“Gino…we’ve already lost two of our own. Who have the Americans got that can defeat Loki?”
“Don’t know…but we don’t have any other options.”
“But…why this? A pentagram? I haven’t seen one of those in years.”
“She told me we would need a beacon. Their man is teleporting all the way from California and will need this to find us.”
“If he can teleport, why doesn’t he just use the Guild network?”
“I asked that question. Didn’t get an answer. She just said to set up the beacon.”
Lalonde studied the sinister diagram. “Are you sure you aren’t summoning a demon from the pit?”
“Actually, no…I’m not,” Magnini admitted. “But maybe that’s what we need to deal with that brutto figlio di puttana.”
He stepped back, checked his work one more time, then closed his eyes and focused his mind to activate the beacon. He initiated the link to the kaval, and the pentagram lit up with a sudden flare.
A moment later, both of them stepped back in horror and instinctively reached for their wands—their regular sidearms were obviously inadequate—as the huge creature materialized in front of them. It looked around, shrugged its wings, and craned its long neck to stare in their direction.
Now that was a helluva trip…the dragon’s voice sounded in their minds—in English, with a hint of a Texas drawl. Which one of you guys is Gino?
The two men glanced warily at each other, reluctant to take their eyes off the dragon. Finally, Magnini lowered his wand and stepped forward.
“I am Gino Magnini,” he said with a little bow toward the monster. “This is my colleague, Pierre Lalonde. You are…the American?”
Yeah…guess you could say that. Not supposed to tell you my name—you can call me Red. By the way, where are we?
“They said to set the beacon in a large, open indoor space. This is a warehouse, signore…just off the Viale Tiziano…”
No…I mean, what city, what country…they didn’t really tell me where I was going—just somewhere in Europe.
They looked at each other. LaLonde shook his head. This, he decided, was not going to end well.
“You are in Rome, signore…Rome…in Italy.”
No kidding? Gee, I always wanted to see Rome. Let’s get this business done, and maybe I’ll have time for a little sightseeing…
Get out of the office for a change, she said. Do a little field work, nice little trip to Europe. It’ll be fun, she said.
Witherbot hadn’t brushed it off that lightly, but at the moment, Mark felt she might have given him a little more information before sending him off. It had been almost three months since he and Lisa had accepted Keel’s proposal, and he was beginning to wonder whether SAD was ever going to call on them.
When the call came, she’d been brusque and professional. She’d just told him they needed him to deal with a rogue wizard, and he’d get the details from their operatives on the scene.
After Lisa’s encounter with Webley, he’d assumed it would be easy. But he’d been in battle with the target for 20 long minutes, and the outcome was yet to be decided.
This guy has got to be one of those gatandi characters. He’s got a wand of some sort, but most of the time he doesn’t need it. Good thing dragons don’t sweat, or I’d be drenched—but we do get tired, and I’m feeling it.
He wasn’t just worn out, he was feeling the pain of several wounds the rogue wizard had inflicted on him. He was sure he’d scored a few hits of his own, but the one they called Loki showed no sign of slowing down.
The last LEI wizard-Shooter had died trying to take Loki out, but his efforts hadn’t been totally in vain. He’d managed to attach a familiar—a black alley cat—to the target. Loki had either failed to detect the shadow or had simply left it in place out sheer arrogance, confident that he could handle anything SAD could throw at him.
But that meant SAD knew exactly where to find him—and where to send the dragon. Mark had teleported into the empty truck garage and found Loki looking at him from about thirty yards away—with surprise. Apparently, dragons weren’t on the list of enemies he’d expected to encounter.
Mark was surprised as well. For some silly reason, he’d been expecting a typical wizard from a fantasy novel—long grey beard, dark flowing robes, armed with a gnarly staff of some sort. Loki looked like he belonged in a California biker gang—tall, heavy-set, rough looking, and clad in black leather, including a sleeveless vest that showed muscular arms covered in ink—mostly arcane symbols. For a crazy moment, Mark wondered if the tattoos were a crib sheet for his favorite spells. Instead of a staff, he brandished what looked very much like an ornate version of a police baton.
Surprised or not, Loki was quick to react. Mark was still trying to size up the enemy when the wizard hit him with a ball of fire. But Sparkling had been right—fire was not an effective weapon against a dragon. Mark shook off the attack and replied with a fireball of his own, only to find that Loki had some sort of shield spell in effect. Mark’s blast stopped well short of the target, though it did cause the wizard to stagger backward a step or two.
Loki replied with a lightning bolt, and that one hurt. Mark had collapsed to the floor as pain shot through his body. The wizard’s voice quivered with glee as he recited the incantation for another bolt. Spark’s right again—he needs to say the words or do the motion or something to focus his power. The delay was his advantage.
He staggered to his feet and snatched up a heavy steel pipe that was lying on the floor. With dragon strength, he rammed the end of the pipe into the floor just as the wizard launched another lightning bolt. The bolt hit the pipe and went harmlessly to ground.
Mark felt nothing more than a tingling in his claws. Well, that’s a surprise. Laws of physics still work, even against magic lightning. He replied with another firebolt, but the wizard’s shield continued to hold. Gotta find something else to use on him.
Loki muttered another spell and thrust out his wand. Suddenly Mark stiffened, his limbs paralyzed by an icy cold that slowly spread through his body. Reacting quickly, he bent his long dragon neck around and applied some of his own fire to his arms and legs. The frigid paralysis faded but left a throbbing pain behind.
Instinctively, Mark pointed a finger at the target and produced a lightning bolt of his own. He hadn’t even known he could do it until it happened, but once again, the wizard’s shield intervened—but not as effectively this time. Loki was knocked off his feet, and his cry of rage interrupted the incantation he was reciting. He rolled over and scrambled up again, thrusting his wand out to produce yet another fireball.
Mark batted it aside and threw something—he wasn’t sure what—with his left hand. Whatever it was, it wrapped the rogue wizard in a tangle of thorny vines that suddenly tightened around him. Loki twisted to touch his wand to the tangle of vegetation, which withered and turned to dust.
And so it went, with attack and defense, strike and counterstrike. Somewhere in the process, they managed to set the building on fire. That didn’t bother Mark, but Loki blasted a garage door open and stumbled out into the alley, away from the smoke and heat, just as a section of the ceiling collapsed, covering Mark in flaming debris. He shook it off and charged out after the wizard, only to run into another lightning bolt. He was still carrying the pipe, but didn’t have it grounded, and suffered the consequences.
Then to his surprise, the wizard reached into his vest and pulled out a conventional firearm, obviously from a shoulder holster. Mark recognized the oversized revolver as a Taurus Judge Magnum, capable of firing either .45 Colt rounds or overpowered .410 shotgun shells. Loki raised it and fired, aiming for Mark’s head, probably trying to take out an eye. He was no match for dragon reflexes, though, and the long neck allowed Mark to whip his head to the side, out of the line of fire. The first shot missed by more than a foot.
Realizing he wasn’t going to get an easy head shot, Loki fired the remaining four shots directly i
nto Mark’s chest. They stung but didn’t penetrate the heavy scales. The wizard tossed the gun aside and deployed his wand again.
That’s the problem with those things, Mark thought, with grim amusement. He knew of only one guy—a professional shooter named Jerry Miculek—who could reload a revolver faster than most semiautomatic shooters could replace a magazine. And he uses a custom-tuned Smith & Wesson and .45 ACP moon clips. As a general rule, revolvers were not amenable to quick reloads during a fire fight.
Mark faced off with his adversary again. To his surprise, the wizard just stood there, muttering something and tracing an intricate pattern in the air with his wand. Uh oh! He’s setting up something new…must be nasty if he needs the wand to set it up.
“Cor Subsisto!” Loki roared, pointing the wand, which produced a greenish beam that struck Mark in the chest.
Pain! Crushing pain that stopped Mark’s breath and brought him crashing to the ground again, his legs folding under him. Burning agony spread from his chest into his arms, his vision dimmed, and he heard the wizard’s maniacal laughter, faintly penetrating his fading consciousness.
Heart attack! I’m having a heart attack…
Dimly he remembered an old Marine’s words of wisdom: “If you ain’t dead yet, the battle ain’t over.”
Fighting the pain, he tried to focus. He could dimly see Loki in front of him, just a few yards away, cackling with laughter and waving his wand as he did what seemed like a victory dance.
Gathering his dragon legs under him, Mark felt his claws dig into the broken surface of the alleyway. Summoning his last strength, he thrust himself forward, his right arm stretching out.
The rogue wizard’s laughter cut off abruptly as the huge clawed hand slammed down on him, producing a satisfying wet squelch accented by the muffled crunch of breaking bones.
Somewhere under his palm, Mark felt a little tingle as the last energy went out of the broken wand. The pain began to fade immediately, replaced by a pounding in his chest as the dragon’s mighty heart began to assert itself again. His vision cleared, but he had little strength left, so he just laid there for the better part of a minute.
His sense of humor stirred. Note to self: When magic fails, try blunt force trauma. Should have just whacked him with the pipe after the first lightning bolt.
The sound of sirens roused him—the distinctive two-note warble used by emergency vehicles in Europe, not like the electronic wails and chirps favored by American emergency services.
Got to get moving…but first…His Marine training kicked in again. Make sure the target is terminated…don’t assume anything.
He squeezed his clawed hand into a dragon fist and was rewarded with squirts of blood and other bodily fluids between his fingers. He dropped the remains onto the ground, then grabbed the body with his right hand, while his left plucked the head off like a ripe grape from the vine. Making a fist again, he proceeded to hammer the body into the broken pavement as if it were a cheap cut of meat needing to be tenderized.
Bet that’ll keep the local forensics team busy for a while.
Sensing motion, he glanced to his left and saw the black cat regarding him with bright yellow eyes. Your work’s done, you got your revenge, he told the furry familiar. You can relax now. Go chase a rat or something. To his surprise, an image popped into his head—the dragon seen from the cat’s point of view, accompanied by a feeling of satisfaction. Then, with typical feline arrogance, it turned its back on him and padded silently off into the night.
Mark looked around and saw nothing else moving. Getting to his feet, he stumbled out of the alley and into the little piazza that marked the intersection of two well-traveled streets. The old, mostly residential neighborhood was deserted in the pre-dawn hours, but a fountain cascaded cheerfully in the middle of the square. Mark used it to wash the blood and other unpleasant stuff off his hands.
The first fire truck was less than a block away when the dragon vanished, leaving the burning garage and the gory mess in the alley to mark the scene of the battle.
“Putain! Loki defeated the dragon!”
LaLonde stared at the sorry apparition that had appeared in the warehouse. The creature sat on its haunches, bent forward with its neck hung down, its eyes staring at the floor. The dragon’s drooping wings were covered with soot, its scales scarred with gouges and burns.
Suddenly the huge head lifted, and the grey eyes stared directly at the two men.
Not this time, Frenchy…
With an underhand toss, Mark sent the dead wizard’s head bouncing erratically across the floor like a bowling ball on a cobblestone street. It came to rest a few feet in front of them, with its bulging eyes staring at the ceiling.
“Merde!” LaLonde took a step backward.
“Bravo, Signore Red,” Magnini nodded toward Mark. “Well done.”
Don’t know how well, but it’s definitely done. Right now the first responders are scraping the rest of him off the pavement.
I think I’ll skip the sightseeing this time…only thing I want to see is home. Tell Witherbot I’m gonna charge a lot more for the next one.
With that, the dragon vanished, leaving the two of them to contemplate the severed head on the floor.
“You. Look. Awful!”
Lisa’s observation was half concern, half reprimand.
“Yeah, well, you should have seen the other guy.”
“He was the target!” She snorted. “He’s supposed to be dead. You’re supposed to be kicking back with a glass of Scotch in your hand, bragging about how easy it was. And how did he manage to do so much damage to your back?”
“He didn’t. Building was burning, ceiling collapsed. There was some heavy machinery on the second floor that came down with it…arrghhh! Go easy with that stuff!”
Lisa was applying a soothing ointment, and she was being as gentle as possible, but Mark’s back was one huge purple bruise. His arms and legs weren’t much better, and his left cheek was swollen and purple as well. He’d arrived back at the Ferry barely able to walk and hurting from a couple of cracked ribs. Lisa had gotten him cleaned up and bedded down, but he’d likely be out of action for a while.
“From what you’ve told me, I have to wonder why one of those Euro-Shooters didn’t just whip out a Beretta and put a couple of 9mm rounds through his pump station,” she grumbled.
“I asked them that before I went after him,” he told her. “Apparently they tried that, but the guy wore some serious body armor. They might have taken him out if they’d brought in a long-range sniper with a Barrett .50 BMG, but that’s hard to set up for a target who rarely shows himself in the open and changes his movement patterns every day.
“Anyway, body armor didn’t help him when I squashed him. It just provided a durable sausage casing for his remains.”
“OK—mission accomplished—but you,” she insisted, “are going to take it easy for a few days. Sparkle and I can watch the store. Her Shooter’s license and badge arrived today.”
“She’s come a long way in a short time…but do you think she’s ready to handle a termination on her own?”
“I think she’s had the right attitude all along. LEI was only interested in her talent—never considered turning her into a Shooter. They sent her out unarmed with their teams on some really nasty jobs. Leaving her alone with the chupacabra was the worst, but if they’d given her the training and armed her properly, she’d have just blown the thing away and never needed to call us.”
“And she might never have found us,” Mark said. “The dragons might not have come out, and you and I might just be having fun in this bed right now. Instead, I feel like I’ve lost an argument with a freight train, and you’re trying to patch me up…and it’s probably going to be a while before we have any wild bed parties.
“All things considered, I’m OK with that,” he continued. “Spark’s turned our lives upside down, but we can’t say it hasn’t been interesting. So…back to the original question. Is she rea
dy?”
“We’re about to find out.” Lisa gave him a crooked grin. “I’m going to stay here and play nursemaid tomorrow while she handles the Randolf kid in the morning.”
“Seriously? You’re not even going to stand by downstairs?”
“No…I can watch it on the screens. If there’s a problem, I can be down there in a minute or less, but I don’t expect any trouble. She did the interview and signed him up without my help—I was there, but she did the talking. He’s just another Lost Boy…I expect he’ll go out with a whimper.”
Rolling over, he caught sight of something small and black in the nearest corner—a spider the size of a quarter. On seeing him staring back, it skittered out of sight.
Chapter Sixteen: Dirk
“I’m going to ask you to imprint the contract again,” Sparkling told the young man in front of her, “but first, let’s go over the basic agreements one more time. This is your last chance to change your mind, so I want to be sure you’re OK with all of it.”
When he’d built the Ferry’s headquarters, Mark had allowed plenty of room for expansion. Sparkling now had an office of her own right next to Lisa’s. She’d squeaked with delight when he’d shown her the nameplate on the door: Sparkling Waters, Associate Executive. It was a meaningless title, of course, intended to convince clients and prospects they were dealing with somebody important in the Ferry’s nonexistent hierarchy.
The office was furnished in standard Ferry fashion, complete with bulletproof, steel-backed visitor chairs and a desk with quick-access weapons compartments. She still didn’t consider herself an expert with a gun, but she’d done well with Mark’s basic instruction on the Ferry’s basement shooting range. A 9mm Glock 26 now resided in the desk compartment. She did not expect to need it for this client.
“You didn’t bring anyone with you,” she noted. “That’s good, Mr. Randolf, because no one else would have been admitted into the building. Nobody knows what goes on inside the Ferry’s doors, and we intend to keep it that way.”
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