Hunter and Morgan: Gatecrasher

by H. K. Nightingale

"No." He actually looked quite pale.

  "Okay, okay. You stay here. I'll go in alone. If I'm not out in ten minutes call Sahil."

  "Oh. Right."

  Morgan took a breath, pulling magic around him like a cloak.

  "Wait." Hunter touched his arm. "I'm coming with you."

  "Better get your kit off, then."

  "No. Your way. I'll do it. Or let you do it." He lifted his chin bravely, every bit of him tense, bracing himself. "Invisible me."

  "I'm not going to make you invisible."

  "But you said–"

  "That's not how it works. Here." He folded one hand around Hunter's arm and touched his tree necklace with his other. He took a few deep breaths and let the magic flow around them both. "People will see us, if they look straight at us. But they won't care. We'll be as unremarkable as a cloud on a rainy day. Unless they know us. It won't work on Caleb, but it might on whoever's in there with him. So stay quiet and don't do anything unexpected."

  "All right, then." Hunter squinched his eyes shut. "Do it."

  Morgan leaned in and whispered in his ear. "I already did."

  Then he led Hunter down the corridor to the play room. It was taking all he had to keep things tight, to stop him from tearing through the room with magic and fury until he knew Caleb was safe. They made their way around the edge of the room, stepping carefully over a couple sixty-nining on a pile of cushions.

  "Here," said Hunter, voice so low Morgan barely made it out over the chorus of moans and slapping flesh around them. Hunter edged the curtain back with one elbow. Morgan held his necklace and whispered, "Veritat."

  The illusion that had been laid over the floor peeled away, leaving the seam of an old-fashioned wooden trap door.

  "Shit," said Hunter, wide-eyed.

  "What was here before?" Morgan asked. "Before the offices, I mean?"

  "An old merchant's house, according to the records."

  That explained the old brick walls and the thick floorboards under the rugs. And the trapdoor. "Down there has to be the basement of the original building, then."

  "Looks like. A cellar, maybe?"

  Morgan reached out a hand to the trap door. His fingers tingled. He closed his eyes and listened. There was the roar of water, rushing through the pipes. Except, now his mind was clear of drugs and devastating emotion he could sense more deeply. It wasn't ordinary water. No wonder he'd manifested aigua that day. Those pipes were full of it. "Open the door," Morgan said. "I'm going down."

  "Let me go first. You're–"

  "Puny, yes I know. And I'm also majos. I know what I'm dealing with down there. You don't."

  Hunter blanched, but he opened up the trapdoor and peered inside. Morgan peered with him. There was a step ladder leading down to a corridor - more of a tunnel, really - dimly lit by a rope of LED lights, like some kind of seedy disco.

  "Here goes," said Morgan, lowering himself onto the first rung of the ladder.

  He went down slowly, careful not to make any noise. When he was at the bottom he indicated for Hunter to join him, and padded as softly as he could to a door at the end of the passageway. He paused to listen again, his ear pressed tight against the rough surface of the wood. The rush of water and magic purred along with the whirring of some kind of machinery.

  He felt Hunter's presence behind him.

  "There's something very wrong here," he whispered.

  And then Caleb screamed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Morgan kept his magic coiled up tight and pushed the door open. He took in as much as he could of the scene beyond in the first few seconds. Caleb was naked and strapped down in a metal chair, his mouth taped over. The room was lit with harsh strip lights and a couple of naked bulbs, but the pipe against the back wall glowed, aigua writhing around its surface. Dave, dressed in a greyish-white bathrobe, was leaning over Caleb, fiddling with something on Caleb's arm. He was muttering unconvincing reassurances: "It's only a bit, he won't take it all, you don't mind, do you? Help a mate out, Caleb, there's a good boy."

  Caleb wasn't moving.

  "What the fuck?" Hunter murmured.

  Morgan's mind ran fast. Dave hadn't noticed them yet, and it gave Morgan time to take in the whole room. The pipe full of aigua was connected to an engine at one end and a tarnished brass tube at the other which was in turn connected via a spigot to a long rubber hose. Shit, he knew what this was. He'd seen it in books.

  "Hunter, that's a life-taker," he whispered.

  Hunter flashed him a look of total incomprehension.

  "The machine. It drains people of their esper."

  "Majos."

  "Sorry to break it to you, but everyone has esper to some degree. Even you."

  Hunter looked suitably horrified. "But–"

  "Shh." Morgan took a step closer. The hose seemed to be connected to the chair. Wait - no. Not the chair.

  It was connected to Caleb, by a crude approximation of a cannula and plastic line stuck into the crook of his elbow. Dave was taping it in place with duct tape, while a trickle of Caleb's blood fell down his arm and onto his bare thigh.

  Morgan's magic surged; his mind filled with thoughts of water, a wave surging, soaking, drowning. No. Not now. He evened out his breathing, replacing the panicked flow of images with logical, calming thoughts. They were going to free Caleb and get him out of here. Dave didn't look to be in the best physical shape: he was pale and thin; sweat beaded at his temples and his hands shook as he wound the tape around Caleb's arm. To Morgan's relief he saw Caleb's chest rise and fall. He was alive, at least.

  "You be ready to distract him if necessary," Hunter whispered. "I'll restrain him from behind, quick as I can."

  Morgan made his way slowly towards Caleb, while Hunter moved behind Dave. Dave's head was down, tearing off a strip of tape with his teeth. He didn't stand a chance. Hunter grabbed him and in one smooth, economical movement pulled his arms back behind him, tugging enough to elicit a yelp of pain. He caught the tape before it hit the floor and wrapped Dave's wrists up tight.

  Dave yelled, "What the fuck?!" as Hunter shoved him down to his knees.

  Morgan froze half way to Caleb. The door he and Hunter had come through was still open, and Morgan sensed something, someone, in the corridor. Morgan spun around to see a man step into the room. Not very tall, but wide and solid, with a neck like a bulldog. He was dressed in a beer-stained Man U vest and tatty jeans. The door closed behind him.

  Dave struggled in Hunter's grasp like a fish on a line.

  "Well, well," the man said. "What have we here?"

  "N-nothing," Dave said. "An in-inconvenience. We can still do it, he's still–"

  "Paul Bates," said Hunter.

  The blackmailer who'd filmed the furry in a car park. Who'd put Hunter in hospital. Shit.

  "Damien Hunter," said Bates. "Private dick." He drew out the word 'dick' and clicked his tongue against his teeth at the end, sending a string of spittle flying across the room.

  "You're Appleford?" said Morgan.

  Bates took a deep mock-bow. "At your service."

  "We're taking these men out of here," said Hunter. "And you're not going to stop us."

  "Am I not?"

  Morgan felt the surge of magic a split second before it manifested. A ball of ice appeared in the air just ahead of Bates' outstretched palm. He sent it with a savage shove and the ice shot towards Hunter's chest.

  Morgan deflected it with a flick of his wrist.

  Paul Bates wasn't majos. The magic in that ice wasn't his. It was a confusing mess of a thing, like common street Essence. The product of more than one majos.

  "Will you look at that," Bates said, his gaze settling on Morgan with a greedy leer. "He's oozing fucking fairy juice like piss from a drunk."

  Hunter glanced nervously at Morgan. "If we keep calm and think sensibly, we can all leave here alive," Hunter said, taking a few careful steps away from Dave and towards Bates.

  "Where's the fun in that?" Bates said. "
I mean, it's not like I need any of you to be breathing."

  Dave sobbed.

  "Not even your mate here?" said Hunter. "I know how keen you are on taking care of your mates."

  Bates laughed. His laugh was even nastier than his leering. "Oh, but Dave isn't a mate, are you, Dave? Dave is a pathetic middle aged weasel who can't get it up for his wife anymore. He promised me a nice juicy battery and in return I promised him a little something to slip into his tea when he wants to get frisky. Have you ever taken Viagra? No? Well, big strapping boy like you, probably never needed to. It fucks up your heart, they say. Keeps you hard for hours. Whether you want it or not. My little bottle of fun? Entirely different. No side effects, no unwanted post-coital stiffie. Just the libido of a healthy teenager and a high like nothing else. Ain't that right, weasel?"

  Dave wailed. It distracted Morgan just enough that Bates' magic almost slipped past him. A block of ice materialised above Morgan's head, threatening to crash down on him. Crude. Fast. Powerful. Morgan dashed it away at the last moment, but his magic was seething and the struggle to keep it under control made him slow.

  Next time the magic came faster and it was aimed not at Hunter, Morgan or Caleb, but at Dave. The tape around his wrists dissolved in a flash of fire. He screamed; Hunter lunged for him, but Bates was too fast. No magic this time; Bates got his head down and charged like a bull, thudding into Hunter's stomach and forcing the air out of his lungs. The man looked freakishly strong; his muscles rippled as he pinned Hunter down, sitting on his thighs and holding down both wrists. He yelled at Dave. "Forget the twink, get the majos, you moron!"

  "I don't know," whined Dave, cradling his scorched hands to his chest. "This isn't what I signed on for, Paul. I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

  "Jesus fuck, do I have to do everything my fucking self?"

  Hunter thrashed around wildly, but Paul's grip stayed firm. With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Morgan realised there was something very unnatural about that strength. Then he noticed Bates was wearing a silver bracer on one arm, a gleaming serpent twisting around his right bicep. It took a fuck of a lot of life to make a tiny bit of esper, especially from people who weren't majos. How many people had died for that bracelet?

  Morgan took a few steps backwards, towards Caleb, with his hands up. "Let Hunter and Caleb go, and you can have my magic instead. No need for violence. I'll give it up voluntarily."

  "No!" Hunter gasped out, breathless under the pressure Bates was applying to his chest.

  "I mean, what have you got to bargain with, really?" Bates said. "Seems to me I'm the one with all the cards here." He looked at Hunter with a nasty grin on his face. "Shall I dislocate the other shoulder this time? Or break that wrist I pulled out of whack? I wouldn't want to make a mess of that pretty face of yours… Or would I?"

  "I get it," said Morgan, keen to keep him talking. "You're the one who blackmailed your mate."

  "One of my best customers. Until his wife found out. Nasty business." He tightened his grip on Hunter's wrists.

  "Same business, different venue," Hunter spat. "Did you get chilly finding punters in the car park and decide to take the party indoors?"

  Morgan took another step backwards, while Bates was busy scowling at Hunter.

  Bates said, "A good businessman never puts all his eggs in one basket, Mr Hunter. Now then, what to do with you? Maybe I'll just kill you. But I'm going to make sure your dwimmer boyfriend gets sucked dry first. Dave. Get that scrawny waste of space out of that chair."

  Hunter roared and made a monumental effort to throw Bates off, but all Bates did was laugh.

  Morgan rolled up his sleeve.

  Dave scuttled to the chair while Hunter writhed and scrabbled. Morgan couldn't look, couldn't listen. He was too close to the edge as it was. He had to keep control.

  Come on, Guapo. Take out the bad guys. You know what you can do. This is what you were born for. Not all that nonsense in the office. You're a spirit of fuego and aigua and hielo. I think the time for caution is passed, no?

  Morgan smiled.

  Yes.

  God, yes.

  He held out one hand, and in his palm coiled a ball of energy, flickering gold and silver, crackling with blue-black sparks. "Let them go," he said. "And this is yours."

  Bates laughed at him. "That all you can do?"

  Morgan tossed the ball of relámpago to his other hand. "Oh, no. This is just the beginning. Do you want it, or not? Or, should I say, how do you want it? In that machine or between your nasty little eyes?"

  "If you let that off you'll kill yourself too." Bates' voice had lost some of its certainty. "And your friends."

  "If it was in the hands of a charlatan like you, maybe. Not me. See, I know exactly what I'm doing with this. I control it. I say where it goes, who it hurts."

  "Like you did with your friend the other night? Is that what you call control?"

  Morgan felt so strange. So calm. Caleb and Hunter needed him. That was all that mattered. He couldn't have cared less about anything this pathetic little man had to say.

  "Nice bit of bling you've got there on your arm," Morgan said. "Silver, is it?"

  "Silver and a little bit extra," he smirked.

  "Perfect," said Morgan. He pulled a thread of energy from the globe still spinning in his palm, drawing it out like soft caramel. He let it settle into its own ball, no bigger than a pea.

  "Any lightning you throw my direction, it's going straight to your boyfriend here."

  Morgan flexed his fingers; lightning danced around him.

  "I'm not afraid of you," Bates said.

  "But you should be," said Morgan, and flicked the extracted energy at Bates' arm.

  It popped and crackled into the metal of his bracer; Bates' face contorted into a grimace of pain. Footsteps scuffled in the direction of the door; Morgan didn't turn, just said in a calm, clear voice, "Stay where you are, Dave. You're far more conductive than your friend here."

  Dave made a sobbing, retching sound, but he stopped running.

  "Good boy," said Morgan, and then, to Bates, "Let Hunter go, and lay face down on the floor."

  Bates snatched up Hunter's arm, holding his forearm with one hand and his fingers with the other. "You try that again and he better learn to wank left handed."

  "Get off him, or you'll have to learn to wank with a fried dick," Morgan replied, surging power through the ball of relámpago in his hand.

  Bates' bracer responded, the silver shimmering with contained magic. Morgan smiled. He fixed on the smooth, shiny surface of the metal, and let his magic seep into it, a steady flow of liquid energy, until there was screaming and Bates was staring at him with bulging eyes; he let go of Hunter, who scrambled to his feet and ran towards Caleb. Morgan kept pushing power into the silver bracer, charging and charging, until the pain got too much for Bates and he clawed at the lethal cuff, trying to get it off.

  Morgan broke the flow just as the circuit closed and the bracer discharged itself, forks of lightning sparking over Bates' arms in pulses, running through his body to arc into the pipes behind him. Magic called by magic.

  Bates sobbed, wrenching at the bracer. Finally it fell, empty and useless, thudding to the floor, leaving Bates' arm a blackened mess. The power left him all at once and he fell down.

  "Is he dead?" whimpered Dave.

  "No," said Morgan. His skin prickled, his blood fizzed. He squeezed his eyes tight shut and fell to his knees. "But you'd better run, you'd all better run, or you will be."

  Morgan heard Hunter's yell of "Morgan!", and there were scuffling sounds, and Dave was crying again. Morgan tried to shut it out, fighting to pull the power back inside of him. He grasped his necklace but it wasn't enough. His muscles went rigid; he shook his hands and sparks flew and then-

  "Morgan, I'm here." Caleb's voice. Shaky and rough, but Caleb. "I'm a bit rusty at this, but I'm going to ground you, okay?"

  Morgan didn't dare move enough to speak. Caleb grasped Morg
an's shoulder and his power swirled and solidified, ready to strike. The world stopped; colours went bright; the roar of the machine was deafening. Morgan focused on Caleb's breathing, ragged but familiar, and let him take over.

  Morgan's magic discharged harmlessly into the ground beneath their feet, through the concrete and brick and the rubble and into the sweet, clean earth beyond.

  "I got you," Caleb said. He cradled Morgan's body as he fell back. "I got you."

  "I think that's my line," Morgan said, and then he passed out cold.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Morgan's magic simmered under his skin. He had a hold on it, but it was still very much there, bright and alive, making everything sharp and ultra-real. It was a relief to be in the familiar surroundings of the flat, Caleb sitting close to him on the couch. He looked really pale, but God, it was good to see him alive and awake and talking and mostly okay. Harlequin sat on the other couch, opening up the containers of take out they'd bought on their way back from Bubble, once the paramedics and the police had let them go. Jess and Sahil had done a great job of keeping the focus away from Morgan's magic and firmly on Bates and Dave. Eventually there would be statements and interviews, and for Morgan a full majos review and all the documentation and risk assessments that went with it. But for now, they were free.

  Hunter and Darius joined them from the kitchen with a tray of drinks. Morgan gratefully picked up his mug of valerian tea and nestled it in his hands. The others mostly had alcohol, and he couldn't blame them, but he noticed Hunter was drinking tea, too - Yorkshire tea with milk and sugar. Morgan remembered making tea in the office for Hunter, and got a little ache in his chest.

  Darius handed round plates for the food. Morgan hesitated; he wasn't really hungry, as if the magic had filled the gaps in his stomach, but he knew he should eat.

  "Let me," said Hunter, taking his plate from him. "What do you like? Pakora? Bhuna? Pilau? Naan?"

  "Thank you. Anything. Not too much. Oh, and no meat."

  "I remember," said Hunter. Was it Morgan's imagination, or did he sound a bit wistful?