by Kit Hallows
A fleet of squad cars appeared at the end of the block. I grabbed a handful of crystals, the stones cold and smooth against my grazed palms as I used their magic to render myself unseen. I reached the corner and limped past the stunned cops as they stared up at the smoky inferno.
The festival had erupted into mayhem. People ran and scattered, parents dragged their screaming children behind them and the faces I saw were filled with panic and horror. Some stood dumbfounded and the fires blazing in the buildings behind me reflected in their eyes as I made my way through the crowd.
“Morgan!” Astrid ran up and threw her arms around me. I ignored the shooting pain and embraced her. When she glanced at me her eyes were wet with tears. She reached inside her cloak and handed me a small blue bottle.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“It’ll help heal you. And take away some of the pain, temporarily.”
She watched as I drank the viscous liquid down. It tasted of clove and pepper and a deep warmth passed through my system.
“What now?” Astrid asked.
I nodded to Tiffany, as she leaned on the barricade, staring at the drifting smoke. “I wanted to interrogate her, but there’s no time. Find a cop and tell them to take her to Haskins. Have you heard from Samuel?”
“No.”
“Damn.” I shook my head. “I hope he's alright. Keep calling him. I need to get a line on those shooters and fast.” I vaulted back over the barricade. The scene was pure chaos. Black vans and ambulances shot past and then screeched to a halt behind the knot of police cars blocking the street leading to the smoldering subway station.
“Hey!” a cop yelled and strode toward me. I glanced back at his motorcycle, the key gleaming in its ignition. Perfect.
“Stop,” I said. His brow creased, but he did as I commanded, his senses confounded. I placed a hand prickling with magic on his shoulder and gazed into his eyes. “That girl over there” I said, nodding to Tiffany, “there's an APB out on her. Notify Detective Haskins immediately.”
He nodded as I walked to his bike, jumped on, fired it up and gunned it.
I swept off through the smoke and lights, weaving past the pandemonium as I searched for the second wave of attackers.
53
There. I slowed as I spotted a courier truck in the middle of a side street with men jumping out of the back. It was the same vehicle I’d seen in the memory I’d stolen from the magician.
I paused at the top of the block and watched as the men stood in a rough line. They were holding assault rifles and one of the hired guns, a tower of muscle and thuggishness, turned and held my gaze. He reached into his pocket and held out a phone, glanced from it to me and then back to the phone as he elbowed the guy next to him, as if comparing the picture. This was starting to feel like the auction house all over again, another set up. I grabbed as many crystals as I could fit in my hands, held them tight, and absorbed their energy.
The rush of magic that flooded through me was so intense I nearly blacked out. I let out my breath slowly, releasing some of the tension as the spent stones fell to the ground.
My senses raged with power and the world turned brighter, clearer. When I glanced back to the men they were all looking my way, including Slater. The energy crackled through me. My limbs trembled and my heart pounded as I fought to contain it, to focus.
I armed myself and buttoned my coat, hoping whatever power it held within its magical fabrics was still working. Then I twisted the throttle and Slater and his men raised their guns as the bike revved and I went roaring toward them.
I closed the distance between us in a blur of brick and glass as I focused on the men ahead of me. Two of them started shooting but their bullets zipped past me. I returned fire, taking one down, and then the other. Their blood misted the air as I sped past.
A steady stream of rounds followed. They pounded the back of my coat and one zipped by so close to my head, I heard its whine in my ear.
I braked, leaped off the bike, and ran for cover behind a blue steel dumpster.
The crack of gunfire echoed off the buildings as Slater and his men strode my way, their muzzle fire flashing in the gloom. I ducked behind the huge container as a round of bullets pinged off it and glanced up to the rooftops, hoping to spot Samuel, but there were no arrows, no backup.
I pulled a small mirror from my bag and angled it out toward the street. There were five of the bastards left. Slater was in the middle, reloading. I swung around and took one down with a bullet to the head.
Slater jerked his rifle my way. I ducked back as a volley of bullets rattled the battered steel box, and then I pushed the hulking thing away from the wall and ran low, taking cover behind a sports car. Within seconds it was riddled with holes and its windows were reduced to tiny cubes of glass gleaming on the asphalt. I had less than thirty seconds before Slater and his goons would be on me. I forced myself to take another deep breath and refocus.
The magic pulsing through me was still almost more than I could handle. I glanced around as I willed my heart to slow and caught sight of myself in the grey tinted windows of the building across the way. My reflection was ghostly, drawn out. It gave me an idea.
My hands shook as I rallied the crystal's power and created an apparition of myself. The projection materialized beside me in a half crouched stance, and then its brow furrowed as its nervous, exhausted eyes looked me over.
All in all a perfect facsimile.
I sent him out into the middle of the street, his illusory gun raised as he charged toward Slater and company.
They fired and I seized the opportunity to take two down before Slater and his remaining goon realized what had happened. The magic I’d used for the illusion had taken almost everything out of me, and I found myself deeply fatigued.
Help us! I yelled to my other as bullets ricocheted off the ground out around me.
I might. If you give me control. For good, he replied.
Never.
Then we die together.
Fuck him. I’d rather die in this cold street than become a phantom in the recesses of his mind, forever subjected to his dark tyranny. I leaped up and fired, taking down Slater’s remaining henchman.
That was my final round.
Slater fired back; a bullet skimmed the side of my head and another punched my chest. Slater was on empty too. He dropped the rifle, pulled a Bowie knife from his jacket and ran toward me. I unsheathed the sword of intention, reveling in the glint of fear in his eye as he slowed and backed away.
“Seems you’re screwed,” I said. “Now, what do you think would stop a guy from plucking that last good eye of yours out before running his sword through your heart? Because I'm tempted. Really, really tempted. But I also like the idea of you rotting in jail. You were a big man in prison from what I’ve heard, but I guess you found out there’s always someone bigger. And you’re not as young as you were, which'll make things interesting. Yeah, I think it’ll be more fun to hand you over to Haskins. He’ll make damn sure you get a good long lease on your new cell.”
Slater clutched his knife as he continued to back away, glancing from side to side while assessing his options. “We have your friend,” he said. “You know, Robin Hood with the bow and arrows. Caught him up on the roof. Killed two of my men, before the others got the drop on him. Put your sword down and you’ll get to see him. Maybe even in one piece.”
“Where is he?” I lowered the sword but gripped it tightly.
“He’s gone off to take a little quiz at the mill. Now drop the fucking sword.”
“No.” Sparing Slater would do nothing to help Samuel. I walked toward him, my rage igniting as I considered what he’d planned to do this morning. “You sick son of a bitch. There were families, children…” My blood felt like it was on fire. I fought to contain the darkness inside me as the remnants of the magic I’d stolen from Talamos Gin bubbled up. Astrid had been right, taking other people’s magic hadn’t been a brilliant idea.
I
strode toward Slater and as he looked into my eyes he dropped his knife and held up his hands. I felt the impulse to swing the sword, open a deep and bloody gash in his throat, then watch him bleed out before me.
And I almost did it. Almost. But at the last second I punched him in the face and felt his cheek bone shatter below my fist. He fell and barely had time to cry out before I clocked him with the pommel of the sword, knocking him out cold. I grabbed his wrist, plunged through his unconscious mind and got the location of the mill. Then I grabbed my phone and called Astrid. There was no answer so I hung up and rang Haskins instead.
“Where the hell are you, Rook?”
I glanced up at the road sign. “Wilson Street. Slater’s here and the shooter situation’s been dealt with. Get your people to look for ambulances. Search them, make sure they’re being driven and staffed by authentic medics.”
“Ambulances?”
“Yeah. I’d help you but I have something else I need to take care of.” Urgently. “Did Astrid-”
“Astrid? Is she that hokey broad you were hanging around with?”
I swallowed my first response. “Did she hand the girl over?”
“She did, but the little bitch wasn’t carrying any bombs. I assume it was you who set them off?” Haskins asked.
“They were rigged, there was no choice.”
He gave a long sigh. “I guess you did what you had to.” He sounded thankful, even if he didn’t say it.
“Is Astrid still with you?”
“No. The last I saw, she was being helped into an ambulance... oh.”
“Did you see where it went?” I asked. My heart began to race and the adrenaline coursing through me made me feel sick.
“No. It just took off.”
I thought back to the thug I’d seen with Slater. The one who had checked his phone as he’d stared at me. They'd been looking for us. Hunting us. “I gotta go, Haskins,” I said.
I called Astrid and Samuel again. Nothing. I gunned the engine and took off, roaring back along the streets as columns of thick black smoke rose up over the city.
54
The old steel mill was a rusting grey blemish that rose like a barb from an expanse of wild grassy land. A guard house and gate blocked off the long potholed road that led to the sprawling cluster of buildings so headed toward a rural bridge spanning the brown river that snaked around the back side of the property. The river was quiet, no boats, no people, no witnesses.
I raced down the dusty towpath that ran along its tall grassy bank. The handlebars juddered against the rough stony ground and the rushes grew thick where the river drew up behind the mill. I pulled over and climbed the bank, my telescope clutched in my hand.
A tall chain-link fence ran around the compound and a few figures were wandering the yard. The restless. It seemed Endersley had them prowling around the place like guard dogs. Beyond the zombies, a row of blast furnaces and coal heaps ran along one side of a huge brick building. A corner of its corrugated roofing had blown away and there were several gaping windows that looked like they’d been glassless for years. I swept the telescope up the colossal furnace tower that loomed over the building and found a sentry posted atop it, rifle in hand. Thankfully, they seemed to be keeping watch over the gate in the distance.
I ran through the long grass, keeping low as I approached the fence. The shaky chain link rattled as climbed and flung my coat over the loose coils of barbed wire. I looked around quickly then clambered over, clinging to the cold post on the other side as I tried to free the sleeve of my vital armor from the rusting snags.
As I reached the ground and turned to brush off my hands and slip the coat on, I caught movement in the shadows of a nearby shed. It was one of the restless. I pulled my gun as it came at me. The hammer clicked as his dead eyes met mine; shit, the damn thing was never reloaded.
The zombie hissed and ran at me with unnerving speed. I pulled the sword of intention, lopped his head off and stumbled past his twitching corpse, and was so preoccupied with Endersley’s sick handiwork that I failed to hear the others lumbering up behind me.
I spun round to find a gaunt, haggard old woman looming in, and three more not far behind her. There was no time to raise my blade. She lunged. I shoved her away, but she grabbed my arm and dragged me down with her as she fell. The others leaped, their bodies eclipsing the light, their faces ruined and feral.
My sword was lost in the tangle of bodies. I let it go and pulled the mhudambe dagger. The blade slipped through the snarling pile like it was nothing but soft grey snow. The restless woman snapped but her grip loosened as I plunged the knife into her skull. I shouldered her away and kicked back another. Then a hand caught my throat, and began to squeeze, the grip powerful and relentless. I head-butted my attacker and brought the knife up through his chest. His eyes grew wide and he groaned as I pulled the knife up through his flesh and bone, cutting away the last of his life.
I scrambled to my feet, grabbed my sword and sheared off their heads.
My hand tightened on the grip as I glanced toward the brick building and thought of finally reaching Endersley. It was time to end him. But first, the sentry.
I stormed toward the rusting ladder that ran up the side of the tower, dropping my bag as I hoisted myself up onto the first rung. The wind blew hard and the sky above me was a swirling mass of blues and grays. I didn’t look down, I just scaled the creaking, moaning structure, one bruised and aching hand after the other.
As I reached the top, the tinny din of voices wafted around me. I glanced up to find the guard sitting on a platform across from the ladder, his legs, dangling over the side and his weapon resting on his lap as he watched a video on his phone. By the time he knew I was there I had his rifle in my hand and the barrel pointed at his head. He was an older man with broad shoulders, long oily hair and sallow eyes, but then I saw he wasn’t entirely human. “Give me my fucking gun,” The were-beast growled. He sounded angry, as well as afraid, but not of me.
“Where’s Endersley?”
His eyes flitted to the building below, answering my question. “Getting ready for another barbecue.” Spite seemed to override his concerns and a slow, mocking smile broke upon his lips.
“Barbecue? Well, clearly you’re dying to explain, so here’s your chance.”
“Just the same old same old. He’s cooking up some blinkereds.” He gave a toothy grin but the nervousness returned to his eyes. Things had gone wrong here. Most likely after the strike on the Winter Festival had gotten screwed up. I imagined Endersley was furious, Stroud too.
I prodded the gun harder into his forehead. “Why’s he killing blinkereds?”
“He runs his tests, and the ones who don’t work out get cooked.”
“Why?”
“For shits and giggles.” He was trying to antagonize me, and it was working. His eyes flitted to the rifle and he moved fast as he tried to snatch the weapon away. I yanked it back, twisted it, and smashed the butt over his head, knocking him out. I’d have put a bullet in him if my next move hadn’t required stealth. Instead I propped him up so it looked like he was still keeping watch.
I glanced down to the yard around the mill. Three ambulances were parked out front, which meant at least some of Endersley’s people had escaped the festival. I climbed back down the ladder, threw my bag over my shoulder and made my way around the brick building to find a way inside.
The sky had darkened, giving me shadows to hide in. A few restless still stumbled through the gloom, but they were easy enough to evade. I found a side door with a half broken lock and finished the job with a quick spell. As I pulled the door open, its squeal echoed through the cavernous interior.
A bright orange glow flooded the far end of the building highlighting the hulking, rusting machinery that filled the main floor. I slipped inside amid the relentless roar and hiss of the furnace, taking cover among the shadows as I caught sight of someone.
I watched as they flitted across a long raised platf
orm near the fiery light and stooped over a line of workbenches. Endersley? It had to be. Those mad, jittery movements couldn’t belong to anyone else.
I was poised to bolt up a ladder to the gantry above when I heard voices coming my way. Two guards, rifles slung over their shoulders. Neither had seen me but I grabbed a crystal and cloaked myself as I stepped back into the murk. As they neared, I took them down and dragged them out of sight. Then I climbed up to the gantry and made my way across, sticking to the shadows as I went.
It was only as I neared the platform that I saw Astrid and Samuel kneeling with five blinkereds. All of them had their arms chained behind their backs but they seemed okay and I was filled with relief at the sight of my friends. They seemed to be watching Endersley as he hunched over the workbench and gazed through a microscope. He was ranting to himself, his voice high and wheedling and the bastard looked even rattier in the flesh, with those protruding eyes and mop of wiry grey hair. He sighed and muttered as he grabbed a syringe. “Who’s next then?” He called, before glancing up to the yawning darkness above him.
But it wasn’t darkness. It was a huge canvas filled with swirling black paint.
A portal.
I shuddered as my dark other slithered and pulled at my consciousness before shrinking away. He’d been so still and withdrawn that his sudden resurfacing startled me. I glanced back to Endersley, conflicted. I had the rifle I’d seized on the tower, and a clear shot. But the canvas was churning darkly and the ridges of black paint upon its surface were slowly glimmering.
Stroud was coming. I could feel it. And Endersley could too, judging by his rising panic as he stooped to scrawl into a notebook. I clambered over the gantry, hung and dropped to the platform, the roar of the furnace masking the din of my landing.
I ducked behind a blackened crucible and peered out, making sure Endersley was still distracted, before darting into the gloom on the other side. Both Astrid and Samuel had seen me, the blinkereds too, but no one stirred.