He locked the door, fired up the wards, and left the floor. A thought occurred to him. “Omega, did Nika actually text Stacia?” he asked his ever-present earpiece.

“Yes, Father, although there was speculation on whether you would think to do so yourself.”

“Minefields inside of minefields. Omega, would you send Stacia a text from me that I’m covering Nika’s trail and she’s holed up in my room?”

“Texting that you are covering Nika’s tail and the two of you are holed up in your room, now.”

“No! Don’t send that! That’s not what I said at all,” he said in alarm, stopping in his tracks.

“Ha. Ha. That would be a joke, right, Father? Of course I did not send that,” the world’s most advanced AI said.

“Shit, Omega. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Your heart is quite healthy, although I did sense a sudden increase in heartbeats per minute.”

“I’m not sure I like this side of you,” the young man said, heading out into the morning.

Seven minutes of light traffic later; he slowed his Toyota Land Cruiser to a halt, sliding in tight to the curb. Down the street on the left was the dentist’s office, sitting dark and sinister, or so it seemed to him, but he realized that was because he already knew what lay strewn about inside it.

“Any cameras of note?” he asked out loud.

“One back at the corner deli, but I interfered with its recording quality,” his car radio said, as his Bluetooth earpiece sat on the front passenger seat, unused.

“Thank you.”

Pulling a pad of paper and a Sharpie out of his book bag, he sketched a quick circle, one that, if not exactly perfect, was astonishingly close to it. Then he began to write runes about the inner and outer arcs of the circle. There was no hesitation, no errors, no missteps, and in moments, the crafting was almost complete.

He pulled the twisted locket of hair off his right ring finger and placed it in the center of his drawn circle. He lightly touched the bottom of the arc with his right index finger and a tiny spark snapped between his finger and the ink and paper.

The air pressure in the cab of the rugged little utility vehicle dropped, enough that he could feel his ears pop slightly, but he ignored those sensations, his eyes closed and his will pushing outward. First, he pushed the sensation out through his index finger, then out through the paper, to the runes, to the circle, and finally to the strands of hair. From there, it leaped outward into the dark.

“911 dispatch has just received an anonymous call reporting that screams of terror were heard coming from Dr. Reynolds’ office. A Burlington Police unit is on its way,” the radio said suddenly and softly.