting yo7'
went to. I mean the time Brother Joseph did the chan
neling. You told me about it, but I don't know if you
were there or not"

"I wasn't. That was the time -he -just took o^
with my son." She had difficulty mentioning hsn
ex-husband by name, so she didn't. "When they goi.
back, Jamie was terrified -"

Something suddenly occurred to her, a connectii
she might never have made ifAl hadn't mentioned
psychic phenomena and Jamie in the same breath

WHEELS OF FIRE               251

"That's really strange. Now that I think of it, that
reminds me of a time a few months earlier, when Jamie
had a high fever. He was having hallucinations, or
something close to it, when his fever spiked. The doc-
tor only recommended Tyienol and bed rest, so that's
what we did. He was sick for a week, but during all that
time there were a few - I don't know - incidents. And
after that, after he got well, he kept having these
experiences. In his sleep."

Al's interest sharpened visibly. "Could you tell me a
litde more about these?"

Cindy paused, suddenly realizing how much she
had tried to forget what had happened, as if by forget-
ting them she could make them unhappen. If it hadn't
been for the channeling and the whole sick mess with
the Chosen Ones, she suspected she would have
managed to dismiss them from her mind already.

She shrugged, unpleasantly aware that her hands
were shaking. "His father wasn't- interested. He kept
saying Jamie would grow out of it. But I would hear
him at night, sometimes crying, sometimes singing to
himself, or even talking to some imaginary person in
the room. At least, I thought it was imaginary. Some-
times I could rouse him awake, but on most others, I
just couldn't wake him. He would go on, crying or sing-
ing or talking. This was after the fever, you see, so I was
a little worried that there might have been brain
damage or something, but the doctor said it would
pass, it was just a part of growing up. And Jim said the
doctor knew what he was doing and that I was being
overprotecdve."

"What was he saying?" Al said, leaning closer.

She shook her head, helplessly. "It was in a different
language. French, sometimes. I think it was French. I
don't speak French, so I don't know. Sometimes he
sang things that sounded like hymns in some other
language. Most of the time it just didn't make any sense

252 Mercedes Lackey SSMark Shepherd

at all. When I asked him about it the next day, about
the things he was dreaming, he would tell me the most
frightening stories about dragons or lizards, and about
castles and these huge mobs of people, women,
children, knights, all marching endlessly across a
wilderness. Going somewhere, except they never got
there. I never understood the details. But then, dreams
are like that, aren't they? Just sort of vague and flow-
ing, like someone is pulling what you want just out of
reach."

Al's expression had changed, but she couldn't put
her finger on what it had changed to. It was a little
creepy, seeing him staring like that, with those strange
eyes - brilliant emerald green eyes.

"Anything else?" he asked, after a bit.

Cindy thought about it The memory popped out of
nowhere with the force of a blow, nearly hitting her
between the eyes.

"How could I have forgotten?" she cried out, with an
intensity that made Al visibly start. "The day the school
called me! Jim was at work, I guess, and so I had to go
to the school. Jamie had gotten sick or something, they
wouldn't tell me exactly what had happened over the
phone." She shook her head and put the cup of
Gatorade on the table; her hands were shaking too
hard to hold it "When I got to the nurse's office, he was
just sitting in a chair, staring straight ahead, not even
noticing me, it looked like. The principal, he was there,
and first thing he said was he thought Jamie was on
drugs or something. I told him that was ridiculous, that
Jamie would never have done something like that. I
told him we never had anything in the house stronger
than aspirin - the principal just gave me this look, but
he gave up, since he didn't have any proof anyway. But
the way Jamie acted, I could see why he would think
that. He was just staring off into the distance, like one
of those little kids I'd seen on TV that was in one of the

WHEELS OF FIRE               253

houses that got hit by SCUDs in Israel, like he'd seen
something and was too afraid to talk about it."

As she babbled on, Cindy wondered why in the world
she had forgotten that. The incident had scared the life
out of her, and she'd taken Jamie straight to the doctor.
The doctor hadn't been able to find anything, either -
he'd said something about "juvenile epilepsy" and that
Jamie would probably never have a fit like that again....

It was almost as if something had come in and taken
the memory away, and it was only just now returning,
bit by bit. Was it was coming back only because Al had
asked her for details?

Was I trying to hide it from myself, and trying not to remem-
ber it? Or is it that something else didn't want me to? She
wasn't being paranoid - not after elves and magic
statues, and God only knew what was being done to
Jamie. This wasn't the Twilight Zone. Or even if it was,
she was in it, and she'd better start handling it.

"How long ago was that?" Al asked, piercing the
silence that had fallen between them.

"Last year," Cindy said automatically, though on a
conscious level she wasn't sure when it was. "I can't
remember if it was before or after he got sick. Do you
think it's important?"

"Any information is important," the elf replied. "It
sounds like he went into a sort of trance." He began to
say something, but visibly held back. Realizing he was
probably withholding information about her son, she
felt a little prickle of anger rise up her spine.

The more Cindy talked, the more concerned Al
became about the whole situation. Her recollections of
what Jamie had said and done were too similar to his
own experiences - hundreds of years ago - to write
ofFto coincidence.

The boy is a medium. Has been, probably all his life. Perhaps
Brother Joseph, who has no real ability of his own, didn't

254 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

actually select him. Maybe he was only a middleman. Perhaps
something selected him, as a pipeline to a medium.

And those dreams about what could have been the
Crusades... what must have been the Peasant's Crusade....

• CHAPTER NINE

In perfect formation, the First Battalion of the
Junior Guard stood at attention, their assault weapons
held rigidly at their sides, eyes forward, chests out. The
tension was like a piano wire pulled taut, threading
through the boys' tense muscles, waiting to break.
Only moments before, just as they did at this time every
day, the battalion of boys had scurried onto the sand-
covered drill area in their underground bunker,
adjacent to the firing range.

It was the same battalion, the same uniforms, the
same weapons as yesterday. Only Joe was different.
And he felt the difference, coursing through his veins,
pulsing even at the ends of his fingers. He wondered
that they didn't see it, but there was no indication that
any of the boys noticed anything at all.

This was a routine drill, one they did every day. Joe
had been in charge of training the boys for months
now, drilling them every moment they weren't in the
Junior Guard School, learning the non-physical skills
they would need in the world of the New Order. His
drilling had paid off, and they had become a well-oiled
fighting machine, with a discipline that rivaled the
Guard itself. For weeks now Joe's battalion had been
the center of his life and the source of his pride -

And even after he began to doubt, at least the Junior
Guard had been a diversion from the insanity that sur-
rounded Jamie. Now, with his new vision of the way things
were, they were a source of personal embarrassment

But since it appeared that none of the boys was

256 Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

going to run out and denounce him, he did not dare
change so much as a single lift of an eyebrow. Eyes were
on him; Luke's for one. Probably others. Watching for
the least sign of difference, of dissension.

Of treachery? That was how they would see things.

"Who are we?" Joe screamed into the silence.

"The Junior Guard!" the battalion screamed back,
with voices that cracked with puberty, voices that were
deepening, and voices that were still high and tinny
with childhood. But the response became a single
sound, shaking the walls, reverberating down the con-
crete tunnels.

"Who do we protect?"

"God and Country!"

"Who else?"

"Brother Joseph!"

"Whofrom?"

"The Jew Pig Commie Enemy!"

"What do we train for?"

"Armageddon!"

"WHEN'S THAT GONNA HAPPEN?"

"REAL SOON!"

The ritual followed the same script they had all
memorized in their first day in the Guard. They
learned the routine while half asleep and stumbling
into formation during "surprise" drills in the middle of
the night. Joe remembered the faint puzzlement on
the boys' faces the first few times they repeated the
litany, as if they were shouting slogans they didn't really
grasp for reasons they didn't fully understand. But
now, Joe could see as he surveyed his creation, they
understood it all too well. The hate had become real.
They believed it. They lived for it. And it was all they
lived for; before friends, future, or family.

Brainwash complete, sir.

Today's drill took them outside, to the recendy com-
pleted obstacle course. The course itself was disguised

WHEELS OF FIRE               257

and camouflaged from the air. The ever-present
guards watched for aircraft, in particular a small plane
belonging to the Oklahoma Highway Patrol. When the
guards spotted anything in the air, even an innocuous
ultra-light, someone would blow a signal whistle and
the battalion would go into hiding, concealing them-
selves in oil barrels and fox holes. Normally Joe would
be keenly aware of anything that might be flying
around in the air, right down to the ever-present
turkey vultures, but today he just didn't care. The daily
drill was a responsibility, nothing more. Meaningless.
Less than meaningless. The enemy, he now knew,
existed only in someone's fevered imagination.

His father's.

He hadn't slept last night, either. This wasn't terribly
unusual, since he had to be up for the late-night surprise
drills, and after the drills it would often be late enough that
he wouldn't bother going back to bed, instead filling his
dme with five-kilometer runs and weighuifting. He had
found a way to summon a second wind out of habit, but he
was glad he wasn't required to run the course.

Joe watched the boys crawl under barbed wire, climb
up ropes and over walls, run through tires and snake
through conduit. And none of it made any sense
anymore. We're doing this for nothing, he thought in dis-
gust that sat in the back of his throat and made every
swallow a bitter one.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a familiar shape.
Luke.

He stood at the corner of the obstacle course, and all
evidence showed that he had only recendy awakened;

he yawned frequently and had the rumpled, dis-
gruntled look he generally had until lunch. Father must
have given him time to sleep, Joe mused. He never sleeps
when Father is awake. He found it disturbing, though,
that Luke was here watching the Junior Guard. Is he let-
ting me know that he's watching me ?

258           Mercedes Lackey 6f Mark Shepherd

The more he considered this, the more it made
sense. Joe caught him making furtive glances in his
direction, which Luke quickly diverted when their eyes
made accidental contact. Then Joe saw him nod
towards one of the guards in the tower. The guard
returned the nod, then began scrutinizing the area
where Joe was.

He's having them keep an eye on rue, too, Joe realized.

Dismaying, but not, after all, surprising. Unless -

For a paranoid moment the boy considered the pos-
sibility that bis father could be reading his mind. After
all, the "gift" had to come from somewhere! What if his
father had known, all this time -

He mentally ran through everything that had hap-
pened so far, and his panic subsided. They were only
reading the signs, he finally decided. There was nothing
supernatural about it. My father is still a fake.

Still, it was unnerving to be watched so blatantly. He
had hoped to be able to sneak away and get more food
toJamie, but as he stood there, watching the watchers,
the flaws in that half-formed plan became evident. For
one thing, it would not solve the overall problem.
Jamie was a tool, one his father was going to use until it
broke; and the boy seemed well on his way to breaking.
He might be able to get him some more food today, but
what about the next day, next week? How long before
every opportunity, every chance was cut off? Not long,
with Luke in charge.

And that didn't solve the real problem, because
meanwhile his father was using him to talk with that
godawful thing, whatever it was.

That wasn't the last of his problems, either. The drug
dealing had also begun tugging at his attention, and he
found that he could no longer look the other way and still
have anything like a conscience. He taught the Junior
Guard that drugs were poison - and meanwhile, his
father sold the stuff to kids no older than these.

WHEELS OF FIRE               259

But with all of these eyes following him now, there
wasn't much he could do about the drug ring, or Jamie.

As a child, he had toyed with the idea of running
away. That had been when his father first began taking
notice of his son, attempting to mold him into a little
miniature version of himself. He resisted, at first-
after all, so much of what the public schoolteachers
taught him ran against everything his father preached
- but obeying his father was just too much a part of
him to resist. Finally he accepted his father's word com-
pletely, and whatever urge he'd had to run away
seemed like the most treasonous insanity.

That had been many years ago, when he was a child
of fourteen or fifteen. When I didn't know any better. But
now he was an adult, responsible for his own actions.
He couldn't hide behind "my father said" and "my
father told me to" any longer. And there was another
person involved, a kid, an innocent; someone who was
going to die, perhaps even the same way Sarah died.
That, he knew after last night, was something he could
never live with.

If he could not summon the strength or the means to
help Jamie from within the camp, he would have to go
outside for the help. He knew enough about the out-
side world to realize that, once he had gone to the
government, there would be no turning back. With the
drugs involved, he suspected they would be all too will-
ing to help rescue the boy in trade for busting the drug
ring.

Maybe he could strike a deal.

He blinked, and for a moment his sight blurred. Too
little, too late? he wondered. Still, if I don't do something
now, there won't be a chance to do anything at all. Luke's ready
to get nd of me. It won't be long before he succeeds. And then
where will Jamie be?

Then came another horrible thought. What will hap-
pen to him if I can't get him help? I don't have any real

260 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

evidence to show anyone -just what I can tell them. That little
bit of food I brought him was the first thing he'd eaten m a long
time, and if I'm gone no one else will be here to help him.

Meanwhile, the Junior Guard ran through their
paces like perfect little robot soldiers. When the exer-
cise was complete, Joe summoned then dismissed the
First Battalion. For a brief but oddly sad moment, he
wondered if this really was the last time he would ever
lead them in exercises. If he did leave, these boys which
he had helped convert into fighting and hating
machines would have to come to their own conclusions
about the Chosen Ones, their beliefs. Brother Joseph.
Perhaps, he hoped, it wasn't too late for them to
change. Would the defection of their leader make them
think - or make them decide that Satan had cor-
rupted him and vow that the Evil One would never
touch them - closing their minds off forever?

As the battalion filed back towards the bunkers,
shouting a cadence his mother would have taken
extreme exception to, Luke gestured for him to come
here. The gesture seemed calculated to annoy him. It
was as if Luke was ordering a dog.

Joe knew he was tired and tried to get beyond his
own foul mood when he walked up to Luke. Don't let
him get to you, he told himself. You're tired, you're hungry,
and it'd be easy for him to make you say something stupid. And
he knows it. He's trying to get your goat, you know he is.

But as he came closer, he sensed something different
about the man. The sneer was a little more pronounced,
smug. Luke stood in a particularly haughty pose, and
there was dark laughter in his eyes.

Something happened, Luke thought. He's talked with
Father about last night, must have. Maybe it's too late for me to
do anything about Jamie. He wanted to blame the weak-
ness he felt in his knees just then on his lack of sleep,
but it was fear, and he knew it.

"Brother Joseph wants to speak with you right now,"

WHEELS OF FIRE               261

Luke said, and it sounded like he was suppressing
laughter. With great difficulty. "Boy, kid, you sure have
screwed up."

"Where is he?" Joe replied, completely deadpan, as
if Luke's words hadn't made any impression on him.

"In his office," Luke said - a trap, since Joe knew
"the office" could have meant any of three separate
places.

So he asked the right question instead of charging off
by himself. "Which one?" he asked. "The one near the
meeting hall, the security booth, or the conservatory?"

"Near the security booth," Luke said brightly. "He
knows everything."

"No," Joe corrected, meeting Luke's eyes direcdy.
"He doesn't. At least not yet. That can always change.
Remember, I was only thirteen at the time. A little bay."

This last statement actually seemed to frighten the
man, as if it was a blow that had been completely unex-
pected. Luke blinked once, then stepped backwards. As
if he forgot all about last night, Joe thought. I'll bet this isn't
as bad as he's making it out to be.

It was, however, an effort to keep from shaking. He
had been called before Brother Joseph often, as he was
a high ranking officer as well as his son, in that order.
Each dme in the past it had always been an experience
with varying degrees of unpleasantness. But today -
well, he'd rather have faced a root canal.

What did Luke say to him?

Joe realized that Luke was accompanying him. "Did
he say to escort me?"

"Why, no," Luke sneered. "We're just one big happy
family. Got something to hide?"

"No, I don't. But you are a soldier of the Chosen
Ones." He gave Luke a level stare and felt a brief flush
of success when the man couldn't meet his eyes for
more than a second. "Seems to me you have dudes. I
just thought you might have more important things to

262 Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

do, like see toJamie. Who do you have guarding him
now?"

"That's got nuthin' to do with you no more," Luke
said. "You'll see."

Joe shrugged and walked on, pushing the pace, not
looking to see if Luke kept up. Short and stocky, the
older man had to walk nearly double-time to keep up
with him. They entered the dimness" of the complex,
accompanied by the familiar whirr, whirr of cameras
panning across them as they passed. He's watching me,
Joe thought, with certainty. They all are.

They came to the main security station, the mother
of the smaller one Joe had operated the evening
before. Do they know I was there? he wondered, but he
had no time to fabricate an excuse. Or - did he?

They entered a room full of video screens much
larger and more numerous than the little ones he'd
used at the backup station. Along one wall was a variety
of radio equipment, through which senior members of
the Guard monitored police, emergency and aircraft
transmissions. One officer was listening to a short-wave
broadcast from Russia, another monitoring what
sounded like an African station. Since neither of these
were in English, Joe wondered why they had it piped
through. No one in the Chosen Ones spoke a foreign
language, or at least admitted to it, for fear of being
labeled a spy or a witch.

His father was standing in the middle of the room,
arms crossed, eyes narrowed. He appeared to be dis-
pleased with everything around him, but then as far as
Joe knew, he always looked that way.

"Good afternoon, sir," Joe said, his voice cracking.
The fear he was trying to hide came through anyway.
He likes it when Fm scared, he reasoned. That way he knows
I'm still under his thumb.

Brother Joseph did not respond. He seemed to feign
an interest in the screens, which displayed nothing

WHEELS OF FIRE               263

particularly unusual; empty hallways, views of the
grounds above. One showed the elementary school
class, though Joe had no idea why. He cautiously
looked for a screen withJamie and saw none, although
some were turned off. The silence continued, and Joe
waited patiently for his father to acknowledge his
presence.

In his own time, he did. He picked up a computer
printout, turned it around, and held it up to Joe.

"This says you were in the auxiliary security station
south this morning around two A.M. Care to tell me
why, soldier?"

Joe stared at the report that he hadn't expected for
days, and at first could think of absolutely nothing to
say. What was I doing in there at two AM. ? You see. Dad, I
was just trying to liberate Jamie, see, and take him to the cops
and tell them everything. No problem, okay? His eyes
blurred momentarily. After that, I was helping put afire
out, he thought, and he seized upon that as an inspira-
tion. His father couldn't possibly know the exact timing
of everything that had happened last night. If he just
rearranged events a little -

"First, I had checked the storage area nearby
because there were lights on down there, which
there shouldn't have been at that hour. It was Luke
and Billybob; they said they were guarding Jamie,
so I started to leave, but there was a disturbance,
and I smelled fire," Joe said calmly. "I was near the
station. I entered it to examine the security cameras,
to see if the detectors had picked up anything or if it
was just someone sneaking a smoke. Once I was in
there, I saw that there was a fire somewhere in the
quadrant - and even more important, I saw that
Jamie had been left unguarded, since Luke and Bil-
lybob had gone to neutralize the fire. It seemed to
me that the fire might move into his room. In order
to preserve our assets I took it upon myself to break

264 Mercedes Lackey 6fMark Shepherd

him free and move him clear of the area, to some-
where secure and safe, where we could be found
easily or get out if the fire started to spread."

His father stared at him for a long time. His expres-
sion then was totally unreadable.

After what seemed like an eternity he cleared his
throat. "That's what Luke here tells me. I just wanted
to hear it from you first. Remember next time, thai
whenever you enter a security station, you must fill out
a report describing why you had to enter the station.
File it promptly with the watch commander."

"Yes, sir." Joe waited for something else to drop, but
soon it became evident that nothing would. Other thing?
seemed to be on Brother Joseph's mind, and Joe glancec
over at Luke, who appeared to be disappointed.

"I've been thinking about our new security branch,"
Brother Joseph finally said. "For some time now we
have been lacking in some means to protect oui
organization from internal threats. I know, our admis-
sion standards are quite high, but there's no way to tell
when Satan might infiltrate and sway one of our own.
It's happened before. It will be an internal affairs mat-
ter, investigating and prosecuting those who veer from
the one true path."

Joe sighed inwardly. Now that he had escaped the
trap Luke had set for him, all he could feel was - dred.
Fine. He brought me all ihe way into the security booth to tell me
that the position he once promised me is going to Luke. Swell.
Anything else you'd care to rub into my face while I'm here? It'll
save time and trouble to go ahead and get it over with now.

"And it's been a tough decision, but I've narrowed it
down to one." His eyes softened a bit and looked at Joe
with what appeared to be admiration. "Son, how
would you like to take the post? I've had you in mind all
along, but I wanted to be fair to the rest of the officers.
Luke here was a close second, but after hearing what
you did last night, and the smart snap decisions you

WHEELS OF FIRE               265

made, I've decided to make you the next head of Inter-
nal Security."

Joe was speechless. From Luke, who was standing
off to his right, he heard gurgling sounds. Then the
noises turned to grunts, which further articulated to:

"But-But-But-"

Brother Joseph nodded with something approach-
ing sympathy. "I know, Luke, this is a real
disappointment. But I know you'll take this graciously.
Like a man! You're still important. You're still in charge
of that other little project we talked about."

Other little project, Joe thought briefly, but he was still
too flabbergasted for it to really register. He's going to
make me the head of Internal Security after all Luke must have
been telling him. Does this mean he trusts me after all, or is this
just another elaborate test? Look at him. He's handing me the
post in front of witnesses, and. if this is a trick, Luke doesn't
know about it. Sounds like he's about to piss his pants!

"But -" Luke said again, but Joe's father didn't
seem to hear him.

"Another thing," Brother Joseph said. "Any idea
what caused all that ruckus last night? That little fire
wasn't the only disturbance, as I'm sure you know."

"No, I don't. Perhaps it was the work of Satan," Joe
responded automatically, not certain if he believed the
words or not. "From what I saw in the security room, it
all seemed to happen at once, power failures, cameras
going out, pipes breaking, fires - I was concerned
withJamie's well-being and safety. Maybe - I don't
know, maybe Satan wants to get at him so we can't
channel the Sacred Fire anymore."

His father gave him a funny look at that. "Perhaps.
Perhaps you're pushing that part of your responsibility a
little too far there." He smiled benignly. "Since you are
now a senior officer, let me show you your new quarters."

Joe had little to say as they walked a long corridor to
the adjacent quadrant, then went up one floor to a

266 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

wide, carpeted hallway that announced, with flam-
boyance and no subtlety at all, rank. At the end of the
hallway was a set of flags, one American, the other, a lit-
tle larger and taller, of the Sacred Heart. Not the Flag,
that one stayed in the Meeting Hall; this was a copy.
Brother Joseph unlocked a huge oak door, one of
several along the hallway. Slowly, majestically, it swung
open, like the gate to a castle.

Joe realized, on entering, that he hadn't really
known how well the officers of the Guard lived. Now
he did, and he was amazed at the luxury and opulence
he saw here. Carpeting, track lighting, a computer ter-
minal, presumably one directly linked to the main
computer, and a big screen TV stood against one wall.
In the corner was a small kitchen, with every modern
convenience including a microwave. The place looked
and smelled newly remodeled.

Luke was standing in the doorway. "But you
promised me this one!" he wailed, but his words
apparently went unheard.

"In here you have an added feature that the others
don't," Brother Joseph said, leading him to the
bathroom. Or that's what he thought it would be; when
he turned the lights on, it looked like something out of
ancient Rome. "A Jacuzzi, just a bit smaller than my
own." And indeed it was, rising out of the middle of the
room on a pedestal, sun-ounded by plants and Roman
columns. "But no hanky panky," his father said, wink-
ing. "This is for you alone. After a long day of drill, it's
good for your muscles. It'll help you keep in shape."

They walked back into the bedroom, where they
found a huge antique bed with a canopy. "This was
your bed in Atlanta, father," Joe protested, but his
objections were a bit feeble. He couldn't deny that he
had wanted digs like these all along, but never thought
his father would consider him worthy enough. Within
a few minutes, all that had changed.

WHEELS OF FIRE               267

"I will have a few privates in the Guard help you
move," Brother Joseph said, watching him with an odd
expression on his face. As if even this gave him power
over his son.

That was too much. "No, please, father. Let me get
some help from my Junior Guard battalion...."

"You will not do that," Brother Joseph said fiercely.
"They are no longer your responsibility. You are an
officer now, with full rank of lieutenant."

"Lieutenant?" Joe said, confused. That was jumping
rank, something that just didn't happen. "But why?"

"Because you are my son," his father replied. "And
you will be treated as such. Provided, of course, you
remember where you stand in the organization." He
turned to leave the room, then said, as much to Luke as
to Joe, "I have the power to appoint and promote
whomever I wish. The Chosen Ones belong to me first,
and God second. Do not ever forget that. That applies
to both of you." He hesitated at the doorway, then said,
"There's something else I must show you. Come."

As Brother Joseph led them to yet another surprise,
somewhere deep within the bowels of the under-
ground, Joe tried to cope with his world turning upside
down. He didn't think much about where they were
being led. All his attention was taken up by these latest
changes - not only unexpected, but unprecedented.

What got into him? Shoot. An hour ago I was thinking
about running away, but with all this, who could? Head of
Internal Security...

Now that he thought about it, he wasn't even
qualified for something like that. He was just a foot sol-
dier. It was so unlikely that it roused his suspicions....

But his father had said that it would be an easy post,
more figurehead than anything, unless a situation
came up that would need his special attention. Maybe it
wasn't so unlikely. After all, Brother Joseph was going

268 Mercedes Lackey ^Maik Shepherd

to put Luke in charge, and Luke didn't know shit from
shampoo.

Nevertheless, figurehead or not, this new job meant
rank. It meant being promoted over Luke's head. And
the roam! It's amazing! Joe's present room was little more
than a cubicle in a dormitory, with a simple bed on an
unfinished wooden floor, a table, a lamp and a dresser.
A little more than most of the Chosen Ones had, but
still pretty basic. / think I could get wed to this....

ButJamie-

He tried to keepJamie, andJamie's danger, in the
front of his mind, but with the sudden change in his
status, it was becoming more difficult. He had a taste
of the things that only the elite enjoyed. For a
moment he was dismayed at how easily he had been
manipulated -

But it was a short-lived dismay.

Now I can helpJamie more, if I can sneak around my
father's back. That makes more sense than running off. It
would be different tfhe hadn't promoted me, but that changes
everything. And the more he thought about it, he knew
he couldn't run away. What would he have on the out-
side? Nothing. He didn't even have a high school
diploma, at least not one this state would consider valid.
There were no assurances that anyone would even lis-
ten to him out there, and given the Chosen Ones'
security, he knew he wouldn't be able to change his
mind once he defected. They would know, immedi-
ately, what he had done. In fact, they would probably
assign someone to "eliminate" him. They had done it
before, killing a former member who knew too much
about the organization. And the man they'd killed
wasn't even an officer.

Shoot, they killed Sarah's parents, just 'cause they tried to
run off. I wouldn't have a chance.

He would have to contend with Luke as best he
could. It would be easier to evade Luke than the entire

WHEELS OF FIRE               269

army. Besides, with this new and unexpected change in
status, he doubted Luke would come near him now.

In fact, Luke wasn't even a real threat - no matter
what he'd promised before. In order to rationalize kill-
ing him, Luke had depended on proving some
questionable, if not treasonous, behavior. Now that Joe
was head of Internal Security, that would be more dif-
ficult, if not impossible, to do. The game had turned
completely around, this time in Joe's favor.

Why screw everything up by running away ?

As he thought these things over, he had paid little
attention to where his father was leading them, or what
Luke was doing. Now Joe glanced over at him, walking
a few feet behind his father, and saw the characteristic
smug grin on the man's face. Whatever was up now, it
was going to be nasty enough to revive Luke's spirits
entirely.

Now what? ]oe thought, but had no time to puzzle
over his expression. They had apparently arrived at
their destination.

His father turned toward him with a sanctimon-
iously sober expression. "What you're about to see,
Joe, is going to be hard to take. But just remember, it's
God's will. To interfere with God's will is to do the will of
Satan. And that we cannot have."

Then, from behind a set of double doors, he heard
the whimpering of a child in ternble fear.

Janae?

The doors opened, as if by themselves. Then he saw
a disheveled, drunken man holding the door open by a
crossbar.

"It's been nearly thirty minutes," the man said, visibly
swaying as he struggled to stand up. Joe recognized him
asJamie's father. "Should we let him out now?"

Joe could barely see into the darkness of the room,
which he now saw was a large storage facility, one of the
newer ones. He smelled the damp odor of the fresh

270 Mercedes Lackey 6f Mark Shepherd

plaster and caulking. He hesitated before stepping
inside, knowing that he really wasn't going to like what
he saw. If Brother Joseph had warned him -it was
going to be bad, real bad.

Behind him, Luke laughed. Brother Joseph stood in
the doorway and beckoned all of them to enter.

The room was dark, except for a few Colemanlantems
sitting on the floor, illuminating two regular Guards who
stood at attention. Something that appeared to be a huge
box wasstandinginthemiddleofthe large storeroom. But
there was a dark object in the box, and when the whimper-
OTg'came fromit, he knewwhoitwas.

"Jamie?" Joe asked, but he was more confused than
afraid, since he couldn't quite see the boy or what was
happening to him. Then his eyes adjusted, and the
darkness retreated.

Jamie lay in the box - or at least, Joe figured he was
lying in the box, though all he could see was part of the
boy's head. Just the mouth and nose. The rest was
covered with an enormous helmet. And the kid's body,
from the neck down, was buried in some kind of white
substance that looked soft.

Held this way, Jamie could breath, but he couldn't
hear, see, or feel anything. If they'd blocked his nostrils
with nose-plugs, and they might well have, he wouldn't
be able to smell anything, either.

A sensory deprivation box -Joe recognized it from
a PBS documentary. It was cruder than the one he'd
seen; this one used foam or something, rather than gel
or warm water. It didn't look cruel - but it was.
Grownups had trouble in the sensory deprivation box.
How could a little kid cope with it?

Joe immediately went for the box, but the two
Guards stood in his way, holding him back with their
assault weapons, denying passage.

Joe shook his head violently. This didn't make sense!
Why were they doing this to the kid?

WHEELS OF FIRE              271

"It was God's wish," Brother Joseph said simply,
walking closer, staring down at the suffering child the
way anyone else would look at a tree that needed prun-
ing. "I wouldn't worry. God will take care of him, if that
is His will"

"His will?" Joe said stupidly.

"God has asked me to do this in order to make the
boy even more malleable to His will. He has been
resisting of late. I heard the word of the Lord," Brother
Joseph said, casting his eyes up in false piety. "So I
obeyed. The Lord moves in mysterious ways.' I'm cer-
tain the reason will become clearer, but until then I
must carry out the order he has given me, and only
me."

Jamie whimpered again; in that helmet, his ears
filled with white noise, he wouldn't even be able to hear
himself crying. Joe remembered whatJamie's father
said. Thirty minutes ? How long do they plan on keeping hm
inthere?

Joe turned and faced his father. "May I respectfully
ask how this could possibly help us? He was already
communicating with the ... Holy Fire," he said, with
an effort. "The latest channeling was the most success-
ful of all. Might this push him over the edge? He is still
mortal. Father. Might this overstep the bounds of mor-
tality?" When he finished the sentence, he found he
was shaking. His voice, too, betrayed some of his revul-
sion.

Luke had moved closer to Brother Joseph. Sil-
houetted in the light of the hallway, the two bore a
striking resemblance to an evil Laurel and Hardy.
Even though Brother Joseph's face was difficult to see
in the dim light, Joe could sense his father's frowning.
"I detect a note of protest to this situation, young man.
Perhaps you had better rephrase the question."

Joe wiped sweat that had beaded on his forehead.
Luke shuffled, coughed, and crossed his arms, as if trying

272           Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

to look important James, the boy's father, stumbled over
to a chair, where a bottle of whiskey was waiting.

"Is this deprivation supposed to help him in any
way?" Joe asked carefully. As if Jamie could take any more
abuse, he thought. Slowed till he's sick, and now this -

"Perhaps. If the Lord wants to take him, this would
be the time to do it. But I think not." Brother Joseph
was looking down again at the child in the box, but his
eyes were curiously unfocused. "Soon we will have
another channeling, and Jamie is again to be the tool.
This is, I suppose, a way to make him more receptive to
the Holy Fire."

As his father replied, speaking with vague boredom,
Joe realized that he had no intentions of letting Jamie
out any time soon. He's doing this because he enjoys it. He
likes the fact thatJamie's scared half to death. God didn't tell
him to do it, his own insanity did.

It was going to happen all over again, the same thing
that happened to Sarah, though perhaps in a slightly
different form. But the end would be the same. A short
struggle, then an unmarked grave in the sandy soil. Joe
glanced again at Jamie, although he knew the child
couldn't see him.

In his mind, their eyes met.

The boy squirmed, as if fighting the restraints. But
the movement was so slight, and lacking in energy, that
it was barely noticeable. Then he opened his mouth to
speak, and what came out was not a whimper of pain
but a whisper.

"Helpme."

"You'll receive all the help you'll need, little one,"
Brother Joseph said, with mock gentleness. 'Joshua,
take him out now. You, son, come with me."

Joe hesitated as he watched the guards moving
towards the tank, reaching for the straps on the helmet.

"Come with me now!" Brother Joseph ordered. Joe
flinched and followed his father out of the room.

WHEELS OF FIRE              273

"Luke, you stay with them, make sure Jamie is
returned to his new room. Remember, you're still in
charge of him. Don't let anyone else near him. That
includes our new head of Internal Security."

"Yes, sir," Luke said, snapping off a salute with a
toothy, mindless grin. "And thank you, sir. I won't let
you down."

"I certainly hope not," Brother Joseph said. The
statement, uttered without emotion, had an ominous
feel to it.

In shock, Joe followed his father out After Brother
Joseph closed the door behind them, he grabbed Joe
by the shoulder and spun him around with surprising
force.

"Now you listen to me, you little .s/^, and you listen
good," Brother Joseph said, his face only a few inches
from his son's. "I will not tolerate this attitude in any of
my men, especially from my son! You are of my flesh and
blood and you will obey me or suffer. It is dear to me that
you disapprove of my treatment of Jamie. Am I right?"

Weakly, Joe shook his head.

His father slapped him once, hard. Joe's face
snapped back at the impact. "Don't lie to me! You dis-
approve and I know it. That's why Luke is in charge of
Jamie. You are now in charge of Internal Affairs, and
that relieves you of any responsibility to the boy, do you
understand me? You will have nothing to do with
Jamie. You will not even look at Jamie. You will not be
permitted at any channeling, and the only Praise Meet-
ing you will be permitted to attend will be one in which
Jamie is somewhere else! You made the right decisions last
night, when we had the fire, but after that little exhibi-
tion of insubordination, I wonder if you really had my
best interests in mind. If you are caught trying to com-
municate or assist Jamie in any way, you will be
stripped of all rank and the privileges you now enjoy.
There is nothing to discuss. My word is final. If you

274 Mercedes Lackey Ssf Mark Shepherd

disobey, contradict or embarrass me in any way as a
ranking officer of the Favored Ones, you will be court-
martialed!"

Joe stared at his father, too numb with shock to feel
anything.

"Do you understand me?" Brother Joseph shouted,
spraying spittle in his son's face.

Joe did not know what to say, what to do, what to
think. He felt as if he was frozen in a block of ice; he felt
as if he was teetering on the brink of disaster, as if
merely breathing would violate some unspoken law.
Any answer could easily annoy his father further, so he
said nothing. Then, slowly, he reached up and wiped
the spit from his cheek.

His father seemed willing to wait forever for an
answer. Several long moments passed before Joe sum-
moned the courage to respond.

"Yes, I understand, sir," he said simply.

A faint, sardonic smile creased Brother Joseph's face.
He seemed, at last, satisfied. "Good. Then you are
dismissed."

Joe turned to leave, and had gone a few steps when his
father said, just loud enough to make him jump a little,
"Remember, son, you are now in a high profile position.
And you represent me, both as my officer and as my son.
I keep tabs on all of my officers, in particular the ones
recently promoted. This is common knowledge. You will
be watched. Closely. Do not embarrass me!"

Cindy, Al decided, as Andur crept into his usual spot
near the Chosen Ones' hideout, is beginning to suspect
something.

It had been an uneventful day; for much of it, Cindy
had seemed content to watch him, as if by watching she
could comprehend him. Coping with the revelation
that elves were real, Al had learned from past
experience, could take some time. She had spent some

WHEELS OF FIRE              275

time at the pay-phones, calling different law enforce-
ment agencies, using a tattered calling card that looked
ready to disintegrate at any moment. Nothing had
turned up, and she had returned to the Winnie in a
depressed and subdued state, where she scrubbed the
countertops again, obviously trying to keep herself
occupied. It was all he could do to keep from telling her
of his own progress.

It would complicate things, he decided. As much as I want
to ease her mind and tell her what I'm up to, to do so would
probably attract attention I just don't want now. This situation
is more volatile than anything I've handled before. The last
thing I want is for the Salamander to notice us! He felt a
twinge of hurt pride; the Salamander couldn't know
such things, could it? He was just flinching from an
imagined attack,scared. No way for an elven noble to
act Right?

She was getting wise to him. Earlier today was proof
of that. He'd thought he was going to be able to get
away from the racetrack in his elvensteed without her
seeing. Around the track Andur continued to be a
Miata, although there was a chance that by now Cindy
had guessed the truth about the beast. After all, there
were several hundred other people here at any given
time, and there was no point in breaking his cover now
just because one of them knew what he was! But as he
was trying to pull out of the parking lot, Cindy stood in
his path, keeping him from leaving.

"You're not going anywhere until you tell me where
you're going, buster," she announced sternly, though
Al detected a hint of nervousness. "Do you have a
harem of elf women somewhere to tickle your ears?"

Al sighed and Andur's motor idled down. "Don't I
wish," he replied, trying to keep the mood light.

She continued to block his path.

"You know, you are making quite a scene here," he
said conversationally. "People are going to nodce."

276 Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

"Let them notice," Cindy said, coining alongside the
Miata and sitting presumptuously on the driver's door,
looking down atAl. "They'll just think this is a lover's
quarrel. The word all over the track is that we've been
seen shacking up in that so-called 'Winnie.'"

"Well, you've got me there," Al said uncertainly,
unable to ignore the burning he felt in the tips ofhis ears.

"I do believe you're getting embarrassed," Cindy
noted with a hint of morose humor. "So. These little
trips you've been making at night have really piqued
my interest You want to tell me where you're going, or
should I really start making a scene?"

"Ah, no, don't do that," he said. He looked into her
determined face and felt something inside him sur-
render. "All right. You win."

Cindy smiled in victory, her eyebrows raised in ques-
tion marks.

"I'm meeting with other elves," he lied smoothly.
"It's like I'm going deep, deep, deep undercover, meet-
ing other agents, you see? We're following leads.
Nothing onJamie yet. Nothing solid."

"Hmm," she said. She didn't sound convinced. "Why
don't they meet you here?"

"Are you kidding?" he replied, slapping his forehead
for effect. "With all this metal? You forget what an
anomaly I am. Most elves shy away from human settle-
ments, even ones like this that are easy to blend into.
There's too much iron and steel around here. Their
magic doesn't work. We've got to meet secretly in the
woods and have conferences in the shadows of tall
oaks." He folded his arms resolutely and glanced stub-
bornly away. "It's an elven thing."

"I see," she said, but it wasn't really dear that she did.
Or that she really believed him. She stood, her expres-
sion still suspicious, that tiny touch of humor quite
gone. "I don't suppose I'm going to get more out of
you than that," she said. "It's better than nothing. You

WHEELS OF FIRE               277

let me know when you find out where Jamie is, okay?"

"I will," Al said, with more confidence. I'm not lying. I
don't know where he is... exactly.

He drove off, but he was aware other eyes following
him undl he was out of sight. And he wasn't at all com-
fortable.

Her determination is disturbing. She's getting desperate, as
any mother would. She suspects I'm being less than honest with.
her-

Well, she's right. I'm hiding things from her. She doesn't trust
me. Not that I blame her. Not only am I a stranger, I'm a
strange stranger.

Though it was not quite dark yet, he left Andur in his
hiding place and started through the woods towards
the Chosen Ones. A thing as evil as the Salamander will be
weakest at twilight, when the world of light crosses the world of
darkness, and all creatures of the Earth are somewhat be fud-
dled. At least, that's the theory. This Salamander could be one
of twilight, in which case my elven behind is nailed but good.

There weren't many guards this time of night, Al
noted with interest as he assumed his position in the
boughs of a great oak. His agenda included studying
the layout again, analyzing the damage he created the
last rime he was there, and fishing for dues toJamie's
predse whereabouts.

All this, and without the Salamander seeing me. Tricky stuff.
Perhaps if I had to I could disguise my magics as something
other than what they are. He remembered the girl-spirit
he had seen before, during the Praise Meeting. The
child certainly was busy. If she hadn't been distracted during
that out-of-body choreography she might have seen me. Let's see.
Is there a meeting tonight ?

He probed the surfaces of the Chosen Ones' build-
ings, finding a strange absence of activity. Not much
going on. No meeting, that's for certain. The hall they met in is
deserted. He probed further, finding a few guards
posted here and there through the complex. He

278            Mercedes Lackey £s? Mask Shepherd,

wondered if the entire lot had just vanished, when he
traced one of the power lines to the huge dining room
where nearly all of the Chosen Ones had congregated.
A swift scan of the people failed to turn up Janrie. But
then, he remembered, the boy was being kept else-
where, probably in isolation.

Al pulled back and thought this over. They seem to have
only a skeleton force of security during mealtime, which
appears to be around dusk. If we were to go in and get the boy, a
time like now would be perfect. He froze as a guard strolled
beneath the tree, and Alinor cursed himself for not
throwing up another spell to help conceal him. As soon
as the soldier passed, Al replaced the earlier night's
spell ofunnodcability.

He reached into the complex again, this time prob-
ing a bit deeper into the complex of tunnels and rooms,
a litde surprised to find areas he had missed previously.
This place is enormous, he thought. It could hold twice as
many as it does now, and with room to spare.

Al sent his mind following electrical lines down one
of the heavily modified areas and suddenly touched a
sensitive mind. Now he had eyes and ears! He firmed
his contact, and his elven blood chilled when he dis-
covered that the person was one of two walking with
Brother Joseph towards one of the huge storage
rooms. The other man besides Joseph was overweight
and radiated a strong sense of low intelligence, but the
one whose mind he had touched was much younger

and brighter.

And the younger one was very receptive to his
probe. Enough so that Al could ride along in his mind,
an unseen, unguessed passenger, eavesdropping on

everything.
As he listened to the conversation, he caught the

younger one's identity with a shock of surprise.

That's Brother Joseph's son. And he doesn't seem too
comfortable here.

WHEELS OF FIRE              279

They paused before a reinforced door - and when the
doors opened up, he could hardly believe whatwas inside.

If it had been hard for him to keep from flying to
Jamie's rescue before, it was doubly hard now. His
blood heated with rage, and he bit at the tree limb he
clutched like one of the old berserkers, to keep from
flinging himself down and taking them all on in single-
handed combat. He fought a silent batde with himself
just to keep his arms and armor from manifesting, a
batde that he came widiin a hair of losing.

Through Joe's eyes he saw die boy buried in a sen-
sory deprivation tank, a torture so barbaric he could
hardly believe the truth of his own senses.

He had to do something. Now.

His heart ached as he left Joe's mind and probed the
boy's mind for injuries. It was not as bad as he had
feared. The child was incredibly resilient; he had suf-
fered no ill-effects from the hallucinations he
experienced. Oddly enough, it was the dull gnawing of
unrelenting starvation that had helped keep him sane.
It was die one constant that the boy could cling to diat
he knew was real. There was some bruising from beat-
ings - but not as much as he'd feared. Evidently
Brodier Joseph had come to the conclusion early on
diat physical punishment would get him nowhere widi
dlischild.

lean send a healing to him, Al thought, grimly. It won't
do much for the starvation, but it will help with his other
problems.

The elf reached into the life-web all around him,
summoning the power needed to reach die child and
heal him, when he became aware of something. Some-
thing that flickered like a black fire, stirring from its
sleep. At first it was only at die periphery of his powers,
emerging from the darkness of its slumber, and he
couldn't quite identify it. But then, as it became fully
awake, he had no doubt as to what it was.

280 Mercedes Lackey £s? Mark Shepherd

If I send a healing to the boy, it will light me up like a
fireworks display to the Salamander's Sight! he thought in
dismay. Even now, with this simple contact, it might see me. If
it attacks me now -

He withdrew quickly, before the Salamander could
sense him - he hoped. If he attracted its attention he
could easily become history, of no help to the boy or his
mother. Alinor withdrew entirely into himself, letting
no betraying spark of Power leak past his shields. He
made himself as dark and invisible as the night that had
formed around him.

Hiding again. You'd better redeem yourself, Alinor, or your
long life will be miserable indeed....

He checked the area - with non-magical senses. A
few more guards had taken up positions nearby, but all
had the lethargic auras of men who have recently over-
eaten. Something else to note. The next shift isn't very alert.
Another time a move to liberate Jamie might be most successful.

He sent a tendril of energy beyond his shields, just
enough to see if the Salamander was there, but not
enough to give him away. The evil creature was out
there, but wasn't directing any energy his way; it seemed
more interested in the suffering child - and, oddly
enough, the drunken man who was watching him.

But there was something else moving within the
confines of the compound, a bright and energetic
something that instantly seized his attention. No, not
something - someone. And he had seen her before.

Thegirl.

He turned his attention from the "real" world to the
other world: the halfworld. There she was; a glimmer
of energy, of spirit, that was quiedy, diligendy watching
him. He had no doubts that she had spotted him long
before he sensed her, had seen him sitting there in his
precarious position in the tree in spite of the "expert"
shieldings he had put up.

And she knew when he'd seen her, too.

WHEELS OF FIRE               281

.•Who ane you?: she asked, impudendy. :A munchkm?:

Al didn't respond at once. He wanted to be certain
that their conversation was a private one. She drew
closer, to the edge of his shields, but no closer.

The nearer you are, he thought, widiout actually send-
ing the thought, the less likely that thing will overhear us.

As if reading his mind, she dropped a portion of her
own shields and stepped inside the safety of his.

.-Stay away from the monster,: she warned, casting a look
in the direction of die Salamander. :It doesn't see me, and I
don't want it to.:

:I don't either,: Al said, and relaxed. :Hey, you're pretty
smart. What's your name?:

Although she was only a few feet away, she was still a
spirit hovering on die edge of the real world, and her
image wavered from translucent to almost solid. She
still appeared to be leery of him, a heahhy caution.

Then again, to operate as a spirit in such close
proximity to the Salamander, and to remain
undetected, would require a long habit of caution. She's
been smart and cautious, or she wouldn't be here talking to me.
She would already have been consumed, drained to nothing
and sent to drift off until someone pulled her across to the Sum-
merlands.

"Sarah," she said. The reply was closer to speech
now dian the thought-message she had been sending;

widi such beings, Al knew, this usually meant a bridge
of trust had been established. She looked down now, a
little sad, perhaps embarrassed. Al was uncertain what
her next move would be as her features became fluid,
mistlike. She pointed down towards the Chosen Ones
buildings. "I used to live down there."

She's a ghost, and she knows it, Al thought, careful to
keep his thoughts to himself. This is the spirit who was
helping Jamie through the channeling. I need to get her to work
with me if I can manage it.

"What are you?" she repeated. "You can see me but

282 Mercedes Lackey £s? Mark Shepherd

you're sitting there in that tree. You're solid." Her tone
became accusatory. "You're alive. But not like most
people."

"I'm not," Al supplied. "Remember hearing about
elves when you were a... well, do you remember hear-
ing stories about elves?"

She stared at him for a long moment. "Naaaw," she
finally said. "Those were just fair)- tales. You can't be."

"Yes, I am," he said, then glanced down at a guard,
who was walking beneath the tree. The Chosen One
didn't look up, but his nearness still made Al nervous.
Silently, he held a finger to his lips. Why, he wasn't
sure; only he could see, or hear, the ghost

She looked at him with unmistakable derision. "So
which one are you? Sneezy, Sleepy, Stupid..."

Al shook his head. "Those are dwarves, not elves.
Anyway, those are make-believe. I'm the real thing."
He smiled, feebly. "You can call me Al."

"Huh. An elf named Al? Am I s'posed to believe that?
What are you doing sitting in the tree? Are you one of
them?" she continued in an accusatory tone, indicating
the guards below.

"No. No, I'm here for another reason," he said,
trying to conceal an aching heart from the girl. Just a
child. And now -

She said she was from down there. Was she a Chosen One
mice? She must have been, so how did she die?

Jamie - had she been his predecessor? She knew
about the Salamander - had she learned through
first-hand experience?

How could he possibly ask her that?

"You a spy?" she suddenly said, and Al could sense a
sudden surge of interest. "Like James Bond? Like in
the movies?"

Whatever happened to her, the Chosen Ones must be her
enemies, he thought, remembering the bizarre Praise
Meeting and the careful way she had shielded Jamie

WHEELS OF FIRE               283

from the worst the Salamander could do to him. She was
aiding Jamie during that channeling. She's good, too, because
the Salamander didn't move against her. Shall I take a chance
with this?

Do I have a choice?

"Kind of. I'm here to spy on the group down there,"
he said. "You know, Brother Joseph's church. Did you
say you used to belong down there?"

He would have asked her more, but the wash of ter-
ror that spread from her to him stopped him cold.
"Brother Joseph?" she quavered. "What do you want
with him?"

"He took - stole - the son of a friend away from us.
I think he's doing something with the little boy, but I'm
having a hard time finding out anything." At the
unmistakable quickening of interest he felt, he con-
tinued. "His mother is here, looking for him. He's from
Atlanta, and he came here with his father, but his father
is not a nice man. He kidnaped Jamie away from his
mother, and I think he gave Jamie to Brother Joseph."

"You're looking for Jamie?" she asked, and the ques-
tion seemed filled with hope. "Jamie's down there. You
saw him, didn't you?"

"I saw him." He let his voice harden. "I didn't like
what I saw." He took a brief moment to break away
from the contact with Sarah to seek Jamie out, worm-
ing a tiny tendril of awareness through the complex
maze. He was gone; at least he was no longer in the
deprivation box.

Al returned his attention to Sarah, a little relieved.
"I've got to figure a way to get him out of there. I'm not
like you. Their guns can still hurt me." He hesitated.
Had he said too much? Did she really know what she
was? But it was too late to take his words back now. "I
can't get through the other things, like fences and
doors. But I can talk to you, and right now I think we
need each other's help if we're going to help Jamie."

284 Mercedes Lackey £sf Monk Shepherd

He paused and tried to sense if she had been hurt or
frightened by his words. "You know - you're not the
way you used to be, don't you?"

She shrugged; a ripple in the mist. "It's okay, Al. I
know I'm a ghost. Sometimes I don't like it, I want to go
on through to the other side, but I feel like I have to help
Jamie. Brother Joseph killed me." She solidified for a
moment, and there was a look of'implacable hatred on
her face that turned it into a terrible parody of a little
girl's. "I've got to do what I can to keep him from doing it
again. That's why I'm still here, helpmgJamie."

Then she changed, lightning-like, to an attitude of
childlike enthusiasm. "So what do we do now?"

Al considered his options. From Earthplane to Spirit to...

Hmm... well, the next logical step would be Earthplane
again, to someone alive and breathing. Perhaps someone who is
disgruntled or unhappy. Someone who can physically help us
vnside the compound. Maybe even some one who could carry
Jamie out of there, when the time is right.

"I think I have an idea, Sarah. Here's what I'd like
you to do..."

:Jamie?: he heard Sarah say from somewhere in the
darkness.; Where are you ?:

His eyes had been closed, but when she spoke the
words were like light, breaking through the pain.

He had been dreaming about being ded to a big tree
and left there for dead, when a big bony vulture in a pale
suit walked in with Joe and just stood there, watching
him. Joe didn't do anything to help, and he couldn't
understand why, since he had done everything before to
make him safe in this horrible world called the "vacation
place." He trusted Joe in all things; Joe even brought him
food when no one else would. But this must have been a
dream, because otherwise Joe would have taken him
down out of the tree or at least blown away the vulture
with his assault rifle.

WHEELS OF FIRE               285

Jamie felt hot and knew he must be running a
temperature. Otherwise he wouldn't be so sweaty all
the time. And he felt so sick. He could hardly move, he
was so weak. He didn't know where the restroom was,
and he couldn't get up anyway, so he just went, like a
baby. He didn't like it, and he felt a vague discomfort
from somewhere deep in the darkness, but he didn't
know what else to do about it.

His whole body had felt funny, heavy and light at the
same time, while he was hanging there in the tree, but
now it felt like everything was going back to normal.
When he tried to open his eyes, it took a minute to real-
ize that he had, since the room had no light.

:Sarah,: Jamie thought, his mind forming the words
when his mouth and vocal cords could not. .-What are
they doing to me?:

.-Take it easy,: Sarah said, but the words came uneasily,
as if she really didn't believe what she was saying. Jamie
didn't like that. .'You can go a lot longer like this.:

:No, I can't!: Jamie protested. .-They're never going to let
me see my mom again. They all lied to me. Joe's the only one
who told me the truth. They're hiding me from her, Joe said, and,
they won't let her see me even if she knew I was here.: He felt
tears burning down the side of his face. :I haven't eaten
in I don't know how long. Sometimes the hunger goes away for
a while, but it always comes back. Then I have to wet myself
and that's something little babies do. What will they do next, put
diapers on me?:

He listened to the silence, knowing somehow that
she was still there.

:I'm hungry so much my arms are getting thin. If they don't
give me food soon Fm going to just disappear!:

:No, you are not,: Sarah said, sounding like a grownup
just then. .-Hold on. Help is on the way.:

As hope flared, Jamie summoned the strength to sit
up precariously on a bony elbow, and looked into the
darkness. At first he thought the light that became

286           Mercedes Lackey ^Marfe Shepherd

brighter just then was Sarah, then he saw they were
just dizzy-stars.

.-Help? Who's coming to help? Joe?:

.•Sort of. There will be others. Just hang on a little longer.:

.-Sarah? Are you still there?:

The lights faded, and Sarah's presence faded into
the darkness.

.•Where are you?:

The more Joe thought about it, the more certain he
was that the two regular Guard soldiers who were
helping him move into his new digs were spies, work-
ing directly for his father. They were older than he was
by a few years and had been around the Sacred Heart
for as long as Joe could remember, and should have
been promoted to captain long before now. If there was
any resentment in them about Joe's new rank, they
didn't show it. They paid the proper respect and sub-
servience in his presence, and what little Joe overheard
when they weren't directly under his eye did not betray
feelings to the contrary.

They performed the tasks set them without a flaw,
like robots, or well-oiled cogs in the machine Joe's
father had built. Before, he would have been proud of
his father's accomplishment. But seeing their lack of
emotion, their total implied commitment to Joe and his
father, made his skin crawl. If he told them to march
into the pond, he had no doubt in his mind that they
would do just that.

He began to doubt their facade, however, when he
caught them glancing in his direction a few times as if
they were trying to make certain whether he was
watching them. Then, once, he saw them communicat-
ing with some sort of obscure hand signals that he
didn't recognize. When he saw that, Joe turned cold.
Spies. For father, and Luke too, no doubt. Figures.

That he was now head of Internal Security and

WHEELS OF FIRE              287

should investigate, or at least question, such behavior,
was never a consideration. For the time being, anyway,
he just didn't care. After seeing Jamie that afternoon,
he'd felt numb all over, incapable then of feeling much
of anything.

Within the first half-hour of moving into the new
apartment, he noticed two tiny microphones, each
about the size of a fly, inserted into the ceiling. He
wondered if there were miniature video cameras,
which would have been the size of a pencil eraser,
somewhere in his new place. Until he learned other-
wise, he would have to assume there were. And act
accordingly. In fact, he wouldn't be at all surprised if a
view of his new living room was being presented to the
main security station on one of the little monitors on
the wall. Perhaps he should wave.

That would only let them know I know, and I don't think I
want that yet, he thought, as he made a point of acting as
normally as possible. It's late afternoon now. Dinner will be
sewed soon. I'll most definitely have to put in an appearance
there. Even if Fin not very hungry, after what I saw today.

Jamie. Locked in a box like a lab rat. Already a skeleton from
starvation. The haunting memory of the boy's eyes back
when he'd tried to get him free - they'd looked at each
other for the briefest moment, but that moment was
stamped into his memory and wouldn't let him go. It
pulled at a place in the middle of his chest, stabbed at
his heart with surgical precision. He trusted me. And new
look at what's happened.

He began to wonder if he had indeed waited too
long, that Jamie was doomed even if he acted now to
save him. Sooner or later Father is going to kill him. And
why? For what? When Jamie dies. Father is going to lose his
precious channeller. It can't have anything to do with reason.
My father is simply being sadistic.

At this, Joe frowned. Why does that surprise me? The
answer to that was not immediately dear.Becauseallalong

Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

Fve been denying the truth. When he raised me, he smothered me
with deceit that Fm still peeling away, like the plastic wrap on a
choice piece of meat. But I have to face facts. My father is doing
this because he enjoys seeing others suffer. He likes knowing he has
thepowyroflifecmddeathoverpeople.Itmakeshimfeelgoodand
serves his own enormous ego.

An ego that will never completely be satisfied....

What a prick.

He looked around at his new place, reluctantly
admiring the wealth that surrounded him, and real-
ized that he had been waiting for years to have a
place like this. To himself. The rank of lieutenant was
also something he had dreamed of, but he had
thought it would be years away, as there were so
many more qualified soldiers in front of him. Now
both had been handed to him, by his father, on a sil-
ver platter. Although the soldiers who had helped
him move in gave no hint that they were jealous, he
knew they had to be, on a certain level. But'then, all
of Father's wealth has been taken without regard to right or
wrong. It's pretty typical for him to hand his son all this
stuff, the title, the job, the apartment, without bothering to
justify it. He's God's own, right? He doesn't have to justify
anything.

He realized the hour was late and began getting
ready for dinner. In the bathroom he regarded the
enormous bath with mild curiosity, saw immediately
that it was empty. With no obvious means to fill it Well,
it didn't matter.

He stripped and climbed into the shower.

As the hot water washed over his body, he tried to
putjamie out of his mind. But the more he tried, the
more solid the memory became. What did I see in those
eyes? he wondered at the recollection. He was beggmgme,
but was he accusing me, as well? He might as well have; Fin as
guilty as my father. That he was taking a hot shower in
luxury brought on enough guilt; poorJamie, he knew,

WHEELS OF FIRE              289

was probably lying on a mattress somewhere, too weak
to go to the John. And I can't get food to him. Father made
tbatclear. I 'd be drawn, quartered, and hung out to dry if I was
caught near him. With all the cameras and security m this
place, ril be lucky to be able to use the bathroom without some-
one watching me.

At that thought, he glanced up at the ceiling, half-
expecting to find a camera staring down at him. They'd
do it, too. Especially Luke. He'd probably have a camemput in
here just so he could see me without any clothes.

Joe put on a clean dress uniform that had just
arrived from the laundry and was surprised to find the
lieutenant's insignia already attached to it. Guess father
decided to dispense with the ceremony, he thought, in a way
glad that it had been done this way. The ceremony, at
best, would have been awkward. He shrugged and put
the uniform on with the new insignia, in spite of the
fact he didn't feel he deserved it.

As he donned the uniform, a voice from deep within
him reminded him of a poignant fact:

If you don't do anything to helpJame, the boy will die.

He stopped in the middle of combing his short,
blond hair in the mirror and looked himself in the eye.
He couldn't remember when he had last performed
this simple act of self-searching, and he found it dif-
ficult, especially when he was wearing the Chosen
Ones' uniform. He felt like a monster. The uniform
seemed to be alive; he thought he felt it crawling on his
body, like some sort of parasite. He didn't belong in it,
and he knew it.

I've got to get out of here, contact the authorities, with or
without the evidence. Who knows, maybe there's a missing
person's file somewhere withJamie's name on it. If his mother is
looking far hm, then there would have to be. But to let anyone
know about Janae, Fve got to figure out away to escape this com-
plex without anyone knowing, at least until Fm well clear. If they
wmeafterme, well, FU just have to spot them befom they spotme.

290           Mercedes Lackey 6?Mark Shepherd

After making his decision, again, he felt a little bit
better about himself. In the shiny new uniform, he
walked straight, with his head up, strengthened by the
knowledge he would soon be ridding himself of it.

Dinner was a strange affair. Rather pointedly,
Brother Joseph reminded him that he no longer had to
eat with the "grunts," that he could now eat in the
senior officers' hall which adjoined the central dining
hall. He was still not invited to eat with his father, who
dined separately from everyone, but that still suited Joe
just fine. The farther away I am from, him, the better. What Tm
thinking about here is treason, and my body language mill give
me away for sure if I don't match out.

The senior officers said little after saying grace, just a
few bland comments about the quality of the food, which
he had to admit was excellent and far superior to what
the rest of the Chosen Ones ate. Each of them had been
served an individual Cornish game hen, real potatoes au
gradn and pasta salad, all delicacies and not at all what he
was used to. The meal was served on china, with real sil-
ver utensils, and the dining room was furnished plushly,
like his own quarters; the contrast between this room and
the main dining hall was startling.

He couldn't help noticing as he ate that the atmos-
phere was definitely strained. No one said much of
anything, and Joe had the feeling this was due in part
to his presence. The ten officers were men in their for-
ties, and as the meal progressed he felt progressively
more and more uneasy. There were five captains, four
other lieutenants and General Plunket, Commander
of the Guard, who was an old man in his seventies who
had actually served in World War II - ancient history
to Joe. The general said little as he ate, and became
slightly drunk on the carafe of wine as the meal
proceeded, which seemed to be typical for dinner, as
none of the other men seemed to notice.

WHEELS OF FIRE               291

"That certainly is a smart outfit you've trained there,
sir," one of the lieutenants said, with a suddenness that
made Joe jump. The man. Lieutenant Fisher, had been
his teacher in a few bomb-making courses. More
Junior Guard training, information which he had
promptly forgotten. Right now if Fisher had asked him
how to make the simplest black-powder pipe bomb,
Joe would have had to admit that he couldn't remem-
ber. Joe regarded him cautiously, expecting his
politeness to be a veil for something sarcastic, but he
saw only sincerity in the man's face.

Fisher cleared his throat and continued. "I think you
will make a fine addition to the senior staff."

"Thank you, sir," Joe said, almost saluting there at
the table. He stopped himself in time. Looks like I'm
ganna have to feel my way around how to treat these guys. "I'm
looking forward to serving as your Internal Security
head."

Fisher nodded in agreement but said nothing.

"Damned Nazis, they had the right idea!" Plunket
roared from the head of the table, a response to a mur-
mured question from one of the other men. "Train the
youths. They had millions of their young 'uns trained to
step in at a moment's notice. Had them running the
government, the utilities, the post office. We came in
through a town of about twelve thousand and all we
found were teenagers and old people too feeble to walk,
and the kids were running everything! Their fathers had
already been conscripted, years before. He had the right
idea. Hitler did. Kill the Jew pigs, and make sure the next
generation understands why it had to be done!"

He pounded the table for emphasis. Silverware and
glasses hopped momentarily. Joe wished he were
somewhere, anywhere, else.

"Thank you, sir," he said, because he felt like he had
to. "I'm certain the Junior Guard will become true
fighting men when they are old enough."

292 Mercedes Lackey £s? Mark Shepherd

"Here, here," one of the captains murmured. General
Plunket muttered something else that was unintelligible.
The wine appeared to be catching up to him.

Joe wanted to disappear. Pm starting to like the compli-
ments, he realized. This whole dinner is making me feel
proud ofthem all over again. And I want out!

One of the officers poured wine, what was left, into
Joe's empty glass. "Here, have a drink," he said. Joe
accepted without a word, although he didn't like the
taste of alcohol, or its effects. Even Either has a glass now
and then. Said it had something to do with making the men feel
more comfortable.

But he had a lot of reasons for not liking what
alcohol did to him, and one of them had to do with the
walls he had carefully constructed, barriers which he
maintained to keep his gift of reading thoughts a
secret. 7 lose control of it when I drink, he told himself.
Then, But just one glass shouldn't hurt. He took a sip and
briefly resisted the urge to spit it out. This was a very
dry and hitter wine, which he didn't care for at all. He
would have preferred straight shots ofUsterine to this.

"What exactly does your new position entail?" Plunket
asked, looking as if he was struggling to get the words out
dearly." 'Internal Security.' What does that mean?"

At first Joe was a bit alarmed. Didn't Father brief him on
the new office? Plunket is, after aU, in charge of the army. And
my superior. Damn him!

But the one gulp of wine had loosened him up some,
and the words came tumbling out.

"Brother Joseph says that it's something we've
needed for some time," Joe began." 'Internal Security*
is exactly what it says. There are threats from within
this organization as well as the obvious ones without
There could be spies. There could be infiltrators. Why,
even some of our own trusted men could turn out to be
FBI agents or even worse, liberals."

He took another sip of the wine, not quite realizing

WHEELS OF FIRE               293

until he set the glass down that a deathly silence had
fallen over the table. Gone were conversation and the
clink of silverware; everyone had frozen in place. A
sickening feeling of somehow screwing up came over
him; his right hand, still holding a fork, began to shake.
They were all staring at him, silently.

"What I mean is, I don't think anyone in the Guard is
suspect. New recruits -"

"I think," General Plunket said, with horrible clarity,
"that you have said quite enough, young man. I will
take this up with our leader. It would appear that you
have been misguided in this endeavor."

Joe nodded, not even having the strength to speak.'
He felt suddenly lightheaded, partially due to the wine,
but mosdy to his embarrassment

Why did I have to open my mouth ? He wanted to scream.
/ should have known all this crap would have been a secret
even from the other officers. God, what a fool I am!

It was then he realized that he was going to throw
up. He felt his gorge rising, and uneasiness somewhere
deep in his stomach, so he had time to leave to room
before it came up. Get out of here, he thought. Before I
puke my guts out all over this table.

He stood and politely excused himself. Amid silent
stares, which he could feel burning holes in his back,
Joe left the officers' dining hall and began searching
desperately for a restroom.

Moments later, after retching none too quietly into a
toilet, Joe contemplated flushing himself down the
sewer as well. /(would make the perfect end to this day, he
moaned, catching his breath in the stall. If I were just a
little smaller than I feel right now, it would probably work.
Good-bye cruel world. Flush.

In the washbasin he cleaned up some, still a little
queasy but feeling better now that the wine was out of
his system. He was contemplating a roundabout route
back to his new room, so that he wouldn't have to see

294 Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

anybody, when he became aware that he was no longer
alone in the bathroom.

He knew immediately that it wasn't someone or
something that had been there when he entered, and
couldn't see how anyone could have come in without
his hearing them. He turned slowly, expecting to find
another adult sneering at him. Instead, he saw a little
giri, standing in the comer.

She must have already been here, he thought, though he
couldn't see how. What'sshedomgmthemen'sroomaivyway?

They regarded each other in silence for several
moments; Joe sdll felt dizzy from being ill, and it wasn't
undl his eyes had focused completely that he thought
he had seen her somewhere before.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked, trying not
to sound harsh. "This is the men's room. Little girls
aren't supposed to be in here."

"I'm not a little girl anymore," she said, and
vanished.

A light rose from where she stood, a vague, glowing
mist of something that came towards him quickly
before he could step back. It touched him; it felt like a
child's breath brushing across his face. Then it was
gone.

Joe was too stunned to react. What m God's name was
that? he thought.

But a moment later, he decided that what he had just
seen was a hallucination, brought about by the bad
wine he'd swallowed at dinner. Time to go to bed. Fin start-
ing to see things.

As much as he wanted to put the disturbing vision
behind him, he couldn't. On his way back to his new
room, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had seen
that particular girl before. It wasn't undl he reached his
front door and turned the key that he knew, with the
suddenness of a revelation, who the little girl was. And
why she vanished as dramatically as she did.

295

WHEELS OF FIRE

No, it can't be, he thought, horrified at the prospect of
dealing with a ghost. I am seeing things. I must be.

He opened his door in a daze of confused shock. And
there was his father, Brother Joseph, sitting in an easy
chair reading one of his son's books. He looked up as
}oe entered and smiled a predatory smile.

"I've been waiting for you," he said calmly. "Please,
come in. We have a few things to talk about."

CHAPTER TEN

"Father," Joe said weakly. "I wasn't expecting you."

Brother Joseph shifted in the chair, holding the book
carefully between his two bony hands, as if it were
something that might contaminate him. Joe stood
frozen in the doorway, afraid to leave or enter.

"That much is obvious," he replied acidly. "Or you
would have seen fit to at least conceal this work of the
devil. As it is, anyone could have seen this misrepresen-
tation of my ideals. Come. Sit. Let's talk."

Joe cautiously closed the door behind him, expect-
ing a serious explosion to happen at any moment. His
father had that sedate look about him that he had come
to associate with the calm before the storm. He took a
few tentative steps into the room, towards his father,
then saw which book he was referring to.

For one moment, relief flooded him. "Father, that's
only a novel," he protested, unable to think of anything
else to say. He knew it was a mistake, but he had no idea
how serious a mistake it was, until his father's face
darkened with rage.

"Only a novel?" he spat. "Only? My own eyes have
seen empires fall on the strength of a novel!"

Joe stood silently, trying hard not to fidget. The book
in question. Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice, had
been a paperback he'd picked up in Atlanta, before
they had even relocated the Church in Oklahoma. At
the time he hadn't thought twice about it Then, later,
he realized how unwise it would be to let anyone in the
church see it. Vampires meant the occult, the occult

WHEELS OF FIRE               297

meant Satanism, Satanism meant hell and damnation
and evil. Even in fiction. Apparently, in the move to his
new digs, some of his things had become jostled. At this
point, he wasn't even sure if he'd hidden the book
before moving, as insignificant it seemed to him. It
would appear that the two guardsmen who "helped"
him move had seen the book and reported it directly to

his father.

"Forgive me, Father," he said, with as much meek-
ness as he could summon. "I intended no insult to the
church. It never occurred to me that a book of fiction
could be dangerous - that anything in it could be
taken seriously. Thank you for correcting me."

"Very well," Brother Joseph said, flinging the book
into an unoccupied comer of the room. It flapped like
a wounded butterfly. Paperbacks just aren't aerodynamic.

The bathroom was beyond his father, and the
illuminated doorway framed him with a soft white
glow. The lighting in the room itself was subdued,
mostly because the furniture hadn't been arranged yet,
and many of the lamps were still unplugged. Joe
thought he saw something move in the bathroom, but
wasn't certain. His father continued, oblivious to every-
thing but the opportunity to make a speech, even
though his audience consisted of one.

"Vampires are creatures of the occult. Anything
occult is the work of the devil. Novels in general foster
mischief. Fiction by definition is a lie - something that
isn't real and isn't true. There is no reason to read a lie.
I would suggest you limit your reading to the Chosen
Ones' Reading List."

"Yes, sir," Joe said humbly. Even sitting in the chair,
Brother Joseph still managed to look down on him.

Brother Joseph gazed on him sternly before con-
tinuing. "You must understand, Joe, that as my son
you represent me. I can't have you reading this
fictional garbage, this so-called literature. It weakens

298 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

the mind and poisons the soul. I suggest that you cull
out any unauthorized books from your possession, or I
will have it done for you."

Again there was the flicker of movement, this time a
little more prolonged, from the bathroom. It was
obvious this time that there was something there, that it
wasn'tjustsome aftereffect of the wine. Brother Joseph
looked away, as if pondering some philosophical con-
cept. When Joe felt it was safe to divert his attention to
the motion in the room, he glanced over to the side, to
the bright doorway.

The corner of the luxurious hot tub was barely
visible. Sitting on the edge of the hot tub was the little
girl, the same one that had shown up in the men's
room moments before. She watched him, calculatedly,
with coldly adult eyes. Joe gulped and found himself
steadying his weight against a chair.

"Son, are you feeling ill?" Brother Joseph asked, and
Joe was surprised at the level of concern in his voice.
"You've become very pale. Why don't you have a seat?"

Gratefully, Joe did as was suggested, sitting uncom-
fortably on a box.

That can't be who I think it is, Joe thought frantically.
What's she doing here? Why is is she sitting in my bathroom,
watching me? How'd she get there? He felt his world turn-
ing cartwheels. That's not a little girl. She couldn't have
gotten in here ... who am I trying to kid, anyway? That's a
ghost. That's Sarah!

The girl opened her mouth to speak, but when her
lips moved he heard her voice in his mind.

.•You've got that right,: she said. .-Very clever, Joe. Now, get
rid of your father. We've got a few things to talk about.:

"Plunket said you were acting a bit odd tonight,"
Brother Joseph continued, unperturbed. "How was
the meal?"

Joe thought he was going to faint, or even get ill
again, but he had nothing left to throw up.

WHEELS OF FIRE               299

As if reading his mind, Sarah continued. .-Emptied
your stomach already? Now you have cm idea what Jamie feels
like. Only by now it's much worse for him.:

He wanted to scream. He wanted to defend himself,
tell her that he was doing everything he could to help
Jamie, but there were too many obstacles - one of
which was in the room with them.

His stomach writhed. If he were to become ill again,
he would have to go past Sarah, this ghost, to get to the
toilet. Fd rather choke on it, he dedded.

His father was staring at him, his lips pursed. The con-
cern had changed to something else-calculation. Joe was
oneofhispawns-buta valuable one. Worth caringfor.

"Perhaps you should lie down," he said. "I have to
admit, I did become concerned when our general,
Plunket, took me aside in the hallway and said you
were acting very strange. And asked me about a few
things that he felt needed clarifying. Security matters.
Most notably, the role of your new office."

Sarah stood up, tossing her head angrily, her little
hands on her hips. It was a stance he remembered,
when she was defying his father during those last hor-
rible days. She opened her mouth.

:] dame's going to die!: she shouted into his mind.

He couldn't take any more of it. Telling her that it
wasn't his fault became the most important thing to
him just then. But he had to do it in a way that wouldn't
attract his father's attention. I'll have to reach down and
use that... gift, he thought, but the prospect felt as hor-
rifying as as facing Luke had last night. I swore Fd never
use the gift again. Not since Luke tried to rape me. Never....
Jamie, Fm doing my best for him but - oh Lord, please help me
through this.

Then, incredibly, he watched her take a few steps
toward them, into the room.

:DONT COME IN HERE!: he screamed at her, but
the words were silent, sent by his mind alone. One

300 Mercedes Lackey S^Mark Shepherd

corner of his mouth twitched, that was all his father
saw. That, and probably the fact that he went even
paler, for he could feel the blood draining from his face.

The power inside him seemed to burst out, like a
spotlight, like the sudden bellow of a bullhorn. .-Don't let
him see you. You don't know what will happen,: he con-
tinued, closing his eyes and feeling a cold sweat
breaking out all over his body. .-Pledse.:

She hesitated a moment, as if considering the
request. He thought she'd never make up her mind.
He hoped she'd take forever. He wished he could die,
then and there, and get it over with.

:0h, all right,: she said, petulantly. Just get rid of him. I
just wanted you to talk to me, after all.:

He wiped sweat off his forehead, considering his
words carefully. :It might take a while. Don't rush me.:

"It wasn't my intention to reveal the exact nature of
your new position until later," Brother Joseph con-
tinued, ostentatiously ignoring the fact that Joe was
staring past his shoulder, into the bathroom. Or maybe
he simply interpreted Joe's fixed stare as another
symptom of his illness. "Until now it has been a secret,
more or less. At least, as far as the senior officers were
concerned."

"Huh?" Joe said, knowing he just missed something
important. "I'm sorry, Father, you were right, I'm not
feeling well tonight. What was that you said?"

His father fixed him with the same fierce glare that a
snake would fasten on a mouse it didn't care to eat -
yet. "Son, pay attention to me. I don't care if you're
sick. You want to know why I don't care? Because the
enemy won't care. They could attack us at any moment
and it won't matter if you're sick or not. The Jew Com-
mie pigs would probably be glad if we were all sick.
You'll have to learn how to do your duty awake or
asleep, sick or healthy, and you might as well start right
now. Now listen up. This is official business."

WHEELS OF FIRE               301

Joe sat up and tried to look healthy.

"Do I have your attention?" Brother Joseph did not
even try to rein in his sarcasm.

He nodded and tried to sit as straight as he stood on
the drill field.

His father snorted. "Good. Show some spine, boy.
Show that you come of good blood, my blood, that
you've inherited a little stamina!"

"Yes, sir," he said, faintly. "Stamina, sir."

His father snorted. "As I was saying earlier, your new
job as the head of Internal Security was supposed to be
cloaked somewhat in secrecy. There are those who
think that maybe we don't need an internal office of
any kind, that our screening of newcomers is as
thorough and efficient as it can be. But it's not enough.
You want to know why?"

He blinked and tried to keep his expression attentive
and humble. "Why, of course, Father."

Brother Joseph continued, but Joe got the feeling
that he would have done so no matter what Joe's
response had been. "Good. It's simple. The Evil One
works in perverted and mysterious ways. We can't
deceive ourselves into thinking that we're immune
because of our holiness and purity. He can invade and
attack us from within, working on the little hidden
weaknesses, the tiny sins people think aren't important
enough to confess and do penance for. The Holy Fire
keeps this thing away for the most part, but it has told
me that the devil is busy at work in our little com-
munity. That ruckus a few nights back, the flooding,
the electrical problems, none of which were ever
explained. That was the devil. That was Satan. And he
didn't need permission from nobody to invade our
sacred ground!"

Joe took a deep breath, preparing himself, to the
best of his ability, for a long sermon. He glanced up to
see Sarah had seated herself on top of the counter,

302 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

patiently waiting for his father to finish whatever non-
sense he was spouting.

His father stood up and began rocking back and
forth, as if he was giving a sermon. "In retrospect, I
believe that I'm glad your meeting with Plunket went
as it did. I wanted that element of surprise. And believe
you me, he was surprised. He's a good, experienced
man, and I'm glad he's on our side. But-he's one of
these who believe that we are immune to Satan. His
faith in my abilities to lead, govern and protect isn't
misguided. I do these things well, as no other can do
them. But I know better than to think that I can't be
thwarted. Satan has fouled up my plans more than
once. If he gets the chance he'll do it again."

"I understand. Father," Joe said, summoning as
much strength as he could, trying to look as attentive as
possible. But it wasn't easy.

.Tin getting tired of waiting,: Sarah said.

:Ican't rush him,: he replied in alarm.

••Well, then maybe I can,: she said, with just enough
mischief in her words to further alarm him.

She came into the room, so swiftly he didn't actually
see her move. He froze as she walked past Brother
Joseph; his father continued his tirade on the wiles of
Satan with a line of reasoning his son wasn't paying any
attention to. Sarah took a seat on a box a few feet away
from them, crossed her legs in a ladylike fashion and
stared at him.

.•Well.: she said. .-Are you going to do something, orami?:

His father, evidently, didn't see a thing. Joe did notice
a transparency to her appearance now, which hadn't
been obvious when she was in the bathroom. He could
see through her, as though she was constructed of an
elaborate pattern of faintly colored fog.

.-Surprise. I forgot to tell you,: Sarah said. .-Right now Tm
only visible to you.:

Joe exhaled a breath he'd been holding in for a

WHEELS OF FIRE              303

while. Meanwhile, his father continued to rant away, as
if he was speaking before a full audience. Maybe he was
practicing.

His father frowned down at him, playing the
mdgmental God instead of the vengeful version. "I just
wanted you to know that you handled things, well, I'd
say average. You'll have to stand up a litde more to the
officers than that. Don't disobey. But be firm. And
remember who's really in control of the army." He
winked and stood up, looking directly at Sarah. Or, at
least, where she was sitting. The litde girl stuck her
tongue out at him. Joe winced, praying for it all to be
over.

His father waited for him to say something, and he
couldn't bear to. He held his peace, and Brother
Joseph watched him in frustration and puzzlement.

Finally, after several moments of silence, he gave up
waiting for a response. "I suppose I'll leave you to pick-
ing up this room," he said.

He moved towards the door - then sniffed the air
with a puzzled expression.

"Do you smell something?" he asked, with one hand
on the knob. "Smells like, oh, electricity in the air?"

Joe smelled it, too. He looked at Sarah, who
shrugged.

.'Make something up,: she said.

"Uh, maybe there's a thunderstorm on the way," he
supplied, praying his father would justg-o.

Brother Joseph hesitated at the door. "Perhaps.
Maybe I should have someone check out the breakers
in this quadrant. It reminds me too much of what hap-
pened the other night" He frowned, shaking his head.
"There's something else. Like perfume, maybe. Or
flowers. Something sweet."

He wrinkled his brow, as if troubled with unvoiced
thoughts. His eyes looked odd, as if thinking seemed to
be taking greater effort than normal for him this

304 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

evening. Or as if he almost - but not quite - sensed
Sarah's presence, and it bothered him so much he was
having trouble concentrating.

Yeah. Like I'm not?

Brother Joseph seemed to be growing more and
more uncomfortable as well. Finally he said the words
his son had been longing for and dreading all at the
same dme.

"Good night," his father said, and opened the door
quickly, shutting it behind him. His exit seemed -
rushed. As if something had alarmed him and he was
determined not to show it.

Joe waited until he heard his father's footsteps des-
cend the flight of stairs at the end of the great hallway.
Even then, he wasn't able to look at the ghost sitting on
his left. Now they were alone.

Alone, with a ghost. Or a hallucination? He only
wished he could believe that.

:Okay,Joe, it's tine to talk,: she said abruptly. .-Things are
going to start shaking up around here real soon. I want your
complete attention, as Miss Agatha would say.:

Joe picked up a book at random and looked up at
her covertly over the top of it. From the viewpoint of
the spy camera, it would look as if he was reading it.
Fortunately it was on the approved list.

Much as he dreaded using it, he was going to have to
make use of that gift of his to talk to her. If he were
caught talking out loud to empty air - well, his father
would surely think him possessed. There was no
"insanity" among the Chosen Ones after all - it was
either "sane and holy" or "possessed by the devil."

: What kind of things ? What do you mean, shaking up ?:

.•That's not important to you. Jamie needs your help.
Remember what he looked like last time you saw him?:

Joe shuddered. He suddenly wished she would just
go away. .-You know, I don't need this! I was just fine until you
came along. I was going to defect. Squeal to the police. Things

WHEELS OF FIRE              305

my father would have me shot for. And probably will, if he has a
chance. I can't help the kid by myself; I have to get outside and
tell the police what's going on here. It's the only thmg that will
keep Jamie alive.:

Her expression remained hard and firm. .'That's not
the attitude I was picking up back there at the dinner tables-
she informed him. .-You were starting to feel a little too com-
fortable, if you ask me. Proud of your "men"! They look mare
like boys to me. And you trained them to hate as well as fight.:

Joe could feel himself withering under her gaze.
.•Don't remind me,: he said. :I know what I did. But I can't
help the way I was raised.:

She had no mercy on him whatsoever. .'Were you
raved to kill innocent people?:

Like Jamie, did she mean? Or - herself? :No, but -:

She glared at him, her eyes full of accusation. :Yau,stood
there and watched himkill me. Don't you remember that? What
didleverdo? Was I a Communist? WasIevmaJew? WonMit
have been right even if I was? How old, was I? Ten? You've gotten
to live eightiaoreyears than laid!:

He flung the book across the room and huddled
inside his arms, away from her angry gaze. .-Shut up!: he
screamed inside, resisting the urge to jump to his feet
:/ know what happened! I know what I did and didn't do! I
couldn't help it! You can't possibly know what it's Hke to have
him as a father!:

The words came tumbling out, like rocks cascading
down a hill in an avalanche. Then the words ran out,
and he buried his face in his arms, sobbing. That he
was talking to a ghost no longer mattered to him, and
somewhere in the back of his mind was the suspicion
that he had gone certifiably crazy. .-You're right, I was
going back on my decision to leave, to help Jamie. But how can
you know what it's like? For me or for him?:

She shifted to a place right above him, where he had
to look up to see her. :How do I know? Do you really want
an answer to that?:

306 Mervedes Lackey C^Mark Shepherd

Did he? But her attitude demanded an answer, and
irked the hell out of him. Who did she think she was,
anyway? Who put her in judgment over him? :Yes, I do.
What areyou, a mind reader or something'?:

Joe wasn't sure if it was a frown or a smirk that
passed across her childish features; at this warped
angle, her misty composition made her expression
especially difficult to read. It also became difficult to tell
if he was really talking to a child, or a very angry adult.

:0kay, smarty-pants,: she said. 'Here's how I know.:

She drifted across the room before he could make a
move to stop her - though he hadn't any idea how he
could possibly manage that. Reaching down, she
touched him on the forehead.

The room dissolved rapidly around him, burning
away in an instant, and all that was left was black space.
He felt the space in his mind expand outwards, and he
could no longer feel his body. His emotions of grief,
confusion and fear all fell from him; broken glass, dis-
carded shards, leaving a neutral vacuum in their place.
All was air and non-light; he floated in nothingness.
The strangeness of it, of what he understood or
couldn't even begin to grasp, triggered the deepest
level of fear he had ever experienced. He sensed a loss
of bladder control, but his bladder and the plumbing
connected to it was nowhere to be seen or felt. He
wanted to scream, but couldn't.

Where am I? Where's my body? The thought formed
from the purest distillation of fear. What did she do to me?

Sarah was invisible in the blackness, but suddenly
Joe knew she was nearby, watching, orchestrating this
strange dance in the spirit world. Then gradually, the
pinpoints of pain from a tormented soul entered his
senses, and he felt himself unfolding into a tiny, frail
body. A body that wasn't his own.

The pain increased, gnawing at his belly, as if there
was a monster trying to eat its way out of his stomach.

WHEELS OF FIRE              307

He was aware of another being, reminding him the
body he was in touch with was not his own but belong-
ing to another. Like a parasite, he saw and felt the
torment, but at a distance.

His arms were encased in something soft that held
them completely, he felt, as two eyes struggled to open.
It felt like a nightmare, but he knew it wasn't. The eyes
that weren't tried to see and saw only darkness. Finally,
another kind of eye opened and looked through his
head, seeing people who were standing above him; a
man he recognized as Jim Chase, Luke, Brother
Joseph, and ...

... himself.

Help me out of here, Jamie was trying to say. My tummy
is hurting. I can't see and I can't hear. But he just didn't
have the strength. The Joe standing above him seemed
so capable, so strong, yet so helpless. His objections
meant nothing to the ones around him, the ones really
in charge. The thoughts blazed through Joe-from-
beyond and burned away all pretenses.

Joe watched himself protest - feebly, it seemed from
down here - to his father. He could have easily over-
powered all of them right then, and he knew it; from
Jamie's perspective, it seemed the only thing to do. Conse-
quences didn't seem to matter in this state of starvation and
agony; that he was conscious at all was a small miracle.

:No!: Joe screamed, from somewhere beyond himself
he couldn't locate just then. .-Sarah, no more of this! Please!:

.-You had to see what Jamie was feeling,: she said without
a hint of emotion. .-You had to, for you to understand. Youdo
understand now, don't you ? Or do I need to show you what I
went through?:

Joe considered this, wondered briefly what it would
be like to be the victim of a strangling. And for a
moment, he could actually contemplate the idea in a
strangely detached mood, temporarily barren of fear.

But that moment passed.

308 Men-cedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

He felt the tightness around his neck, of his own
father's hands crushing his windpipe, of the futile
gasps after air, the struggle to get free - felt his lungs
burning for air they would never have - his throat col-
lapsing - his eyes bulging -

He wanted to scream and couldn't. She released him
before the moment of her death.

He floated in the blackness, numb with overload.
:Too much, too much,: he heard himself thinking. :1can't
go through any more with her. Sarah, let me out of this place!:

The silence was maddening. Had she forgotten him?
Had she abandoned him to this?

Then - .-When you leave the church,: she said, :go to
Pawnee and talk to a county sheriff named Prank Casey. He'll
help you. And tell him about Jamie!:

Then Sarah was silent. He sensed that she was gone
now, leaving him alone in this place that he could only
describe as hell. He was all alone with what his father
had done to him, his righteous father who was so con-
vinced that he was right all the time.

He felt Sarah's absence now, though he wasn't cer-
tain how he had felt her presence.

He lost it, then, control, sanity, everything - he
thrashed wildly against nothing undl he was exhausted
and consciousness slipped away from him.

Jamie can't hold on much longer, was his last, exhausted
thought, I don't have much time - Then he slipped into
oblivion.

When Joe woke he was laying on his back in the mid-
dle of his new living room, spread-eagled like a
sacrifice. He sat up suddenly, expecting to see Sarah
sitting there, wearing that sly, adult look she had used
to wither him.

Sarah was nowhere to be seen. He was completely
alone in the new place, and this felt more unsettling
than sitting with the ghost.

WHEELS OF FIRE              309

When he struggled to his feet, the memory of Jamie
and his experience in the tank came rushing into him
like the wind of a hurricane. The sudden movement,
and the recollection, instantly unsettled his stomach,
and he had to dash to the toilet, where he heaved into
the porcelain god undl his stomach and lungs ached.

"Please help me through this," he whispered to no
one in particular, as the porcelain cooled his forehead.
"Help get me out of this place."

He stripped and got into an icy shower, which
helped his queasy stomach. It wasn't undl he reached
for the soap, dropped it, and had trouble retrieving it,
that he realized he was shaking.

Tvegot to get, out of here tonight, he thought, the certainty
of it now so absolute that it felt branded on his mind.

Question is, how?

Several plans came to mind, most of which he
rejected because they would probably result in several
pounds of lead perforating his flesh. He considered
just walking out, flashing his new rank if anyone gave
him any hassles. But - no, not a good idea. That
would be reported right away, and someone would
come after him, and he would have nowhere to hide
except the forest - that was a dubious haven at best.
No, he needed a way out of the place that would not be
visible to anyone, or to cameras.

This place is designed to keep people out, not in, he
thought frantically. There has to be a way.

He toweled himself dry and then thought of one
idea that might delay things. He went out into the
room and turned off all the lights, as if he was going to
bed. Hopefully the tears - and the collapse - would
be put down to his sickness. He went to his bureau
drawers in the dark, felt for certain textures, then
began putting clothes on - street clothes, not the new
uniform or the undress "uniforms" ofcamo-clothing.
The jeans were worn, a little too tight, and had holes in

310 Mercedes Lackey £3' Mark Shepherd

the knees, but were clean, as were the plain white
t-shirt and old battered combat boots he pulled on. He
packed a few essential items, things he couldn't leave
without. The small backpack was easily overlooked; if
he walked out with a suitcase, however stealthily, he
knew he would be asking for trouble.

While he packed, he put together a plan to get out.
The trash collector came aroynd three A.M. every
morning and emptied three dumpsters the Chosen
Ones had leased from the refuse company. The
dumpsters were inside the perimeter of the complex,
but beyond the buildings, so he wouldn't have to
attempt an escape either through the gate or over the
fence, both of which were risky propositions. The
trucks were rear-loaders, if memory served him cor-
rectly. Perhaps he could sneak onto the truck
somehow, in that rear compartment, as it pulled away.
It was the only way out he could think of that stood a
chance of working.

The hour was already late, and the hallway lighting
was subdued. No one was in sight as he silently dosed
the door behind him and made his way down the
grand flight of stairs. Instead of going down the well-
traveled corridor, which was monitored by cameras, he
turned right and entered a maintenance hallway.
There were few of these tunnels, because of the
expense of blasting the rock, but this section had been
dug out of the red Oklahoma dirt. Maintenance tun-
nels, though they varied in size, all interconnected.
And one of them surfaced near the road which would
take him to the dumpsters.

The exit was located at the top of a ladder set into the
wall. The door opened up, like a storm shelter. He
opened it a crack and peeked through the slit, studying
the night. A thunderstorm was brewing on the
horizon, licking the clouds with snake-tongues of light,
giving the air a wet smell.

WHEELS OF FIRE              311

There should be a guard down -yeah. There he is. If Fin
careful, he won't see me. And there are the dumpsters.

The large cubes of metal were very nearby, at the
edge of a gravel parking lot, which had a few trucks
and earth-moving equipment. When he could see the
guard looking the other way, he scurried out of his
hole, carefully letting the door close behind him, and
sprinted for a large dump truck.

Joe concealed himself in the wheel well of the huge
beast and began a long wait.

As the minutes ticked by, he considered his dedsion
and knew it to be a good one. But he was scared, and
knew it. He was leaving behind everything he had
known for a complete unknown. They might not even
believe me, he thought. But what choice do I have ? Fve gotta
go through with this. Ifjamw dies, and 1 don't do anything to
help him, Fmjust as guilty as my father.

He wasn't sure if he had dozed off or not. All he knew
was that he snapped to attention, his senses sharpened
with fear, at the sound of the garbage truck trundling up
the way. As it backed up to one of the units, he was dizzily
relieved to see only one man working it tonight. It would
makeitall theeasierto hop into the back undetected.

Once the last of the three dumpsters was empty, the
refuse man put the truck in gear and began the slow
drive to the gate. Joe wondered, fleedngly, if the truck
would be searched going out But this caused only the
slightest hesitation; he was already running for the
retreating truck, the tag-light giving him a reference.

Like a cat, he hopped into the foul-smelling cavity
where the day's garbage had been deposited and pushed
into the deeper recess of the truck. He lay down, pulling
stray refuse over him for cover. And prayed.

What began as a simple test drive ofCindy's battered
Toyota Celica turned into an expedition into Cleveland
for supplies.

312 Mercedes Lackey £s? Mark Shepherd

Cindy commented to Bob after Al left - over
microwaved dinners - that her '82 car had been run-
ning a little rough, and before she could bat an eye Bob
had grabbed a toolbox and had the hood open.

"Eyah, I see the problem here," he commented in
the waning daylight, pointing to a thingie that looked
obviously loose. "Mind if I have a look to see if anything
else is wrong?"

Of course, she didn't mind at all. In fact, she was a bit
taken by his offer, which made her blush. One of her
fears in buying the car was that she would get all the
way out here in God's country and the thing would
quit running. When she drove it into Hallet, what
seemed like an eternity ago, it sounded ready to do just
that. With her limited money, she had little to spare for
a mechanic. This offer, like all the help Al and Bob had
extended, was a blessing she could ill afford to turn
down. Besides, there had been something about Bob's
demeanor, which was often cold and icy, that suggested
he was thawing a bit.

Was there a hint of, well, softness in his voice? she had
wondered, but if there was it was so subtle as to be ques-
tionable. Bob was twenty, but a mature twenty, so his
age wouldn't necessarily eliminate the possibility of
involvement

But... Bob?

It was a concept that almost made her laugh. It wotiM
feel like incest, she thought. He had seemed like a
younger brother in many ways -

Until tonight. Now he was out working on the car. She
hated to admit it, but he was reminding her of Jim, before
he'd gone bonkers. She couldn't leave him out there on
his own - it didn't seem fair. She joined him, holding the
light, passing him tools, bringing him rags or something
to drink. There was a bond forming between them
tonight, reminding her even more of Jim, especially
when he started explaining what he was doing.

WHEELS OF FIRE               313

But it wasn't painful. It was a reminder of the old Jim
- a man who might have done something kind, con-
siderate - who would have done something like fix the
car of a lady whose resources were wearing thin.

As she watched him, she became aware of a curious
current running between them - and her thoughts
turned serious. Would Jennie like this man? The answer to
that was yes, she decided without a moment's hesitation.

When Al returned from his mysterious journey and
she turned in that night. Bob was still clanking away
under the hood, with a determined, almost robotic
tenacity. He looked like an exotic, half-human plant
that had sprouted from the car's motor.

"How long does he plan to stay up doing that?"
Cindy asked, before retreating to the van.

Al had sighed in response. "As long as it takes," was
all he said, and shrugged.

The next morning Bob suggested she take a drive.
"Be careful," he warned. "It has a bit more power now
than it did."

Then he smiled shyly, handed her the keys as if he
was handing her a rose, and ambled off towards the
racetrack without saying another word.

Al suggested they go into Cleveland and pick up
some odds and ends they all needed. Groceries,
toiletries, and the like. Cindy offered to contribute, but
Al would have none of that. "Save your money," he
ordered as they got into her car. "We've got plenty.
Fairgrove's paying for this."

As they drove to Cleveland - strange to see a sign
for Cleveland, Oklahoma - she couldn't help but notice
the new power the car had. She had to consciously
drive slower than what she was used to, as the Celica
seemed to have a life of its own now.

"Migod - this car can go," she commented toAl,
who just nodded. "You didn't do anything with your...
abilities, did you?"

314 Mercedes Lackey y Mark Shepherd

"Oh, no," Al said calmly. "This is all Bob's doing. No
elven magic here. Not this time. Just good old
mechanical ability. Bob's a natural," He gave her one of
those obtuse looks she had trouble reading. "He's not
very good with words, but when he likes someone, he
tends to do things for them. He'll appreciate it a lot if
you tell him how impressed you are with his work."

A natural - something Jamie would admire, she found
herself thinking, uncertain why.

But the mention of his elven origins brought back
the fears she was trying desperately to deal with, or to
at least bury. Just give it time - sooner or later you'll get used
to the whole thing, like being around someone from another
country who might seem a little weird at first. Like that guy I
met from Iraq, that James used to work with. He didn't change.
I guess I did.

She cast a wary glance at Al, and at the vague outline
of the pointed ears in his long, blond hair. Somehow, with
this one, I don't think it will be the same as getting used to an
Iraqi. They're human. Al isn't. Though he comes close.

Remembering the view she had of his sculptured
body made her shudder. Real close. Somehow, by
contrast. Bob seemed more attractive, not less. Al's
perfection was too much. A reminder of how inhuman
he was. Bob on the other hand, was very human.
Very... attractive....

They stopped at the Quic Pie for a badly needed tank
of unleaded and proceeded into Cleveland, dropping
well below the speed limit in the busy afternoon traffic.
"You know, Al, it occurred to me that maybe some of
these people have seen Jamie. While we're here, I'd
like to show the picture to a few people."

"Sure," Al said pleasantly, but it sounded to Cindy as
if he thought the effort would be wasted. As if he knew
exactly where he is, but isn't telling me, she thought suspi-
ciously. He shifted in his seat when she thought that,
raising another uncomfortable question.

WHEELS OF FIRE               315

Does he know what I'm thinking?

IfAl was reading her thoughts, he gave no indication
of it. He was gazing absently out the passenger window,
apparently with a few thoughts of his own occupying
his dme.

"Any suggestions on where to stop?" she asked,
seeing nothing on the main street that looked even
remotely like a supermarket.

"Keep going all the way through Broadway. There'll
be a large store on the right, I think." For a moment he
lost some of that smug self-assurance, became a little
less perfect. "Bob always came along on these trips. He
always seemed to know where all the stores were, and
what to get"

Cindy suppressed a snicker. If it weren't for Bob, Al, you
wouldn't know how to tie your shoes. This was a thought she
hoped he could pick up.

"I hope you have a list," she said, and Al held up a
scrap of paper.

Presendy they found the Super H discount market on
the other side of the business district, as predicted. As
they entered the supermarket, Cindy noted that Al
blended right in with the crowd. His clothing and
demeanor, which was that of a simple mechanic, made
him virtually transparent But as she observed him, there
was more than that; she caught a faint glimmer of some-
thing surrounding him, something that nobody else
noticed. In fact, nobody seemed to notice him at all.
Natives walking toward them in the aisles didn't even
look up, but smiled warmly at Cindy when she passed.
Instead of walking straight into him, however, people
walked around him. His movements were fluid, and
without any apparent effort he wove through the
crowded market, unnoticed. And, she was beginning to
speculate, unseen. She'd have to ask him about that later.

Soon the cart was full, stocked with everything from
motor oil to Gatorade. Al seemed to know where

316 Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

everything was in this store, so Cindy was content to let
him lead the way. Occasionally she dawdled over this or
that item, as Al patiently waited for her to come along.
In the check-out line she saw a tabloid newsrag with
the headlines proudly proclaiming "Phantom Elves
Invade White House; Bush Scared." This apparently
caught Al's attention, and he winked at her as he
dropped a copy into the cart. Cindy rolled her eyes in
response.

As they were wheeling the bagged groceries into the
parking lot, Cindy looked up to the street, where a line
of five cars and trucks were waiting for a Volvo to turn.
Something about the sight disturbed her, but nothing
really registered as she pulled the cart up next to the
car and began handing Al bags.

After the third bag, though, she looked up again.
There was the pickup truck, the same one she remem-
bered.

The truck. Their truck.

Jim.

Sure enough, a haggard James Chase was at the
wheel. She couldn't quite see his expression at that dis-
tance, but his posture suggested exhaustion. Or a
hangover?

"Cindy?" she was vaguely aware ofAl saying. "What
are you looking at?"

"It's him," she said, but it came out a whisper. "Look.
Over there. That's our truck! That's Jim!"

Without making any conscious effort, she found her
feet moving her in the direction of the truck. Jamie,
where's Jamie? If he's in the truck with Jim, I wouldn't see him
unless he sits forward or stands up and looks out the back win-
dow like he always does. Please, let him be in that truck! The
Volvo evidently found the gap it was looking for and
sped into the parking lot. The truck began edging for-
ward, merging with the traffic.

'Wo/" she heard someone screaming, not knowing

WHEELS OF FIRE              317

the scream came from herself. "No! Jim, you get back
here, dammit!"

The truck drove on, with Jim probably unaware of
the frantic woman running through the parking lot,
trying to catch up with him. "Stop, you sonuvabitch!
Where's Jamie? Where's my son ? "

The next thing she remembered was dropping to
her knees on a little strip of grass, a block or so away
from the supermarket, sobbing loudly. The truck was
nowhere in sight. He didn't even see me, she thought,
through tears of frustration. He's going to pay for this!
Cars slowed, and moved on. Nobody seemed willing to
get involved.

"Cindy!" Al said from behind her. "What in the seven
hells has gotten into you?"

Al's anger seemed to dissolve instantly when their
eyes met. "Let's get the car," she said weakly. "Let's go
after them." But even as she said the words, she knew it
would be futile. The truck was nowhere in sight, and it
could have gone in any number of directions.

"After who?" Al asked, helping her. Then realization
seemed to dawn on his face. "You mean you saw
Jamie?"

"Not Jamie. My husband. He was driving our
truck."

They started walking back to the car. Al's expression,
however, did not suggest that he was convinced. "Are
you sure?"

"Hell, yes, I'm sure!" she said, unleashing all of her
frustration and anger on him. "I was there when we
bought the damn thing. I was married to him. We could
have gone after him! Where were you, anyway? They
could be in Kansas by now!"

Al said nothing. The silence weighed heavier with
every passing second, until it became uncomfortable.
She began to feel ashamed for her response when Al
finally said, "Sorry. I was chasing you."

318 Mercedes Lackey £s? Mark Shepherd

"I know," she sighed. "I know. Don't be sorry. I'm the
one who should be apologizing. It's just that I was so
dose to confronting that bastard!"

Alinor put the cart into the corral, and they both
climbed into the Toyota. He acted like he wanted co say
something, then changed his mind.

She prompted him. "What were you about to say?"

Al turned the ignition. She wasn't aware when they
had decided he would drive, but somehow it seemed to
be the thing to do just then. Her knees were still shaking.

"That might not be such a good idea at this point," Al
said as they turned onto Broadway. "To let them know
we're in the neighborhood, I mean."

She was about to ask, when she saw why. They'll just disap-
pearagam, she realized. Thenlmaynwerknowwheivtheywent.

"At least we know for certain he's in that crazy place,"
she observed. "We do. Don't we?"

"We should probably leave this to the sheriff," he
replied, without really answering her. "Let's put away
the groceries and take a trip out to Pawnee. Let Frank
know what we saw."

They drove in silence. Cindy stared out her window,
her heart leaping whenever she saw a pickup truck.
Then it would turn out to be someone else's, and she
would sink back into herself, doing everything she
could to keep from bawhng.

The last thing Al needs is a crying, hysterical woman to deal
with, she thought wretchedly.

But by the time they reached the Cleveland city
limits, that's exactly whatAl had.

Comforting crying women wasn't one ofAlinor's
favorite duties, but he seemed to be doing a lot of it
lately. And truth to be told, he was beginning to prefer
the company of his constructed servants to Cindy. At
least they knew how to smile and look pleasant no mat-
ter how unpleasant the circumstances. The human

WHEELS OF FIRE              319

seemed to spend most other time wrapped in gloom or
in tears.

Bob was at the RV when they arrived at the track,
and when they told him who Cindy had seen in
Cleveland, he insisted on going with them to Pawnee to
talk to the deputy sheriff, Frank Casey. "Work at the
track is done," he said, not expanding on that, in spite
ofAl's questioning gaze. They were putting away
groceries in what Al would later realize to be record
dme. "This sounds more important, anyway. Did you
go after him?"

Al gave him an ugly look. "She only saw Jim Chase,
notJamie. Do you really think that would have been a
good idea?"

"I see. SoJamie wasn't with him. No telling what
would have happened there." Bob seemed to shrink
away from the discussion. "Do you want me to go with
you, or would you rather I stay here?"

"No. You come with us," Cindy said resolutely,
taking Bob's arm and escorting him out of the RV.
"You've been cooped up here long enough."

Al lingered in the RV's kitchen, a bit perplexed. The
action of taking Bob by the arm and leading him out as
if he were some kind of date was a little confusing. Cwdy
and Bob? Al thought, trying to imagine the two
together, and promptly shook his head against the
thought No way. Al laughed at himself as he locked up
the RV, trying to figure out why something so
ridiculous and improbable would annoy him.

Somehow Al ended up sitting in the back, with Bob
and Cindy in the front. He hated sitting in rear seats -
they never had enough leg room for him - but he kept
his complaints to himself. Few words were exchanged
between the two, though Al did observe a sort of silent
communion. They seemed content to ride in quiet,
without the need to fill the void with meaningless talk.

Frank was in the building somewhere, the

320 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

receptionist told them when they arrived in the
Pawnee County Courthouse. She led them back to his
office and told them he would be with them soon.

It was tempting to lean over and study what was on
the desk, as intriguing as all the maps and charts were
- and how much they exdted his curiosity. He would
have to content himself to studying the maps at a dis-
tance. Not all that difficult, after all....

One of the maps was the same one he had
memorized and used to find the Chosen Ones' hideout
earlier. The other ones were different, but seemed to
represent the same area. He couldn't immediately see
what all the lines and diagrams represented, and why
they were drawn the way they were. Then he saw it: he's
working up a strategy to raid the Chosen Ones!

Al held his face expressionless, no mean feat when
considering how much this disturbed him. If they go in it
could be a massacre, he thought. All those children. It
wouldn't be the first time a religious cult had held their people
as hostages, and down in those bunkers, they would be m a per-
fect position to hold out until everyone was dead. It's what
they've been training for! All the food and supplies they need
are down there. He frowned as the whole picture, with all
its frightening details, clicked into place. It would take
no great leap of thinking to turn those people against
law enforcement agencies. As it was, they perceived
themselves as acting beyond the law anyway. The
government of the United States was not truly their
government. Brother Joseph had the One Answer
given to the congregation. What the sheep didn't know
was that it was an answer from a hideous monster,
through the deteriorating body and soul of a young
child. They were beyond the law; they were divine.

They're looking for an imaginary enemy. First opposition to
come along will do.

"Hi, folks," Frank said amiably as he entered. His
great size still caused Al to look twice. The big deputy

WHEELS OF FIRE              321

toted a coffee cup, tiny in his hand, and yet another
map, partially unrolled. "Didn't know you were com-
ing or I would have been here sooner. What's up?"

"I saw James, my ex," Cindy blurted. "In Cleveland
this afternoon."

Frank scooped up the maps and diagrams lying on
his desk. The only purpose Al saw in this was to conceal
the documents from them, confirming his suspicions
that the law enforcement agencies involved in this
would act secretly and tell them about the results later.
The question is, when are they going in?
"Is that so?" Frank said, but he didn't really sound
surprised. "We had already concluded that he was with
them, but I'm glad we have a sighting. Cleveland, you
say?"

"In front of the supermarket. Discount H or some-
thing, wasn't it?" she asked, turning to Al.
"That's where we were," Al said, nodding.
She turned away and stared at Frank Casey with
accusation in her eyes. "So when are you going to get a
search warrant and go in and get him?" Cindy asked.
"Don't you have enough evidence now?"
^  "You saw him in Cleveland, Miss Chase," Frank said,
e soothingly. "That's a long way from the Sacred Heart
,^ property. I doubt I could convince a judge to issue a
', warrant on the basis of that sighting. Especially this
| judge. I told you I thought something odd was going
i on there. To be blunt, the judge doesn't want to help."
^'  "Why not?" Cindy cried, losing her hold on her
; temper and her emotions. She was shaking in her chair

now, wiping away tears. Bob touched her arm; Cindy
> recoiled from him.

"Am I to understand that you're not making any
plans to raid that place?" Al asked, unsure if it was a
good idea to show this particular card just yet. "I had
the impression, from odds and ends lying around in
this office, that you have precisely that in mind."

322 Mervedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

Frank looked directly atAl, apparendy trying to look
unruffled and doing a reasonably good job. "Don't
know where you got that idea," Frank said. "Such an
operation would require information and evidence
that Pawnee County doesn't have."

Bob's chin firmed, and it was his turn to turn accus-
ing eyes on the deputy. "But what if the State of
Oklahoma has evidence? Or the, FBI?"

"Nobody said they were involved," Frank said coolly.
"Perhaps you should examine your source of informa-
tion a bit closer."

Al raised an equally cool eyebrow. "I didn't want to
seem nosy, looking closer at what was on your desk. It
was difficult not to notice the maps."

Frank sighed. He didn't seem the least bit angry, just
dred. Tired and resdess, as if something big was going
down, and he was running low on the energy needed
to bring it off.

"Look," the big man said, leaning forward over his
desk. "I'm in a very delicate situation here. Other people
have been contacted regarding this cult, individuals we
are going to be needing to testify. You are one of these
people, Miss Chase. This is a police matter and will be
handled by police only. I don't want civilians fooling
around with this cult. They are lunatics with a cause, and
they are all well armed. All. I'm not saying that we're
going in to get your son, but I am saying diat I might not
be at liberty to discuss it if we were."

Cindy sniffled and looked at the floor. This was,
obviously, not what she wanted to hear.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" Frank said
softly. "I'm trying to juggle ten different things at once
here. Please don't make this any harder for me."

"Okay," Cindy said, however reluctantly. "You win.
You said other people. What other people? Who are
they? Are they parents looking for their children, too?
Can I talk to them?"

WHEELS OF FIRE               323

Frank threw up his arms, his palms outward. "I can't
discuss it. Sorry, Miss Chase. Please be more patient.
For a litde while longer, anyway." Frank got to his feet,
a signal which they all followed. "For a few days longer,
at least."

A few days, Al thought, alarmed. Whatever's going to
happen will happen in a few days. I need more time?

From the grim determination he saw on the deputy's
face, he saw diat he wasn't about to get it.

For the second time that week, Frank Casey watched
the sad trio leave his office empty-handed. He wished
that he could tell them everything, including the plan
to bring in the FBI SWAT teams, and get it over with.
Every time he had to dance around the facts like this,
he felt disturbed and guilty. Particularly when a
mother and child were involved.

But he was under strict orders to keep the operation
a secret. Not that die orders were necessary; he under-
stood the wisdom in keeping a lid on any pending raid.
When information like that got out in advance, to the
public or press, cops died.

A plan as big as this would surely involve casualties.
The question was, how many and on whose side.

He wasn't getting enough sleep, and he knew it. It
was already noon, and he had spent die entire night on
the phone with FBI SWAT leaders, coordinating logis-
tics. Fortunately the bulk of the army they were
assembling was going to hole up at a National Guard
depot in Tulsa, so as not to alert the Chosen Ones.
They would begin moving in under cover of darkness
and strike a few hours before dawn, when armies were
traditionally the most vulnerable. He hoped the plan
would work. But given the apparent luck of the lunatic
cult lately, he had his doubts.

IfFmgoingto be worth a flip during this thing, Fd better get
some rest. It will either happen two or three days from now. If

324 Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

Fm going to sleep, this will be about the last chance TU have.

Frank was on his way out the door to take care of
exactly that when the phone rang.

"I'm not here," he said to the secretary. "I'm going
home."

He was halfway to his squad car when he realized
he'd left his keys on his desk. When he went back into
the office, the secretary frantically waved at him, the
phone pressed to her ear.

Frank groaned. I knew I shouldn't have come back in
here. It would have been better to just curl up in the backseat
and go to sleep. Better yet, in the trunk. No one could see me
there.

"Who is it?" he asked. "I hope it's important"

"I'm not sure," she hissed. "He says he's from that
camp ofcrazies over there at that church. Chosen
Ones, I think he said. You wanna talk to him?"

Frank stared at her. His exhaustion was temporarily
forgotten as he went into his office.

"Line four," she said, and he picked up the phone.

"Yes?" Frank said. "This is Deputy Casey"

There was a pause, just long enough for Frank to
think it was a crank call after all. He was about to hang
the receiver up when a young-sounding male said, in a
trembling voice, "Are you Frank Casey?"

"That's me," he replied. "What's on your mind?"

The gulp on the other end of the line was audible.
"Everything. I'm an officer of the Sacred Heart of the
Chosen Ones. I want to leave the group, but I need
your protection."

"Is that right?" Frank said conversationally. Good
Christ, this is a tdd Fm talking to! "For what purpose?"

"My father is crazy," the unknown said. "He's going
to end up killing someone."

Father? Crazy? Who am I talking to? He broke into a
cold sweat, but managed to maintain his casual tone.
"Oh? And who is your father?"

WHEELS OF FIRE               325

"Brother Joseph."

Frank sat up in the chair, rubbed the sleepiness from
eyes. Did I hear that right? he thought. Or is the sleep
deprivation making me hallucinate?

"Are you still there?" the boy asked.

He took a deep breath and rubbed sweaty palms on
his pants. "Oh, I'm here. I know who you're talking
about You said you need protection. Why?"

The boy sounded desperate enough to be authentic.
"Because they'll come after me. They'll come after me
and kill me. I'm not joking."

"I don't doubt it," Frank said, not entirely sure he
was believing this conversation. "How do I know this
isn't some sort of a trick?"

It was the other's turn for a long pause. "Well, I
guess you don't know. You'll just have to take my word
for it"

"I'm afraid that's not good enough," Frank said
evenly. "We can get you the protection," he said, think-
ing, Yeah, the jail cell is a pretty safe place. Iron bars. Concrete
walls. Reasonable rates. "What are you willing to give us?"

"Anything you want," the boy said without hesita-
tion. "I know everything there is about the Chosen
Ones."

"I suppose you would," Frank said, "if this man is
your father." If this is true, this boy can tell us what to expect.
Layout of the bunkers. Who's there. Or, it could be a trick. Do I
take a chance?

What would it cost me? Another few hours of sleep?

"So tell me," he continued, "what do I call you?"

'Joe," he said. "That's short for Joseph. Junior."

"Of course it is," he replied inanely. "What would
you like to do about this, Joe? Could you come down to
the station-"

"No!" was the immediate reply. Then, "I mean,
they'll be watching for me there. Too risky. I meant it
when I said they would try to kill me. They should

326 Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

know by now that I'm gone, and they'll be looking for
me. Do you have any extra bulletproof jackets?"

Frank considered this a moment. "Perhaps. Do you
really think that's necessary?"

There was no hesitation in the answer. "Yes. I do."

In the silence that followed, Frank decided the boy
was serious. The risk might not be real, but he certainly thinks
it is. What Fve seen of that bunch, though, it wouldn't surprise
me to see them hunt down and kill one of their own. Especially
if he's serious about squealing on the whole rat's nest.

He sighed. "Okay, then. I can't promise a vest
because I don't know who has them checked out.
There isn't exactly a lot of call for them around here.
But I will meet you someplace. You name it."

A moment's pause. "There's a steakhouse out here.
Called Granny's something. You know it?"

"Granny's Kitchen?" Frank asked. "Out on Highway
64. Would you like me to pick you up?"

A sigh. Of relief? "No. That's all right. I can see the
place from here. Granny's Kitchen it is."

Frank did a quick mental calculation. "I'll be there in
ten minutes."

With bells on.

• CHAPTER ELEVEN

In spite of the fact that he wasn't sure about taking
the kid's paranoia seriously, Frank found himself call-
ing in a few tags, some out of state, on vehicles he didn't
immediately recognize. He told himself that he did
have to admit he'd seen more strange faces lately. But
there were always a certain number of strangers
around, especially around race-time down at Hallet.
He'd never made any connection with the Chosen
Ones - if that was really who they were. What surveil-
lance the PCSO had done indicated this group pretty
much stayed on their own land, with only a few of them
going out for supplies.

While he'd been trying to dig up information, he'd
even questioned the trash collection agency that went
out there and turned up nothing. One or two men
went in with a single truck at night when the place was
dark, passed a guard on the way in and out, and that
was it. The guys on the truck never saw anything but a
parking lot, the guard and the dumpsters. He'd come
to the conclusion a while back that if anything suspi-
cious was going on, it was either kept out of sight of
watchers from the edge of the area and from above, or
it was happening down below, in the bunkers.

Every tag he called was clean, but that didn't do
much to calm his jitters. Shoot, now he was getting
paranoid! loo much coffee, Frank diagnosed. Too much
coffee and not enough sleep. It's enough to make any man
jumpy.

He pulled in the parking lot of Granny's Kitchen, a

328 Mercedes Lackey £sf Mark Shepherd

quaint little restaurant he remembered fondly, though
he hadn't been there in some time. I've been with the
department now for what, ten years? Where has all the time
gone?

Nothing that he'd ever been through or been
trained for had prepared him for what waited for him
inside. What am I walking into here? Trap-or hoax-or
the break he'd prayed for?

The diner was exactly as he remembered it; not a
stick of furniture had been moved. The old formica
and vinyl booths still lined the walls, each with their
own remote-jukebox selector dating back to 1957. The
floor was worn through to the concrete foundation in
places; the scent was of home-cooking, with an after-
taste of Lysol. The cash register sat atop a wood and
glass case, which enclosed candy and cheap, locally
made trinkets.

The place was oddly silent for the dme of day. From the
kitchen came the sounds of an andent Hobart dishwasher,
the tinkle-clank of glasses and coffee cups being placed in
racks, plates being stacked, silverwarebeing sorted.

On duty at the open grill, Old George flipped ham-
burgers; when he saw Frank he smiled a toothless grin
and waved, a greeting that hadn't altered since the
deputy was fifteen.

And there was someone else on duty who knew him
almost as well as Old George.

"Good God, you look like hell," Peggy said, putting
an order pad away in the pocket of an immaculate
bleached apron. The waitress looked like she'd walked
off the cover of a 1955 issue of Life, complete with
blond bouffant. Like the diner, she hadn't changed
since the fifties.

Frank had dated her briefly in high school, but the
romance never advanced past petting, and Peggy had
married a real estate agent the same month Frank went
into the academy.

WHEELS OF FIRE                329

She's the kvnd of girl who can be your best friend, Frank
had once observed. Too damn few of them around.

She frowned at him, hand on one hip. "Don't you
believe in sleep anymore? Or are you too busy catting
around at night?"

"Have pity on me, Peggy. It's been one helluva long
week," he said awkwardly, glancing around the diner to
see who else was there. Two high school girls, one of the
locals, named Russ, and a National Guardsman he didn't
immediately identify. But no young man. He took a seat
at his usual booth. "Coffee, please. For now."

Maybe the kid's waiting outside, he thought, hoping this
wasn't a wild-goose chase.

"You looking for someone?" Peggy asked, pouring a
cup of coffee, and dropping a plastic-covered menu on
the formica table beside him.

He decided to play it cautious. No point in setting
himself up to look hke a fool to more people than just
himself. "Not sure yet. Have you seen a boy - a teen-
ager - hanging around here lately? Not one of the
local kids, a stranger." Peggy knew every kid that hung
around here - and their parents and home phone
numbers. God help them if they acted up when she
was on shift. Mom and Dad would hear about it before
they cleared the door.

She pursed her lips. "Well, yes I have. Early this
morning. Saw him walking along the road. Just
thought he was passing through, but he showed up
again and made a phone call over at that pay-phone."
Peggy pointed to a gas station with a phone booth,
across the highway. "He looks kind of like a runaway.
That who you're looking for?"

"It likely is," Frank said. Has to be. "What did he look
like?"

"Blond, looked like a jock. About eighteen, nineteen.
Holes in his jeans, wearing a white t-shirt If it weren't
for the military haircut he'd look pretty scruffy. Like

330 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd,

you did when you were that age." She grinned. "Or
can you remember that far back?"

Old George yelled, "Order up." Peggy winked mis-
chievously and trotted off to the counter, pink uniform
skirt swishing.

Military haircut. Could be, though most of those guys were
shaved bald. FUhave to ask hmabowt that. If it's him. If he shows.

The door opened, jingling the litde bell fixed to it,
Frank looked up as he took his first sip ofcofiee.

Son-of-a-gun. Looks like I've got my chance now.

He came into the restaurant slowly, a predator
moving into new territory, feeling his way with all
senses alert for trouble. Coolly, professionally, he
scanned the patrons sitting at the booths, apparendy
deciding after a cursory examination that they were
not a threat. And that they were not who he was looking
for.

His eyes alighted on Frank. Frank nodded, warily,
and die boy returned die nod. Just as warily.

"You must be Frank," the boy said, walking over to
the booth. "I'm Joe. We spoke on the phone just now?"

The boy kept his voice low, just barely audible. Frank
followed his example. "Yes, son. Have a seat"

Joe carefully set his pack down on the bench and
deposited himself opposite Frank. They regarded each
other uncomfortably for a momentbefore die deputy sug-
gested, "Would you like somediing to eat? I'mbuying."

Indecision passed over die young face, as if the boy was
afraid to ask for a handout. "No dianks. I'm nothungry,"
he replied, in a tone that wasn't very convincing. Then
suddenly the boy's stomach growled, loudly; people in
the bootfi next to them gave diem a sideways glance.

Frank couldn't suppress a grin of amusement. "Are
you sure?"

The youngster shifted, uncomfortably. "Well, sir, I
am hungry, but I don't want any handouts. I was raised
funny that way."

WHEELS OF FIRE                331

No handouts? If his father really is Brother Joseph, why would
that be a problem? That's how the entire circus over there was
financed. Butthen, thebcy'probably'hasaprettydistortedviewpoint.

Frank shrugged. "Consider it a loan, then. We can
work it out, somehow."

Relief washed over the youngster's face. "Okay dien,"
he said, reaching eagerly for a menu. As Joe studied die
selection, Frank was impressed with the boy's fine
physique. It took work and dedicadon to get a body built
up diat way. Muscles bulged from under die dght shirt,
with thick, meaty arms that suggested years of free
weight training. Frank's eyebrows raised when he saw
die crude swastika tattooed on Joe's forearm, diough die
boy was deep in the menu and didn't notice. From the
symbol's location on die youngster's arm, diough, Frank
had a shrewd idea diat it had been done a few years ear-
lier, before a rapid spurt of growth.

For the rest, Joe was shaving, but just barely. A fine
blond stubble was visible on his upper lip and chin, but
nowhere else. He was dirty and smelled, and looked
like someone on the run, right enough. But dlis was no
teenybopper runaway; for all Joe's apparent youth,
dlis was a full-grown man. And one who, from die dark
circles under his eyes, was having a serious crisis.

Peggy appeared with two glasses of ice water, raising
an eyebrow at Frank. A silent response from his eyes
asked her to save her questions for later. She nodded
knowingly and said only, "What will you have, sugar?"

Joe looked up at her and licked his lips, his hunger
showing. "How 'bout the chicken fried steak widi files,
a hamburger - you got a chef salad? Yeah, I'll take die
salad widi a side of cole slaw, a large milk...."

"You have quite an appetite," Peggy noted with a
grin, continuing the order on another ticket. "How
about you, Frank?"

"just a hamburger and a ginger ale," he replied. "Put
it on one dcket. I'll pick it up."

332 Mervedes Lackey £sf Mark Shepherd

Peggy left with the order. Joe drained his ice water in
one gulp. Frank edged his glass over. "Have it I'm not
thirsty. When was the last time you ate, anyway?"

"Yesterday - yesterday morning, actually," Joe
replied. "I've been moving ever since this morning
around four."

Interesting. Either the Chosen Ones were keeping
their folks on short rations, or something had hap-
pened to kill the kid's appetite for a while. Maybe the
same thing that had caused his defection? "You waited
a while before calling the office. You almost missed
me."

Joe toyed with the glass of ice water. "I had to lay low
today. I knew they were going to be out looking for me
as soon as they knew I was gone - by breakfast at the
latest. There's always an early Praise Meeting around
noon, so I figured now would be the best dme to get in
touch." He looked up, under eyebrows drawn
together in a frown. "I wasn't kidding when I said they
were going to kill me."

"Don't worry, you're safe here," Frank said placat-
ingly, still not altogether certain there was anything to
really worry about from the Chosen Ones. So far all he
had evidence for was an over-active imagination.
"Would you like to tell me what this is all about?"

Joe took a deep breath, let it go. "Not sure where to
start."

"Why don't we start with your father," Frank urged.

"Yeah. My father." He made a face, as if the words
tasted bitter. "It took a while to figure him out"

I bet it did. "So tell me about it. And just for the record,
how old are you?"

Joe sighed. "ljust turned eighteen. I've been training
in paramilitary since I could walk, it seems. Guess what I
need to do now is go into the army or something."

Frank nodded, slowly. "Not a lotta call for Pizza Hut
delivery guys that handle AK-47s." That was a test, to

WHEELS OF FIRE               333

see by the youngster's response - or lack of it - if
what Cindy Chase and her backup band had told him
was true.

The kid didn't even flinch, and that made him one
very unhappy cop.

"I guess so." He sighed again. "But there are some
things I need to take care of first Will you give me the
protection I need?"

"Of course we will," Frank said smoothly. "We've got
assault weapons, too."

The deputy let that last statement dangle in the air,
like bait. The question was, would he take it?

"Yeah I bet you do," Joe replied levelly. "But not as
much as what we've got down there."

Frank was now a profoundly unhappy cop. "Would
you care to expand on that?"

Joe shook his head, but not in denial. "I guess it's not
'we' anymore. I don't know, its just that a lot of weird
stuff has been happening to me lately. Things you
wouldn't believe. Things I'm not sure I believe."

"Start from the beginning," Frank advised.

Joe nodded. "As long as I can remember, Daddy was
a preacher. He kept talking about the second coming of
Christ, the Armageddon, the Sword of God - and this
direct phone line he had to God Almighty. Like a
Heavenly Hotline or something. Only thing is, he
never told me why he could hear God, and I couldn't"

"Well, I'm not too surprised about that," Frank said
cautiously. "We gotta lot of guys like that out here in the
Bible Belt. Not real big on explanations."

Joe grimaced. "Yeah. ljust took it for granted that he
was right and I was wrong, as usual, and the only right
thing I could possibly do was to obey him and serve
whatever church he had created that day. I didn't dare
contradict him, even when the contradictions were so
obvious that any fool could see he was making this stuff
up as he went along. I kmda got to the point where it

334            Mercedes Lackey fSMark Shepherd

didn't matter, you know? Uke as long as he was hand-
ing down the line, I'd swallow it and not even think
about it. Then he started the Sacred Heart. Sacred
Heart of the Chosen Ones, he called it. God's chosen
people. And the only chosen people."

Peggy showed up with a pitcher of water and filled
both empty glasses.

Joe emptied his for the third time. "Hot day. Nothing
to drink, either," he offered.

Frank let him take his dme. It was obvious that this
wasn't comfortable for him.

Joe took up the thread again, ina softer voice now.
"Funny. From the rime I was thirteen I dreamed of
being Rambo. I only saw First Blood one time, but I
remember every line in the movie. I worshipped
Rambo, I guess. I kind of felt like I knew where he was
at, because I was an outcast, too. But I never told
Father that, since I was only allowed to worship two
people, him and his Jesus. So when he sent me to a
military academy, I was happy. The other kids, they
saw the academy as some kind of punishment. Not me.
I thought it was great. Like summer camp, training for
the Olympics and getting to join the army all in one. I
did pretty good, too, until one day they just pulled me
out of class and sent me home. Father had a disagree-
ment with the dean over the religious part of our
training, wasn't to his liking or something, so I went
backtoAdanta."

That much could be checked. Frank nodded, and
Joe took that as encouragement to continue.

"I got a big surprise, though. After only six months,
the Chosen Ones had grown. There were ten con-
gregations in the south and east, instead of just the one
I remembered. And everybody had started wearing
guns everywhere." He grinned, disarmingly. "I started
thinking that coming back to Atlanta wasn't that bad a
deal after all."

WHEELS OF FIRE               335

"So you could play Rambo?" Frank said cynically.
Joe flushed, but nodded.

"Father changed some dme while I was gone. He
was always crazy and weird anyway, but now it looked
like something else was pulling his strings." The kid
leaned forward, earnestly. "He would talk to himself
when he didn't think anyone could hear him, and he
would have these conversations with something, only it
was like overhearing someone on the phone. You only
heard one side of the conversation. He started calling
this other thing the 'Holy Fire,' and he said it was tell-
ing him the direction the church would go. Like, it told
him to begin all the other congregations. It told him to
begin the Guard, and then it told him to start training
for the war of all wars. Armageddon, with the forces of
God toting assault rifles, you know?"

"Excuse me," Frank interrupted. "The Guard? Is
that what you call your army?"

"The Guard of the Sacred Heart," Joe supple-
mented. "Then there's the Junior Guard, which I used
to be in charge of."

"Tell me a little more about that," Frank said. "The
Guard, the Junior Guard. I'm curious. How many are
there? What kind of weapons do you have back there?"

For a moment Frank was afraid pushing for that
kind of information might have been premature, but
apparendyJoe had warmed up enough to be willing to
talk. Poor kid, Frank found himself thinking. AH these
years, and he never really had someone to talk to. Already he
feels comfortable enough around me to unload.

It surprised him to feel pity for the boy. It surprised
him more that he wanted to.

Joe frowned, absendy, his lips moving a little as if he
was adding up numbers in his head. "There's around
two hundred fifty foot soldiers. Everyone has an AK-
47; Father and General Plunket like them a lot. We
have stockpiles of ammo, fourteen thousand rounds

336           Mercedes Lackey y Mark Shepherd

per rifle last I counted. Grenades, launchers, AR-15s,
M2A2s, six .50-cals."

Frank couldn't help but utter a low whistle. "You're
not pulling my leg, are you? That's an army down there."

"You bet it is," Joe replied brightly, but the sudden
pride in the Guard seemed to embarrass him. "But -
it's bad. I know that now. I don't hold with any of it
anymore. Ever since..."

The boy looked away, evidendy struggling with what
he had to say. "Ever since my father killed Sarah. She
was just a litde girl."

Killed a little girl? Jesus - Frank waited in stunned
silence for him to continue. When Joe didn't, he
prompted, "What litde girl?" Let him be wrong. Let this be
hearsay. God, please....

Joe swallowed and turned pale. "I - I saw him do it.
I helped bury her."

Well, so muchfw it being hearsay.

"Ithad to do with that Holy Fire thing. Ittold him to do it,
I think. Her parents were part of the church. They disap-
peared, andldon'tknowwhatever happened to them."

They're probably dead, too, Frank thought, sdll in shock,
but he didn't say anything. Likely the boy knew it, but
was just hoping it wasn't true. Look, you've dealt with mur-
ders before. People die. People kill. It happens. The important
thing now is to get the damn evidence that'Uput this bastard away.

Joe shook his head and traced patterns on the for-
mica with the water that had run down the side of his
glass. "The church began to center around that Holy
Fire thing more and more. It began calling the shots.
First we'd train ten men to use a gun, then it would tell
us to train fifty. And when that was done we'd get the
orders to train a hundred."

Frank didn't like any of this. It sounded like some
kind of carnival sideshow - except that people with
high-powered firearms were taking it seriously. "And
you never actually saw this 'thing,' did you?"

WHEELS OF FIRE              337

Joe shook his head again, emphatically. "It all came
through Father. But then the thing wanted to talk to us
direcdy. The litde girl, Sarah. She was used to talk to it
at first, and what came out other would scare anyone.
Ugly sounds. Grunts. Then it would talk. Like some-
thing out of a movie."

Frank nodded, wondering where reality ended and
fantasy began. He had to act as if he was taking it
seriously, or he'd lose the boy. He sure thought it was
real. We should be getting this on tape, he thought. There's
time for depositions later, but I wish I had a recorder going now.
This Brother Joseph guy must be one hell of a con artist to con-
vince a little girl to play alongwith this little parlor show, not to
mention the rest of this group. There must be hundreds mow
down there. And, they're all under his thumb.

Correction. All except his son, now. Fve never seen anyone
spill their guts like this. He sings like a cage full of canaries. Or
like someone with a guilty conscious.

Joe raised his eyes to Frank's again, and the earnest-
ness on his face could not be mistaken. "This wasn't just
my father playing like a ventriloquist or something,
you've gotta believe me. This thing, this Holy Fire, it's
the real diing! It ain't - isn't - anydiing I've ever seen
before. But it's real, real as you or me...."

Frank nodded, but his skepticism must have shown a
litde. The boy frowned.

"I bet you'd like to know where we get our money,
right? The Holy Fire, it would give us information on
the horse races and the bingo games in Tulsa. And the
information would always be right. But we couldn't
attract attention by scoring big every dme we went out
there, so the 'luck' was sort of spread around." He
swallowed, hard. Frank tensed. Something big was
coming. "That wasn't where the real money came
from. That was just seed money."

Here we go. Time for the nitty-gritty.

"Drugs. That's where die real money comes from. I

3S8 Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

never got involved in the sales, but I knew what they
were doing. They used the money from the horse races
and stuff to buy coke from the big guys in South
America. It got delivered at night about three times a
week. Then they would have to move it the next day,
out into the street."

Frank cleared his throat. "What kind of large quan-
tities? How much are we talking about here?"

"Oh, three, four hundred kilos a shot," Joe said
casually. "Comes in by private plane, mostly. There's a
landing strip and camo-nets out on the land. Or when
the plane can't make it, they bring it in by truck."

Christ almighty, Frank thought. All that coke, right under
our noses. If what he's saying is true, it's hard to believe that we
didn't get a line on any of this. He might be exaggerating the
amount. But even if it's one ounce, we can bust them but good.

Joe caught his attention again. "Now listen for a
minute. They never got busted, not even once, because
of what the Holy Fire would say right before we went
out. Like the other night, it told us about the Oaktree
Apartments. That there was going to be a bust, and
when. Exactly."

Frank squirmed. Which, for a man of his size, was
not an action easily concealed. "Oaktree Apartments.
In Cleveland?" He had been involved in that stakeout.
And the resulting raid had produced zilch.

Every residence on their warrants had been
sanitized. Not a shred of evidence, not a dust speck of
coke. Nothing. And no explanation. One day before
the bust, the place was red-hot. Day of the bust, noth-
ing but empty rooms.

"Cleveland? I guess. But there's more, the reason
why nobody ever gets busted. The Holy Fire warned
us about the police. There was something about a blue
Mustang."

Frank knew about the Mustang; he'd driven it once.
The Tulsa County sheriff's office had loaned it to

WHEELS OF FIRE               339

Pawnee last winter for a drug bust related to one on
their turf. But how in the world did that quack know about it?

The first thought was that there had to be an inform-
ant working from within the department or even the
state's attorney's office -

But how could someone cover county cops and
Tulsa City stuff? And state busts?

Someone who had access to warrant information
right across the state? But that was coming out of a
dozen different offices - oh, it could be done, but only
after the busts were over and the warrants filed -

More than one informant. 11 was the only explanation.

And it was the least believable. When a cop goes bad, it's
generally an isolated event. A statewide coordinated effort
of counter-informers - run from the sticks? - that
was too much to believe.

They knew somehow, he thought in shock. There's no
denying that. For one moment, he wondered if it was
possible this Holy Fire thing was real -

No. It couldn't be. There was some other explana-
tion. Meanwhile, he had to play along, because the kid
believed, even if he didn't.... "It sounds like this thing
needs a medium to talk through," Frank said, thinking
quickly. He'd heard of the psychic medium scam, some
with a kid hypnotized for good measure.

"A child," Joe corrected. "At least, that's according to
my father. That was why Sarah. But Sarah began to
resist this medium thing too much, and -"

Frank waited. And waited. "And what?"

"He got angry," Joe said in a soft voice. "He -
strangled her. Six months ago or so."

A thin line of ice traveled down Frank's spine. "You
did see this?"

Joe nodded, and his haunted eyes begged Frank for
forgiveness. "I can show you the grave."

Evidence. "That will help. Is it on Chosen Ones'
property?"

340 Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

"It's hidden, but yeah, it's on our land. Their land."
He shook his head. "I'm glad to be out of there, but at
the same dme I feel sorta lost. Like I don't know where
I'm going now."

"Don't worry," Frank assured him. "You're doing
the right thing." Damn bet you are, kid. "But if the girl was
murdered six months ago, then who's he been using
for the go-between since?"

Joe stared at the back of his hand. "That's what I'm
getting at. This family started showing up at Praise
Meetings in Atlanta, before we moved everything out
here. There was this little kid - he was kinda like the
way I was when I was that age. I think one of the
reasons I liked him from the start, now that I look back,
is 'cause he wasn't caught up in all that crazy Sacred
Heart stuff like everyone else was. And he liked me, I
think he kind of thought I was like a big brother. The
kid needed someone to look up to, and I just sort of fell
into the role, I guess."

Frank was getting an eerie feeling about this, a sense of
déjà vu that he couldn't quite shake. Why does this sound
familiar? he wondered, but saved his questions for later.

The back of his hand seemed to fascinate the boy.
"The father, this drunk named Jim, got roped into the
Sacred Heart real good. My father convinced him to
bring his son to the Praise Meeting. The kid turned out
to be better than Sarah."

"The man's name was Jim?" Frank asked, knowing
now why this all seemed familiar. And he didn't want it
to. "Was his last name Chase?"

Joe frowned. "Might have been. Everyone there is
on a first-name basis, but it'd be on record some-
where."

Frank knew he had to ask. "What about the boy?
What's he called?"

'Jamie," Joe said. "The boy's name isJamie."

Oh Lord, Frank thought, keeping his face as bland as

WHEELS OF FIRE               341

possible. How do IteU Cindy Chase this? The answer came
to him quickly: You don't. At least, not yet.

"He grabbed the kid - actually, he got Jim to grab
him and bring him here. He had Jim kidnap the kid
out of school, and lie to him, told him that the com-
pound was a summer camp or something. Then they
started using Jamie all the dme as the medium thing,
and they started starving him to keep him quiet, make
it easier for the Holy Fire to talk through him. All he
gets is juice -"Joe faltered, then picked up the narra-
tive again. "That was when I started to feel bad about
my position in the Guard, the whole Sacred Heart
thing. Last night - Father made me a lieutenant with a
new promotion, head of Internal Security. He must
have figured something was wrong, 'cause all of a sud-
den he started dangling all this stuff in front of me.
New apartment, new rank. But - I just can't take it
anymore."

"You couldn't take what happened with the little
girl?" Frank asked.

Joe shook his head, guiltily. "No, I mean, I know that
sounds bad, but I didn't know her. She was kind of a
puppet for father, and it was like what was happening
wasn't real. No, it's what he's doing to the kid. For
weeks they've been starving him, to be a better channel
for this Holy Fire, and he keeps getting weaker and
thinner - he can't hardly stand anymore. It's torture. I
got some food through to him, but it's not enough to
save him. I was up against too much in that place. I had
to go get help."

Joe shuddered. "Sir, you've got to go in there before
it's too late. Father's been putting him in a sensory
deprivation tank for some godawful reason, which is
just hurting him more. It's something I don't under-
stand at all, it's like he does it just 'cause he can. And
whatever else happens, Jamie can't go on much
longer!"

342 Mercedes Lackey 6f Mark Shepherd

Joe's eyes were pleading, glistened over with tears
not yet ready to fall. "I'm responsible, too. Arrest me if
you want to, but go in and save him."

Suddenly all the barriers broke, and Joe put his head
down on his arms and sobbed - tiny, strangled sobs
that sounded horrible, as if the boy was choking.

Frank was amazed. After all that control, he hadn't
expected the boy to break down and cry. The other
patrons in the restaurant had already left; now it was
just them and Peggy, who turned the front door sign to
"Closed," then came over with a box of tissue.

"Sorry," Joe said, after composing himself in the face
of a strange female. "I didn't mean to - lose it like
that"

"Its okay," Frank told him, feeling a little better now
that he knew the kid still had some real emotions. "Cry
as much as you want to. We'll figure this mess out
somehow."

But the control was back, at least for the moment
After a while, Peggy began bringing their food over.
Old George was watching, covertly, his face lined with
concern.

"Hope you're still hungry," Frank said. "There's a
lot of food here."

Joe's appetite did not seem to be dampened at all by
grief; the boy devoured everything in front of him.

"Don't worry, son, we're not going to arrest you,"
Frank assured him, between mouthfuls of his own
hamburger. "For one thing, I don't see evidence yet of
any wrongdoing on your part I doubt any judge in the
country would hold you responsible for what hap-
pened to the little girl or to the boy, either, as long as
you're willing to turn state's evidence. Would you be
willing to testify against your father?"

Joe didn't answer right away. He seemed to mull
over it, but only briefly. "Yes. I - I know I shouldn't
think twice about it, but my father scares me, sir. He has

WHEELS OF FIRE               343

too much power, and what he says goes. If you haven't
got a bulletproof jacket lying around, I think maybe
you should find one, if you want me alive long enough
to testify. Even then it might not make any difference."

"I'll see what I can come up with," Frank said. Now it
seemed like a pretty good idea. Assault weapons. I guess
death squads and assassins is a logical next step. After all, this
Brother Joseph has killed at least once....

"Surely he left something behind?" Brother Joseph
said carefully.

He had been eating lunch alone in his private dining
room, when Luke had interrupted the meal. He didn't
like being interrupted at meals. Especially not with
news like this.

Joe. Gone. No-not possible.

"No note?" he persisted. "No dues? Nothing at all to
tell you about where he went?"

"Nothing," Luke said simply, his eyes staring at the
wall over Brother Joseph's head. "He left nothing
behind, sir. Some clothing appears to have been taken,
but none of the Chosen Ones' uniforms. He vanished,
apparently, as a civilian. No one really knows where he
is."

The preacher's eyes narrowed at the news. I knew the
boy was up to something, he thought coldly, a slow rage
building. The devil must have had his claws in him for a long
tine now. Why else would he turn against me? Haven't I
shown him the way? Didn't I give him more than any other
father would? I gave him one of the most prestigious honors he
could ever hope to achieve. And this is how he repays me? How
dare he?

Then the rage - paused for a moment. Or-did he?
How could he dare?

"This is simply not acceptable," he said to Luke. "I
think that your conclusion that my son has abandoned
us and gone to the authorities is premature. He could

344            Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

be testing us, you know. That would be just about his
speed." That made more sense. Surely the boy would
never dare run off. He's probably trying to impress me. He
smiled as the logical explanation unrolled before him.
"I can see it now, flexing his new muscles as the new
Internal Security head, hiding in some corner we've
forgotten about, waiting to see what precisely our reac-
tion would be to this. If you think about it, our
response would be rather revealing. It would
emphasize our ability to handle - or not handle - a
defection."

Luke shook his head, stubbornly. "No, Brother
Joseph, I just don't think so. Haven't you noticed how
peculiar he's been lately? Especially around Jamie. If
you ask me, it seems he's had a change of heart about
the Cause. The devil's in his heart, and he's not listen-
ing to the voice of God anymore."

"Well," Brother Joseph said, smiling thinly. Luke's
statement touched a raw nerve, and he tried to conceal
it as much as possible. "1'mnot asking you. Use your
head, man! This is my flesh and blood you're talking
about! I suggest you organize a thorough search of the
complex. If he wants to play this little game with us,
we'll show him we can play it better."

"As you wish, sir," Luke said, but it didn't look like he
was pleased with the assignment. "We will conduct a
thorough search of the complex. Again."

"You do that," the preacher said. "And I suggest you
not report back until you find him."

Brother Joseph watched the retreating back, a bit
surprised that Luke had actually contradicted him.
Nobody in the organization had ever done such a

thing.

For that matter, Luke was the only one who could do
it and escape serious punishment. His loyalty was
unquestioned, and he was totally devoted to his leader
and the Cause. But it wasn't like the man to think for

WHEELS OF FIRE               345

himself; usually he just followed blindly, a quality
Brother Joseph encouraged in his followers.

But there had always been an unspoken competition
between Luke and his son. Competition and animosity.
They've tried to conceal it from me, but I saw it anyway. Inter-
esting that Luke seems eager to declare my son a traitor.

Never mind. It wasn't going to ruin his day. He had
much to look forward to tonight. This particular Praise
Meeting was going to be special, he knew. The Holy
Fire had been restless lately, an anxiety he could feel in
his bones, suggesting that a spectacular channeling
was in store for them all tonight.

Alas, it would probably be the last one, at least with
Jamie. The boy had been pushed to his limits, though
for a good reason, the only reason necessary: the Holy
Fire desired it. Now the boy was closer to death, which
took him closer to God. Brother Joseph had estimated
yesterday that the boy had perhaps a week left to him,
before starvation and the Holy Fire finished him off.
After tonight, he would either be a vegetable or dead,
most likely the latter.

The preacher sighed, staring at his unfinished meal.
He wished there was some way to do this channeling so
that he didn't have to go out and find another host
every six months. It was so ... inconvenient. Jamie in
particular had been far better than Sarah, who was, he
now saw, a mere container. She had been to Jamie what
a hatchback coupe was to an exotic sportscar. The boy
was a perfect vehicle, and the only thing that had kept
him from disposing of Sarah when she started to resist
and substituting the boy immediately had beenJamie's
whore of a mother. Cindy had been a nuisance from
the very start. It was a good thing she had been left
behind in Atlanta.

Why, he wondered now, had Sarah begun to resist?
So far Jamie had been quite complacent about the
whole thing. Perhaps it had been the girl's age. He

3W

wierceaes iMCRey cs MarR. SiM-pnera

noticed that she had begun to mature, a little early, at
ten. That has to be it! he decided. As soon as girl children
began to mature, they took on the attributes of any
whore. This womanhood, this contamination, must be
the evil that made her resist the holy touch.

It was all he needed to formulate a brilliant theory. If
it weren't for men, all women would be spawn of Satan! Why
are most preachers men? Didn't Eve succumb to evil, not
Adam? And of the church's staff,, how many women fulfill any
kind of useful role? The only one that came to mind was
Agatha, the retired schoolteacher whom he'd won over
years before. And she was old, well past menopause.
Sterile. Pure. The rest of the women in the place were
ca.Vtie.Baby producers. Preferably, boy producers.

He glanced up at the clock on the wall and frowned
when he saw the time. Ten past one. Looks like my wife
isn't going to join me. Wonder what's gotten into her? I'm
going to have to check into that. This is the fourth meal in a row
that she's taken elsewhere.

He finished his solitary lunch and went directly to Joe's
room. The door was open, evidently left that way since
the first search. Frowning, he saw the sinister paperback
he'd flung across the room the night before, displeased to
see that Joe hadn't destroyed it. How dare he defy me? he
seethed, poking through the boxes that remained. When
I see him again, I will have to punish him severely for this.

His pager went off at his waist, and when he checked
the number saw that he was being summoned to the
central security station. Ah! Maybe Joe's decided to report
in. Mystery solved.

When he arrived, however, he could see from the
expressions on all assembled that this wasn't the case.
There were half a dozen security officers there,
immaculate in their uniforms, plus Luke. They
jumped up from their consoles and saluted as he
entered. But nobody seemed willing to meet his eyes,
and that alone was enough to stir his wrath.

WHEELS OF FIRE               347

"Well?" he said impatiently, when no one offered to
explain why he had been paged. "What is it?"

Luke was standing in the middle of the cluster of
guards. They glanced covertly at the man, deferring
the answer to him. He cleared his throat, and with an
effort met his leader's eyes.

"One of our people has seen Joe," he began. "In
town."

Then he stopped, and the silence was infuriating.
"Yes? And?"

Luke coughed. "He was seen talking to a sheriff's
deputy. He was not wearing the uniform of the guard.
Apparently, they spoke for a long time."

Brother Joseph stared at him, stunned. He didn't
know how to respond. Who saw him? There aren't too
many people it could be - only a few of us go out at a time. No
one who really knows Joe.... It must be a mistake, either that or
it's an outright lie!

"Who says he saw Joe? I want to speak to him per-
sonally."

As if on cue, the group parted, revealing a man in the
back who looked like he wanted to become invisible. He
didn't look well; actually, he was obviously suffering from
a hangover. But then, he usually was. Lank blond hair
straggled greasily and untidily over his ears; his eyes
were so bloodshot you couldn't tell what color they were.
His skin was a pasty yellow-white, and his forehead was
creased with a frown of pain.

'Jim Chase?" Brother Joseph said. "On your honor,
now. Did you see Joe today?"

"Ah, yessir. I sure did," Jim said, though his eyes
never quite met the preacher's. He seemed to be study-
ing the wall behind the preacher instead. "Like Luke
said, he was talking to this big Indian deputy, there at
this diner. I pulled into the parking lot and was going to
go in and take a leak, when I saw him through the win-
dow with his back turned to me, talking to the cop."

348           Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

Brother Joseph frowned. "If his back was turned to
you how do you know it was him?"

Jim shook, but didn't back down. "I saw his profile a
few rimes, when he looked out the window. It was him."

Brother Joseph stepped closer and examined Jim's
disheveled appearance carefully, letting Jim know he
was taking note of the state the man was in. He sniffed,
once. His nose wrinkled at the reek of bourbon.

"I see," Brother Joseph said, turning away. "You
have a strong odor of liquor about you. I've told you
before that I don't mind my flock imbibing from time to
time. But in your present condition, how can I be cer-
tain you weren't, how we say, seeing things?"

Jim didn't seem to have an answer to that. "Sir, I
wasn't." He shook his head. "I know your son; you
know yourself he's spent a lot of time with my - with
Jamie. Besides, I saw his tattoo in the window. The
swastika."

Brother Joseph felt himself blanche; he'd always
wanted his son to have the blasted thing taken off. It
just wasn't politic to be brandishing symbols of some-
thing that had failed, no matter how noble their cause
had been.

"Seems cut and dried to me," Luke said calmly.
"That must have been him, then."

Brother Joseph knew that his tranquil facade would
dissolve completely if he stopped to think. And he
knew that he'd lose some of the power he had over
these men if he didn't take back control; in fact, he
could feel the power crumbling now.

Get a grip on yourself. And deal with this. "We must
consider Joe a renegade and a traitor," he said, emo-
tionlessly. "He is to be shot on sight, provided it can be
done anonymously. Luke, would you kindly dispatch a
mechanic to eliminate him?"

"Yes, sir," Luke said. The preacher thought he saw a
smirk forming at the comers of the man's mouth.

WHEELS OF FIRE               349

You would enjoy that, wouldn't you, you little toady? he
thought, but retained his own cold smile. It didn't mat-
ter. Command had been reestablished. You see, my
followers? The importance of my own flesh and blood pales in
comparison to the importance of our mission. I'll sacrifice my
own traitorous son without a hint of regret so that we may
march on unimpeded! He nodded, offering tacit approval
to Luke to do the job himself. The rest of the
guardsmen seemed frozen in shock at Brother
Joseph's decision.

Saying no more, Brother Joseph left to visit Jamie in
his cell.

After all, didn't God sacrifice his own son ?

CHAPTER TWELVE

These mortals are ineffectual fools, Al thought, during
the long ride back from Pawnee. / can't believe this has
gone on for so long without a resolution. Our ways are better.

It was a judgment he had made a long time ago, but
the whole sad situation with Cindy, Jamie, Frank and
the Sacred Heart of the Chosen Ones simply rein-
forced it. After this latest encounter with the sheriff's
office, he'd just about decided that unless he inter-
vened, the outcome of this was going to be bleak. The
wheels of justice turn m this county, true, but only slowly. If this
were a violation of an elven law, the matter would have been
resolved long ago, by spell orswordpoint. If it hadn't been for
the Salamander, Fd have found a way to take care of it myself.

All the way back from the sheriff's office, they were
ominously silent. Gone was the hopeful mood during
their trip out to Pawnee; Cindy oozed depression. Any
moment Alinor figured she was going to break down
and cry. It was all he could do to keep his shields up and
his mind clear. At this point in the game, he needed
everything working in top form.

Keeping Cindy's emotions out, though, wasn't the
real problem. His own simmering anger threatened to
overwhelm him. Now I know why I deal so little with the
humans'world, he thought. I would go mad with all that...
that... red tape!

Frank had been no help at all. It only confirmed
what he suspected all along: that the sheriff's depart-
ment, though with all the right reasons for their
actions, had no intention of including them in any

WHEELS OF FIRE               351

move they might take against the group. That alone
rankled him. After all, hadn't he already been in the
camp and gotten closer to the situation than any law
enforcement officer? I know more about what's going on in
there than they do - or could. They have no concept of the
universe beyond their own, immediate physical world. They
wouldn't know a ghost if they walked through one!

He couldn't begin to consider explaining the
Salamander to the cop. He'dprobably have me committed or
jailed or something, he thought, shuddering at the
possibility of being surrounded by all that cold steel.
They have no idea what they're up against. The Salamander
could come in and pulverize anyone's mind without much
effort. Great Danaa - it would happily pit all of its followers
agaznst the law enforcement people and gorge on the resulting
carnage....

In fact, that was probably what the Salamander had
in mind.

What he doesn't know - couldn't know - is that Jamie is
being exposed to this thing regularly. If his mvnd isn't destroyed
yet, it will be soon, perhaps even the next tine they have their lit-
tle "Praise Meeting." At the sheriff's rate of progress, Jamie
isn't going to last long enough to be rescued.

He considered another nagging possibility. The
Salamander is going to see this raid a mile away. It probably
knows about it already. Then what? Is it going to instruct
Brother Joseph to fortify the underground complex of bunkers
even more? Short of a bombing run wzth napalm, there would
be little chance of getting to the soldiers. And if we did, what
would be left? Too risky to the children to even consider it.

They pulled into Hallet raceway in the late afternoon,
and Al reached forward with his mind to make sure the
air-conditioning was on in the RV. The temperature was
up to at least a hundred now, a county-wide sauna. Heat
like that that would only aggravate already touchy
tempers. Al would have to be careful lest Cindy blow up
in his face; he sighed with the realization that she

352 Mercedes Lackey WMarit Shepherd

probably would anyway, regardless ofhow much caution
he exercised around her. Haw can I blame her, though? If it
were my child - and I'm beginning to feel like it is - I would
be frustrated to tears, too.

Fortunately all at the track had been running per-
fectly since that last minor fix on the engine, and the
team had given them as much time as they needed off..
Thank Danaa, he thought, wishing that all racing gigs
had gone as well mechanically as this one. If we'd had to
deal with a balky engine, I doubt we would have had the time to
do as much as we have.

After they had parked the car, Cindy excused her-
self. She said she had to go make a call to her bank in
Atlanta. Al suspected she just wanted to be alone for a
while and didn't say anything. She'd probably go hole
up in the ladies' room over by the stands and cry her
eyes out.

Bob looked tired and slouched back on the couch-
bed with a Gatorade and a Car and Driver magazine.
Not surprising, after being up most of the night work-
ing on Cindy's car. Al didn't really want to burden his
friend with what was on his mind, but they had made
promises to each other that no matter what they would
be there for each other. It was a pact encouraged by
every one of the Folk who'd joined SERRA, for
experience had shown that their kind didn't always do
very well going solo in the humans' world.

Especially, Al thought tiredly, when a Salamander is
involved.

He took a seat across his companion and pretended
to study the table top for a moment. "You know, Bob,"
Al said conversationally. "This, ah, sheriff's office
doesn't strike me as being all that efficient in dealing
with this mess."

Bob lowered the magazine and gazed steadily at his
partner, his eyes narrowed, with a slight frown on his
lean features. "Eyah?" he said, but the glint in his eye

WHEELS OF FIRE               353

suggested he already knew what to expect. But he
added no more to his comment. Instead, he waited
patiently for his friend to continue.

"I mean, look at it. They have all the evidence they
need to raid the place, or at least investigate the cult a
lot closer. If they did, they'd find ]amie, you know they
would! But their own laws are preventing them from
doing it!" He felt himself snarling and clamped control
down on himself. "The laws that were designed to
prevent this abuse are indirectly condoning it," he said
a little more calmly. "What sense does that make?"

Bob took his time responding, as usual. "I don't
pretend to be a part of the humans' world," he replied,
slowly. "I know, I am a human, but I don't understand it
I feel like I'm sorta caught between the human and the
elven worlds, and to tell you the truth, most of the time
Underbill seems a lot more sensible. This is one of those
times when it's especially true." He sighed wearily. "I
think I know what you're getting at. You want to go in.
Like Rambo. Play Lancelot. Do you really think, though,
that you can take on this thing by yourself?"

Al bristled at the suggestion, however true it probab-
ly was, that this was out of his league. "I don't know if I
can or not," he said. "We don't have a choice, and I'm
going to have to try. The law enforcement people
involved in this deal are blind to the Salamander; they
wouldn't believe in it even if we told them about it. How
could they hope to combat something they can't even
see?"

"Right," Bob said, and shook his head. He knew that
no matter what he said, Al was going to go ahead and
do what he was planning on doing anyway. And Al
knew that he knew. It had never changed anything
before, and it wouldn't this time, either. "Had it
occurred to you that maybe you should call in some
help?"

Al snorted indignandy. The problem was, he had. The

354 Mercedes Lackey &' Mark Shepherd

Low Court elves he had contacted - hundreds of miles
away, in Dallas - had shown polite interest in the
Salamander project, but nothing more. He had
explained carefully to them how imperiled the boy was,
pushing all the proper elven buttons to rouse their
anger. But those he talked to had sadly shaken their
heads, telling him. that there was nothing they could do.
There simply was no nexus close enough - even if they
had been able to transfer themselves to it in time to do
any good. They couldn't operate that far away from the
nexus in Dallas. There were no High Court elves there,
and while the Low Court was sympathetic to his plight,
they were helpless. They simply could not survive more
than fifty miles from their grove-anchored power-pole.
And he hadn't been able to contact any of the High Court
elves of Outremer or Fairgrove. Al checked again,
working through his anger - but once again he could
touch no one. He released the fine line of communi-
cation he sustained and refrained from beating his head
against the nearest convenient wall.

"I see," Bob said, as if reading his mind. "No luck,
huh?"

"None."

The discovery left him feeling empty, reminding him
how different he really was from the other elves.
Traveling the world, intersecting with the humans'
universe whenever necessary, was for him a way of life.
To the rest - except for those in Fairgrove and Out-
remer, and some rumored few in Misthold - it was an
esoteric and dangerous hobby. They're probably behind
shields or Underbill. Damn. Why didn't I tell them about this
when I first realized the Salamander was involved?

"So what do you suggest?" Bob said. "Waltz in there
all by yourself, politely inform them you're there for
Jamie and then walk out with him?" He sat up, setting
the magazine aside, and faced Al. "You really think
they're going to go for that?"

WHEELS OF FIRE               355

"No, no, no!" Al said, a bit of his anger slipping past
his shields. 'Just what kind of a fool do you think I am?
I'm going to pull out every trick I can conjure just to
get through this one alive. What choice do I have? You
know that child hasn't a chance unless I go in after him!
Frank Casey is a good man, but he's only one sheriff,
and he's the only one who knows or cares about Jamie!
How much will you wager me that he's the least senior
man involved in whatever it is they're doing about the
Chosen Ones? I have to go in there because no one else
will!"

"God," Bob said, wearily. "Listen, Alinor, I'm not
blind or deaf. I saw the maps and all, and the way Casey
hid them. It's just that you're going to have to go up
against that thing, and there is nothing on a magical
level I can do to help you. I want you to think about
what you're doing and not just charge in there like
every other macho warrior in Outremer, thinking you
can conquer the world just because you can work a few
magic tricks. I'm afraid for you, even if you won't be for
yourself. This thing scares me."

Al snorted. "Don't think for a minute that it doesn't
scare me. I told you, I'm not a fool. Anyone else might
act like a 'macho warrior' - but they don't know what
they're up against I do. Believe me, I do."

Near their RV, a barbecue party was in noisy
progress. In the distance was the dim roar of race cars,
the muted bark of a PA system. Around them the world
was functioning normally, while they discussed -
what? A raid on a crazed madman and his army - con-
fronting a supernatural monster. Life had progressed
way beyond surreal.

But he had a sudden idea. "There is something you
can do to help me. Keep a close eye on Cindy when I go
in there." Bob flinched at the mention of "there," but
Al continued. "Keep her occupied. I don't want her to
know what I'm doing."

356 Mercedes Lackey 6s? Marit Shepherd

Bob gave him the Look. "What, exactly, will you be
doing? And don't forget the cops. They can still come
after us if they find out we're interfering. Remember,
the deputy told us to stay out of it."

Al expelled a breath as he gazed at the floor. What,
indeed? "Here it is. If they find out, it'll be after I've got-
ten in and out. At that point dealing with them will be
the easiest part of this whole mess. I play games with
Frank's memory, make him forget 'Al,' replace what he
knows with memories of some crazy human
antiterrorist or something. Let him spin his wheels
trying to find someone who never existed. I've done it
before. It's the Chosen Ones we need to be concerned
with the most."

"No kidding," Bob muttered. "So how are you plan-
ning on keeping yourself bullet-hole-free?"

Al shrugged. "I'll go in with James' face, or someone
else they'll recognize."

Bob nodded. "Okay. And once you're in, then
what?"

Al shrugged. "I wing it, I guess."

Bob groaned.

Jamie came awake in the darkened cell, suddenly
aware that someone was sitting in the room with him.

.-Sarah?: he sent, but there was no answer, and the
presence was solid. It smelled, sweat and dirty clothes
and mildew - real.

And another odor that could only mean his father.
That smell. Joy juice. Oh, no, I'm going to get sick again.

He had barely enough energy to turn over and
vomit into a small trash can that had been left there for
that reason. A man named Luke had told him to use it if
he got sick again, and if he missed it he was going to
spank him with a rubber hose. Long welts on his legs
and buttocks testified to his poor aim. It was difficult to
hit the bucket when you saw two of them.

WHEELS OF FIRE               357

When he was finished he leaned back on the bed.
From the sound his vomit made, he knew he'd hit the
bucket, so he knew he wouldn't be beaten this time.
But he was still afraid. He looked up through the fog
that clouded his vision at the face in front of him he
dimly recognized as his father's.

"Daddy," he whispered, since that was all he had the
strength for. "What did I do wrong? What am I being
spanked for?"

It was always possible that to ask such questions
would only solicit more heatings, either from his father
or another adult nearby. It didn't matter. It seemed like
whatever he did, it was wrong, and it was his fault.

Always my fatdt.

"Don't talk back to your daddy," Jim said angrily.
"Don't you ever talk back to me. There's a reason for all
this. I know it, you don't have to. Just you wait and see."

Although Jamie heard the words, there wasn't much
sense he could extract from them. Another question
formed, then slipped past his teeth.

'Where's Mommy?"

Stars exploded in his vision as Jim hit the side ofhis face.
Jamie saw stars and felt his whole face spasmingwith pain,
then aching right down to the bone, his teeth loosening.
His head jerked to the side, stayed that way. He had no
energy to cry or scream or protest or agree to what was
going on. All he could do was to lie there in terror and wait
for whoever was inflicting the pain to go away, however
temporarily; they would always return, he knew.

"I'll beat the devil out of you yet," Jim said, but his
voice sounded like he was further away, though he
hadn't heard his footsteps retreating. Jamie heard
another voice then, one that sounded like Luke's.

"Tonight's the night," he heard Luke say, further
away, beyond the open door where light spilled into
the room.

"There's too much ofhis damn mother in him," Jim

358 Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

Chase said, as if that wasJamie's fault. "He won't
believe in anything! He always has to ask questions! It's
his damn mother, I tell you -"

He heard footsteps as they left the room. "It don't
matter," Luke replied. "Holy Fire can use him now
whether he believes or not, and anyway, after tonight
it'll be all over with." Luke laughed, nastily. "Until
then, we'll let him see what questions buy doubters. He
gets to see what the darkness of hell is like."

The light went out.

Darkness used to mean terror, now it was welcome.
Darkness usually meant the beadngs would stop.

.•Sarah. Help me.: he called. .-You promised you'd help me.:

Long moments passed as he waited for his com-
panion. As always she appeared, faithful as ever, this time
as a ball of bright white light at the outer periphery of his
vision. Her presence, over the last several visits, seemed
to be getting stronger. Jamie didn't know what to dunk
about that, except that maybe he was getting closer to
becoming a ghost like her.

She hovered there a long while, longer than usual,
which made Jamie nervous.

.•What's wrong?: he asked.

:Ican't stay,: she said, sounding afraid. .'It's getting
stronger. If I stay too long it will see me, and, I don't know what
will happenyet. I came by to tellyou ...:

The light flickered, dimmed, threatened to go out

Jamie panicked. .-Sarah! Don't go away.:

The light brightened.:... to tellyou help is on the way.
Joe ran away and told the police what was going on. And.. .:

He waited for her to finish, but he sensed she was
struggling against something, like there was a hard
wind where she was, blowing her away.

The light surged back one more time, for a brief
moment.

:... that Ilove you.:

And the wind blew the light out.

WHEELS OF FIRE               359

Bob stood in front of the white van with his hands
planted on his hips and a frown on his face. Cindy stood
beside him, holding his arm tighdy, but trying to be so
quiet she was holding her breath. "Look," he said -
profoundly grateful that it was after sunset and there was
no one near enough to see that he was talking to a grill
and a pair of headlights. "You know he and Andur went
over there with no backup. You know he's not up to this!
So who's left to do anything? You and me!"

The lights glowed faintly for a moment. Bob wished -
not for the first time - that he was one of the human
fosterlings with the power to speak mind-to-mind. But
then Nineve was probably just as frustrated with this as
he was. None of the elvensteeds could speak audibly-
and in fact, none could transform up to anything larger
or more complicated than a cargo van. Nineve's interior
modifications were all due to the same magicAlinor used
to modify the Winnie. Otherwise, Bob would have had
her shift into a nice solid M-1 tank.

"Here's what I figured," he continued, hoping
desperately that what he had figured was going to work.
"I've been playin* with the scanner Les Huff's got in
his trailer; he's got this book on police freqs, and I've
been listening every night, tryin' t' see if there was any-
thing goin' down with the cops, okay? Well, just after Al
left, there's all kinda stuff, radio checks, code-words -
sounded like somebody was gearing up for something
real big. Well, when we visited that Pawnee County
Mounty, he covered up what we thought was plans for
a big raid. I figure that big raid's about to happen. And
Al's right smack in the middle of it. But - but - if you
ask the owls where it's all coming from - and then we
catch them gearin' up - well, maybe we can force then-
hand. If we get them to kick off that raid early, while
Al's in there, maybe that thing he's going up against'U
pay attention to them and not him."

360 Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

Nineve's lights came on and stayed on - and her
motor started up abruptly and the driver's-side door
popped open. Bob could have wept with relief.

Cindy released his arm and started for the
passenger's side as Nineve revved her engine. Bob
grabbed her elbow before she had gotten more than a
step away. "No," he said, holding her back. "You stay
here."

She whirled, balling her fists, her eyes flashing in
sudden anger. "No? No? What the hell do you mean,
wo? That's my son you're talking about-"

"That's the police from a backwater, redneck,
prehistoric county we're talking about," Bob replied
levelly. "Plus the FBI, the state cops, maybe the DEA
for all I know. All good ol' boys/rum roun' ear." He
imitated the local accent mercilessly. "You're notfrum
roun' ear. You're not military, you're not even male. If
you can think of a bigger bunch of macho ass-kickers,
I'd like to hear it some time. Your son isn't gonna mean
squat to them, Cindy. You show up, and if you're lucky,
they'll just dismiss everything you tell them as female
hysterics and shove you off into a corner to make cof-
fee. If you're not lucky, they'll throw you into the county
clink to keep you out of their hair!"

She fell silent and stopped resisting his hold. He con-
tinued, a little more gently. "Cindy, it's not fair, but
that's the way these guys are gonna be, and we've gotta
deal with it. I'm a man, I speak their language. I'm a
National Guard MP with a security clearance, I know
how to handle a gun, I've got grease and oil under my
fingernails - if I go in there and find Frank first, I
think maybe I can convince him to deputize me and
bring me in with them. If I'm deputized, he can assign
me to find Jamie. And figure I've got a better than
average chance of not getting shot in the ass."

He took a deep breath, as Cindy slumped and put
her hand to her mouth to keep from crying. "Cindy,

WHEELS OF FIRE              361

Frank's not a bad guy - he wants to help, but he's got
his job to do. He may even be happy to see me. More
important, though - if we start a ruckus while Al's in
there, we'll be giving him cover. If between us we can't
get Jamie out, no one can. But if you go, that's not
gonna happen. We'll both wind up in the county slam-
mer. You for showing up, me for bringing you."

"All right," Cindy said, in a small voice. "I guess
you're right. But - just sitting here, not doing
anything-"

"I know it's hard, Cindy," Bob told her earnestly. "It's
the hardest thing in the world. I've done my share of
waiting, too. Not like this - but I've done a lot of it Will
you stay in the RV and trust me?"

She nodded, shyly - and to his surprise and
shocked delight, kissed him, swiftly. Then she turned
and ran into the RV.

"Did that mean what I thought it meant?" he asked
Nineve. The lights blinked twice, and he touched his
lips, a bemused smile starting at the corners of his
mouth. "I'll be damned.... Well, hell, this isn't catching
any fish. Let's get going!"

Bob faced Frank Casey with a stolid, stubborn
expression he knew the deputy could read with no
mistake. Casey, in his camos and blackout face-paint,
looked absolutely terrifying; bigger than usual, and
entirely like a warrior. If they'd let him wear feathers,
he'd probably have one tucked into the cover of his
helmet.

Casey was trying to intimidate him with silence and a
glower. Bob refused to be intimidated. Casey tried a lit-
tle longer, then deflated.

"Christ," he muttered, removing his helmet and
passing his hand through his hair. "I don't know how
you found out about this - but you're here now, and
Captain Lawrence says your ID checks out - shit, I

362 Mercedes Lackey y Mark Shepherd

can use another hand, I guess." He shook his head.
"Consider yourself deputized. Goddamn. At least you
got more sense than that hothead buddy of yours with
the hair."

Behind Frank, the Air National Guard hangar at the
tiny regional airport was as full of feverish activity as a
beehive at swarming time; it had been bad before, when
he first strolled in. But now -

He'd almost been arrested on the spot, undl he cited
Frank Casey as his contact. Then he'd faced an
unfriendly audience of DEA officers, National Guard
officers, FBI agents and police. They hadn't liked what
he told them about Al.

And I didn't even tell them a quarter of it.

"Yeah, well," Bob coughed. "I couldn't stop him.
Tried, but -" He shrugged. "He's real worried about
that kid."

"So'm I," Frank said grimly "But I've got the FBI,
the DEA, the County Mounties, the state boys - and
half the local National Guard to worry about, too. They
made me local coordinator on this thing, they've been
letting me call some of the shots. And your buddy may
just have blown our raid."

"Maybe," Bob said cautiously. "Maybe not." How do I
play my ace in a way he'll believe ? He sure as heU won't believe
me about the Salamander.... "Seems to me these guys've
got ways of finding out things - like they've been able
to screw things up for you before this." The flinch
Frank made cheered him immensely. He was on the
right track! "So, okay, they may even know about this
one. Except you're gonnajump the gun on them. So
maybe now, 'cause we forced your hand a little, you got
a chance of catching 'em off-guard." He cocked his
head to one side. "So that's why I asked you to bring me
in on this. I know what he looks like; hopefully I can
find him before he catches a little 'friendly fire.' That
sure wouldn't look good on the report."

WHEELS OF FIRE                363

Frank shook his head slowly. "Man," he drawled, "I
haven't heard a line like that since Moonlighting got can-
celed."

Bob almost grinned and stopped himself just in time.

"Right now, the only reason your ass isn't in the
county jail is because I convinced my superiors thatyou
are somebody I've worked with before. Your Guard
record helped, but basically they're going on my
word." Frank looked back over his shoulder at the half-
dozen Blackhawk helicopters being loaded at
double-time. "Don't push your luck."

"No, sir,^ Bob replied, with complete seriousness.

"You've got three assignments," Frank said, holding
up three fingers, and counting down on them. "Find
your buddy. Find the kid. Try not to get ventilated.
When you accomplish one and two, get down and stay
down so you can accomplish three."

"Yes siri" Bob didn't salute, but he snapped to a com-
pletely respectful attention. Frank nodded, apparently
satisfied.

"Now get your ass over there," he said, nodding at
the third chopper in line. "You're with Lieutenant
Summer; you can't miss 'em, he's the only black officer
in this crowd. He knows you're with his bunch. One of
his men turned up sick, so lucky you, you get to ride.
And buddy, that's all you got. You manage to liberate a
weapon from the enemy, then you've got a piece -
otherwise, you got nothing."

Bob nodded. He hadn't expected anything else.
There wouldn't be any spare weapons on this trip -
and even if there had been, there was no one here
who'd take responsibility for signing him out on one. If
an assault rifle turned up missing after all this was over,
and then guys in charge found out an outsider had
been brought in at the last minute - there'd be no
doubt of where the gun went (whether or not that was
the real truth), and the one who'd authorized issuing it

364 Mercedes Lackey £s1 Mark Shepherd

to Bob would be in major deep kimchee. And in theory,
given his assignments, he wouldn't need one. Not
having a gun would make him concentrate on those
assignments instead of playing Rambo.

Frank looked him up and down one more dme. Bob
knew what Frank was thinking, given his "nonstandard"
dothing. When he'd headed out in this direction, he'd
had a small choice of outfits. Instead of going for conceal-
ing gear, since he figured he wasn't going to be in the first
wave, Bob had chosen to suit up in real obvious dothing -
his bright red, Nomex coverall. There wasn't a chance in
hell that any of the Bad Guys would be wearing some-
thing like that, which meant that the Good Guys - in
theory, anyway - wouldn't mistake him for a lawful tar-
get. Al would recognize him if he saw him, even at a
distance, even during a firefight. Hopefully Jamie would
recognize racetrack gear and trust him. Nomex was fire-
proof and heat-resistant; he might be able to make a dash
into or out of a burning building if he had to.

Of course, this same outfit made him look like a big
fat target for the Bad Guys -

Frank shook his head." How come you didn't paint a
bulls'-eye on the back while you were at it?"

"Reckoned all they'd see was a red blur goin' about
ninety, and figure I was a launched flare," Bob
drawled.

Frank's mouth twitched. "Deployable decoy. You're
either the bravest bastard I ever met, or the craziest.
Get over to that chopper, before I change my mind."

This dme Bob did salute, and did a quick about-face
before Frank got a chance to respond. A huge black
man in camos was supervising the loading of his men;

as Bob quick-trotted over, he looked up and waved
impatiently at him.

Bob broke into a run - hoping he wasn't about to
make the biggest mistake of what could turn out to be a
very short life....

WHEELS OF FIRE                365

The gloomy, empty hallway would echo footsteps, if
Alinor had been so careless as to make any noise.
Wherever the Chosen Ones had gone to, it wasn't here,
and Al was perfectly happy to have things that way.

But he was going to have to find somewhere to hide
for a little, while he got his bearings. There was so
much iron and steel around him that his senses were
confused; he needed to orient himself- and most of
all, he needed to find where the Chosen Ones all were
- and where Jamie was.

He slipped inside the door marked "Cleaning Sup-
plies" and dosed it behind him. He waited for his eyes
to adjust to the darkness, and made out a mop, a buck-
et, and a sink with two shelves over it, with one gallon
jug of cheap disinfectant cleaner on the top shelf.
Nothing else.

Not a lot of supplies. I suppose it's easier to punish someone
by making them clean the floor with brute force than to buy ade-
quate supplies. Then again, any penny that goes to buy a bottle
of cleaner doesn't go to buy bullets - or steak for Brother
Joseph. That's the Way of the Holy Profit.

Getting in had been much easier than he had
thought it would be. First of all, he'd gone in right after
dinner, when the guards were torpid from their meal.
He slipped in with Andur's help over the first two sets
offences at some distance from the compound, then
he'd walked around to the third checkpoint openly, as
if he'd been out for a stroll. He'd altered his face to look
like Jim Chase's - then, as he approached the third set
of security guards, he'd planted the false memory that
they had seen the man going out - supposedly for a
walk - about an hour before. They waved him in after
no more than a cursory question or two. He continued
his stroll towards the main bunker, as the sun splashed
vivid reds in fiery swaths across the western sky.

But the next problem confronted him immediately,

366 Mervedes Lackey £s? Mark Shepherd

in the form of a technological barrier. Illusions weren't
going to fool video cameras, and there was one just in-
side the bunker door. He would have to pass it to get
inside.

Well, there had been one. Technically, there still was
one, it just wasn't working right now.

He had paused just out of range, loitering for a
moment, as if enjoying a final breath of fresh air before
descending into the dank bunker, and had checked out
the circuit the camera was operating on. To his delight,
he had discovered that they hadn't replaced the wiring
of that line after his initial tampering. He had used a
fraction of his powers to create an electrical surge that
had fried the camera just before he turned to face it.
And with the corridor beyond empty it had been child's
play to penetrate into the lower level and find this
closet to hide in.

Now, as he braced himself carefully against the
wooden support-beam and sent his mind ranging
along the electrical circuitry, he discovered they hadn't
replaced any of the wiring, despite all the damage his
tampering had been causing. Evidendy none of these
folk associated the cascading equipment failures they'd
been cursed with to an overall failure in the wiring.

Maybe it wouldn't occur to them. They may be the "plug and
play" type, using things without understanding them. Al
found that kind of attitude impossible to put up with,
but most humans seemed to be like that. He had
learned that if you asked the average mortal how some-
thing he used every day (a light bulb, for instance)
worked, most of the time he would not be able to tell
you.

Mortals relied on others more than they ever
dreamed - even the Chosen Ones, who prided them-
selves on being self-sufficient. It was a false pride, for
without the outside world to support them - in the
apocalyptic world they seemed to dream of- their

WHEELS OF FIRE               361

endre way of life would fall apart within weeks.

Never mind that. Just take advantage of it.

He located the shielded security circuits and sent
surges along all of them, blowing out every security
camera he could find. There was more he could do -
he hadn't done much in the way of starting electrical
fires yet, except by acddent-

Not yet. I might need the distractions to cover me.

The first thing he needed to do was to locate the bulk
of the Chosen Ones, using the wires to carry his
probes. He found them, as he had expected, still in the
communal dining hall. Good; he wasn't likely to run
into any stragglers for a while yet.

And now for my enemy. He searched for the
Salamander, then, sending his mind cautiously out into
the emptier parts of the building complex to look for it.
He had a fair idea of where it might be. The room of
the Praise Meetings. Hopefully, it would be drowsing.

He recoiled swiftly as he touched it, realizing by the
difference in the tension of its aura that it was not half
aware, as it had been before when there was no meet-
ing. It was awake - but it was preoccupied, as if
something else had its attention, and it had little to
spare to look about itself.

It was in the Praise Meeting room. In fact, as he
examined its energies from a cautious distance, it
actually seemed to be bound there somehow, as if it had
been tied to something that was physically kept within
that room. Was that possible? Could a being of spirit
and energy be confined like that?

It had been possible during his ill-fated excursion
into the world of the humans in the time of the First
Crusade. The creatures had been imprisoned within
the little copper boxes. They would be freed only if
Peter the Hermit actually broke the spell binding them
- which he had, so that several of them could travel
with other armies than his own. That had been a

368 Mercedes Lackey &? Mark Shepherd

mistake - as Peter had learned - for once released,
there was no controlling them. Even the ones still
bound to their containers would seize the opportunity
to run amok when released temporarily.

That made another thought occur to him; this crea-
ture had actually felt familiar when he'd first
encountered it. He had dismissed that feeling as noth-
ing more than the reawakening of old memories. Now
he wondered if he really had sensed the presence of an
old adversary. Was it possible? Could this creature be
one of the Salamanders that had not been released, one
he knew? Could it still be tied to something physical? If
that were true -

That would explain how the damned thing got over here.
Most magical creatures cannot just buy a plane ticket, but they
can invest themselves in a transportable object, which also gives
them the advantage of a physical storage nexus/or they power.
That could be it. Hinm. The last time I saw those creatures they
were spreading violence through the Middle East.

... which might partially explain why the Middle
East was still, to this very day, a hotbed of violence, if the
Salamanders were still there, still spreading their
poison....

If this creature has a physical tie, then I can do something
about it. I can force it back into its prison, or I can dismiss it
from this plane altogether!

He slid his back down along the wooden support-
post until he was sitting on the cold concrete floor of
the closet, his knees tucked up against his chest. He
would have to probe very carefully. He did not dare
catch the Salamander's attention; bound or not, it was
still dangerous, and he was no match for it in a one-on-
one fight.

He still didn't know if it truly was bound, either. Even
if it was, there would only be a very limited window of
opportunity for him to act against it. And he had to
know what it was bound to.

WHEELS OF FIRE               369

He allowed his perception to move slowly through
the electric lines, extended his probe into the room
beyond, testing each object on the room for the
peculiar magic resonances that had been on the
Hermit's enchanted containers.

Nothing. Nothing again.

But wait. How about something quicker - search-
ing for copper?

Still nothing.

There was nothing there but chairs, a little bit of
audio-visual equipment. Nothing that could possible
have "held" the Salamander, and certainly nothing that
had any feeling of magic about it at all.

Wait a minute - what about on the stage ?

He moved his perception to the circuits running the
footlights, and "looked" out across the wooden plat-
form. It seemed barren; it held only the podium, a
single chair of peculiar construction, a flag-

He recoiled as he touched the Salamander's dark
fire. Blessed Danaaf

The flag - no, the flagpole - radiated the peculiar
dark power of the Salamander. There was no doubt,
none at all. The creature was bound to the brass, sculp-
tured flagpole.

I don't remember any flagpoles! Copper boxes, certainly, but
no flagpoles-

Besides, the pole couldn't be more than a single cen-
tury old. Two, at the most. And if there had been any
human mages capable of imprisoning a Salamander
these days, surely he would have heard about them;

power like that couldn't be concealed in an age of so
relatively few mages and so much communication.

There wasn't even anything of copper, which was
the only metal that he recalled the Hermit using for his
containers. Copper, not brass-

Brass. But brass is an alloy of copper, isn't it? Maybe it
wasn't the shape that mattered, it was the metal....

370 Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

Blessed Danaa. What if someone found one of the
boxes and used it for scrap? That must be it; someone
smelted the damned thing down. They smelted it down
and made... that.

He pulled all of his senses back, quickly, and sat
quietly for a moment, calculating his next move. Now
would be a very good time to call in an ally.

He closed his eyes again and reached out with his
mind, but this time in an entirely differentdirection.

.-Sarah?: he called, hoping he was doing so quietly
enough to avoid the attention of the Salamander.
:Sarah? It's time - :

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

.-Hush!: The little girl literally popped into the tiny
doset out of nowhere, surprising Alinor into a start. :I
got Joe to run away. Don't call me like that! It's not listening/or
us now!:

:I don't think it'll hear us,: Al replied, after a quick
check. .-It's real busy with something.:

:Jamie,: Sarah said angrily.: It's getting ready far Jamie. It
wants to kill him and take his body, and it can this time!Jamie's
real sick - and I can't fight it off now, not when he can't help.:

Al elected not to ask just how sick Jamie was; he
couldn't do anything about it, and there was no point
in worrying. If he succeeded in banishing the
Salamander, Jamie would be with his mother by dawn.
If he didn't, they'd both be beyond help.

:Sarah, what exactly happens when Brother Joseph calls the
monster'?: he asked. .-Describe it as closely as you can. I think
there's going to be a point where you and I can stop this thing,
but I have to know exactly what it does, and when.:

She wasn't an image so much as a hazy shape, but he
could tell she was thinking very hard. There was a kind
of fuzzy concentration about the way she "looked."
: Well, he has to kind of get everybody all riled up.:

:Yes, I saw that,: Al agreed. .-Does that anger make the
monster stronger?:

The image of a little girl strengthened as she
nodded. :I think so,: she said. :Ifhe doesn't get them riled up
enough, it can't come out of the door.:

.-Whoa, wait a minute: Al exclaimed. .-What door? What
are you talking about?:

372            Mervedes Lackey^ Mark Shepherd

She faded for a moment, as if he had startled her, but
her image strengthened again immediately. .'What?
Can't you see the door?:

He thought quickly. .-Not that I recognize what you're
talking about. Look, I'll try to stop interrupting you, and you
tell me everything that happens, the way it happens, as if you
were describing it to someone who hadn't seen it.:

:All right,: she agreed. .'First he gets everybody all riled up.
Then there's a kind of- door. It's kind of in the flagpole. The
monster sort of opens the door and comes out, and that's when
he's in this kind of world, where I am.:

She seemed to be waiting for him to say something.
:The half-world,,: he said, .-That's what elves call it. The place
that's half spirit and half material.: He thought for a
minute. .-This door - is it kind of as if you were standing
right at a wall, and somebody opened a door, and then the
monster kind of unfolds out of it?:

She brightened with excitement. .-That's it! That's
exactly what it looks like!:

So the Salamander was being confined in the flag-
pole, much as it had been confined in the copper box.
Because there was no summoning spell involved, it
required the energy of Brother Joseph's congregation
to pry open the "door" of its confinement place.

.'Then what?: he prompted.

.•Well, then the door goes shut again, and I don't think it can
get back in until Brother Joseph lets it go again. So it stays
there, and that's when it starts feeding on Brother Joseph.
When it feeds enough on him, it can push Jamie out of his body

and take over.:

He chewed on his lip for a moment. He tasted blood
and wrinkled his nose, remembering now why he'd
started carrying packets of cookies around with him. It
was a lot less painful to carry around a few cookies than
it was to regrow lips and nails.

So, there was a moment, as he had hoped, when the
Salamander had to feed before it could take over the

WHEELS OF FIRE              373

boy, a moment when it was in the halfworld. Perhaps
because there was no longer anyone who knew the
summoning spell it could no longer enter the material
world direcdy. In the spirit world of Underbill, it would
be too powerful for him - in fact, it would probably be
too powerful for anyone but a major mage, like Keigh-
vin Silverhair or Gundar. In the material world, it
would not only have the powers it possessed - fairly
formidable ones - but it would have command of all of
Brother Joseph's gun-toting ruffians.

But in the halfworld it was vulnerable. In fact, if he
could keep it in the halfworld, blocked from power, it
would probably starve away to a point where he could
bottle it back into the flagstaff permanently.

.-Sarah, can you protect Jamie from the thing if I keep it
away from his body?: he asked. :I promise I'll keep Jamie
strong enough that the thing can't feed on him, but I need you
to keep him safe from it.:

:How?: she asked, prompdy.:/ will if I can, but how?:

Now He hesitated. :The Salamander- the monster-
can't kill you. It can hurt you, but it can't kill you. If you keep
between it and Jamie, you can keep him safe -:

:But it might hurt me?: She tossed her head defiandy.
.'Well, maybe I can hurt it, too! And I will if I get the chance!
Besides, Jamie hurts a whole lot worse than me.:

.-Sarah - : he hesitated again, deeply moved by her
bravery. .-Sarah, you are the best friend anyone could ask for. I
think you're pretty terrific.:

The hazy form flushed a pleased, pale rose color.
-•They're gonna start the Praise Meeting pretty soon,: she
warned. :Ifyou're gonna sneak in there, you'd better do it
now.:

••Thanks, I will.: He uncurled, slowly, flexing his
muscles to loosen them. .-See you there?:

There was a hint of childish giggle, and a cool breath
of scent, like baby powder; the glow bent forward and
brushed his cheek -

374 MenxdesLackey £sfMark Shepherd

- like a little girl's kiss.
Then she was gone.

The room where the Praise Meeting was held had
been constructed rather oddly. There were places, little
niches, behind the red velvet curtains covering the
back wall where a man could easily stand concealed
and no one in the audience (or even on the stage for
that matter) would know he was there. Al wasn't quite
sure what they were there for. Were they some con-
struction anomaly, an accident of building the place
underground?

Probably not, he decided. The niches were too
regular and spaced too evenly. They were probably
there on purpose, places where helpers could be con-
cealed to aid in stage magic tricks in case the
"channeling" ever failed.

Or maybe they were there to hold backup guards in
case the loyalty of any of the current guards ever came
into question.

Whatever, Al was grateful that they were there,
although his hiding place was so near to the
Salamander's flagpole that he was nauseated. He
managed to slip into place without attracting its atten-
tion and concentrated on making himself invisible to
the arcane senses, as the first of the Chosen Ones
began to trickle into the hall, avid to get good seats in
the front row.

He couldn't see much; his hiding place was direcdy
behind the chair he suspected they would use for
Jamie, and he didn't want to chance attracting mun-
dane attention by making the curtains move. But his
hyper-acute hearing allowed him to pick up good por-
tions of the conversation going on out in the audience,
and the gist of it was that something special was sup-
posed to happen at the channeling tonight. Brother
Joseph had promised something really spectacular.

'IP-

WHEELS OF FIRE               375

And - so one rumor went - the Guard had been
placed on spedal alert. That rumor hinted that a confron-
tation with secular authorities was about to take place.

"Well, if they want a war, we'll show those ungodly
bastards what it means to take on the Lord's Finest!"
said one voice loudly, slurred a little with drink.

Al felt a chill of dread settling into the pit of his
stomach. A war -

"Those godless bastards think they can come in here
with the Red Army and march all over us! They think
we'll lie right down, or maybe poison ourselves like Jim
Jones' losers!" someone answered him, just as bel-
ligerently. "Well, they'll find out they haven't got the
Lambs of God to deal with, they've got the Lions!
When they come in, we'll be ready!"

This could only mean one thing. The Salamander
knew about the plans to attack the compound, and just
as he had feared, it had passed the warning on to
Brother Joseph. But did it know when the raid would
start? Blessed Danaa - could it be tonight?

Before he could even begin to add that to his calcula-
tions, the noise of a considerable crowd arriving and
the sounds of boots marching up to the stage made any
other considerations secondary in importance. He
sensed the Salamander's rising excitement and knew
by that sign that Brother Joseph had arrived to get the
evening's spectacle underway.

He tensed and readied his first weapon of the night.

There was the scuffling of feet, and the sounds of two
people doing something just in front of his position. He
guessed that they were binding Jamie down in the chair,
using the canvas straps he'd noted. That was all right;

when the time came, those straps might just as well not be
there for all that they were going to stop him.

Suddenly lights came on, penetrating even the thick
velvet of the curtains, and the crowd noise faded to
nothing but a cough or two.

376 Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

"My brothers and sisters, I am here tonight to give you news
both grave and glorious." The voice rang out over the PA
system, but from the timbre, Al sensed that even if
Brother Joseph had not had the benefit of electronic
amplification, his voice would still have resonated im-
posingly over his flock. The man might not be a trained
speaker, but he was a practiced one.

"The time the Holy Fire has warned us of is at hand! The
time when the evils of all men shall be turned against us is near!
Even now, the Forces of Darkness ready their men - and yes,
brothers and sisters, I do not speak merely of the demons that
have infested even my own son and sent him running to betray
us to the ungodly!"

There was a collective gasp at that, as if the news of
Joe's defection came as a surprise to most of Brother
Joseph's followers.

"No, my Chosen Ones, I speak of men, men and machines
- armed as we are armed with guns and bullets - but they are
not armored as we are armored, with the strength of the
Righteous and the Armor of the Lord! Say Halleluia!"

A faltering echo of "Halleluia," answered him. Evi-
dently the arrogant, belligerent attitude of those two
early arrivals was not shared by the majority of the con-
gregation. But Brother Joseph did not seem in the least
disturbed by the lackadaisical response.

"Yes, they plan to fall upon us, like wolves upon the sheep!"
he continued. "But they do not know that the Holy Fire has
warned us, even as the Virgin was warned to flee into Egypt,
even as Lot was warned of the destruction of Sodom and
Gomorra! Say Halleluia!"

This time the chorus took on a little more strength.
And it was very nearly time for Al to think about
launching his first attack.

"Yea, and the Holy Fire will tell us all, tonight, the time when
the Army of Sin will seek to destroy the Holy! The Holy Fire will
do more than that, I tell you! Tonight, the Holy Fire will take
shape and walk among us, even as Christ Jesus took form

WHEELS OF FIRE              377

and walked among His Apostles when He had risen! Say Hal-
leluia!"

This time the shout of "Halleluia!" was enough to
make the floor vibrate under Al's feet.

"The Holy Fire will lead us to victory! The Holy Fine will be
our guide and our General' The form of this boy will be
transformed into the Chariot of God, the vehicle for the Voice
of God and the Sword of the Almighty! Say Halleluia, thank
you]esus!"

Cacophony ensued, and Al sensed that Brother
Joseph was about to turn the energy of the crowd from
positive to negative.

'And who are these Godless Enemies?" Brother Joseph
asked.

The response was a roar in which Alinor picked out
the words "Jew," "Communist," "Liberal," and
"Satanist," as the most frequent.

"And what do we do about them?"

Someone started a chant of "Kill, kill, kill," which was
quickly picked up by the rest, until the entire room -
probably the entire building - resonated with it. The
energy coming from them made Alinor shudder, even
though he was shielded from most of it.

And the Salamander was - literally - eating it up.
Al sensed that the creature was prying open its prison
from within. Like a man forcing a door open against a
heavy spring.

He's forcing it open against the binding spell, Al decided.
He needs the energy of the crowd to do it, as I thought.

He waited, as the Salamander slowly forced its way
out of its prison, opening a doorway into the halfworld,
bit by bit, until it stood free in the halfworld and moved
away from the flagpole -

.-Now, Sarah!: Al "shouted," and cast the spell that
permitted him to "step" out of the physical world into
the halfworld. He placed himself squarely between the
Salamander and its home, before the creature was

378 Mercedes Lackey W Mark Shepherd

even aware that he was there. As he got into place and
launched a levin-bolt at the creature, Sarah flung her-
self between the Salamander andJamie, covering him
with her own insubstantial body.

The Salamander saw her just as Al's levin-bolt struck
it from behind. It turned - its eyes were pits of fire,
and its black body hunched as it snarled with rage and
prepared to attack -

And Alinor cast the second spell he had readied. The
one that reinforced Sarah's protections, bolstering her
powers - sealing Jamie away from its reach.

As the Salamander lunged for him, he cast his third
spell - reaching the absolute limits of his ability as a
mage - and eluded it by a hair, stepping out of the
halfworld and back into his hiding place behind the
curtains, with scarcely a ripple in the cloth to mark his
movement.

Weakness flooded through him, but he dared not
pause, not even for a moment. Timing - that was
going to be all of it.

Outside the curtains, Brother Joseph had no idea
that anything was going wrong.

He was about to find out differently.

Thank Danaa this isn't spell-casting as such - The
thought was fleeting; hardly noted as Al attacked the
breaker boxes, fusing everything in sight, so that noth-
ing would protect the lines beyond, and surging every
circuit, every wire -

A full lightning strike couldn't have wreaked more
havoc. Every bulb in the hall exploded in a shower of
sparks - electricity arced from raw sockets and dozens
of fires burst into existence as wires shorted out. The
Salamander's energy-source fragmented as the crowd
itself fragmented into a chaos of screaming, frightened
humans, each one clawing for an exit and paying no
attention to anything else. Now they showed their true
colors, panicking, trampling over each other, ruled

WHEELS OF FIRE               379

only by fear; a selfish fear that cried out from each
wizened little soul that he was more important than
anyone else here, that he should be saved -

Brother Joseph screamed at them, howled orders at
them, but the sound system had died a fiery death with
the first surge, and not even he could shout loud
enough to be heard over the screams of his congrega-
tion.

Alinor took advantage of the chaos to dash aside the
curtains and fling himself at Jamie's chair, pulling out
the only physical weapon he'd brought with him, a
silver-bladed knife. Jamie's guards had been the first to
flee, and Brother Joseph was temporarily paying no
attention to anything behind him. Alinor slashed
through the straps holding Jamie to the chair; the boy
started at the first touch, then stared at his rescuer in
numb surprise. Not that Al blamed him; he wasn't
wasting any energy on a disguising illusion.

"Sarah sent me," he said in the boy's ear, as he
slashed the last of the bonds. He glanced briefly into
the halfworld; with no energy-source to help it, with
Sarah and Alinor protecting the boy in the halfworld
and the physical world, there was only one logical place
for the Salamander to go - back into its prison.

And once there, Alinor could see it got no further
chance to escape until he delivered it to a greater mage
than he; one who could seal it there for all time.

The Salamander had other ideas.

It shrank away from Sarah, the child-spirit incandes-
cent with a cool power far beyond anything that Alinor
had sent her, standing between it and its prey like an
avenging angel. It didn't even try to confront her -
but instead of leaping for the protection of its prison-
home, it turned, snarling, and leapt in another
direction entirely.

Straight for Jamie's father.

Alinor snatched the boy up and ran with him as the

380 Mercedes Lackey EsfMwfe Shepherd

Salamander made brutal contact and the drunkard's
face and body convulsed. Where the Salamander had
found the energy to make the leap into an unprepared,
unsuitable body, Al didn't know - but he had to get
Jamie away, and now, before anything else happened.
OnceJamie was safe -

The fires were spreading; one whole comer of the
hall was ablaze, giving more than enough light for Al to
see his way to the exit with Jamie. He jumped over fal-
len chairs, kicking others out of the way, as he bullied
his way through confused and terrified humans to the
door that led to the outside corridor.

But suddenly someone blocked his path, deliberately.
Aman with a shaven head, in the Chosen Ones' uniform,
stood in an attack position and brandished an enormous,
unwieldy knife at him, blocking his way.

The man Al cared nothing for. His weapon, however
-Cold Iron-

Al acted instinctively, without thinking, lashing out
with his mind and throwing an illusion of nightmares
straight into the man's thoughts, bargaining that he
might be marginally sensitive. It worked better than he
could have hoped, sending the man screaming to the
ground, clutching at his head, howling that his brain
was being eaten by serpents.

Alinor kicked him in the side as he passed, to ensure
that he did not follow, felt the crunch of broken bones
beneath his heel, and ran on.

He shoved his way through the last of the panicked
Chosen Ones - old people, mostly, too frightened and
bewildered to know where to go - but once he was out
in the corridor leading to the bunker entrance he met
with a new dde of humans, this time pushing and shov-
ing their way into the depths of the underground
building.

What-

The answer came with the muffled, staccato crack of

WHEELS OF FIRE               38

automatic weapons' fire just beyond the entrance. He
shoved his way into the middle of the corridor just as an
explosion blew the doors off the hinges and deafened
him.

The people at the farthest end of the tunnel were
flung into the air, backlit by the fires outside; they flew
at him and hit the ground, in a curious time-dilation
slow-motion. Those nearest him cowered away, hiding
their faces in their arms. Jamie started and began shak-
ing, but neither cried out nor hid his face.

The raid -great Danaa, they've started the mid -

His ears weren't working right, though he doubted
the humans could hear anything at all. Explosions and
the sound of gunfire came to him muffled, as if his
head was bracket in pillows. He held the boy to his
chest and forced his way through the crowd; it thinned
quickly as noncombatants fled into the depths of the
bunker.

He burst out into a scene straight from a war movie.

Fires roared everywhere; helicopters touched down
and disgorged troops wearing SWAT team, DEA and
FBI vests, who poured from the hatches and took
cover. They didn't seem to be firing until they had sure
targets; all the random gunfire was coming from
sandbagged gun emplacements and the weaponry of
the Guard, Junior and Senior.

One of the helicopters hovered overhead, flooding
the area with light from a rack of lamps attached on the
side. And in the light, Al caught a flash of familiar color
- something that didn't belong in this chaos of
camouflage and khaki.

Aredjumpsuit.

Bob!

The mechanic wasn't that far away, thank the gods. He
dashed across the open space between himself and the
chopper, praying that the invaders would see he was car-
rying a child and that he was unarmed, and would hold

382 Mercedes Lackey £s? Mark Shepherd

their fire. Bob recognized him as he was halfway across
and ran to meet him. He thrust the child into Bob's arms
before the human could get a word out

"Get him out of here!" Al shouted - and before Bob
could grab his arm, he turned and ran back in the
direction he had come.

He had unfinished business to attend to.

But the unfinished business was coming to him.

He sensed his enemy's approach before he saw it -
then saw, as the Salamander emerged, that his enemies
were two, not one. Jamie's father emerged from the
mouth of the bunker and beside him was Brother
Joseph with something long and sharp in his hands.
The drunk's expression had completely changed, his
eyes pits of fire, his face no longer remotely human.

So much forJames Chase. He was half brain-dead already,
from the alcohol; it must have been easy for the Salamander to
take him.

The preacher spotted Al first and pointed, his mouth
opening in a shout Al couldn't hear. But the
Salamander did; its mouth twisted in a snarl, and it
made a lashing motion with its arms -

And the razor-wire surrounding the compound
came to life, writhing against its supports, trying to
reach Alinor. He backpedaled into the temporary
safety of a helicopter, but the stuff was still coming, and
if it bound him -

A hellish noise right beside him pounded him into
the dirt, as the door-gunner in the chopper let loose a
barrage against a trio of gunmen that caught Jim
Chase and cut him in half. Brother Joseph must have
seen the gunner take aim; he hit the dirt in time to save
himself, but Jamie's father had only seconds to live -

Seconds were enough for the Salamander.

As another munitions dump exploded on the far
side of the compound, light flared and danced around
the two men, one dying, one alive - and when it faded,

WHEELS OF FIRE              383

the Salamander glared at Al from out of Brother
Joseph's eyes.

The man's eyes swept the space between them and
found him, stabbed him. This dme Alinor did not run
from the challenge. He faced it; walked slowly toward
it, oblivious to the gunfire around him, to the
explosions as one of the munitions dumps went up in
the near distance, a giant blossom of orange flame.
None of that could touch him now - not in this
moment. There was only one enemy that mattered.
The Salamander: ancient as he, perhaps more so -
and his enemy since the moment he'd first seen it.

:AU: Sarah's voice rang inside his head, although he
didn't sense her anywhere in the chaos. :Jamie's safe!:

That was all he needed. There was one thing he had
not yet tried with the beast to defeat it - and it was
now, or see the thing loose in the world again, jumping
from host to host like any parasite, bringing rage and
chaos wherever it went. This fragile world could bear
no more of that-

The monster was hanging back for some reason -

Waiting for more power?

Well, then, he'd give it power. He'd cram power
down the damned thing's throat until it choked!

He rushed it; the monster wasn't expecting that and
tried to elude him, but he grappled with it. It reverted
to its old ways and tried to manipulate him as it
manipulated the humans, but this time instead of fight-
ing it, Al let it happen. The Salamander infused him
with anger, but it could not direct that anger, and in a
sudden surge of rage-born strength, Al tore the flag-
pole from its hands.

And with the pole in his hands - he knew what it
was. Not just a prison, but aground, a focal point for the
Salamander's hold on the physical world.

And any ground could be shorted out.

I've learned how electricity works, and magic and

384 Mercedes Lackey 6? Mark Shepherd

electricity are related in every important way. Only you don't
know that, do you, monster? Come on, give me all you've got,
you're getting it back!

Again, he did not think, he simply acted; linking into
every power source available to him, whether the
physical fire, the arcing electrical current -

.'Here!: Sarah cried, and a new source of power
surged into him, a power so pure, clean, and strong he
did not want to think of what its source might be -

He plunged the staff into the Salamander's chest -
and the creature laughed, for how could he expect to
harm it with its own ground? He held to his end of the
flagpole as the Salamander closed both hands about
the other end and opened itself up to drain him of
power.

And the moment it opened itself, Alinor leaped back
and poured every bit of power he had available into it.

The staff shattered as the massed electricity of the
compound's power grid arced into it; the Salamander
convulsed, its mouth gaping in surprise, and Al loosed
the magical power Sarah was channeling into the raw
wound.

Its mouth formed the word "No!" but it never got a
chance to utter it. Its eyes glared like a fire's last glow-
ing coal, defiant before its death, and between one
breath and the next - it vaporized.

Brother Joseph fell to the ground, hardly recog-
nizable as human, a burnt and twisted human cinder.
The last charred sliver of the staff dropped beside him.

As Al stood there numbly, a bullet ricocheted off the
building nearest him and buzzed past his ear, startling
him into life. He glanced around; the Good Guys
seemed to be winning, but there was no reason why he
had to stay around to help -

A hint of movement on the other side of the fence
gave him enough warning to ready himself; in the next
moment, Andur launched himself over the tangle of

WHEELS OF FIRE               385

wire and slid to a halt beside him. He grabbed a double-
handful of mane and hauled himself aboard as another
bullet buzzed by, much too close for comfort. He
watched a SWAT officer level a pistol at him, then lower
it, amazed - then Andur was off like a shadow beneath
the moon, leaving the noises and fire far behind....

All Al really wanted to to was get back and into a bed,
any bed - but he reached back and touched one mind
in all the chaos.

I was never there. You never saw me.Bob ran in and rescued
you. It was all Bob....

Then he allowed himself to slump over Andur's
neck.

"Hey, Norris!"

Alinor looked up from beneath the hood of the car to
see one of the Firestone boys waving at him.

"Yeah?" he said, standing up and wiping his hands
on a rag. "What's up?"

"There's a cop here, he's looking for a mech named
Al. Big blond guy, says he wears black a lot. Know
anybody like that?" The Firestone pitman eyed Al's
scarlet Nomex jumpsuit and raven hair with amuse-
ment.

"Not around here," Al said truthfully. "The head of
Fairgrove looks like that, but he never leaves Savan-
nah." And that'll teach you for not answering my aid-calls,
Keighvm SUverhavr.

"Well, he's with Bob, so I guess it must be something
about the raid on those fundie nuts they pulled the
other night." His curiosity satisfied, the pitman turned
back to his stack of tires, and Al returned to his engine.
He was paying only scant attention to it, however; most
of his attention was taken up with the four humans
heading for the pits.

Frank Casey didn't know it, but the moment he'd
passed out ofAlinor's sight, Al's appearance and name

386 Mercedes Lackey WMark Shepherd

had been altered. And in the stories he'd told the rest of
the crews, the actions that should have been ascribed to
Al had mostly been attached to Bob - with the exception
of those few that could not logically have been trans-
ferred. Those Al left alone, taking on a new persona,
entirely, ofNorris Alison. The story was that Al had got-
ten into the Chosen Ones' compound and sabotaged
their electrical system, giving the impromptu army good
cover for their invasion. Then he had somehow slipped
past the sentries outside and had vanished.

Bob's other partner, the sable-haired "Norris," had
shown up the next morning, after Bob supposedly
called for extra help on "Al's" disappearance.

Cindy's memories had been altered, though not
without much misgiving on Al's part. He hated to do it,
but the memory other discovery ofAlinor's species had
been temporarily blocked. The not-so-surprising
result was that her growing emotional attachments to
both Al and Bob had been resolved into a very sig-
nificant attachment to Bob alone. And now that Bob
was the sole rescuer of her child -

Al sighed. Well, he certainly seems to be enjoying his new
status. His loss was Bob's gain ... and Cindy was mortal;

he was her kind. There would be no conflict there.

If anything more permanent ever comes of this, he
promised himself, I'll take the block off her real memories. By
then she'll have learned about us all over again, and she'll
know why I had to take them.

Frank Casey wore the look of a very frustrated man
as he searched pit row for someone who didn't exist.
Finally he gave up and allowed Bob to bring them all
over to the Firestone pit for a cold drink.

Al waited while Bob fished soft drinks out of the
cooler, watching Jamie out of the comer of his eye. This
was the boy's first day out of the hospital, and although
he was still painfully thin, he had some of a child's
proper liveliness back. When they had all been served,

WHEELS OF FIRE               387

he stood up and sauntered over himself, pulling out a
Gatorade before turning to face the others.

"Miz Chase," he said, tugging the brim of his cap.
"Well, so this is the little guy, hmm?"

Cindy nodded, and Jamie peered up at him, a little
frown line between his eyebrows, as if he was trying to
see something and having trouble doing so.

"I don't know if Bob told you, but we're all through
here after the race tomorrow. We'll be packing up and
heading back. Did you have any plans?" Then, before
she could react to what could only be bad news, he
added, "You're welcome to come along, of course, if
you've nowhere you need to go. We can tow your car,
and the boy can sleep or play in the RV. You, well, we
could use another driver to switch off with. Our boss,
Kevin - well, he might maybe need another hand in
the office. If he don't, likely one of the test drivers can
dig up a job. Tannim's got a thumb in about every-
thing."

She hesitated for only a moment before saying, with
a shy glance at Bob, "If you really don't mind, I think
I'd like that. There isn't that much for me in Atlanta
except the house -"

"Can always sell it," he suggested.

Then he turned away as if he had lost interest in the
conversation, pausing only long enough to drop his
race-cap overJamie's head. The boy lit up with a smile
that rivaled the Oklahoma sun and ran to his mother.

The quartet drifted away after a final futile effort to
find "Al," and before too very long, the rest of the crew
departed in search of dinner and a nap before the long
night to come of last-minute race-preps. The only
sounds in the pit were those of reggae on a distant
radio, cooling metal, an errant breeze -

But suddenly Al had the feeling that he was being
watched.

He turned abrupdy.

388 Mercedes Lackey y Mark Shepherd

For a moment there was nothing behind him at all -
then, there was a stirring in the air, a glimmer - and
there was Sarah, watching him with a serious look on
her face.

:I've come to say good-bye,: she said solemnly. :Jaw,ie
doesn't need me, and all the Chosen Ones are in jail, so I have
to go.:

He nodded gravely. "I understand," he told her.
"You were a very brave fighter out there, you know. A
true warrior. I was proud to be on your side."

She looked wistfully at him. .'You're nice,: she said. :I
wish. I could say good-bye right.:

It might have been that exposure to the Salamander
made him more sensitive; it might simply have been
that her lonely expression told him everything he
needed to know about what she meant by "saying
good-bye right."

Well, after all, he was one of the Folk.

He triggered the spell and moved into the halfworld
with her.

She clapped both her hands to her mouth in
surprise and delight. :0h!: she exclaimed - and then
she ran to him.

He held out his arms and caught her, holding her,
hugging her for a long, timeless moment, trying to
make up for all the hugs that she had never gotten. He
thought she might be crying; when she pulled away,
wiping away tears, he came near to tears himself.

:Ihave to go,: she said. :I love you.:

She faded away, or rather, faded into something, into
a softer, gentle version of that blinding Power she had
been linked with when she protected Jamie and helped
him. Alinor wasn't certain he could put a name to that
Power. He wasn't certain that he needed to.

"I love you, too, Sarah," he replied, as the last wisp of
her melted away.

He waited a moment longer, smiling in the last light

WHEELS OF FIRE               389

other passing until he was alone in the halfworld, and
finally sighed and triggered the magic to take him back.

With his feet firmly planted on mortal cement, he
pulled the windblown hair from his face, packed up his
tool kit and headed back to the RV.

After all, there was a race left to run.

A
t-

EPILOGUE

Hundreds of children are abducted in this country
every year, many by non-custodial parents. We see their
faces peering at us from billboards, milk cartons, and on
the back of junk-mail ads. The question is: do these
pathetic photos work?

The answer is yes. The reason is because of ordinary
people, teachers, neighbors, orjustpassersby, who see
something odd in the behavior of a parent and child, and
call. There are several agendes responsible for helping to
find missing children: here are the numbers of two.
CHILD FIND:

1-800-292-9688
MISSING CHILDREN'S HELP CENTER:

1-800-872-5437

Child abuse, whether parental or with parental con-
sent, is wrong. Children deserve love, tenderness and
reasonable discipline. They do not deserve to be
beaten, tied up, starved, abandoned, used or misused.
There are several groups trying to help children who
are mistreated: here is the number of one.
CHILD HELP NATIONAL CHILD ABUSE HOTLINE:

1-800-422-4453

You don't need elves or magic to get a start on help-
ing a child in a desperate situation - you don't even
need a quarter. Most pay-phones allow you to call
1-800 numbers completely free of charge, simply by
dialing them as written. All you need to start a child
back to a decent life is the willingness to get involved.

•
From High Flight and Baen Books

Mercedes Lackey
Larry Dvxon
Mark Shepherd
Holly Lisle

J mi Baen
Toni Weisskopf