Cloak Games: Hammer Break

by Jonathan Moeller

  A few moments later the door opened a few inches. Harsh halogen light spilled from the crack and across the crumbling parking lot.

  “Yeah?” said a raspy voice through the crack.

  “There might be trouble,” said Erikson. “A guy named Walter Dale turned up at the diner and claimed to be a courier. He had all the right code phrases, but he disappeared before we could take him for questioning.”

  There was a pause.

  “Dale is Mr. Lorenz’s usual courier,” said the voice. “We were expecting him six hours ago.”

  “Well, he turned up at the Hearty Hammer Platter an hour ago,” said Erikson. “I was going to take him in for verification. But instead of waiting, he just went outside and disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” said the voice.

  “Into thin air,” said Erikson. He pulled out his phone and glanced at it, scrolling through the messages. “No one has shown up at the interrogation site, and my men have checked the security footage from the restaurant. Dale stepped out of sight of the camera arcs and disappeared.”

  I grinned without humor behind my Cloak. My disappearing act had worked rather well.

  “This is disturbing,” said the voice. “Mr. Lorenz is one of the Gatekeepers, and he will not approve of your incompetence.”

  “My incompetence?” snapped Erikson. “I’m not set up to deal with Inquisition agents. How else could Dale have disappeared but through magic?”

  “Fine,” said the voice. “Come inside. Mr. Lorenz will want to hear this in person.”

  The door opened wider, and I glimpsed a figure in combat fatigues, a handgun in his right hand. Erikson stepped through the door, and the man in fatigues slammed the door shut behind him, the thump of a deadbolt following a second later.

  I glanced at the security camera visible over the door, and then jogged a quick circuit around the building. There was a truck door at the back and another door for employees on the side. I spotted a camera at the truck door, and another over the employee door, but it was pointing at the street, not at the door itself.

  Oops.

  I stepped to the employee door, out of sight of the camera’s lens, and checked it over. It was padlocked, but nothing that I would slow me down. I listened at the door for a moment and heard angry voices. It seemed that Erikson’s news had inspired an argument.

  I dropped by Cloak, summoned magic, and worked a quick spell to undo the padlock. It opened with a soft click, and I slid it aside and set it on the ground. I opened the door as quietly as I could and closed it behind me.

  I found myself in a small, filthy kitchen. Likely it had once been where the convenience store employees had prepared overpriced and unhealthy food. A half-opened plastic door stood at the end of the kitchen, and through it came the sound of angry voices. Erikson was arguing with a deep-voiced man who spoke English with a pronounced Mexican accent.

  I grinned my humorless grin. I had found Victor Lorenz, one of the Rebels’ Gatekeepers.

  I reached into my pocket, drew out a ski mask, and pulled it over my head. Beneath my coat, I had a Royal Arms. 45 semiautomatic pistol with an eleven-round magazine and I made sure the gun was ready.

  Then I cast the Cloak spell once more and eased through the half-open door, taking care not to disturb it.

  All the racks and shelves and freezer cases had been taken out of the convenience store, and the empty space seemed cavernous, almost like a mid-sized church. At least it would have, had not half the floor space been filled with wooden crates and metal cases of varying sizes. To judge from the black stenciling on the sides of the crates, they held a variety of explosives and firearms. A plastic folding table had been set up near the cash register, holding several computer monitors displaying the camera feeds of the surrounding area. I spotted Erikson a few yards away, his face darkening with anger. On the other side of the computer table stood five men dressed in combat fatigues and holding AK-47s that weren’t quite pointed at Erikson.

  Victor Lorenz stood between them, frowning.

  Good God, but he was a handsome man. He looked like a Mexican soap opera star, which was a fair thing to say because he actually used to be a Mexican soap opera star. Lorenz had a chiseled physique, a close-cropped black beard, flashing brown eyes, and a lustrous mane of gleaming black hair, and while he wore combat fatigues like the other men, Lorenz made them look good.

  I had found out a great deal about him during my harassment of the Rebels over the last year. After Lorenz had completed his term of service as a man-at-arms for the Elven nobles, he had gone into acting, and ended up as one of the male leads on a Mexican soap opera that had been airing continuously for the last one hundred and fifty years. Unfortunately for Lorenz, money and fame let him exercise the darker side of his nature with near-impunity, which included repeatedly forcing himself on his female co-stars, one of whom was only fourteen. Finally, the Mexican police agency caught up with him, and Lorenz would have been a prime candidate for a Punishment Day video in Mexico, a salutary example to show that even the rich and famous were not immune from the High Queen’s stern justice.

  Instead, Lorenz had taken refuge with a Dark Ones cult and then Nicholas Connor’s Rebel organization.

  And now he was one of the Rebels’ fourteen Gatekeepers.

  Which meant Lorenz was one of the most dangerous people on Earth.

  The Gatekeepers were something else I had discovered during my one-woman campaign against the Rebels over the last year.

  Thanks to Nicholas Connor and the Knight of Venomhold, the Rebels were much more powerful and dangerous than most humans and Elves knew.

  Nicholas had allied with the Knight of Venomhold, and her demesne in the Shadowlands was beyond the High Queen’s reach. That meant the Rebels had a base of operations secure from the Elven nobles and the Inquisition, and so long as the Rebels had a wizard who could cast the rift way spell, they could retreat to Venomhold whenever they wanted. They had built a town for themselves in the shadow of Venomhold, a place where they could gather soldiers and supplies under the protection of Natalya Karst. The Rebels had fortified themselves in Venomhold, and they were getting ready for something big.

  And it was the Gatekeepers, the Rebel wizards who could cast the rift way spell, that made it all possible.

  I had learned the Rebels had a grand total of fourteen Gatekeepers. I had already met three of them – Nicholas Connor himself, Martin Corbisher, and Nicholas’s current girlfriend Hailey Adams. Victor Lorenz was another of the Gatekeepers. Evidently, after the cultists had taken Lorenz in, he had shown an aptitude for magic, and when the cultists had allied with Nicholas, Lorenz had risen high in the organization.

  I disliked Lorenz on sight, and not just because I knew about his past. He had the same sort of charisma that Nicholas did, but something about Lorenz just seemed false. Like every movement and gesture and expression was a calculated pose.

  Right now, he was striking an angry pose as he argued with Erikson.

  “What do you mean he disappeared?” said Lorenz. He spoke English perfectly, though with a Mexican accent that I suspected he deliberately exaggerated.

  “Just what I said,” snapped Erikson, scowling. He didn’t seem to like Lorenz any better than I did. “He showed up at the Hearty Hammer Platter and had the right code phrases. I sent him to the interrogation house, and he just walked out the front door and disappeared.”

  Lorenz arched one black eyebrow. “Perhaps he is there even now. Are you sure you didn’t just lose him? After filling up on the greasy peasant slop at the Platter, I doubt Mr. Dale could move very fast.”

  “Don’t make jokes,” said Erikson. “Something is going on. Couriers aren’t supposed to be late. And they don’t disappear into thin air.”

  Lorenz said nothing. He stared off into the air, thinking. Still Cloaked, I circled to the computer table and examined it. Two of the monitors displayed images from the cameras watching the parking lot, and the third was a spreadsheet. I looked und
er the table and saw a pair of computer towers, both linked to scrambling devices that let them access the Internet with a degree of anonymity. There was an external hard drive, so I unplugged it and slipped it into a pocket of my coat.

  “Sir,” said Lorenz at last, his dark eyes swinging back to Erikson.

  “What?” said Erikson.

  “Don’t make jokes, sir,” said Lorenz. “I outrank you, I’ll have you know. At least, I think a Gatekeeper outranks a night manager at a diner. Is there a table of ranks somewhere we can consult?”

  I walked past them and examined the piles of crates along the opposite wall. I didn’t want to open them since I couldn’t do that without making a lot of noise, but the crates had the familiar smell of machine oil and grease. Machine guns, probably, or maybe just AK-47s. One of the crates was open, and I saw sticks of dynamite stacked within, wrapped in orderly bundles.

  Lorenz and Erikson had a lot of firepower stored here. Most likely they were getting ready to transport it to Venomhold. Guns and bombs didn’t work in the Shadowlands since the laws of reality functioned differently there, but they would work just fine once taken out of the Shadowlands again. The Rebels had been stockpiling an enormous quantity of armaments in Venomhold, buying up every gun they could find.

  They were getting ready for something big. I just didn’t know what.

  “For God’s sake, Lorenz,” said Erikson. “This is serious. If one of our couriers has gone missing, or if something is controlling him, then…”

  “I know the seriousness of the situation,” said Lorenz, his dark eyes narrowing. The mocking charm dropped from his manner, and now he seemed cold and dangerous. “Fine. We’ll just have to move up the timetable.”

  Erikson shook his head. “The Knight isn’t expecting us for another two days, and we have a second delivery of missiles coming.”

  Lorenz sighed. “This is why I’m in charge, and you’re not. The Knight cares about the big picture. The Revolution needs weapons. We have some weapons here. If we take the weapons to Venomhold right now, then the Revolution will have more weapons.” He spoke slowly, like he was addressing a child, and Erikson’s face darkened further. “But if Dale’s been compromised, then we’ll all be killed, and the Revolution will get none of these weapons.” He gestured grandly at the stack of crates. “Do you understand? Or should I get a chalkboard and draw it out for you?”

  A few of the other Rebels chuckled.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” said Erikson. “You want to do it this way, fine. You’re the one who’s going to be accountable to the Overseer, not me.”

  That was what they called Nicholas. The “Overseer.” Nicholas wouldn’t have called himself the General or the Admiral or the Warlord or whatever, not Nicholas. That was too grandiose. He preferred a subtler approach…right up until he tried to set off bombs in stadiums full of children.

  “The Overseer doesn’t care,” said Lorenz. “Some weapons are better than no weapons. Complain to him all you want. The bald fact is that I can open rift ways, so I’m more valuable than you are.”

  Erikson scowled, his thick hands balling into fists, but he said nothing. Nicholas would probably get upset if Erikson punched a Gatekeeper.

  Lorenz smirked and then turned to the men. “Well, you heard us. Thanks to Mr. Erikson’s incompetence, we’re going to have to move out early. Start loading the…”

  A cell phone started ringing. Lorenz looked at his men with irritation, and then at Erikson.

  “Is that yours?” said Lorenz.

  “Yeah,” said Erikson, pulling his phone from the holster at his belt.

  “Then for God’s sake, answer it,” said Lorenz.

  Erikson's eyes widened. “It’s Dale’s number.” He put the phone to his ear. “What is it?”

  Uh-oh. I think that the drug I had given Dale must have worn off.

  I was standing a good distance away from Erikson, but I still heard the panicked shouting on the other end of the phone.

  “Slow down,” snapped Erikson. “That is…wait. All right. I’m with him now. Get out of town. I think we’ve been compromised.”

  He ended the call and lowered his phone.

  “That was Dale,” said Erikson. “He said he just woke up in his hotel room. He thinks someone drugged him.”

  “I see,” said Lorenz.

  He stepped back, and he seemed to become a different man. All the bluster and posing vanished. Now he looked like a cold, hardened killer, a man accustomed to violence. I realized that I was looking at his true self. Victor Lorenz might have been a Rebel and a Dark Ones cultist, but he was still an excellent actor.

  But in a crisis, he would dispense with the games.

  “I see,” said Lorenz again, his voice flat. He flexed his right hand, harsh blue light glowing around his fingers. “I wonder…well, it is worth the trying, isn’t it? Prepare your weapons. All of you! Prepare your weapons now!”

  Both Erikson and the rest of the Rebels obeyed, and Lorenz himself drew a pistol.

  I stepped away from the crates and towards the kitchen door. Things were starting to go sour, and I had what I needed. The hard drive might prove useful, and even if it did not, I had caused enough disruption and fear to the Rebels here. They would panic and abandon their base at Red Ditch, and whatever Nicholas was planning would get disrupted a little bit more.

  “What are you doing?” said Erikson, his pistol in hand.

  “Playing a hunch,” said Lorenz, and he cast a spell. The blue-white light exploded from his fingers and leaped to the floor, rearranging itself into an elaborate, intricate symbol. The symbol flowed across the floor of the entire convenience store, illuminating the walls with harsh light.

  Right then, I realized I had made a serious mistake.

  Lorenz had cast a Seal spell, a ward designed to cover a small area. The only Seal spell I knew myself was the Seal of Shadows, designed to block access to the Shadowlands, but there were many other types. I had seen the Seal spell that Lorenz had used before. The myothar lurking in the ruins of Chicago had cast that Seal, and later I had learned it was called a Seal of Unmasking.

  It inhibited the use of illusion magic within its boundaries.

  Which meant that my Cloak spell collapsed and I became visible.

  Belatedly I realized that Lorenz might have smarter than I had thought.

  Lorenz’s eyes swept the room, and his dark gaze locked onto me.

  “There he is!” he shouted, swinging his pistol to point at me. “Kill him!”

  Him? Oh, right. I had been smart enough to don my mask and goggles before I went through the kitchen. Between that and my coat and heavy clothes and the bad lighting, there was no way to tell that I was a woman.

  Erikson swung towards me, as did the rest of the Rebels.

  They were fast, but I was faster.

  Already I had called my magic, and I thrust out my gloved hand and cast a spell. The air in front of me shimmered and turned from rippling air to white mist and then a solid wall of granite-hard ice. The wall bisected the convenience store, cutting off Lorenz and Erikson and their Rebels from me.

  I did it just in time.

  The same instant the wall appeared I heard eight guns going off at once, and cracks spread through the wall as the bullets hammered into it. There was a flash of harsh orange-yellow light, and the entire wall of ice shook. More cracks spread through it, and beads of water appeared on its surface and dripped towards the floor.

  Lorenz had hit it with a blast of elemental fire. If he hit the ice two or three more times, it would shatter, and the Rebels could storm through and find me. For an instant I hesitated, wondering if I should stand and fight. If I did, there was a good chance I could kill all of them. I had a lot of magical power, and it wouldn’t take much to mow down the gunmen like grass.

  Except...I hadn’t equipped myself for this kind of fight. I didn’t know the extent of Lorenz’s magical abilities. I had already underestimated him, and if I guessed wrong, then I
was going to die. And if I died, then Russell was going to die as well.

  And something within me recoiled at the thought of killing all those men.

  Arvalaeon had sent me to the hell of his Eternity Crucible, and I had died again and again and again. I had gone to hell and come back again, and the experience had left me a ruined and broken person.

  Had it turned me into the kind of woman who reveled in wanton slaughter?

  No. No, I didn’t want to do that, not even to Rebels, not unless I had no other choice.

  Which meant I had to get away. Unfortunately, my wall of ice had cut me off from the door to the kitchen and the front doors. Which meant I needed another way out, and I had to distract the Rebels so they didn’t shoot me as I fled the building.

  The bathrooms. The bathrooms had windows facing the desert, and I was sure Lorenz’s Seal of Unmasking would not extend far beyond the convenience store itself. If I could get out of the building, I could Cloak and escape with ease.

  I just needed a distraction.

  I looked at the wooden crates of ammunition and grinned.

  That would make a hell of a distraction.

  A sphere of fire whirled to life over my hand, and I flung it at the far side of the crates. It was a far weaker sphere than I could unleash, so the explosion only engulfed about half of the wooden boxes. That was enough, so I spun and ran for the bathroom. The door was closed and padlocked shut, but I cast another of the spells Arvalaeon had taught me, sheathing my right hand in an invisible gauntlet of telekinetic force.

  I punched the door, and the power of the spell wrenched the door off its hinges and smashed the padlock. Beyond lay a deserted, dusty men’s room, and on the far wall, I saw a window of security glass. At the same time, I broke the door, my wall of ice shattered into glittering shards, and I heard Lorenz shouting.

  “Stop him!” he said. “He’s…”

  “Shit!” said Erikson. “The dynamite’s on fire!”

  “What?” said Lorenz.

  I still held the gauntlet of telekinetic force ready, and I punched the window. It had security wire embedded in the glass, so I aimed my blows at the frame. On the third punch, the volleys of telekinetic force made both the window and the frame pop out and clatter into the night. I seized the sill, heaved myself over, hit the ground, and started running like hell.