Diana raced toward the corridor. Bryant caught up to her in moments, and they pounded along a passage that turned consistently left and circled in toward a center room.
Or a different planet. Who the hell knows anymore?
Suddenly, the lights failed and plunged the hall into darkness. The night vision function of their AR glasses compensated immediately and they didn’t miss a step. “That’s not good,” Diana observed.
“Nope.” They took another corner and paused to cover one another.
“They probably know we’re coming.”
“Yep.” As they drew closer, the corners were spaced closer together. They lingered for a moment to enable the rest of the team catch up. She stuck her head around for an instant and saw that light spilled into the corridor about halfway down. She leaned back. “I think we’ve found it—an opening on the left.”
“I lead.” Bryant pushed in front and stepped into the hallway. She followed with a growl of irritation. They made it halfway to the opening before her senses screamed a danger warning. It seemed to come from the end of the corridor, and given the agents behind them, there was only one option.
“Fall back,” she shouted and shoved Bryant forward toward the gap in the wall. He lost his balance but she kept him upright and both flailed into the room beyond scant seconds before the hall behind them filled with fire.
They both rolled cleanly to their feet to confront two mages in the chamber. Bryant dashed at the one she’d already wounded, so she focused on his assistant, who looked stunningly ordinary in comparison to the other. He was dressed in business-casual, a button-down and khakis. A translucent ball of force shimmered into being in his raised left hand, and he threw another with his right like a baseball. She dodged the first and the second, but the third struck home. It exploded into her like a giant’s punch and hurled her back to careen into the far wall. More were on the way before she recovered her wits. It took all her energy to avoid the missiles, which left her nothing to attack with. His delivery was fast enough to throw an occasional orb at Bryant, and she winced as one of them found its target and knocked him sideways.
It proved to be fortuitous timing, though, as he continued his momentum to evade a stabbing tentacle with sharp ridges down it. A whisper at the back of her brain became more insistent as her panic grew.
Let go, it said. Let go.
She remembered the feeling she’d had when she faced the illusion. This was the same. Diana took a deep breath, turned her mind inward, and relied on her body’s reflexes to keep her safe from the blizzard of magical spheres. Time slowed as the prickling sensation swept over her and evasion became easy—like she knew exactly where the balls would strike before they left his hand. She advanced slowly, swaying and sidestepping as the orbs flew by, and the knife glinted as she pointed it at him in a clear threat. Her voice emerged in a taunting singsong. “I’m coming for you, little mage.”
Her adversary growled a string of curses and pushed his hands together, then drew them apart to reveal a much larger ball. He propelled it like a basketball player making a chest pass, and there was no way to avoid it. She maintained her calm. Her arms moved without instruction to extend and create a scooping motion ahead of her, and the orb deflected up and over her head.
Huh. I’ve never tried telekinesis on a spell before. That’s not supposed to work.
The mage’s jaw dropped open, and she grinned. “You didn’t see that coming, did you, jerk-face?”
When he opened his mouth to respond to her taunt, she threw the knife with all the strength left in her body.
Bryant wasn’t a fan of this particular wizard and wished Diana had finished him off in the other room. He had abandoned the tentacle and summoned twin blades that appeared to be made of bound energy. Thus armed, he closed the distance between them despite the agent’s best efforts to keep him at bay. He had already fired a full magazine at the bastard and almost had his head chopped off while reloading.
Maybe we should actually intercept a shipment to get some anti-magic bullets. This is ridiculous.
Another swipe cut at his right shoulder, and he twisted to let it pass in front of him. He felt the blow coming from behind and thrust himself forward into a roll. The sword swished malevolently above his back and he narrowly evaded it. He came up firing again, but the mage intercepted each round smoothly with the blades. The best Bryant could do was maintain the stalemate.
He ground his teeth and searched for options. There was no way to force his opponent into Diana’s crossfire, and even if he could get him near, she had her own target to deal with. All he had was the pistol as he’d given his knife to her. He decided it was the perfect time for crazy ideas and lowered his barrel to fire at the mage’s feet.
The round ricocheted strangely, and he barely picked it off. Bryant smiled and emptied most of the magazine into the floor directly ahead of his opponent. Platinum-head backpedaled frantically as he swiped at the rounds and lost his cool. When one shot remained, the agent yanked the pistol up and aimed at the enemy’s left shoulder. The mage couldn’t get the blade up fast enough and he screamed in pain and disbelief as the bullet pierced his flesh and spun him to the side. Bryant reached for his reload only to discover he was out.
He sighed at the injustice of the universe and charged.
Diana’s brain couldn’t process the image before her. The knife she’d thrown hung in midair, and the man’s hands extended protectively in front of his face apparently held it in place. He wiggled his fingers, and the blade turned, then slid toward her and gathered speed. Her locked mind seemed entirely separate from the hand she extended as if to welcome the weapon home. Unbelievably, the knife froze in place.
Holy hell. This is more than telekinesis.
A strange rushing sensation in her veins felt like the throb of power.
Diana and her foe could have been statues with their extended arms and straining muscles. The weapon shuddered between them and a strange hum emanated from it. Like an automation, it jerked an inch at a time as it rotated slowly toward the man. His eyes widened and she doubled down to lock her entire will on the idea of pushing it as far away as possible. It completed the turn and crawled away from her.
“This can’t be happening!” he cried scant seconds before the blade rocketed forward and pierced his right shoulder. His defenses dropped, and it rammed home to the hilt. He screamed and sprawled clumsily, a hand clutched over the wound.
Diana rushed in and delivered a kick to his head.
And stay down.
She anchored herself with a boot on his chest and yanked the knife free—possibly a little harder than absolutely required—then wiped the hair out of her eyes and looked for her partner. A dozen or so feet across the room, he charged the mage she’d used as a punching bag earlier. The pseudo-elf settled his stance to intercept the man’s attack with the strange glowing swords he wielded. Not even Bryant would be quick enough to avoid serious injury.
No way, not going to happen.
Her mind raced as she considered the options but came up with only a single viable one. With a blood-curdling battle cry, she hurtled at the mage, her knife held high and ready to strike. She reached for the power she’d had a moment before and extended her off hand to smash his blades aside, but nothing happened. No magic, no force, no effect, not even her telekinesis. He aimed a sword, and a blast of power raced toward her.
She had already begun an evasive maneuver, having seen the attack before it materialized.
At least that’s working. Whatever the hell “that” is.
Diana wheeled to her left and continued her run at a less advantageous angle. The man backed into the corner and brandished a weapon at each of them.
“Stalemate, humans. If you take a step closer, you will be too close to avoid the blasts.”
She skidded to a stop. “All we have to do is wait, scumbag. Your wounds will catch up with you eventually. When you pass out, the game’s over.” The blood that dripped on
the floor at his feet confirmed it.
He laughed but sounded a little desperate. “Right now, my minions are killing your people. Soon, they’ll do the same to you.”
She exchanged a glance with Bryant, but his face revealed nothing. Apparently, he didn’t know what was going on outside the room either. The mage laughed again. “Fortunately, though, I don’t need to wait.” He muttered an arcane phrase and vanished. Both agents scampered back, fearful of a force blade attack they couldn’t see coming. She focused inward again and discerned a sense of motion near the center of the room.
Without conscious thought, she pivoted and hurled the knife. Their adversary became visible again when he collapsed, and blood flowed freely from the fatal wound the knife had sliced in his neck. He looked at them in disbelief and accusation before his expression turned to hopelessness. His last act was to launch a frenzy of tentacles that tore the other mage apart and forced the agents to dive beyond their reach. When they had recovered enough to stand again, the tentacles had vanished and both mages were dead.
Bryant turned to her and brushed debris from his palms. “Well, that was fun.”
She bent to retrieve the knife and returned it to him. “Fantastic. Let’s do it again sometime.”
He pointed at the bracelet on the floor beside the wannabe elf. “Do not touch that. We don’t know where it’s been.” His lips twitched. “I have a question.”
“Of course you do.”
Bryant paused, gave her a serious look, then broke into a grin. “Didn’t Taggart ask for prisoners? Weren’t you supposed to shoot him in the leg?”
Diana groaned and nodded at the running joke. “You’d be surprised how often I hear that.”
Chapter Fifteen
A giant explosion filled the screen as the rocket impacted the building. Rath’s eyes widened. “Boom.”
Max barked his agreement.
The troll cackled madly and bounced around the cushions as Rambo defeated anyone who dared oppose him. Rath echoed every one of Stallone’s lines and sounded more authentic as the movie progressed. Occasionally, the dog would lift his head from the couch next to him, thump his tail, and give an approving growl or yip.
Rath had a bowl of grapes, each almost a third his size, and ate them carefully. Diana had a serious-face when she said he shouldn’t share them with the dog because it wasn’t healthy for him. Max made a couple of halfhearted forays but the troll yanked them away and scolded him. “No. Bad.”
When the movie finished, Rath was energized. He searched for another but the TV wasn’t working right—something about parental controls, whatever those were. Mastering this new language was taking some time. His normally agile mind slowed to a chilly pace when words meant many things.
Max is a name, an amount, and a kind of machine. Oh, and a food with delicious cheese.
It made hardly any sense.
The TV displayed a frozen John Rambo in fighting mode. “Fighting mode,” Rath whispered and nodded. He turned to Max and proclaimed, “We need fighting mode.” The dog barked. The troll thought the dog probably had issues with the language too but managed to make himself understood reasonably well.
Rath lowered himself down the arm of the couch and gripped the fabric tightly to keep from himself falling. He ran into the kitchen and climbed onto the counter by jumping from one cabinet handle to the next. Near the top, he missed one and fell with a tiny scream before he landed on the soft side of Max, who lay on the floor below. He laughed. “Fun. Good Max.”
After three more climbs and tumbling leaps down to the furry landing pad, he remembered his original plan and proceeded all the way to the counter. He looked left, then right, and finally found it. A small statuette of a cat with one paw outstretched rested near the stove. It looked wise and serious and was painted in glossy red and gold. He ran over and pulled down on the paw. It clicked softly, and a tiny bit of wood, sharpened on both ends, slid to a stop on the cat’s extended paws. He took it out and set it aside, then continued to pump the arm until he had a bunch of them.
Too many to carry. Rath peered over the counter and met Max’s eyes. He had learned a new word from the movie that was perfect for the moment. “Incoming.” He pushed the toothpicks off as the dog scrambled away, his claws clicking on the tile floor. Rath moved to the nearby junk drawer and wedged his back against the cabinet, put his feet on the inside of the drawer, and pushed. He found the spool of string he sought after a short rummage. The troll lost several minutes while he examined the other items in that mysterious container, most of which defied any clear use. Once, he had seen the long plastic and metal device shoot flame from the end when the trigger was pulled, and if he were only a little bigger, it would be perfectly sized for him. He made a note to return later for a closer inspection, then grabbed the string and whistled, and Max returned to the kitchen.
Rath jumped down onto the dog’s back and used his fur to descend to the floor. He gathered as many toothpicks as he could carry and took them into the living room. This was his favorite time of day when the sun shined through the windows and cast a rectangle of warmth and joy across the carpet. He arranged his materials inside the lighted area and wound the string around his body to determine how much he needed and added a little extra. His teeth cut the string easily into four equal strands of that length that he arranged in pairs on the carpet.
A thought struck him. “Thirsty.” He scuttled back into the kitchen, took hold of the long knotted cloth that dangled from the refrigerator handle, and pulled. When it refused to budge, he growled and tugged harder, then made running yanks until the latch finally released. He dropped the cloth and panted for a moment. When I’m bigger, this will be easier.
With a grin at the thought, he climbed inside. On the bottom were cans of orange juice, his favorite drink. They were only a little taller than him and Diana had called them airplane-sized. Beside them rested a stack of thin straws. He took one of each, rolled the can out of the refrigerator, and jumped after it. Max, who watched with amused doggy eyes, sidestepped into the door to close it for him. Rath nodded. “Max. Good. Next, you learn to open.”
The dog barked at him. Rath pushed the can into the living room, positioned it, popped the top, and took a long drink through the straw. He sighed happily. “Now, work.”
He picked up several of the toothpicks and set them aside muttering, “Later.” Max regarded him quizzically, his head cocked to the side, and the troll realized he’d spoken in his own language. He repeated it in English. The dog’s tail thumped once, and he lowered his head to his paws to watch.
Rath broke each toothpick in half with wrenching snaps. When he had finished, there were enough to cover most of the strings. He set the first one across a pair of the tiny ropes a little down from the top and tied it in place with a knot on each string with the pointed end facing out. The next was reversed so the point faced inward. He tied that one immediately below the first. Rath sighed. “Will take long. Boring, but necessary.” He snapped his fingers. “Rambo again.”
The troll bounced up, found the remote, and started the movie once more. Before it was half over, he had finished his project. He arranged the two bandoliers across his chest and rotated them to tie the ends at the proper length. Finally, he looked down and admired his handiwork. “Good. Is good.” Max snored softly, and Rath smiled. “Max. Good. Rest between battles.”
He took the remaining toothpicks and broke one in half. With a piece in each hand, he swung them in bold strikes from below and from the side, and then straight stabbing motions. The troll nodded and set them aside before he retrieved one of the unbroken ones. He wielded it two-handed, stabbed with it like a spear, and practiced the sort of blocks he’d seen on the kung fu channel. The tiny creature laughed with real delight.
No parental control of kung fu.
He couldn’t figure out how to carry the knives, so he decided to be satisfied with the spear for the moment. Rath took a long drink of his juice, then ran back to the kitch
en and experimented to find the right distance from which to look at his reflection in the oven glass. It would do, for now.
“Put down your weapons and prepare to be judged.”
Would look better with armor. Maybe tomorrow.
He crossed to the other room and went to Max.
Time to train.
The dog woke up as the troll climbed up his fur. He raised his head and gave Rath the bounce he needed to vault onto his back. The troll found a comfortable position and grabbed Max’s collar with his left hand, then made experimental stabs with the weapon in his right.
“Max. Kitchen. Go.”
He gave a soft bark, but the dog didn’t move. Rath sighed and stood. He climbed up over the head and walked down the Borzoi’s long nose to look him in the eye. He pointed at him, then at himself. “Max. Rath. Partners. Must train.” The dog blinked, and Rath was satisfied with what he saw. He scrambled back to his previous position.
“Max. Kitchen. Go.” The dog lurched to his feet and jogged to the kitchen. Rath had ridden on his back before but always lying down with both hands twined in his smooth coat. This was a different skill. He grinned.
Getting better.
“Too slow. Max. Bedroom. Go.” They dashed out of the kitchen. When the dog reached the stairs, the troll added his second hand to the collar and barely managed to not fly off as they tromped excitedly to the second level.
Meant downstairs bedroom. Need to be more clear.
Max did not need to know about his mistake, though, so he simply said, “Max. Good.”
He guided his mount to the edge of Diana’s bed, which was large and comfy and covered with a thick blanket. His mind worked on strategies for attacking with a partner. “Max. Head up. Go.” The dog raised his head and made a bridge to the bed with his pointed nose. Rath bounced a few times in thought. He smiled and clapped. He pointed at Max. “Rocket tube.” He pointed at himself. “Rocket.”
Federal Agents of Magic Boxed Set Page 11