As Lieutenant Vivi argued with her NYPD counterpart as to who had the authority to haul the collective butts of the unruly crowd to jail, the Kymerans gathered outside the Two-Headed Calf began to mutter among themselves in their own language. Normally NYPD never ventured past the Gate of Skulls, leaving the peacekeeping in Golgotham to the Paranormal Threat Unit. Although I couldn’t understand what they were saying, it wasn’t hard to figure out that they were not pleased by the surprise arrival of New York’s finest. The same was true for the locals thronging the streets, who eyed the ESU team the same way gazelles size up a lion at a watering hole.
“They’re going to surrender me to the humans, aren’t they?” Oddo moaned, mopping the sweat from his brow with a filthy handkerchief. “They’re going to cut off my fingers because I attacked a nump.” He held up his hands, flexing the extra ring fingers that allowed Kymerans to work their magic. “I’m not gonna let that happen,” he said, his voice wavering on the verge of tears. “I’m not gonna to let them take my magic!” Before Hexe could convince him that his fears were unfounded, Oddo began pushing his way through the crowd, shouting at the top of his voice: “The humans want my magic! They’re gonna cut off my fingers!”
The wizard’s paranoia swept through the assembled Kymerans like wildfire. Within seconds what had been grumbling turned into full-fledged dissent.
“Go home, numps!” bellowed a Kymeran with a salmon pink afro. “Nobody’s taking our fingers!”
“Golgotham is ours!” yelled Skal. “Leave now, before it’s too late!”
“Everybody calm down!” Hexe shouted, trying to make himself heard over the sea of angry voices. “The police are just here to escort the humans out of Golgotham!” But it was no use; the mixture of alcohol, paranoia, and discontent had turned the unruly crowd into an angry mob.
“Gardy looooo!”
My hair stood on end at the sound of the traditional warning call of magic being unleashed. I turned and saw Skal draw back his left hand like a baseball pitcher winding up for a curveball and hurl a fistful of hellfire through the night air. A wild cheer rose up from the Golgothamites as the fireball landed atop the roof of the ESU truck, which proceeded to burn like it was made out of plywood.
I heard Lieutenant Trieux shout something through his bullhorn, followed by a series of dull whumps. Suddenly a dense reddish cloud rose up from the cobblestones like an evil fog. My nose began to burn and my eyes filled with tears. The surrounding crowd started coughing and hacking as the rapidly spreading fumes enveloped everyone in the vicinity—Kymeran and human alike.
Hexe grabbed my hand and dragged me through the wall of smoke. Although my vision was blurred, I saw Lieutenant Vivi point her right hand at her NYPD counterpart, encasing Lieutenant Trieux in his very own ecto-plasmic cocoon. The last thing I saw, before a rolling, blood-tinged cloud obscured my view, was the ESU team turning their weapons away from the crowd and aiming them, instead, at the PTU forces.
“We’ve got to get back to the house before these fools start slinging blind,” Hexe said as he led me through the chaos. All around us those caught up in the riot wailed and shrieked, urging one another to do battle, but the mob had no leaders or logic behind it, only blind animal fear.
Figures stumbled in and out of the low-hanging cloud of tear gas smoke, like lost souls trying to fight their way free from Hades. A crying Kymeran woman with coral pink hair staggered out of the fog, blood flowing down the back of her neck. Hexe motioned for her to join us, but she shook her head and went in the opposite direction upon realizing I was human. A satyr with a freshly broken right horn went clattering by, bleating in pain and fear, blood streaming from his broad nostrils. I glimpsed Skal, the Kymeran who had hurled the opening salvo, running through the haze, laughing maniacally, his left hand on fire.
Suddenly a policeman in full riot gear, his face obscured by a gas mask, materialized from out of the fog, blocking our path.
“Let go of the girl, Kymie.” Although his voice was muffled, there was no mistaking the intent behind the semiautomatic pistol pointed at Hexe’s chest.
I opened my mouth to yell at the cop and tell him that Hexe was trying to save me, not hurt me, but all I could do was cough and choke on the burning air. Hexe tightened his grip on my hand, but did not respond to the policeman’s threat.
The cop took another step closer, raising the sight of his weapon to Hexe’s forehead.
“I said let her go, Kymie.”
Just then there was a huge boom, as if a giant had clapped his hands beside my head, momentarily robbing me of my hearing. The policeman turned to look at where the ESU truck had been a moment before. It took me a second to realize that the vehicle’s gas tank must have exploded. As the policeman turned back to face us, Hexe quickly raised his right hand and the ESU squad member froze in place. We stepped around the living statue and continued running in the direction of Beekman Street, desperate to put the madness behind us.
Suddenly a blinding light stabbed down from above, accompanied by a thunderous roar and a wild wind, which tore apart the localized cloud of tear gas and the black smoke from the burning tires, dispersing it into the side streets and alleyways, as well as the nearby homes and businesses of countless innocent Golgothamites. I looked up to see an NYPD helicopter circling overhead like a mechanical vulture.
An armed police officer standing in the open bay of the copter pointed in our direction, and the spotlight swiveled to follow us. A second later the copter dropped so low I was afraid it might hit the roof of a nearby building. The backwash from its rotors was so strong it nearly snatched me out of Hexe’s grip. He stopped to scowl at the machine hovering overhead and lifted his right hand before his face, as if shielding his eyes from the glare of the searchlight. A moment later, the light wandered away, the occupants of the helicopter apparently no longer interested in us. We managed to get back to the boardinghouse without running into any further trouble.
Once we’d made it inside, Hexe slammed the door behind us and then slid down onto the floor of the foyer in exhaustion, resting his back against the wall. As I knelt beside him and kissed him, he grabbed me and pulled me close. We sat there for a long moment, trembling like foxes that had just escaped the hounds, secure in the knowledge we were safe in our den.
Chapter 7
“Why do I smell blood?”
I looked up to see Scratch’s eyes glowing in the darkened front parlor. A second later the rest of the familiar became visible as he emerged from the shadows. He padded up to Hexe, only to freeze upon seeing the wound on his master’s head.
“What happened?” Scratch growled. “Who did that to you? How do you want me to kill them?”
“I got hit in the head by a bottle,” Hexe replied. “And you’re not killing anyone. Besides, I don’t know who threw it at me in the first place.”
“You’re no fun.” The familiar sniffed. “You also stink of smoke—both of you. You haven’t taken up arson as a sideline recently, have you?”
Scratch was right. Now that we were safely indoors, there was no mistaking the acrid odor. We smelled like we’d been standing in the middle of a bonfire. Something told me I would never get the stink out of my favorite peacoat. But then, my dry-cleaning bill was the least of my concerns.
“Are you all right?” I asked, alarmed to see how pale and drawn Hexe appeared.
“I’ll be okay,” he replied hoarsely. “I’m just—drained, that’s all. I never got a chance to really eat anything, and this has been a very busy evening. Lifting a heavy curse, getting in a slinging contest with my uncle, putting that cop in stasis, then using my magic to make us invisible to the helicopter crew . . .”
“So that’s why they stopped following us with the spotlight,” I said. “You need that wound cleaned up. I’ll go get a washcloth.”
As I headed to the linen closet, I was surprised to meet my sixteen-year-old housemate, Lukas, on his way downstairs. He was dressed only in a pair of jeans, and judging by
how high he raised his unibrow, the young were-cat was equally surprised to see me.
“Oh—! You’re home early!” he exclaimed, nervously flipping his sandy blond hair out of his face. “I was just, uh, going to the kitchen to get some pizza from the fridge. . . .” He frowned and sniffed the air. “Have you been burning something?”
“Lukas—can you bring me back a soda?”
I looked up to see Meikei, the teenaged daughter of Lukas’s employer, leaning over the second-floor balustrade, dressed in nothing but one of his T-shirts. Upon seeing me, the young were-tigress gasped in embarrassment and her exposed flesh briefly covered itself with dark stripes.
“We weren’t doing anything, Tate!” Meikei blurted. “I promise!”
“Save it for your dad, Meikei.” I sighed as I pushed past Lukas. “It doesn’t matter to me what you two get up to on your own.”
“I don’t want you to think we were being disrespectful,” Meikei continued anxiously. “It’s just Lukas said you and Hexe were going to be out late tonight. . . .”
As I reached the second-floor landing, the sound of drunken, angry shouting echoed from the street, followed by breaking glass. Suddenly Meikei and Lukas no longer seemed quite so worried about explaining away their tryst.
“What’s going on out there?” Lukas asked, trailing after me as I searched for a fresh washcloth and hand towel in the hallway linen closet. “I heard sirens a little while ago.”
“A riot between humans and Kymerans broke out in front of the Calf,” I explained. “The NYPD is in Golgotham.”
“Oh, wow!” Lukas’s jaw dropped open like a nutcracker’s. “Are you serious?”
Meikei gasped once more, this time in fear. “Lukas, I need to go home right now! Father will be worried.”
“You’ll do no such thing!” I said sternly. “It’s far too dangerous out there, Meikei. Call your father and tell him you’re safe here and that Hexe and I insist you stay overnight. He’ll understand. If he asks, tell him you’re sleeping in my room. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Believe me—I have a lot of experience telling fathers what they want to hear.”
I left Lukas and Meikei to make their phone call and headed back downstairs to find Hexe in the kitchen. He was sitting at the table, the box from Strega Nona’s Pizza Oven open by his elbow as he hungrily scarfed down a slice of andouille and artichoke. Scratch was perched on the corner of the sink, his hairless tail slapping against its enameled surface in agitation.
“C’mon—just let me out for a measly ten minutes!” the familiar wheedled. “That’s all I’m asking. I’ll have the streets clear in no time!”
“That’s what I’m afraid of!” Hexe said around a mouthful of Cajun sausage. “There’s not going to be any killing, slaying, slaughter, mutilation, or mayhem. There’s enough chaos out there without you adding to it!”
“Stop tempting your master, Scratch,” I chided as I soaked the washcloth in hot water.
“I am a demon, y’know,” the familiar replied, hopping down onto the floor. “It’s in my blood.”
“More like an imp, if you ask me.” Hexe snorted, only to flinch as I began to clean his wound.
“Is it really that bad out there?”
I looked up to see Lukas standing in the kitchen doorway, staring in disbelief at the blood matted in Hexe’s hair. The young were-cougar was still barefoot, but had reclaimed his T-shirt.
“It’s worse,” Hexe grunted. He pointed at a hand mirror and a small ceramic container sitting on the shelf over his worktable. “Hand me those, will you?”
Lukas brought the items to the table, and Hexe opened the jar and daubed unguent on his wound, using the mirror to guide his hand. Meikei entered the kitchen, now dressed in her own clothes. She, too, seemed taken aback by the bloodstains on Hexe’s shirt.
“I did what you said, and called my father and told him where I was,” she said. “It’s a lucky thing, too. He was about to go out on the streets and look for me.”
“I thought it would be a good idea if Meikei stays here overnight,” I explained to Hexe.
“You made the right decision,” he replied as he watched his scalp heal in the mirror. “It’s safer to stay put.”
“Is your dad upset about you being here with me?” Lukas asked anxiously.
“He said he didn’t care where I was, just as long as I was somewhere safe,” Meikei replied. “But he is holding you responsible for my well-being.”
Lukas squared his jaw and puffed up his chest as he put his arm about Meikei’s shoulders. “Don’t worry—I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” Despite his youth, there was little in the way of adolescent bravado in his voice. After all, not many boys his age, were-cat or otherwise, could claim to have survived Boss Marz’s fighting pit.
“You two are to remain in the house,” Hexe instructed. “I don’t even want you stepping out into the garden before sunrise.”
“Is everything going to be okay?” Meikei asked, sounding more than a little scared. Although she was trying to remain calm, I could see the worry in the young were-tigress’s eyes.
I saw Hexe take a deep breath in preparation of an answer, and touched his shoulder. He glanced up at me and then gave a small smile and a nod of understanding. “I’m sure everything will be fine in the morning,” he lied.
While Lukas and Meikei ate what remained of the leftover pizza in the kitchen, I went upstairs to my studio to look out the window that faced the street, to see what was going on. As I pulled back the heavy drapery, I saw a tongue of flame flickering in the distance—no doubt the guttering remains of the ESU truck—dyeing the night sky an angry, hazy orange. The police helicopter continued to circle the neighborhood at a slightly higher altitude than before, its cyclopean searchlight sweeping back and forth across the maze of streets in search of unrulies.
For the first time since the riot broke out, I finally had enough time and distance to process what had happened. The initial shock and fear I’d experienced on the street were quickly giving way to outrage as I saw what had befallen my adopted home and its citizens.
Lowering my gaze to the street below, I noticed broken glass glittering like discarded diamonds on the sidewalk in front of the herbalist shop on the corner. As I watched, a couple of figures emerged from the smashed storefront, their arms laden with stolen goods.
“Halt! PTU!”
The looters sprinted in the opposite direction of the angry shout, dropping a trail of bat’s head root and kola nuts behind them. A moment later a bay centaur outfitted in riot gear came galloping past, a fellow PTU officer astride his back, holding on to his mane for dear life. The pair of peacekeepers quickly disappeared around the corner in pursuit of their quarry.
Hexe entered the room and stood behind me. “Tonight has changed everything in Golgotham,” he said. “It’s just a matter of figuring out how much.” As he looked out the window, the sorrow in his voice took on a sharp, bitter edge. “I’m angry right now—not so much because I came close to getting my head blown off, but simply because all of this could have been easily avoided. What happened tonight was the result of ignorance, stupidity, and fear. As pissed off as I am by the police brutality, I’m even more disgusted by how my people kept egging the situation on until it blew up in everyone’s face. There was no reason for things to get out of control the way they did. I’m just glad we managed to escape.” He slid his arms about my waist and kissed the nape of my neck. “You are okay, aren’t you?”
“I can’t help thinking how close I came to losing you tonight,” I replied, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “If that cop had pulled the trigger . . .”
“But he didn’t,” Hexe said, turning me around to face him. “I’m alive and okay, and so are you. That’s the important thing. Besides, I wasn’t going to let anything happen to you.”
“I wasn’t worried about me,” I replied, reaching up to caress the faint scar that was all that was left of his earlier head wound. “How are you
feeling?”
“I’m nearly recovered,” he said. “Throw in a little tantric sex, and I’ll be good as new.”
“What do you say we take a nice, long, hot shower and wash tonight out of our hair?” I suggested, tugging at the bottom of his shirt.
“Sounds like a plan,” he replied as he started to unbutton my pants.
As we left my studio, I glanced out the window one last time and was relieved to see that the far-off flames had been extinguished. “By the way, thanks for sparing the kids the gory details,” I whispered.
“I didn’t see any point in freaking them out any more than they were already,” he said as he peeled off his bloodstained shirt. “Let them have one last night where the worst thing they have to worry about is Meikei’s father finding out they’re fooling around.”
Chapter 8
Just after sunrise someone started banging on the front door. Hexe threw on a silk dressing robe embroidered with swarms of dragons and went downstairs to see who was calling so early in the morning. When he did not immediately return, I tossed on a pair of yoga pants and an old T-shirt and headed down myself. I found Bartho, the photographer responsible for the article that had made Golgotham popular with the city’s youth, sitting at the kitchen table.
Bartho’s right eye was the color of a ripe eggplant, the pupil swimming in a pool of ruptured capillaries, and his left wrist was swollen and badly bruised. “Sorry about getting you guys up at this hour,” the photographer said sheepishly. “I would have come here sooner, but I was afraid to go outside while it was still dark.”
“I understand why you stayed put,” Hexe replied as he ground up a raw potato in his mortar and pestle. “Tate and I felt the same way, once we made it home.”
“I saw you get hit with that bottle last night,” Bartho said. “I’m glad you’re both okay.”
Hexe raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You were at the Calf?”
Left Hand Magic Page 7