by R. L. King
He didn’t leave, though. Every now and then, he wondered briefly why every time he considered it, it was as if some part of his mind refused to let him entertain the thought for more than a few seconds. Leaving Oakland simply didn’t seem appealing to him. He’d lived here all his life, he knew the area, and he was foolish for even thinking about going off somewhere else to start fresh. This was his home, and nothing or nobody was going to drive him out of it.
That was okay—most of the time those thoughts didn’t bubble up high enough in his mental processes for him to become consciously aware of them. He spent a lot of time in disguise, walking the streets, going to movies, hanging out in parks or in the library, where he could keep track of the news. Sometimes he used his special sight to watch people, and every now and then he spotted somebody else with the telltale green-yellow glow indicating they had magical talent. He didn’t approach any of them, though—most were older, and he didn’t want his little group to grow too big. Instinctively, he knew if he gathered too many of them together, there’d be trouble. He wouldn’t be able to keep them focused. No, his little team of five was the perfect number.
Everything would have been fine—mostly—if only he could sleep. Every night he settled hopefully into his bed, blocking off the lights from the parking lot, and every night he only managed a couple hours before the dreams came. They were always variations on the same thing: reliving his mother’s death, watching helplessly as she slumped in Julio’s thug’s grip, the cord cutting into her neck. He watched her plump, bleeding body crumple to the floor. He saw her pleading eyes as she looked at him, begging him to do something even as the spark of life left them. He watched the leering faces of Julio’s two thugs—sometimes in the dream they shoved her deliberately backward, grinning as she screamed. Sometimes he even saw Julio in the background, watching with approval. Ben would wake up in a cold sweat, seething with rage and grief and frustration, and be unable to get back to sleep for the rest of the night. By now he knew he looked terrible: pale, unshaven, with heavy black circles under his eyes.
And each night the feeling grew, taking hold a little at a time like a dark creature creeping tentatively up his body. At first it was in the background, barely noticeable among the horror of watching his mother die over and over. At first his shock and grief were so strong that he didn’t even pay attention to what was going on in the back of his mind. But slowly, ever so slowly, it moved out of the shadows and made itself visible.
This was all Julio’s fault.
Julio was the reason his mother was dead.
Whatever had been in those boxes Ben was supposed to deliver, it wasn’t worth Ma’s life. Julio could have contacted him, and they could have come to some kind of understanding. Ben could have worked more hours, or even taken another job. He could have paid Julio back for the lost shipments—or maybe Julio could even have forgiven him. It wasn’t as if it had been his fault. He’d done everything he was supposed to do: parked under a light, locked the van, taken as little time as possible making the previous delivery. How was any of this his fault?
He’d forgotten by now that Julio had tried to contact him, and he’d ignored his boss’s calls. He’d forgotten everything but the terrified, wide-eyed look on his mother’s face, the unnatural angle of her neck, the blood around her head.
Julio had caused that.
And Julio had to pay.
Ben sat up in bed, gathering the sweat-stained covers around him. He clenched his fists around them, clawing them into knots, swallowing hard as he glared into the room’s darkness.
Julio had to pay—that much was true. But how? The man wasn’t easy to get at, surrounded by thugs and flunkies and hangers-on. Most of the time, Ben didn’t even get his delivery orders directly from the man himself, but from his underlings. The only place Ben knew Julio spent time was at the Caliente, his underground club complex over at the Fruitvale district of the city. But the security there was high, and nobody even got into the nightclub itself, let alone the labyrinth of the rest of the complex, without knowing the right people. Ben knew his magic was strong, but Julio’s people had guns and weren’t afraid to use them. He’d never tested his new shield against gunfire, and wasn’t in a big hurry to start now.
No…what he’d need was to get in there using stealth, so he could get close to Julio before he made his move.
He needed a diversion.
He remembered what he’d been thinking about when he’d left the cemetery: that he needed to see if those kids he’d trained were still loyal to him. It had been weeks since the Arena debacle—certainly enough time for them to get over their jitters. Nobody had died, after all—Ben had checked. Even the woman T-boy and Daisy had tossed over the railing had survived. The whole thing had been an unfortunate accident, but now it was in the past. They had things to do. He couldn’t wait any longer.
He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t contacted them right away, why he’d hesitated every time he pulled out the burner phone he’d picked up so the authorities couldn’t trace his regular one (which was currently at the bottom of the Bay). Maybe he felt sorry for them, and wanted to give them a little more time to process their horror at what had occurred. Maybe some part of him didn’t want to involve them in what he had planned.
But all that had faded as the feeling grew with each passing night, eventually getting so strong that the nagging psychic pain never left his body. He could no longer push it aside. He had to do something about Julio, and he had to do it soon.
29
Stone didn’t have the time for another trip up to Oakland on Saturday. He should be spending his afternoon grading assignments, preparing for the next week’s classes, and catching up with the reading he’d let slide. But after his conversation with Verity the previous night, he felt he had to do something to move this investigation along—and to make sure no curious mundanes wandered into what was looking increasingly like the most powerful and unstable dimensional rift yet to be discovered.
He called Blum on his way up to Oakland, trying him first at his San Francisco precinct house and then on his private line when the desk sergeant told him he was off duty for the weekend.
“Hey, Stone.” The detective sounded like he was somewhere out in public; Stone could hear the low rumble of a crowd and the clinking of glasses and cutlery in the background. “What’s up? You got something?”
“Just…checking in, mostly. Verity and Jason tracked down someone who might have information, so they went to talk to them last night.”
“They get anything?”
“Maybe.” Without identifying Monita, he told Blum about what they’d found out, including the description of the man who’d approached her. “I don’t suppose any of that sounds familiar, does it?”
“It’s not much to go on,” Blum admitted. “I mean, we already suspected there was a gang of mages. I guess this means maybe they’ve got an older guy runnin’ the show, but that description’s pretty generic. I take it you don’t know of any mages in that area who fit it.”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be calling you.” He paused to pay attention to traffic as a minivan cut him off. “That reminds me—when were you going to tell me about this little gang of mundane ‘undercover agents’ you and Jason are cooking up?”
“Ah, so he told you about that.” Blum didn’t sound bothered. “He said he didn’t want to concern you with it until he knew if it was gonna work. And don’t say he and I are cooking anything up. This is his baby. I just passed along a little intel about folks I know to get him started. Why? They comin’ up with anything?”
“That’s where we got the lead on the girl they talked to last night. One of Jason’s mundanes knew her casually.” He sighed. “This is bloody frustrating. You wouldn’t think it would be so easy for them to stay under the radar, especially with this many people looking for them.”
“That might be why they’re staying under the radar,” Blum pointed out. “Street kids are smart, and they’re damn good at
keeping their heads down, especially from cops. If any of ’em got wind that somebody’s lookin’ for ’em, they’ve probably gone to ground for a while.”
“Brilliant.” Stone gripped the wheel tighter. “Well, when you get back to work, please check around and see if anybody matching the description I gave you looks suspicious in connection with the magical crimes. I can’t track this guy down if I don’t know anything about him.”
“You got it. I’ll check tonight when I get back.” He lowered his voice. “I’m actually out to lunch right now with a very nice lady I met last week, and I’d really rather not screw it up, okay?”
Stone chuckled. “Say no more, Detective. I won’t interrupt your lunch any longer, and I’ll wait to hear from you.”
“I appreciate that.”
He was about to hang up when a thought occurred to him. “Oh—Blum?”
“Yeah?” Now he sounded impatient.
“Just one thing—call it a hunch, and it’s almost certainly not connected, but I discovered some odd magical energy in Oakland the other night, while making a mostly useless effort to turn up anything connected to the crimes.”
“What kind of odd magical energy?” The impatience was gone now, replaced by nervous interest.
“Nothing you need to worry about—I can’t tell you anything else about it, but trust me, I’m looking into it.” He gave a vague description of the area, specific enough to narrow it down but wide enough so Blum wouldn’t have a chance of locating it. “But when you’re checking for suspicious activity, could you see if anything odd’s turned up around that area in the last few weeks? As I said, I’m likely pursuing a pointless lead, but with magic you can never be too sure.”
“What am I lookin’ for? Is this something dangerous, Stone? Are you keepin’ secrets from me again?”
“No…not exactly. It’s well contained and I’m actually heading up there now to make sure no one gets near it. But trust me, Detective—it’s better that you don’t know any specifics about it. There’s absolutely nothing you can do about it, and in any case I’m not allowed to share anything else at this time.”
“Not allowed? I thought you said there wasn’t any kind of magical authority.”
“There isn’t, but I’ve made certain agreements. Let it go, Blum, please. But check into it, if you’d be so kind.”
“Uh…yeah. Infuriating as usual, Stone. I guess I shouldn’t expect anything less.”
“Enjoy your lunch date, Detective.”
30
“What do you want, man? Why’d you call us here? We told you we was done.”
Like the other four, Calvin’s posture was tense, his expression suspicious. All of them looked as if it would only take one wrong word to send them all bolting out the door—and this time if they left, Ben knew he’d never convince them to come back.
Ben struggled to calm the itch in the back of his mind, the one that was urging him to act, to take charge, to force them to follow his lead. They’d all come when he’d called them. That was a good thing. But he’d have to be careful. Intimidation wouldn’t work—not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever. Instead, he raised his hands placatingly. “I know. I know. Listen—I wouldn’t have asked you to come here if it wasn’t important.”
“What’s so important?” Daisy asked, looking more nervous than suspicious.
Next to her, T-boy looked equally concerned. “You look like shit, dude.”
They were slouched around a broken table inside a conference room in an abandoned office park. Ben had found it the previous day, and had no trouble using magic to gain entry. His five students had trickled in, either alone or in pairs, at close to the time he’d given them, but none of them had looked happy about it. It was late afternoon now, the sun just beginning its descent. Ben hoped he could finish his business with them before they lost the light.
“Please,” he said. “Just listen to me.” He motioned a side table, where he’d put several bags of fast-food burgers, along with a collection of canned soda and beer. “Grab something to eat while I tell you why I called you here. Come on—it won’t take long, I promise.”
He watched, pleased, as they all used their magic to claim burgers and drinks. It had been a good idea: street kids were always hungry, and this group had no doubt already burned through the money they’d gotten from their previous jobs. Even if they hadn’t, though, Ben had enough personal experience with poverty to be sure those who’ve known it would never turn down free food. Even if they were doing more on their own—and given their nervousness about the Arena situation, he doubted it—they’d welcome something to eat.
He waited while they settled back, some leaning against the walls, some perching on the table. “What you want, man?” Manuel asked through a mouthful of burger.
Ben began pacing around the room, looking out the dirty window at the weed-choked parking lot. “I got a story to tell you guys,” he said. “I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want to hassle you with my own shit, but I need your help so I gotta come clean with you.”
“What’re you talkin’ about?” Patch sat on the table with her knees drawn up, a beer in one hand as she picked at one of the colorful appliques on her jeans. “Come clean about what?”
Ben pictured Ma’s face again, and fought a wave of anger as Julio’s sneering one replaced it. “A while back, somethin’ bad happened to me. I used to work for this guy, makin’ deliveries. But one night, somebody broke into my van and took the stuff out of it. My phone died so I couldn’t call the guy to tell him about it. By the time I got back home, he’d sent guys to my place.” He looked at his lap, trying to quell the hot rage and grief prickling behind his eyes. “They didn’t find me there, so they roughed up my Ma, tryin’ to find out where I was.”
Daisy’s eyes widened. “They hurt your mama?”
He raised his gaze, meeting hers. “They didn’t just hurt her, Daisy. They killed her.”
“What?” Calvin sat up straighter, looking shocked. “They killed your mama ‘cuz they couldn’t find you? Over stuff? What kinda stuff?”
“I dunno. I never looked. I didn’t want to know. Safer that way, y’know? Anyway, I got home and found her there, in her bedroom. The guys had a cord wrapped around her neck, and she was already dead. They said it was an accident, but I don’t believe it. They killed her to get to me.”
“Shit…” Daisy swallowed hard.
“How you know they killed her?” Manuel demanded. “Maybe she, you know, slipped and fell or somethin’.”
Ben glared at him, quelling the urge to knock him across the room with a blast of magic, then feeling shame at the impulse. “Because I saw them. The guys who did it.”
“Shit…” T-boy whispered. “What’d you do?”
“I was scared. I wasn’t very good at magic back then—Ma didn’t like me to use it—but I handled ’em. They won’t hurt nobody ever again.”
“You killed ’em?” Daisy asked. She looked scared.
“I dunno,” he lied. “Maybe. I messed ’em up good before I took off. But they killed my Ma, Daisy. She was innocent. She didn’t do nothing. She didn’t even know where I was.” He swiped an angry hand across his eyes and looked away again.
“It don’t matter, Daze,” Calvin said. “You don’t just kill somebody’s freakin’ mother. Not for business. Not over stuff. That’s fucked up. Don’t matter if he killed ’em—they deserved it if they did that.”
“Okay, maybe,” Patch said, not sounding convinced. “But even so, what’s any of this got to do with us? We’re sorry your mama’s gone, man, but what you want us to do about it?”
Here goes. Ben felt the energy surging inside him again, and when he shifted to his special sight he saw the corresponding yellow-green nimbus around his orange aura dancing in anticipation. “I need your help to get to the guy who’s responsible for this.”
“But you said—” T-boy began.
“Yeah. I handled the guys who actually killed her. But they were just
flunkies, workin’ for my old boss. He’s the one who sent ’em. He’s the one who put his lousy shit ahead of my Ma’s life.” Ben heard his voice rising in volume and intensity, and lowered it again. “Sorry. I’m pretty upset about this whole thing. I’ve tried to put it aside, move on, but I can’t stand the idea of that piece of garbage still bein’ out there, goin’ on with his life, while my Ma’s in the ground.” His voice hitched and this time, when the prickles came back behind his eyes, he didn’t do anything to stop them. The tears were real and the grief was still strong, but if he could appeal to their emotions it might help him get them on board with his plan more easily.
All around the room, the five teens looked uncomfortable. They shifted in their chairs or on their feet, staring at the remains of their burgers and looking anywhere but at Ben. “I dunno, man…” T-boy said at last. “Maybe you oughta, like, go to the cops, y’know?”
Ben couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “The cops? Are you fucking kidding, T? When’s the last time the cops ever did anything good for any of you?”
“But—”
“But nothing.” He sighed loudly, then glared at them. “I can’t believe you guys. After all the shit I taught you—stuff you’d never even know you had unless I told you—I can’t get you to help me with one thing? I’m not askin’ you to hurt anybody, or even fight anybody. I just need some help ’cuz this place might be hard to get into. I figured you might use some of the stuff I taught you to make things a little easier for me.” He wheeled on them. “This piece of shit killed my Ma! How would you feel if somebody killed somebody you love? You all got people you love, don’t you? How would you feel if somebody just killed ’em to get back at you?” His voice shook hard now, as the strange energy took hold of him. He clutched at his forehead, feeling it pressing against his head as if trying to break free. “How would you feel?” he yelled, yanking his hands free. On the other side of the room, one of the dirt-streaked windows exploded into shards.