.5 To Have and To Code Read online

  Retha prayed every day that it had been the right choice.

  As Nell had grown, each of The Prophecy’s vivid pictures had come to life. It was only the last that had yet to become real. And the face of the child-who-might-be—the one who would hold the power of a dozen witches in his tiny hands—had haunted Retha. She’d tucked his picture deep into her mind, well away from Nell’s mindreading talents.

  And fallen in love with him anyhow.

  They had raised all seven of their children to be shapers of their own destinies—and with Nell, she’d always wondered if it wasn’t a lie.

  Usually her precog visions were snippets. Airy and uncertain—interesting, but often in error. She’d never been able to convince herself The Prophecy was anything other than truth. And her heart had always ached to hold the small boy she’d seen—the one with her eyes, the Sullivan curls, and unfathomable magic.

  The child who would call her Gramma—and plunge her daughter into a life of enormity.

  Huge magic came at great price—to those who carried the magic, and to those who loved them in their often all-too-short lives. And Nell loved with fire, depth, and unmatched loyalty. Exactly the kind of mother the fates would pick for the witching world’s next Merlin. History was full of evidence the universe was often just that cruel.

  Michael’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, interrupting ground she’d walked in her mind far too often. He tipped his head down to hers. “Maybe it’s coming. And maybe our daughter will kick whatever was planned to the curb and decide her own life.”

  Her husband had always maintained that even destiny was going to have a hard time pushing their daughter around. They’d raised her that way, nurturing the fiercely independent spirit she’d been born with. “Perhaps.” The Prophecy had been deadly accurate so far, right down to the stripey tights Nell had been wearing when she’d mastered her first complex spell.

  And it was hard not to remember that little girl in pigtails when Retha contemplated the enormity of what might yet come.

  “She’s had time,” said Michael softly. “She’s a grown woman now, and a wonderful one. More than capable of handling whatever life throws at her.”

  Retha smiled up at the man who had held their tiny newborn daughter and dared anyone, the fates included, to mess with her. “Just remember that when the poor guy shows up on her doorstep, will you?” She was very sure he was coming. Adorable, magical small boys required fathers.

  But first, Retha hoped for the kind of romance that would sweep her daughter off her sturdy feet and touch the marshmallow heart that lived deep inside.

  The Prophecy had suggested no such thing—but it hadn’t included the pigtails, either.

  Michael smiled, picking up the edges of her thoughts. “I loved those pigtails. And if some guy shows up on Nell’s doorstep, I’m not the one you’re going to have to keep out of his way.”

  Retha grinned. Indeed. Destiny hadn’t counted on Nell’s little brothers.

  Chapter 2

  Nell walked in the door of her parents’ house, laptop bag in one hand, obligatory box of cookies in the other. And winced at the horrendous smell. Cripes, she’d forgotten it was Wednesday night, the designated evening for all Sullivans to gather at the family home and be fed.

  Which was a good thing on the weeks someone competent was cooking. This clearly wasn’t one of those weeks. “Mom, are you torturing food again?”

  Retha Sullivan poked her head out of the kitchen. “I’m following your brother’s recipe. He was fairly sure I couldn’t screw this one up.”

  The wisdom of that advice depended on which brother was involved. “Matt or Devin?” Matt, studious and about as responsible as nineteen-year-olds got, might have managed to be helpful. If it was Devin, she was going back for the snails.

  Retha’s chuckle suggested her mindreading was in fine form today. “Neither. It’s one of Jamie’s, and he’s downstairs waiting for you. Something about a librarian about to crack the Eternal Tower.”

  Oh, really. Game action! Nell opened the cookie box, grabbed a couple, and cast a quick glance at the charred mess in her mother’s frying pan. “I think you killed it, Mom—order pizza. We’ll be up in a couple of hours.”

  Laughter followed her down the stairs. Which probably meant they’d get their pizza.

  Nell hurried down into the programming headquarters of Enchanter’s Realm, a chaotic, homey place more commonly known as The Dungeon. Her brother Jamie was coming out of the temperature-controlled room that housed their onsite servers, an amused look on his face. “Hey. The Hacker’s making a run for it.”

  The Hacker was one of the newest players in Realm’s gaming online levels—and he’d ripped through the ranks. In less than a month, he’d gone from newbie to the third-ranked player in their public portal, all while walking around with his nose in a book and dropping sneaky lines of code into everyone else’s spells.

  He was a damned good coder, even if he played exactly the kind of game that usually bored Nell to tears. She preferred fireworks—The Hacker slunk around in the shadows and did his damage with little fanfare.

  Fanfare or no, he was now steps away from the secret door. Nell grinned at her brother. “Think he’ll make it in?”

  Jamie shrugged. “He’s got the coding chops, but we haven’t seen a whiff of magic from him yet.”

  Realm had a set of very private, very secure witch-only levels, where magic and code blended to make the game an entirely different beast. The only way to get there was through the secret door of the Eternal Tower—and it was magic that unlocked it.

  It had always amused Nell that their sleepy little game had a secret underbelly. Rumored, but never proven. Unless you were a witch.

  A new player approaching the magic test was high excitement in The Dungeon—they hadn’t had fresh blood in the witch-only levels for a while. Gaming skills were required to fight through the devious traps in the first seven floors of the tower, however. Nell looked over at Jamie’s king-sized monitor, scanning the streaming text. “Made it through the first four challenges, did he?” That was insane progress for a first run. She looked up—the second-floor trap was one she’d just redesigned. “How long did it take him to get past the mage?”

  Her brother’s mind had smart aleck written all over it. “Less than two minutes.”

  Not freaking possible. She slammed down into Jamie’s chair, scanning chat history and time stamps. Damn. Eleven minutes from start to floor five—and every last gamer in Realm had come to watch.

  No one had ever run the entire seven floors on their first attempt. And The Hacker was making it look like gaming kindergarten.

  “Breathe,” said Jamie wryly. “It’s just a game. Don’t melt my keyboard.”

  Nell stuck out her tongue—it had been five years since the last time she’d sparked and melted electronics. Fire magic wasn’t always easy to control, especially when idiots made her mad.

  Not that making a fire witch mad was very difficult. “He’s good.” It was her highest compliment.

  “Better than good.” Jamie leaned over and hit a couple of keys and split the screen, pulling up the admin interface that let them watch The Hacker’s coding live.

  Nell stared. “He’s already through.” She stabbed her finger at the critical lines of code. “He hasn’t activated yet, but that’ll get him over the chasm.”

  “Yup.” Jamie reached for a bag of Doritos. “He’s been doing that the whole way up. Never takes a step without three more already in reserve, and usually the first try works.” He crunched chips and grinned. “The mage took him three tries.”

  The mage should have taken him three freaking days. Nell scrolled back through the code history and felt smoke leak out her ears. “He… he… oh, my God—what did he do to my mage?”

  Her brother was smart enough not to answer that question.

  She reverse ran the code and watched her awesome creation raining hellfire and magical lightning down on some poor, haple
ss rock—while the little librarian strolled past and waved.

  Arrogant show-off.

  She grinned, temper blowing away as quickly as it had come. Arrogance usually cost you game points. “He switched the call variables?”

  “Yup.” Jamie nodded and held out the Doritos. “Convinced your mage the rock was the biggest threat and then walked right past. Pretty sweet.”

  The mage was extremely powerful—but not very intelligent. Most gamers didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about the brainpower of the dude hurling lightning bolts at their head. “He’s smart.”

  “We already knew that.” Her brother waved at the screen. “Go back to live feed—he’s got to be past the chasm by now.”

  He was. And two quick moves away from sliding through the river of dreams, too. “Damn. It’s like he’s done this before.”

  “Maybe,” said Jamie, watching lines of text flash past. “But he got past the mage, and that one’s new.”

  Yeah. Something only one other player had done—and with a very different solution. She looked over at her chip-vacuum of a brother. “Think he’ll get through the princesses?”

  It was suddenly his pride on the line. “Doubt it. Nobody does the first time.”

  The princesses were one of the oldest levels—and one of the most effective. Everyone underestimated pretty girls in pink. Nell rolled her eyes—someday the gamers of the world would learn to take women a lot more seriously.

  Until then, they’d keep getting their butts whipped by her baby brother’s creation.

  She leaned forward, eyes intent, as The Hacker walked into the chat room that served as the stage for level seven. She knew what he was reading. A ballroom filled with nine dancers, all in matching pink dresses. His task—to make it across the room to the ornate door on the far wall.

  The Eternal Tower—and nothing in the way except for a bunch of frilly pink skirts.

  Jamie pulled up The Hacker’s coding again and blinked. “He’s not doing anything.”

  They both watched in silence as absolutely nothing happened. And then code exploded onto the screen, quickly followed by spectators flooding the chat with laughter and guy back-slapping. Nell read the conversations and lifted her fingers off the keyboard—just in case. “Idiot. He figures that just because the mage was stupid, maybe nine women are too.”

  Her brother’s lips quirked. “Well, they are really pretty gowns.” The Hacker had offered up a bribe for passage. Nine custom dresses—unique, bejeweled, and spectacular.

  Nell bounced a code manual off Jamie’s head. “If you wrote them to be susceptible to purple and glitter, you’re so fired.”

  “Hey.” He rubbed the side of his head. “Your mage attacked a rock. Someone has to be the brains around here.” He grinned at the screen. “My princesses are all modeled after my brilliant sister.”

  “Right.” Nell was both amused and impressed, but brothers came with rules. “I wear pink frills and dance all the time.”

  Jamie just waited and stared at the screen—and then fist-pumped the air. “Yeah! That’s my girls.”

  Nine dancing ladies started a second, more difficult dance. And one librarian stood in the corner, newly outfitted in a dazzling gown.

  Nell giggled. “Nice counter-programming.” Not that her brother’s coding chops were in question—at nineteen, he was the second-best coder on the West Coast.

  At least, she hoped he was still second-best. Esmerelda, his sexy gypsy avatar, had been causing her some serious grief in Realm’s witch-only levels lately.

  They watched as the action onscreen began to move again. This time The Hacker tried to join the dance, an intricate pattern with semi-random steps thrown in just to mess with upstart gamers. Most people who tried that stunt ended up with seriously bruised toes.

  Jamie sucked in air as the new arrival’s steps matched perfectly. “Damn. Nobody’s supposed to be able to do that.”

  Nell raised an eyebrow. “Will it work?”

  “Nah.” Her brother shook his head ruefully. “But it should. I never set it up to work. Didn’t figure anyone would ever be able to do it.”

  Their onscreen quester jumped neatly out of the pattern and stood against a wall. Thinking.

  Nell grinned—he was going down. Three failed tries and you got booted back to the first floor. One more attempt and he was toast.

  And then four simple lines of code popped up on the screen, and The Hacker started to walk across the ballroom. No fancy moves, no flash—just a straight line headed for the Eternal Tower. With five golden rings in his hand, the “The Twelve Days of Christmas” playing in the background, and nine ladies swooning, right on cue.

  “Damn.” Jamie’s whisper was almost reverent. “He’s good.”

  Nell held her breath, caught in the moment. If The Hacker reached the door and it opened, he was a witch. If it didn’t, he was just the best non-witch ever to play the game.

  She wanted him through.

  On the other side of that door was her turf. And one hot-shot librarian was about to meet his match. “Please let him be a witch.”

  Jamie just chuckled, but she felt the same wish pushing in his mind. Realm’s best two witch players, aching for a fight.

  The Hacker paused, a step from the door. The collected crowd of players held their breath, sensing Realm history in the making. He held five golden rings up toward the door—

  And vanished.

  -o0o-

  Daniel pushed back from his computer and flexed his fingers, watching shock and awe scroll down his screen. First guy ever to run the seven levels in one go.

  And he hadn’t even cheated. No peeking at the game guts before he started.

  It had been a personal test. Hackers didn’t always get to read the code over a nice cup of tea. Sometimes shit happened and you had to roll with it. Gaming was a good way to keep his reflexes sharp—and Realm had been an interesting challenge, even if it was a pretty puffball game.

  Or so he’d thought until he’d started playing a month ago. That and a couple of late-night tours through their admin code had sharply increased his respect for Realm’s creators.

  Jamie and Nell Sullivan. The duo behind Realm’s online portal. A nineteen-year-old kid and his math-geek older sister. He’d figured her for the bookkeeper or something until he’d walked through their code.

  Competent coders were interchangeable. Really good coders had their own style.

  Realm had two really good coders.

  One was an easygoing, thorough type, with moments of brilliance and a sense of humor. The other used code like a weapon—sharp, aggressive, and slick.

  He figured the brother for the latter—it felt like hothead teenage guy. Which left Nell Sullivan, math geek, as the likely mind behind the dancing pink princesses.

  Not that he’d looked. A hacker had to have some standards, and looking at the gaming code before you ran it violated his personal ethics.

  He leaned forward again, reading a few of the chat-room comments. Mostly fourteen-year-old kids wondering why the heck he hadn’t tried to open the door.

  Amateurs. Smart coders didn’t open doors until they knew exactly what was on the other side. He didn’t want to be some elite player’s breakfast.

  He wasn’t totally clueless. A couple of sleuthing trips into the restricted levels had been interesting—and mystifying. Gaming like he’d never seen before, and not just because of the graphics.

  Real, functional graphics—the Holy Grail of online gaming. And nothing in the Enchanter’s Realm propaganda even hinted that it existed. The secret levels were totally buttoned down, just a quiet trail of mystery and urban myth running through the chat rooms.

  Weird. With those graphics and better publicity, they could be the biggest game out there.

  Instead, they were small town—with a door leading to the strangest levels he’d ever seen. The first visit, he’d been in less than fifteen seconds before he’d tripped over a stray line of code that shouldn’t h
ave done anything. Hanging upside down from a leg loop wasn’t exactly good, especially when you were supposed to be invisible. The second time, he’d been more careful—and while he’d stayed out of any traps, it had been like walking through a parallel universe.

  One where code followed different rules. Nothing he could put his finger on yet—but different.

  To a hacker, that was both kryptonite and siren song.

  He was definitely going through that door.

  Just not yet.

  -o0o-

  Retha waved to Angelo the delivery guy and made her way back down the hall, a stack of pizza boxes in her arms. Whoever said that growing teenage boys ate more than anyone alive had clearly never fed any of the full-grown variety.

  At least only one set of the triplets was around. There had been a stretch, with six boys in the house, when she’d been fairly sure only an IV hookup from the grocery store was going to keep them in enough food.

  Now she had three boys in Boston with lives of their own, three boys here who managed to feed themselves at least some of the time—and Nell.

  Her fiery girl-child. A grown woman about to lose her best friend and trying her damnedest to be happy about it. Sammy’s fiancé was a lovely man who adored her—and even Nell’s deeply rational heart couldn’t find a reason to kick him in the shins.

  Which was probably a good thing. The finest spellcaster of her generation also threw some fairly spectacular temper tantrums.

  Retha smiled to herself, remembering one or two of the more memorable ones—and ran into a wall.

  “Sorry, Mom,” said the wall, laughing and rescuing a teetering box. “I forget how short you are.”

  She reached out for the agile mind of her middle triplet. Don’t break dinner—you don’t want to have to eat my first attempt.

  Devin’s eyebrows flew up in not-entirely-feigned horror. “You tried to cook?”

  Someday she was going to move to a small, remote island where the natives couldn’t recite her culinary history chapter and verse. “Jamie thought I might not mangle this recipe.”