“Nothing to see here but static.”
“I’m just going to call you Obi-Wan from now on,” he muttered under his breath.
Selia giggled and admitted, “I did tell you that Soren had me use my magic to coerce his clients into agreeing with him. This wasn’t very different.”
They had entered into the back of the building, which also happened to be the loading area. Shelving units went from floor to just a foot or two below the ceiling and the shelves were filled with boxes and bubble-wrapped items. Crates were stacked against the entire length of one wall and forklifts were lined up against the opposite. To the left of the door they had just entered was a narrow hallway and there was an office to their right.
“According to the floor plans, the offices are on the fifth and sixth floors,” the Sandman said as he strode to their left. “Which floor do you want to take?”
“I’ll take the fifth floor, you can have the sixth,” she replied. “How do you suggest we keep in contact?”
The Sandman reached into his pocket and pulled out an ear bud; probably the same one she’d used before. She took it and slipped it into her ear. She asked under her breath as they started up the stairwell. “And you couldn’t have given this to me back at the cabin?”
He chuckled and she swatted him lightly on the back of his head, making him laugh that much more.
“You jerk,” she teased.
Sharing smiles, they fell into silence as they continued up the stairs. When they reached the fifth-floor landing, Selia nodded to him and opened the door, vanishing into the dark hallway. They had gone over their plan as they’d dressed at the bungalow. There were only a handful of offices on both floors and one of them had to hold the information they needed. Fortunately, the doors had not only a number but also names and descriptions of what was behind them.
Selia picked one door that stated it belonged to Aubrey Landress and used her magic to unlock the door. Aubrey Landress was a name she’d heard on occasion by some of the other underbosses when they were talking about who would deal in certain types of stolen goods. She was a cut-throat when it came to deals and had no problems using strong-arm tactics against anyone who dared cross her. Crossing to the desk, Selia began carefully looking for her day planners, schedule book, or anything she might keep names and dates.
“Find anything interesting?” she asked softly as she found a small black book and flipping it open.
“Not yet,” the Sandman replied. “How about you?”
“I might have something,” she replied, her eyes scanning the finely written notes quickly. She jumped ahead to the current date and flipped forward until her eyes found Alfi’s name and a time. “Yeah, I think I found something useful.”
What came back to her, however, were the sounds of a wrist breaking and a yelp of pain that didn’t belong to the Sandman. She snapped the book shut, replaced it, and ran for the door as a crash filled her ear. It took every ounce of self-restraint she possessed to not talk to him as she threw open the door to the stairs and ran up them. By the time she reached the sixth-floor landing, silence met her ears.
“Sandman?” She asked, keeping her voice low. “Are you okay?”
Silence was her only answer. That wasn’t a good thing, especially since she felt dread curling in the pit of her stomach. She crept down the hallway, checking each room carefully. He wasn’t behind any of the doors. All right, she decided, time for a spell. Holding her hand up, she cast the basic locator spell she’d used before, fully expecting a blue dot to form on her palm.
When it didn’t, her heart plummeted, and she stared at her hand in disbelief. Only one thing could prevent that from happening: another mage. Even if he were dead, the spell would have allowed her to locate the body.
Selia shook her head and headed back to the stairs. Instead of going down, she went to the roof. The moment she stood on the top of the building, she walked to the center and knelt like someone preparing to propose to their betrothed.
There was only one spell that she knew of that could possibly work, but she didn’t know if it would work. It was one designed to find a mate. Not a mere spouse or lover, but a life-mate. It reminded Selia a great deal of the bald eagles of this land that took only one mate in their entire lifetimes and wouldn’t find another until one of the pair died. Except for some Temerians, it lasted even after one of the pair died.
If it didn’t work, she had no clue how to find him. If it did work, it meant she had a lot of explaining to do and was probably even more screwed. Somehow, she doubted she could tell Al that her mate was the Family’s nemesis who went by the name of the Sandman. Personally, though, the idea was both frightening and exciting. It was something she’d figure out later, provided the spell worked and the Sandman was alive to discuss it with her.
Of course, the spell might also point her to the first boy she’d kissed when she was thirteen. If the spell led her to the ocean, she’d have to figure it wasn’t tracking the Sandman.
Taking out the small knife from her boot, she nicked the heel of her left hand’s ring finger. Once blood dripped onto the blade, she placed it in the palm of her left hand, the point at the tip of her ring finger and the hilt at her wrist. The left-hand ring finger had long been called the ‘vein of love’.
Drawing a deep breath, Selia let it out slowly. Chanting the words to the spell, she allowed her affection, amusement, and yes, love for the Sandman, fuel the magic. The magic engulfed her, and she felt as though she were standing in the middle of a burning inferno.
Gasping, she whispered his true name. “William Brendan Fredricks.”
The fire slowly abated to where she could breathe and every memory she had of the Sandman flashed through her thoughts. His smile that made his eyes twinkle and the way he teased her. The fire that burned in his eyes when they were filled with desire. The fury that blazed when he was angry. Their first meeting. His helping her escape the hotel. The disguise he used to escort her to Al’s penthouse.
His unique scent that was a husky smell of pine and cloves mixed with something sharp yet sweet. Almost as though he wore cologne or aftershave that blended with his skin to create a smell that enticed her at every turn. She remembered his touch and the way it made her desire more than a mere caress. The fire finally abated, and she opened her eyes to find the knife glowing a blue silver.
Apparently, the spell worked. Selia pushed down the urge to give out a shout of triumph.
She felt a distinct pull towards her back and she stood slowly, holding the knife’s hilt tightly in her hand. Turning, she realized which way she was being pulled.
Chapter Twenty-Four
E ither the Sandman had been taken to somewhere closer to the docks, or her mate was back on Temeria, and she was truly screwed. Shrugging, she decided there was only one way to find out. She tucked the still-glowing knife back into her boot and started running towards the edge of the roof before jumping across to the building opposite the auction house.
From there, she descended the fire escape and began a steady run towards the docks, allowing the pull of the spell to lead her through a maze of alleys, up and over rooftops, and towards the docks. The pier came into view as she left an alley. She rolled her eyes, about to give up when she felt a harder pull to her left.
A smile crossed her lips as she cast a cloaking spell and began down the wide street to another large warehouse. Large double doors appeared to rise up, like huge garage doors with a smaller door beside them. A pair of large windows were high on the wall opposite the smaller door.
The magic pulled her towards the side where a small stairwell led up to a door about eight feet above her. She crept up the stairs and looked through the window but couldn’t see anyone inside. Strange that the spell hadn’t led her directly in the main door. Though he had to be inside somewhere.
Knowing better than to enter an unknown area, she looked around, but didn’t see another way into the building, at least from her current position. Descending t
he stairs, she walked around the building, searching for another option, but no other buildings had fire escapes or provided easy access to the roof.
Shrugging, Selia returned and used a touch of magic to unlock the door. Peering around cautiously as she slipped inside, she didn’t see any sign of people. On a table in the center of the room were the Sandman’s tools, coat, and belt. Against one wall was a table with a coffee maker and amenities, which stood beside several snack and drink machines. She gathered up the Sandman’s stuff and headed out the door directly across from the one she entered. Opening it, the magic pulling at her grew stronger.
A long hallway with windows to the right overlooking the area below met her eyes. Fortunately, it was dark, and she was still using the cloaking spell. She stood in front of the window and looked down to finally see the Sandman in a maze of boxes piled a good eight to ten feet around him. The Sandman was in a chair wrapped up by glowing ropes. He struggled furiously, and the ropes were only getting tighter the more he struggled. There were guards, or rather thugs, holding weapons and acting as sentries. She wasn’t concerned. She had magic on her side.
Continuing down the hallway, she found the stairs that led down into the bay area. There was no door to open, so she walked between the guards at the door without a thought. Mazes were only confusing if you didn’t know which way to go, and Selia knew exactly which way she needed to go. The spell didn’t hurt, either. It actually made her path through the boxes faster than expected.
Glancing around the small room made from stacked boxes, she knelt beside the Sandman and dropped the magic. He stared at her in disbelief, but fortunately remained silent.
“Stop struggling, Sandman,” she barely whispered, a hand on the rope. “Go limp and the ropes will drop.”
He rolled his eyes but did as she bid, and the ropes dropped free.
“You just wanted to see if I’d go limp on command, didn’t you?” he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Not completely,” Selia replied in the same tone. “The spell was designed so the more someone struggled, the tighter the ropes would become. If you stopped wiggling, it wouldn’t cut off circulation. The spell also grows stronger from the force of will you expend trying to break it. I couldn’t break through both without using most of my magic.”
“Okay, fair enough,” he replied.
She smiled at him beneath her scarf and stood. Feeling him stiffen, Selia turned around to find a blonde staring at her with soft, baby blue eyes.
The stranger had obviously been beautiful thirty pounds and ten or fifteen years ago. But now her breasts sagged, she was on the chunky side, and her choice of a silky, clinging gold gown did nothing to enhance her complexion or flatter her figure. Her hair, pulled up into an elegant chignon, only enhanced the lines on her face that even the makeup she’d caked on couldn’t hide. The dimples in her cheeks deepened as she smirked at Selia and the Sandman.
Selia wrinkled her nose as the faint whiff of rotting flesh and mold tickled her nostrils. She glanced at the Sandman, but he didn’t seem to even notice.
I can smell the taint of the spell on you. The words spoken from Selia’s headmistress flashed through her thoughts and she suddenly realized what Mistress Anora had meant. Before Selia could even realize what she was doing, she had shoved the Sandman his gear, unsheathed her weapons, and was halfway across the floor twirling her swords before a powerful blast of icy air threw her back against a stack of boxes behind the Sandman.
The sound of three shots echoing across the building pulled Selia out of her daze, and she saw the woman snarling. Selia looked up and was gratified to see the Sandman had pulled the pair of Walther .45 automatic pistols he normally kept in his trench coat and had decided to throw lead at the woman instead of his usual non-fatal approach. It seemed he did know when it was time to break out the big guns, after all.
Selia muttered a phrase and fire flew from her fingertips, countering the spell the woman had thrown at the Sandman. Another shot from the Sandman clipped the woman on her left shoulder and blood began soaking the golden gown. Slapping a hand against her shoulder, the woman turned and darted away. A hand appeared in front of Selia’s face, and she grasped the Sandman’s wrist, allowing him to pull her up.
“You okay?” he asked. Selia could hear the pain in his breathing.
“I’m fine,” she said, snatching up her swords from where they’d fallen. With fury in her eyes, Selia asked maliciously, “Still want to leave witnesses?”
“No,” he drawled out. “I feel like killing these assholes.”
Selia’s eyes narrowed as she rolled her wrists. The Sandman sounded as though he had been pummeled hard and repeatedly during his short stay. His eyes were on their way to becoming true shiners. Taking a moment, she muttered under her breath in Temerian, and a white light swirled around his face. He glanced at her sharply, and she raised her brows.
“Well, I don’t want your eyes swelling shut,” she murmured as a pair of thugs came barreling towards them even as more came from behind them. “Oh, good! The party has started!” She stepped around until her back was at his.
Realizing she was at a slight disadvantage in the weaponry department, she separated from the Sandman to cut down the first pair of gunmen she saw. She sheathed her swords, picked up the compact machine guns both men had carried, and backed up with an easy, fluid grace. Her thumbs found the fire selector switch on the weapons, and she maneuvered them to the semi-automatic position. She fired as she moved, continuing to carefully place her shots as her back pressed lightly against the Sandman’s.
Unlike the gunmen coming into their collective line of fire, the Sandman and Selia had learned how to handle firearms by trained professionals, rather than taking cues from video screens and blowing whole clips at a range just to see how fast the bullet and brass casings would fly. There were a few that actually did some controlled fire, stopping after bursts of five or more rounds and then trying to find cover or a better angle.
Most of them, however, were firing like bullets were cheap and collateral damage was something that only happened in video games. Those gunmen would start firing, and their bodies would begin to pivot up and to the right only seconds later, slaves to the laws of physics dictated by someone firing multiple rounds from high-powered firearms.
Considering that she and the Sandman were constantly on the move and the men didn’t really aim, once the first three rounds of each gunman missed, Selia and her partner were safe to take a moment to wait for those bodies to turn. Carefully placed shots went into the exposed sides and chests of the gunmen.
The few that were more seasoned to the realities of fire fights went down last. Two of them actually survived long enough to find adequate cover. Before they could take advantage of the cover and take better aim, the Sandman lobbed two of the small stun grenades he preferred just past the men’s cover. The detonations rendered the men unable to do more than clutch at their ringing ears and blinded eyes. They were dispatched into unconsciousness by blows to the head, courtesy of New Campania’s crime-fighting duo.
“Thanks for the rescue,” the Sandman said to her when the noise and smoke had ceased. “Now we need to see about shutting down that auction. The building is actually open for business, even if it is being watched.”
“Do you have something in mind? Selia asked him, her faux blonde eyebrows going up.
“It’s time for a little dirty work and improvisation,” he replied, a sly twinkle in his eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Five
T hirty minutes later, Selia was snickering at the sight before her. The Sandman stood with his arms out wide, and asked, “What do you think?”
Selia laughed harder. The Sandman was dressed in a generic pair of work coveralls and old, oversized running shoes. He wore a wig that gave him red hair, done up in oversized dreadlocks. Matching facial hair, formed into a goatee and a sparse moustache, adorned his face. He wore the infrared sunglasses and looked like a strung-out wanna
be doing a minimum wage stint as a janitor.
“That sounds, like, perfect to me,” he said as he smiled at her.
Selia gasped for a minute and howled with laughter again: Several front teeth in the Sandman’s mouth now sported gold caps.
“Where… where did… where did you-” she gasped.
“I have several theatrical costumers on speed dial. My grandmother was a legend in theater and is still beloved by many in the city’s industry. She taught me how to envelope myself into a role, and where to get the best props. Fortunately, one of them also deals in stunt cars. I have a beat-up old Chevy Citation waiting about fifty yards from this building. It’s got janitorial supplies jammed into the trunk and back.”
“O-okay,” Selia tittered. “What can I do?”
“You get to be my unappreciated girlfriend who’s dropping me off for work,” he said with a gold-tinted grin.
“Ummm… you look like hell, ‘sweetheart.’ Maybe I should heal you first.”
She indicated the multiple cuts and large bruises that were visible where the wig and fake facial hair didn’t cover. His lips were split, the skin around his right eye was engorged and purple, and there were small lacerations all over his neck and jawline. She thought there was quite a bit of swelling as well. His face did not look to be shaped the same as it had been when she had seen it partially uncovered and preparing to kiss him. His nose was also shaped differently.
“No, that’s for later. Trust me. I can work with this mess.” He handed her a pair of sunglasses identical to his own, along with an electronic tablet. Once she had taken them, he continued. “There’s an oversized jacket for you to wear, over your suit, in the car. You wear the jacket, zipped to your throat, and the sunglasses. Pull your wig back into a ponytail so the green tips aren’t so noticeable. You get to keep the sunglasses.”
He produced a hair band from one of the coverall’s pockets and handed it to her. She pulled her hair back and tied it up. Putting on the sunglasses, she noticed that everything was brighter but had a green hue to it. The Sandman was multiple colors as a result of his uneven body heat. She nodded to him and looked at the tablet. She saw herself, looking down at the tablet from the Sandman’s perspective. A sudden large blob flew into the tablet’s view and there was a dull thudding sound from the tablet’s speakers. She looked up to see him tapping the front of a nametag pinned to the left side of his chest.
Taking The Night (Nightshade series Book 1) Page 16