Arcane Ops

by T. R. Cameron

  Calling them boom grenades had left the question of exactly what type they were open to interpretation. He’d thought of flash-bangs, but Anik apparently had other ideas. Shards of metal and flaming wreckage signaled his use of fragmentation and incendiary devices. The wizards had literally been shredded and beyond their remains, their comrades in the evidence room whipped their wands around to hurl two boxes into the portal. One stepped through after the cases, and the agent raced forward using his magic to accelerate toward the other.

  When the man smirked and leapt sideways into the rift, Hank’s body acted without any conscious direction, lunged in after him, and caught the escapee in a flying tackle. He braced for impact with the bars on the far side of the evidence cage, making sure the enemy was angled to take the brunt of the blow, but instead, slid across a concrete floor that hadn’t been there a moment before, the wizard wrapped in his arms. He thrust the man’s head against the hard surface as their momentum slowed and twisted onto his feet to face the room behind him.

  The trip through the portal had deposited him in a garage of some kind. Boxes of various kinds and sizes were stacked in each direction. Loot storage. It makes sense. And it could be anywhere since they can use magic to move it around.

  Three people in the room held wands and another three carried weapons, and they looked as surprised at his appearance as he felt. He drew his pistol, having emptied the rifle magazine at the wizards and failed to reload, and sprayed shots at the non-magicals. Their bulletproof vests kept them alive but the power of the unexpected attack still disabled them.

  A blast of force hurled him to the side. He seized a post along his path, yanked himself around it, and used his magic to double his power as he swung himself toward the nearest wizard. The man tried to block him with one of the crates stolen from the evidence locker, which spewed its contents in all directions as it rocketed at his head. Hank caught it and used it as a battering ram to pound it into the wizard and propel him into the mage beside him. He grinned at the third, who was now within arm’s reach, and pistoned a fist into his face before he could raise his wand in defense. He bound the fallen quickly and took stock of the situation.

  “Glam, roll the police to my location but make sure one of our people arrives first. We’ll want to take some of this stuff. Emphasize it as a police matter, use an unencrypted band, bring the media, all that garbage. I don’t think there’s any way they can know I’m more than merely a talented officer, but let’s throw as much chaff in the air as possible to distract them.”

  He circled the room to break the boxes and assess what the enemy had acquired and stored in their bolt hole while Kayleigh gave him countdowns to Cara’s arrival and that of the police. The number of magical artifacts was of real concern and he set them aside to “disappear” into ARES custody. More worrisome, however, was the sheer number of explosives and weapons they had gathered. Everything from machine guns to rocket launchers was stored in the cases and in a large enough volume that the gang probably rated as a medium-sized militia. At least that equipment will go to the police or feds where it belongs.

  Cara arrived in an unmarked grey SUV and wore an illusion that made her look like one of the men in black from the movies. Together, they carried the single box into which he’d thrown all the magical items out of the garage and stored it in the car before they accelerated away and down the opposite side of the hill from the approaching media circus. The TV news helicopter might have been able to catch an image of them, but Kayleigh’s drone blocked its progress with a false FAA message telling them that the airspace was temporarily closed. She’d laughed as she filled them in on the tactic as they left the scene.

  The team’s second in command dispelled the illusion and glanced at him. “Did you have fun?”

  He sighed and cracked his knuckles. “You know it. I always love busting heads.” His heart wasn’t in it, though, and he knew she sensed it by her expression.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Hank sighed again. “I get that the boss to some degree—and ARES overall—is about subtlety, and spycraft, and all that shit. But I think the time for that may be ending. We need to bash some heads in here.”

  She laughed. “I couldn’t agree more. It might be difficult to convince the others, though. They’re smarter than we are.”

  He chuckled, his momentary pessimism broken. “Well, there’s smart and then there’s too smart for your own good. Fortunately, we’re not at risk for that. But maybe they’re suffering from it and need a smack upside the head to help them out.”

  She pressed on the accelerator. “That’s an idea I can get behind, partner.”

  Chapter Eight

  Diana looked at the armored mannequin with a sigh before she took the various pieces from the limbs. She put one foot up on the bench to strap her shin guard on and caught Nylotte’s amused expression from where she sat in the comfortable chair that existed solely for the purpose of allowing the damned Dark Elf to bestow such looks upon her. The bunker—which now had no discernible remnant of Nehlan’s time as owner except for the locked and warded door leading to the sealed portal room—was the preferred base to prepare for their next and hopefully last attempt to retrieve Fury, the remaining unclaimed piece of Rhazdon’s Vengeance.

  With one leg finished, she switched to the other. “So, do you think you’ve found it for sure this time?”

  Her teacher laughed. “There’s no way to know until we get there. Don’t tell me you’re getting frustrated already?”

  She glared for several moments, then straightened and retrieved her forearm guard. “No, I’m not frustrated at all. I love traipsing through disgusting caverns filled with repulsive creatures, alive, dead, or in-between as the case may be. It’s like a freaking vacation.” The Drow’s laughter displayed her complete lack of concern over Diana’s ire, which was certainly par for the course. Once her arms were clad, she pulled on the chainmail-underlaid bulletproof vest and secured the Velcro straps that would hold it tightly around her body. She carried her Ruger and Bowie knife in their holsters for backup, but otherwise, was prepared to depend solely on her magic. Somehow, it seemed appropriate given the task at hand. Her utility belt held the usual array of useful items in addition to two each of energy and healing potions.

  Nylotte was in her own battle armor—black chainmail and leather that matched the shade of her skin perfectly. Her white hair was confined in a warrior’s knot at the base of her skull. She carried knives at her hips and several vials on her belt as well. Despite her teacher’s mirth, Diana could see the worry in the corners of her eyes and in the way she held her lips. The Dark Elf hadn’t revealed what the frown at the end of their last training session was about, and she had decided not to ask. It didn’t feel like she was the cause. In any case, there was no chance she could fear treachery from the Nylotte. It simply wasn’t in the realm of possibility, given all that they’d been through, and the truth was that without the other woman’s guidance, her ability to pursue the sword, much less retrieve it, would be zero.

  The fact that she was kick-ass in battle was an extra bonus on top of all the things she really needed her for. Together, they were undoubtedly more than equal to any challenge they might face on the path to Fury. Okay, maybe a little doubt. Only a tiny bit.

  The other woman rose and clapped sharply. “Are you finally ready? Do you take this long to prepare for a date? I would think your Bryant would get bored waiting.”

  She rolled her eyes. “First, he doesn’t usually watch me get ready for a date and second, shut up, and third, you’re simply jealous. Seeing Dreven again brought up some long-buried desires, didn’t it?”

  Her teacher’s burst of laughter was exactly what she had intended. She grinned as the other woman shook her head. “You are such an idiot, Sheen. Honestly.”

  “You know you love me.”

  “Love and hate are divided by the thinnest of lines. Are you aware of that?”

  Diana laughed. “You’d
be so bored without me. Speaking of which, is it time to go yet? I’m getting tired of waiting on you, old woman.”

  The Drow growled and threw a portal at her.

  She stumbled when the floor gave way to dirt and grass beneath her feet. She caught her balance as Nylotte stepped through and banished the rift. The twitch at the corners of her teacher’s lips made the uncomfortable trip completely worth it. She looked around but saw only trees. They were in a clearing in a forest, and the trunks stretched high before branches jutted out from them to create a canopy above. The leaves were multicolored, from dark-yellow to a bright red on one tree, all green on the next, and all orange on a third. Together, they created a discordant atmosphere that set her teeth on edge.

  She started at the sound of the other woman’s voice. “This is the dark forest, a fair distance away from where your bunker is located. About a half-mile that way”—she gestured ahead of them—“is an old temple built by a cult from long, long ago. It has come up in several books as a potential place of power that Rhazdon was interested in, so it may very well be the location of the sword.”

  Diana nodded. “That sounds logical. Those trees won’t make us insane or anything, will they?”

  The Drow laughed. “The only sanity at risk here is mine, because of you. We won’t be here long enough for them to affect us, and we’re protected from the worst effects by the bark. It’s the harvested wood or that of dead trees that are most dangerous.”

  “Great. I feel much better. Lead the way.” Her teacher did exactly that, and the agent moved cautiously behind her and kept her attention on the path. It was rocky, crowded with the tops of boulders that needed climbing and scree that tried to dump her on her backside. The route wound as it climbed, and she was grateful it wasn’t whatever passed for a rainy season in this part of Oriceran. The air was swollen with strange sounds—hisses and chirps that were completely unlike anything she’d experienced in the woods on Earth. Where sunlight filtered in, the atmosphere was pleasant and almost hopeful. In the spaces where the branches and leaves prevented illumination, the feeling was dark, foreboding, and decidedly lacking in hope. One more place to cross off my vacation destination list. Maybe a cruise. Yeah, like a month on a boat. That would be perfect.

  An open area was visible ahead, and Nylotte slowed to let her catch up. Together, they crouched near the end of the path and looked into the clearing beyond it. The nearest item of note was a wicked wrought-iron fence, black and flawless, with nasty spikes protruding upward and to all sides at six-inch intervals. They shuffled a little closer so the trees no longer blocked their view, and it became apparent that the barrier circled the temple and the land around it, with the dark, gothic building located in the exact center. It was about the size of a medium-sized two-story house if you discounted the tall steeple that rose another couple of dozen feet to the sky from the peak of the roof.

  The grass surrounding it was long and unmaintained but low enough that she could make out gravestones engraved with strange patterns all around the property. “Tell me there won’t be zombies involved.”

  Nylotte’s voice was dry and quiet. “There will not be zombies involved.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “A character flaw, I assume. Look there.” She pointed at the windows, and Diana could make out dark figures moving inside the building, looking from this distance like variations on the grim reaper having a dinner party. “It’s a cult of witches.”

  “A coven?”

  Her companion shrugged. “You could call it that, although not every coven is a cult. These folks are, though. And no, before you ask, they aren’t necromancers. Quite the opposite, in fact. They are thoroughly committed to returning bodies—and everything else—into the ash from which it supposedly arose.”

  Diana frowned. “So it’s a cult of pyromaniacs?”

  “That describes them fairly well, actually. I wouldn’t depend on them only being able to use fire, but they certainly prefer it, according to what I could dig up about them.”

  “Heh. Dig up. Zombie joke. Nice. But seriously, how much will this suck?”

  Nylotte sighed and twisted to face her. “It’ll probably suck considerably. Unlike the other places, which weren’t active as such, this one is a functioning temple and we have no way to know where the sword is. Once we’re ready to reveal ourselves, I can cast a spell to help us track it, but these are witches with a significant skill level so I can’t risk it before that moment.”

  “Okay, so we go up and say we want to join or something?”

  Her teacher laughed. “The ritual for admission is to have yourself burned. If you heal enough to live, you get to stay.”

  A shudder ran through her. Burning was second only to being enveloped by shadow tentacles on her list of scariest nightmares.

  “Girl Scout cookies?”

  “Are you ever serious?”

  “Not when I’m nervous. And I have to tell you, people who would willingly court death by burning simply to join a club make me really damn nervous.”

  “That’s perfectly understandable. I don’t like them either. I think our best option is to circle and see if there’s a back entrance to preserve secrecy as long as we can. If we can disable some of them silently, so much the better.”

  A grimace leapt unbidden to her lips. “Um, not to be overly goody-goody, but I’m not sure the fact that they’re hiding a sword that’s not actually ours is cause for a death sentence, you know?”

  Nylotte frowned. “Have no worries on that matter. Most of their converts aren’t taken willingly. The cult burns structures, traps their potential members inside, then helps those they deem worthy to recover from the experience. Invariably, their minds are twisted and broken in the process.”

  “Oh, okay, they’re total assholes. Fair game then. Lead on, Kemosabe.”

  They crept along the perimeter of the black fence, staying low to avoid notice from those inside. As they followed a curved trajectory to the side of the building, they noticed more people moving about, silhouetted in the upstairs windows. All the light sources flickered and Diana came to the late realization that of course they only used open flame for lighting, feeling appropriately stupid for having taken so long to reach that conclusion. They continued their slow progress around the barrier, which remained unbroken until they reached the rear of the structure, which had three evenly spaced windows on the top story and two more surrounding a door on the ground level. More flickering and movement was visible through the windows.

  Diana hissed. “How many of them are inside? It’s like a clown car for witches or something.”

  Her teacher chuckled. “They do seem to prefer proximity, don’t they? I’ve never been one to enjoy such things.”

  She thought about her own living arrangements and shrugged. “I guess it depends who you cohabit with. But these crazy people? No thanks.”

  “Being devout doesn’t make them crazy.”

  “No, voluntarily burning themselves almost to death makes them crazy. And for the involuntary ones, not immediately killing the rest of them in revenge makes them crazy.”

  Nylotte pointed at the back door. “That’s our way in. The witches upstairs are a concern, so we’ll have to stay vigilant in case they come down to join the fun.”

  Diana shook her head. “I hope they do. They deserve to have their flames extinguished with extreme prejudice.”

  “I can’t argue with that sentiment.” The Drow nodded. “Let’s get to it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Nylotte studied the building for several minutes before she turned to the agent. “Up and Over.” With a gesture, the other witch lifted them both from their feet and deposited them inside the fence. Diana felt a strange tickle as they crossed the boundary and assumed there was a defensive ward that the Dark Elf had dealt with. They landed and her teacher scuttled forward, remained low, and stopped beside the door. She flanked it on the opposite side, and both were careful to keep their head
s below the line of sight from the windows.

  The Drow made a gesture and snarled in disgust. “It’s warded against magical entry.” Diana slid the lockpick tool from her belt, recalled the first time she’d seen one used so long before by Bryant in DC, and raked the pins until the lock clicked. She eased the door open, peeked inside, and saw a corridor that led directly to the front door with what appeared to be a staircase going up on either side of it, based on the curved railings ahead. Openings were present near the far entrance, and another pair to both left and right at the back.

  She moved aside to let the Dark Elf lead the way. As they crept forward, there was laughter from the room on the right and sounds of chopping and cooking from the left. Nylotte pointed to herself, then to the right, and they crossed to opposite sides of the hall. Her teacher gave signals to indicate they would meet in the same place afterward and drew her knives. The agent drew her own from its sheath when she realized her companion intended to avoid using magic for as long as possible.

  The kitchen was large, dominated by a wood-fired stove and oven along the wall opposite the entry. To her left, attached to the back wall of the building, were shelves and a giant sink. To the right stood a broad metal object that was doubtless a cooler of some kind beside a doorway into the room beyond. The center of the space held a prep island she would have killed to have in her own house. It was topped by a thick wooden block, and a tall figure in a long black robe with a hood wielded a knife skillfully through an array of vegetables before her. She threw the good parts into an immense stew pot and the leavings into a rough metal bowl at her side. Her hands and the part of her face that Diana could sometimes see when she moved were covered with scars, which made her look far older than her straight posture and energetic chopping would suggest. She hummed a small tune as she worked.