Got To Be A Hero

by Paul Duffau

  The sulphur glow cast by the streetlights cut an amber cone in the mist of the drifting fog. Teeth chattering, Kenzie hurried across the street, peeking over her shoulder to make sure that no one chased her from the house.

  “Avoid the light,” came Mitch’s disembodied voice from her right.

  Peering into the darkness, she made out a dark outline and headed for it. Approaching, she saw he was dressed in black, head to foot. His eyes were active, quartering their perimeter, while he stood tense and ready. He pulled the Faraday bag from the front pouch of his hoodie and opened it.

  Without speaking, Kenzie removed the SD card from the back pocket of her jeans and handed it to Mitch. His long fingers curled around it and dropped it into the bag. A second later, Mitch had the bag sealed. He let out a long, slow breath.

  “You ready?”

  Kenzie put her hand on his arm, feeling the dampness. She looked up at him. “How long have you been out here?”

  “A while. I left my car at the park and walked back. Quieter.”

  She tried one more time to deflect him, willing him to see reason and avoid the sights of Lassiter. “You don’t need to go.”

  Mitch’s gaze was steady, yet tender behind the hard ice in his eyes. “Yeah, I do.”

  She blinked back tears, angry at herself for being such a pile of pudding all day. She couldn’t order him not to come with her; he’d blow her off. Still, she didn’t want him there to watch her . . . deal with Lassiter.

  “Okay, then.”

  She had planned for this. She’d deal with the fallout from Mitch later.

  He gave her a sharp stare, and she could see the calculations taking place behind his eyes, cyphers and tumblers clicking and clacking as he tried to put her into the pattern. She forced a smile and strode off, headed for the rendezvous a half mile distant. Mitch fell in beside her.

  He fumbled for her hand, found it, and entwined his long fingers with hers. She could feel his pulse racing and hoped that he could not feel hers galloping, too. She suppressed a shudder and leaned into his shoulder.

  “Next time we go out, let’s make it a date instead,” Mitch said, trying to sound lighthearted, but carrying an edge. He glanced over his shoulder, and Kenzie squeezed his hand.

  “Is there someone there?” she asked, envisioning her father stalking them in the fog. Did he see me sneak out the front door? She looked back.

  Mitch shook his head with enough vigor to make his shoulders move. “No, it’s all good.”

  “It will be soon,” she assured him. I hope.

  They were fifteen minutes early, and the parking lot was empty. Mitch took her by the elbow and guided her into the play area. The swing moved forlornly on the hint of a breeze.

  “Okay, the path is up there,” Mitch said, words coming rapid-fire and taut. “That’ll take us up to the amphitheater for the meeting. His men are almost certainly here by now, even if we can’t see them. When we’re five minutes out, I’ll go up the trail with you behind me, okay? As much as possible, keep me between you and him.”

  Kenzie touched the pebble in her pocket. Keep him talking, she thought, stomach tight. “What about light?” She made herself relax.

  Mitch reached to his back pocket and pulled out a pair of small flashlights. “They’re pretty bright; LEDs with about four hundred lumens each.” He clicked a button, and a circle of white light exposed the leaves and wood chips in stark contrast to the night. In the reflected glow, she saw him push a button on the barrel, and the beam intensified. He hit a rubber-gasketed switch on the base and blackness swarmed in.

  “Here,” he said, handing her one. His eyes swept the parking lot again as a Lexus SUV cruised past the entrance.

  “What are you looking for?”

  His gaze twitched in her direction and back out to the open space. “Nothing. Everything.”

  Kenzie nodded, understanding. She pointed at a picnic table twenty-five yards away, in the direction of the path. “I’m going to sit down.” She walked away, keeping an ear cocked to see if Mitch would follow. He did, grumbling something about not being able to keep watch.

  She sat, but Mitch stood, head on a swivel.

  Kenzie patted the bench next to her. “Sit?”

  Mitch glanced at her face. Indecision was etched into his.

  “Please?”

  He settled onto the bench, and Kenzie felt a tremor of trepidation. She turned her back to him and leaned into his body, sensing Mitch’s startlement as he shifted to accommodate her. She laid her head back against the muscles in his chest and reached for his hands, pulling them around her.

  “It’ll be over soon,” she said, stroking the skin on the back of his hand. It was soothing, and his embrace engulfed her.

  “Not soon enough,” said Mitch in a whisper.

  I could stay here forever, she told herself, but trembling revealed her lie. Five minutes. For now, this was heaven. She pursed her lips, wanting more: more time, more peace, more Mitch.

  The pressure mounted in her chest, squeezing tighter. She took a deep breath, feeling Mitch’s arms tightening as well. She hummed, barely audibly, as she touched him.

  “We have to go soon,” said Mitch. He yawned and abruptly stiffened. “Stop!”

  “Katheudos,” Kenzie murmured, ignoring Mitch’s growing agitation. She added a touch of magic to the word. She could feel Mitch battle the sleeping spell, so she repeated it again, soft as a mother coaxing a child to slumber. A shudder went through his body, and then a wave of relaxation as his hands fell away from her. Kenzie grabbed them, leaning forward to keep Mitch from toppling.

  She stood and faced him, supporting his torso. His chin drooped against his chest, and his breath came in a deep, steady rhythm. Straining, Kenzie got him turned to the table top. She folded his arms in front of him on the wood planks and used them to cradle his head.

  When he woke up, he was going to be crazy mad, she thought, but this was better than letting Lassiter kill him.

  Kenzie bent down. Don’t be too mad, she thought. She gave him a peck on the cheek as a hot tear fell into his hair. Her voice shook as she whispered, “I love you.” He’d never hear it, but it was enough to say it. For now. Then she stood and, with a final blurry glance at Mitch, stood tall and went to meet her duty.

  Kenzie took the pebble from her pocket, willing it to illuminate the root-strewn dirt. It took only the tiniest bit of magic to generate the glow. She held it between the first and second fingers of her left hand, palm flat, like a piece of brilliant jewelry. From there, the rays reached the ground, the path in front, and the trees above. To preserve her night vision, Kenzie fixed her eyes ahead and kept her hand low to her waist. The Faraday bag was pinned to her side by her left bicep, leaving her fight hand free.

  At the same time, she cast her ward as wide as the island and as light as gossamer. If Lassiter called her on the use of magic, she’d explain it with the amulet of light. She’d know soon if the detector they had could tell the difference between the magnitude of the energy field of the amulet and the Fire spell. Her stomach twisted tighter. Hopefully not the magnitude of power she planned to pull, or she was thoroughly screwed.

  The path ended more quickly than she expected, opening to the broad expanse of the amphitheater. She turned her hand to shine light around the open space. It was vacant. Up the hillside, the silhouettes of two vehicles perched along the ridge that marked the road boundary. One, low-slung, looked like Mitch’s Camaro. The other glistened, shiny and new. The passenger-side door popped open, the latch loud in the night, and slammed shut as Lassiter exited to meet her. She heard a click, and a flashlight sprang to life.

  Stepping into the hollow at the front of the stage, Kenzie remembered Mitch’s directions to avoid the side away from the path. He hadn’t told her why, but she carefully set herself as though she were prepared to flee back the way she came. It didn’t take much salesmanship—Saleswomanship? she thought irrelevantly. Her knees were practically knocking, and the je
rky effect of the light from her shaking hands announced her trepidation better than if she’d posted a notice.

  Lassiter spoke while still ten yards away. “Miss Graham, you are violating the terms of this meeting and trying my patience.”

  “I have what you asked for—”

  “And where is Mr. Merriwether? He has a habit of acting on impulse, and I would prefer that he be where I can watch him.”

  I bet, thought Kenzie. Easier to shoot him that way. Aloud, she said, “He is indisposed and will be for some time. I placed him under a spell that renders him asleep.” She stepped forward, extending her hand to shake as the man approached.

  Lassiter turned his chin sideways and looked at her with a suspicious air. “And why would you do that?”

  “He is unnecessary to this transaction and, as you mentioned, tends to act on instinct. That is a poor basis for conducting business.” She lifted her right hand an inch higher.

  Lassiter took the proffered hand in a limp grasp. “Indeed,” he said, without releasing her.

  Kenzie pulled, turning her fingernails into his palm. She couldn’t hide the look of distaste from her face, and anger showed in Lassiter’s gaze.

  Kenzie extemporized. “You requested a specific item, Mr. Lassiter. I acquired it as per your instructions. There is no tracking device attached to it”—though she didn’t know if Mitch had planted anything in the bag, which was another reason to keep him far from Lassiter—“and it is packed in the manner you prescribed.”

  He weighed her words, and his hostility retreated for the moment. “Dowse your light and hand me the package, Miss Graham.”

  Kenzie reached for the bag with her right hand to distract him while she touched the web of magic. The skin cells under her fingernails, acquired when she scraped his palm, might be enough to tie the ward to Lassiter. She closed her eyes for a moment, envisioned the signs, saw a tendril connect the two.

  “I prefer to keep my own light.” Kenzie shoved the bag at him, forcing him to take it.

  He appraised her with black eyes, his fingers clutching his prize. He switched hands, freeing his right hand. “I believe that you should come with me,” he said. His right hand reached into his jacket and emerged with a weapon. Unlike her herky-jerky hands, his could have been carved from ancient petrified wood.

  “That was not part of our deal,” said Kenzie, mustering her courage to appear calm and in control. The light betrayed her, though. Now, she thought, recalling the steps to the Fire spell. Her right hand rose and inscribed a symbol of a flame. He won’t shoot me. It was as much a prayer as a thought.

  Lassiter’s head turned again, a predator evaluating his prey. “That is quite enough, Miss Graham.”

  Kenzie tied together the last part of the spell, reached for the huge amount of energy necessary to combust a body—

  The world turned a ferocious white, a spluttering noise behind Lassiter growing to a blinding roar, breaking her concentration as she went to incinerate Lassiter. The Fire spell broke free of her control, potent and dangerous and unconstrained.

  Simultaneously, the gun in Lassiter’s hand fired, and Kenzie felt a hard jolt to her chest, high on the left side, above her armpit in the space between breast and shoulder. The impact on her body and the shock to her senses caused her to spasm. The pebble sailed into the air, burning brighter and brighter as it absorbed the Fire spell, flying over Lassiter's head.

  I was wrong, she thought as consciousness faded. He would shoot.

  The pebble landed in the white fire behind Lassiter. Kenzie felt the impact of the amulet releasing all its magic like a grenade, an explosive wave that battered her senseless. It flipped her orientation such that she seemed to see the world from Mitch’s eyes. Instinctively, she knew Mitch was awake and coming for her. Kenzie willed him to stay away, stay alive, but her last memory was from his eyes, his perspective, as he ran through the parking lot, filled with dread at a pursuing gytrash, and possessed by all-consuming worry for her.

  Chapter 51

  The nightmare skulked into Mitch’s mind, intent on swallowing him whole. Red eyes glared at him, and the foul breath of the creature brought bile to the base of his throat. He tried to backpedal, to assess the menace, but his body refused all his commands. Caught in the boundary between full sleep and wakefulness, he was aware that it was a horrid dream that held power only as long as his eyes were closed.

  Spittle dripped from his open mouth, and he swallowed the ugly taste, his body reacting with a shudder.

  Kenzie!

  Her soft voice, whispering a spell, had done this to him. To protect him. The nightmare was a side effect.

  Who was protecting her?

  Panic took the place of the nightmare, though the red eyes still haunted the inside of his eyelids. He fought the soporific effects that she’d laid upon him. Moaning gave him something to focus on. Huffing, Mitch willed his eyes to open. They quivered, and a glimmer of dim light showed in a thin line at the lower edge of his vision. He redoubled his efforts, his chin rising off his crossed arms.

  The spell broke, and his eyes flew wide.

  “SON OF A—”

  Mitch hurtled backward off the bench, falling on his ass, and scrambling away.

  Standing across the table was a huge supernatural wolf with baleful red eyes like coals from hell, the same creature from his nightmare. Lanky, it leaned forward toward him, like a hunter stalking prey. Its mouth dropped open, and a long black tongue lolled out. Mitch would have sworn it was licking its chops at dinner.

  Mitch searched for a rock or a big fricking stick, but only blades of grass and some dead leaves met his frantically grasping hands.

  His position of helplessness on the ground sank in, and he exploded to his feet in one convulsive motion.

  “Get out of here!” he shouted, waving his arms and trying to be big and terrifying.

  The beast didn’t move but cocked its head to one side as though amused.

  Mitch glanced at the path. How long had he been asleep? He needed to get to Kenzie. . . .

  Maybe the damn thing would stay put if he treated it like a bear. He had practice with that, in Idaho before everything went to shit. Talk softly and walk away at an oblique angle.

  “Hey, puppy,” he said, the incongruity of calling a five-foot-tall wolflike apparition a puppy striking him as he sidled sideways, toward the amphitheater.

  A short growl met his words, and the beast stepped to block him.

  Mitch shook his head in anger. “I’m going to head that-away and leave you alone, how’s that sound?” He tested another step.

  The reaction was immediate and frightening as the wolf-thing leapt from the table to the path. Its front haunch dropped, and it took a step in Mitch’s direction, a rumble emanating from its throat that turned Mitch’s insides to liquid.

  Mitch retreated.

  The creature watched.

  Looking around, Mitch evaluated his options. The thing was blocking the path, but he could get to Kenzie by following the road up. Well, kind of to Kenzie, and right on top of where he expected to find the shooters.

  Graham!

  He hadn’t sent the signal for Kenzie’s dad to ride to the rescue. Cursing himself, he reached into his pocket. Separating the trigger for the thermite from the remote for the robot, he hit the button to activate Alice as he backed up. Without breaking eye contact with the red orbs that reminded him of hell, he steered a course to the parking lot. Walking backward, he eased away, an occasional low growl setting the hairs on his arms on end.

  His feet hit asphalt. He turned his back to the huge beast and started to run while a voice in his head warned him not to act like prey. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see the canine closing in a predatory chase, but the creature stood unmoving.

  Mitch shifted gears from a lope to a flat-out run. It was about a third of a mile on the road to get up to the car and the top of the open field. Call it two minutes. He willed his legs to turn faster, adrenaline
from the confrontation lending him false speed. His lungs burned, and his fingers tingled from a lack of oxygen, but he bore down. As long as his legs kept moving, he could endure the agony.

  Gasping, he slowed on the uphill section and cursed mentally. Seconds ticked away in his head.

  He glanced back again. Thirty yards behind him and trotting comfortably was the damn animal. Pressure inside, a foreboding, made him reach for the thermite trigger. How far away did Hunter say it would work? He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t remember, but he had to do something.

  Stumbling into the parking lot, he tried to shout, but he had no air to form words. He broke to the stage and tripped, falling on the ground and sliding. The back of his mind, always operating to fit the patterns, recognized he had tripped on a body and, by the angle of the head to the neck, a dead one. Someone had taken out Lassiter’s shooters.

  He ignited the thermite. Stark shadows reached for him as the electric white light burned into the night air. He saw Lassiter lift a gun toward Kenzie, just as a star, so intense it had to be magic on her part, rose above the two at the stage, and then arced back to earth as gravity asserted itself.

  The flaming star of Kenzie’s landed, and a shock wave engulfed him. He saw the gun in Lassiter’s hand jump but felt the impact in his shoulder, the same spot where a feathery red dart blossomed on Kenzie. Like he was in Kenzie’s skin, he experienced the unbelievability of being shot.

  A split second later, there was a gunshot from his right, and Lassiter lurched and fell. Mitch spun on his stomach. Between his car and the other one, he saw the barrel of a rifle. He heard the bolt get pulled to eject a shell casing, and the rack close again.

  Down by the stage, Mitch saw Raymond Graham speeding to Kenzie. A glance to the rifleman showed the rifle barrel steadying, taking careful aim.

  “Hell, no!” Mitch shouted, and scrambled to his feet. The barrel wavered and began to lift and turn to face Mitch.

  I’m going to get shot, thought Mitch, and perversely, the thought calmed him. He sprinted as the man went from a kneeling shooter’s stance to upright.