Celebromancy

by Michael R. Underwood

  True to form, Washington didn’t twig to anything until they got to the top floor. As the officer scaled the last flight of stairs, Ree poured on the speed and caught up, passing Washington on the top floor and turning left immediately, following her gut. She didn’t think she’d acquired the Vamp-sense from Buffy, but she’d learned to follow her gut (unless her gut was threatening to move out and find a new home in a less self-destructive body, then she denied it thrice and thrice again).

  They were now high above the rest of the neighborhood, with a great view of downtown, the court building, and the Sky-If-It’s-Falling-Scrapers. The drop-off was far away enough to keep her from freaking out right now, but she got the feeling she’d be seeing the building’s edge before the night was through.

  Right on cue, Ree spotted Jane in the corner of the building, retreating from a shadowed figure. The figure looked like a moving glass case enclosing gray-black smoke, which moved and shifted like breathing lungs.

  “Over here!” Ree shouted, signaling Drake and Washington and drawing the figure’s attention all at once. There wasn’t time to explain anything to Washington or negotiate, not with the fear she could see in Jane’s eyes. The woman was a professional actress, which meant when she emoted, you could see it a hundred feet away. And unless she was putting in an Oscar-worthy performance, the star was Failed-Sanity-Check terrified.

  The figure turned, but Ree didn’t see a face, just more contained smoke.

  “Put your hands up!” Washington said, her voice unsettled but not broken. The figure didn’t move.

  Ree saw Drake circle out to flank, his rifle/cane up and ready. The illusion would likely break as soon as he fired, but it was past time for disguises. Washington can arrest me if she wants once everyone is out and safe.

  Closing within fifteen feet, Ree drew a Deep Space Nine–era phaser and trained it on the figure. The whorls and waves of smoke moved quickly, but the figure’s head didn’t shift even as they flanked it.

  “Get back, you two,” Washington said.

  “Sorry, Officer. Unless you’re secretly a Black Cat cop, this is outside your realm . . .” As Ree cracked wise, the smoke figure launched forward, ripping Ree off her feet with one arm, dangling her a good two feet higher than her height justified.

  Oh, crap. The figure was just as strong as before, its grip as tight as an ogre’s. Ree fired the phaser at the creature’s face, and it staggered back. With the figure distracted, Ree used the fading Buffy mojo to rip herself free. She fell, she hit the deck hard, and her glasses slipped from her face.

  Shitshitshitdamnfuck. She heard them bounce and rattle, so they couldn’t be far out.

  But without her glasses, Ree had worse eyesight than a myopic bat in a discotheque, and the Buffy mojo didn’t do anything for her vision. Ree tried a sweep kick, a desperation move to unbalance the figure and give her time to recover the glasses. Fat chance, she thought, but she didn’t let doubt and worry stop her. She guessed where the figure’s legs should bend, and prayed for luck. She connected, but the leg didn’t give. She saw a lighter-than-the-night blur coming for her, then a greenish flash. She heard a roar of pain, and the blur moved away. Ree rolled to put more distance between her and the creature.

  With uncorrected vision, all Ree could see were dark patches and slightly less dark patches. She tried to paint a picture of the roof in her mind as she scrambled to her feet. Her jacket had a few more weapons and her stack of cards, but with the friendly-to-monster ratio on the roof three to one, firing at random was off the blurry table.

  Ree backpedaled, keeping her hands up to defend herself, holding the phaser at the ready. “Blind here! A little help!”

  She tried to focus on her sense of hearing and spatial awareness. Should have watched Daredevil.

  “He is ten feet in front of you. Head right, and watch the pillar!” Drake said, his voice strained.

  “Faster, Ree!” Washington added.

  Ree scrambled faster, her gut turning like a washing machine. Her danger sense was going bugfuck, and it was all she could do to keep moving.

  Dear Future Ree,

  If you survive this self-inflicted heroic quest, you are going to put money aside and buy yourself some goddamned contact lenses, and then you are going to wear them whenever things start coming up Murphy.

  Love,

  Blind and Panicked Past Ree

  Ree felt the strong hands grab her jacket, and the black in front of her wavered as she felt the comforting cement floor leave her behind.

  “Help!” Ree called as Smokey lifted her up again. She felt both hands grab ahold of her, and then she tried to go limp, preparing for the impact, which would probably break her spine or neck or something else generally considered vital.

  As Smokey brought her down, its grip slipped. Ree fell, landing on her side and tried to roll with the blow. Something in her shoulder tore, and she went slick with blood. She rolled sideways, turning over several times before she got her arms down to stop herself.

  “Hold on, Ree!” Drake yelled. Ree heard the sound of boots on concrete, a brief bright flash, then an empty yell, like an amplified bass drum.

  She staggered to her feet, the phaser gone somewhere between her trips to the concrete.

  Ree grabbed mental hold of the Buffy energy and muted the pain, trying to regain her composure and keep herself from dropping due to the bonfire of pain in her shoulder.

  Ree heard a thud, then a smack. Another strong hand, this one smaller, wrapped around her elbow, and pulled her to one side.

  “Quickly!” said a voice. Washington’s.

  “What’s happening?” Ree asked, her ears hot. Definitely contacts.

  “Your friend is going toe-to-toe with a shadow monster, and neither of you seems to be surprised. So . . . that’s weird.”

  “I can explain later. Where’s Jane?” Ree asked.

  “Still where she was. I’m taking you to her. She has your glasses.”

  Hallefuckinglujah.

  Ree speed-walked, turning with Washington’s not-at-all-subtle steering.

  “Here you are. Any tips on taking this thing out?”

  “Ree!” This was Jane’s voice, rushed, breathless. Ree felt something press into one hand. She ran a finger over it. It was her glasses. She brought them to her face as Washington let go of her other arm.

  Her left lens was cracked just inside the frame, but she could still see. True enough, Drake was in melee with the creature, dodging and weaving. He held a kukri in one hand and used his rifle as a defensive cane with the other. The creature’s smoke had settled a bit and moved about less.

  Is that bad or good? Ree tried to decipher as she searched her jacket for weapons or healing-y things, eager to get back in the fight.

  Her right arm was numb from shoulder pain, so getting back in the fight would actually be a terrible idea, even with her remaining Buffy mojo. But Drake was no knife fighter.

  Right on cue, Smokey connected with a haymaker and sent Drake flying.

  The man-out-of-time slid off the edge of the roof, catching himself and dangling with all of his weight on one arm.

  No time.

  “Fire!” Ree shouted to Washington, who popped off three quick shots from her service weapon. Smokey staggered forward with each impact, then turned to face Washington as Ree ran to Drake.

  “Hold on to the rifle,” Ree said as she closed on Drake, his chin resting on the concrete. She squatted down and grabbed the rifle with her good arm, leaning back to pull the adventurer up.

  “Jane? Help?” Ree asked through gritted teeth as Drake tried to reach a leg up onto the concrete floor.

  Ree felt her grip slipping, and tried to bring her right arm over to help. Her shoulder screamed in pain, but she kept pulling, her eyes locked on Drake’s face: strained, eyes wide, lips curled in a determined snarl.

&nb
sp; Her foot slipped forward an inch, and the dull roar of panic grew a few ticks louder in her mind. Her eyes zoomed past Drake down, down, down to the ground, far enough down she knew she’d die if she fell. She’d be helpless for several long, weightless moments, long enough to lose herself in terror before splattering on impact. Her grip faltered, and she had to catch the end of the rifle stock while she regained control of herself.

  She stumbled to the ground, hitting her tailbone as she tried to keep traction.

  Slim arms wrapped around her waist, and Ree felt Jane pulling on her, the woman’s weight all the way back. Ree heaved again, pushing with her feet, trying to keep the pull constant on the rifle.

  “Come on!” Ree shouted to no one in particular, then narrowed her eyes and breathed out hard, dive-tackling the fleeing super-heroine energy and hog-tying it to one last feat of strength.

  She pulled with all of her might and some of Buffy’s, and one of Drake’s boots hit the pavement. She kept pulling, pain washing back over her until her companion-in-arms hauled himself up onto the lip of the concrete floor.

  Ree huffed out, “Good!” and fell backward, dropping to the floor, Jane behind and beneath her.

  “Oof!” the star said, and Ree winced as she imagined the impact.

  But when she saw Smokey hit Washington with a roundhouse punch, she put aside comfort and jumped back to her feet. She Roadie Ran along the roof and snagged the phaser off the ground, then took a knee and aimed with her off hand. The phaser cut a red line through the air, which hit and dissolved within Smokey’s form. The smoke slowed, growing more still.

  “Over here, Smokey! Only I can prevent forest fires!” Okay, not my best, Ree admitted. She blamed the shoulder and the glasses and the general shittiness that had been her day. “Get out of there, Washington!”

  The officer wrestled free and stumbled back several steps, clutching her side. Ree kept firing, adjusting the beam as Smokey crossed the roof at Ludicrous Speed.

  “Why won’t you go down!” Ree shouted, fumbling with her right hand in her jacket for an endgame.

  She held her cards up and dropped the phaser when she saw her prebuilt combo.

  Good ol’ Channel/Fireball. Ree held on to the top two Magic cards, letting the other cards flutter to the ground over the now-inactive phaser. She stared down Smokey, now just ten feet away, and focused her will forward as she tore the cards. A crimson-and-orange burst shot forward like a cannonball, hitting Smokey dead-on. The blast knocked Ree on her back, calling up a fresh wave of shoulder pain on top of the bonfire-in-front-of-your-face heat and the instant migraine from using Channel to pour her own life energy into the blast.

  For a moment, it was all Ree could do to breathe. She took air in and looked up. Smokey was gone, wisps of black-on-black smoke dissipating under the floodlight.

  “Hot damn,” Ree said, sighing with relief.

  Ree savored the lack of imminent doom, threat of death, or dealing with heights. Three other sets of lungs breathed heavily beside her: Drake’s, Jane’s, and Officer Washington’s.

  “Jane, Drake,” Ree said, waving weakly by means of introduction. Drake gave a deep bow of the head, not bothering to stand. He can be taught informality! Ree thought, a smile breaking on her face.

  “Drake, Jane. Jane, Officer Washington. Officer Washington, Jane.”

  Officer Washington looked at the space where Smokey had been. “Is someone going to explain what the hell just happened here?”

  Ree looked to Drake, then to Jane. Drake looked impassive, and Jane shrugged. I guess that leaves me.

  “We’re not totally sure ourselves. And here’s the thing, Officer. There’s a good chance that in ten minutes, you won’t remember what happened here, or this conversation. So I figure I’ve got about a 50/50 chance of needing to even bother, as long as we leave this half-built death trap in a hurry and make our way back to the set.”

  Officer Washington snorted, her face smacked with disbelief. “Like hell. That thing is going to be headlining in my nightmares for weeks. I’d say it’ll be a nice change from the meth-heads and Krokodil junkies, but those I at least understand.”

  “Krokodil?” Jane asked, her eyebrows furrowed. She looked tired.

  Not like I don’t, Ree thought. But Jane’s tired carried the descriptor haunted, while Ree imagined hers was more harried.

  Officer Washington shook her head. “You’re better off not knowing.”

  Ree nodded. “Some things cannot be unseen. 4chan, Two Girls One Cup, and Krokodil.”

  “I still haven’t gotten an explanation for what happened,” Washington said.

  Ree wobbled to her feet, then thought better of it and sat down again, her vision going starry. “As near as I can tell, it was some magical being targeting Jane, either a manifestation of a curse or being commanded by the same. But that’s about all I know, since it’s only the second time I’ve seen the thing. So, are you a Black Cat or what?” Ree asked.

  “I don’t follow,” Washington said.

  “Dresden Files. The Chicago cops who deal with supernatural stuff were called Black Cats back in the day. Why didn’t you lose your shit when you saw Smokey here?” Ree gestured to where Smokey had been.

  “Training, I guess.”

  “Right good training, I say,” Drake said, looking impressed.

  Washington shrugged. The gesture humanized her, softened the single-minded-ass-kicker persona Ree had pegged the cop with. “Will it come back?”

  Ree hauled herself back up to her feet, pushed through the strain in her vision, then scooped up her scattered cards. “I have no clue. It seems unlikely, at least tonight. Last time we scared it off pretty easily, but this time it was pretty Terminator-y.”

  Rummaging through her bag, Ree found the right baggie and grabbed several Descent healing potions. She ripped one with her teeth, and the energy washed over her like ice-cold water. When the cold receded, so did the pain in her shoulder. She held a potion token out to Drake, who looked at it and shrugged.

  “I can’t use those.”

  Ree tucked it back in her baggie. “Fair enough.” She turned to Jane. “Are you okay?”

  Jane got to her feet, and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’ll be fine. How did you know I was here?”

  Ree nodded to Drake. “My friend here had a whoosamawhatsit. And I remembered what you said about liking a view.”

  Jane smiled. It was a small smile, a tired smile. But it was something.

  Chapter Fourteen

  4-Top

  From: Alex Walters

  a.walters@cosmic.com

  To: PTB@cosmic.com

  May 25, 4:17 AM

  Subject: Override Request (was Re: Starlet Containment)

  The Cameron solution has failed to yield results, as previously indicated. Requesting approval to break subtlety policies in order to seal the deal.

  I’ve pulled a half-dozen critters out of films and sent them after the has-been’s guardian, but this Reyes chick is a Leading Lady Geekomancer, with her own gang of Scoobies.

  I want to have this BS cleaned up before I have to go back with MacKenzie for the divorce trial.

  —AW

  Ree, Drake, Jane, and Washington sat around a table at a twenty-four-hour Starbucks, which was empty except for the one bored-looking barista and an unsettled-looking homeless man nursing a short coffee in the corner, his life stuffed into a laundry cart. Ree was halfway done with a cappuccino, Drake sipped tea, Washington was on her second cup of coffee, and Jane drank hot water. The whole scene reminded her of the aftercredits bit in The Avengers.

  Except no shawarma. I could murderate some shawarma.

  “Shouldn’t you be on shift or someting?” Ree asked.

  “I’m taking witness statements,” Washington said, raising her cup with a grin.

  “But of course. Would
that all chats with the constabulary might be so pleasant,” Drake said.

  “You can drop the act, Ren-Faire,” Washington said.

  “Not likely,” Ree said. “He’s a lifer.”

  Jane leaned into Officer Washington, both hands on her mug. “Are you going to report this?”

  “I pretty much have to, someone of your profile,” Washington said. “Word has likely gotten out, and if we try to cover it up, there will be seven kinds of pushback.”

  “What would you report?” Ree adopted a nonchalant voice. “A mysterious figure of moving smoke that hit like a T-800 pursued movie star Jane Konrad onto a construction site, where it was subdued by a screenwriter, a Ren faire actor, and a young Pearson PD officer. Case closed?”

  “This isn’t the only weird thing to come across the dispatch, you know,” Washington said. The fact that she hadn’t forgotten the whole fight meant there hadn’t been enough time, there hadn’t been enough social or psychic distance from the event, or maybe the cop just wouldn’t forget at all.

  Could police training inoculate someone against the Doubt? If it did, you’d think either a lot more cops would end up dead or everyone would think they were crackpots when they tried to tell the mayor.

  “Weird like what?” Ree asked.

  “Mob deals gone strange, odd drugs with inexplicable side effects, dead-end missing persons cases that just feel wrong. Every beat cop and detective I’ve met has at least a few weird stories. And now I’ve got one more.”

  “Intriguing. In my homeland, there was no effort to cover up the marvels and terrors.” Drake stopped to smell his tea, his eyes flashing through memories from an indeterminate past. “Though the powers that be may have just given up when the first of the torture ships crested over the horizon and began shelling the capital.”

  Jane and Washington looked at Drake like he was a crazy person. Well, maybe he is, but no crazier than I am. Ree tried not to explore the implications of her claim and moved on.