Heart Of Atlantis by Alyssa Day

light. Alaric had a split second to decide whether to save the boy or try to follow the emanations of residual magic from the scepter.
    It wasn’t really even a choice.
    He caught the boy five feet from the sidewalk below, and Ven was right behind him.
    The upper floors of the hotel exploded into a ball of fire over their heads.

    Tokyo, Japan, in a car on the way to Narita International Airport
    Quinn stared out the window at the passing scenery, not really seeing any of it. She listened with a fraction of her attention as the elderly Japanese man driving her to the airport tried to give her a history lesson on the area. He was gracious and kind, and she was in the mood for neither. She’d left her only real friend trapped in a tiger’s body, with no hope of ever seeing him again, and she had no idea where Alaric was. Not to mention that she’d never yet met her only nephew, who just happened to be the heir to the throne of Atlantis, and now she probably never would.
    Life was just peachy.
    She’d left Archelaus with only a hasty good-bye, as he worked the phone and his contacts to try to discover what the monkey-shifter attack had been about. Hello, more chaos. She had a feeling that there was more than enough on her plate at the moment, though, so she decided to stop worrying about flying monkeys—shape-shifters or otherwise. The two-hour hike to the parking lot at Fifth Station, midway down the mountain, had provided more than enough time for every worst-case scenario—many involving her own torture and death—to circle through her mind like wastewater through a gutter.
    “I don’t understand this,” her driver suddenly said in an entirely different tone from the tour guide voice he’d been using. “We have no bad weather forecasted for this area today.”
    Quinn sat up in her seat and stared forward, into a sky that had gone suddenly dark and sullen. Clouds whipped in a frenzy of storm formation, and apple-sized hailstones began to pummel the car and the road around them. The car just in front of them in the long line of crazy Tokyo traffic swerved and almost hit the car next to it, and a domino effect of near-collisions began all around them.
    Quinn’s driver slammed on the brakes, throwing Quinn forward and almost into the dash, and then he made a weird yelping noise and pointed to his left. Quinn stared out at what he was indicating, and recoiled in horror. She hadn’t seen anything like that outside of a bad movie.
    It was a funnel cloud, and it was heading right at them. The car behind them stopped too late and almost rear-ended them, throwing Quinn forward again. Score one for excellent seat belts. The air bag didn’t deploy, though, and she almost had time to wonder about that before the funnel cloud touched down in the single open spot of road in front of them, and a dark shape walked out of its heart.
    Alaric.
    He raised his arms as he walked, and the tornado flew up and away from the road at his command. He kept walking, never looking back or to the side, all of his grim focus on Quinn.
    “Apparently this is my ride,” she said apologetically to her terrified driver. “Thank you, and I am so sorry for your fright.”
    She unbuckled her seat belt, climbed out, and then stood, fists on hips, as Alaric approached.
    “You don’t get to hurt innocent people, Alaric. That puts you on the wrong side of the equation, and I won’t stand for it.” She was proud that she stood her ground while a whirlwind of fury and magic in the shape of a man stalked toward her, caught her around the waist, and leapt into the air.
    “No human is injured,” he told her. “Not even their machines.”
    “You frightened them—”
    “You will never leave me again,” he said into her hair, and his voice was agonized; crazed. The voice of a man driven to the brink of madness. “If Ptolemy captures you, or
any
of your enemies find you, now that your face is plastered across the news all around the globe . . .