by TR Cameron
Zeb sighed. It was a good plan and reflected the Kilomean hunter instinct. Too often, humans and other magicals ascribed qualities to that race based on their size, which ranged from large to enormous. It failed to account for the nuanced skills that generations upon generations of experience hunting prey for food, sport, and pleasure had engendered in them. Brukirot was one of the smartest he’d come across. However, the giant’s proposal was also overly optimistic and radiated confidence in the council’s superiority that the dwarf didn’t share.
Fortunately, he was next in line to speak. “I have two things to say. First, both gangs are aware of our interest in their activities. It is unlikely that we would manage to act in secret for long as their suspicions will naturally turn to us. Second, after the incident at the docks, it is to everyone’s advantage to keep matters quiet. If we were to take a role, it would need to be more hidden and subtle than the plans that have been suggested so far. If we goad them into greater action, we risk damage to the innocent citizens of the city, which I’m sure we all agree must be avoided.”
Lingering distrust of magicals was common more or less everywhere as the people of Earth came to terms with their changed reality. Even though there had been ample time to process the knowledge, the emotions inspired by an influx of aliens from another planet who possessed magical powers had proven harder for some to contend with.
Beside him, Malonne tapped his chin with elegant fingers and gemstones set in delicate rings glittered with the motion. His pale skin and light hair were a shade brighter than the off-white suit he wore. His words emerged slowly, which Zeb interpreted as thoughtful consideration.
“On one side of the scale lies the knowledge that we cannot stand idly by in the face of this threat. To do so would be entirely unacceptable. On the other, our involvement, if detected, risks increasing the danger to all.” He lowered his hand to the table and drummed his manicured nails lightly to generate a decidedly annoying clicking sound. “So, if we are to act, we must do so with complete deniability as we cannot rely on secrecy.” He nodded toward the dwarf, who returned the gesture. “I would contend that our best tools for the job are the ones already involved.”
Invel, in the final seat, had remained inscrutable throughout the discussion. The Dark Elf’s ashen hair and mottled skin made him look imperfect next to the Light Elf beside him. Intelligence radiated from him, and Zeb knew it was matched by cunning and a ruthless practicality when necessary. Unfortunately, the practical side was ascendant. “I agree. We should support those already in the gangs’ sights—Caliste and Tanyith—as we have done since their first encounters with them.”
Zeb winced. He’d hoped for something more substantial as an outcome. When he met Vizidus’s eyes, he recognized the same sentiment in them. However, the others at the table nodded at the Drow’s words, which meant the decision was essentially made.
Their leader asked, “Are all in agreement?” For the sake of unanimity, the dwarf signaled his assent along with the others. The wizard nodded. “So, on to other things,” he said and the discussion turned to more common issues.
An hour later, everyone was gone except for Invel, who had raised his damaged leg and rested it on the chair the Light Elf had occupied. Their glasses had been refilled with the mulled cider, and he took an appreciative gulp. “Ah, Zeb, you are truly a master at the alcoholic arts.”
He laughed. “What can I say? Sometimes, the stereotypes are true. Dwarves do enjoy a hearty drink from time to time.”
“Like on the strike of every hour, day or night.” The elf’s grin was tired but no less mirthful for it.
“Nah, we have to sleep sometime. There are four or five hours without in there somewhere. But this is as potent as fruit juice for me as far as intoxication goes.”
“Ah, to have been born among your people would have been a wonderful thing.”
“We all have our advantages, my friend. Speaking of which, what do you know that I should know?”
Invel held his cup out, and Zeb carried it to the cask. The Drow drank half of the new serving, then set it on the table. “The great aunt asked me about the sword, among other things. There’s no doubt, now, that it is in play.”
Zeb shook his head. “How does an ancient Atlantean artifact end up here?”
His companion shrugged. “New Orleans has been peopled by magicals more or less since its founding. If a magical weapon was going to wind up anywhere, this certainly makes an eminently logical location.”
“Do you know which one it is?”
“No. The pictures she shared weren’t enough to tell. If I could put my hands on the other piece Caliste saw, I might be able to get somewhere.”
The dwarf sighed. “I’m sure that’s locked up safely somewhere, protected by wards and guards and who knows what other defenses.” He assumed the Atlanteans would now rely on more than simply secrecy to ensure the safety of their prize.
The elf nodded. “Probably.”
“Anything else?”
Invel grinned. “Nothing pertinent. I have some new things in the shop that might interest you—old weapons from Oriceran and interesting metals.”
He waved a hand to push the idea away. “My forging days are behind me. Valerie was my last work. Now, I’m merely a simple innkeeper.”
“So you say. But I noticed the way you straightened when Brukirot talked about removing some of the street soldiers. Your mind might be past the old days, but your heart isn’t.”
Zeb scowled. “My heart is exactly where it needs to be. Here, watching over all of you.” He took the empty cup and filled it again, then handed it over. “This is your last glass. I won’t carry you home again. I’ve had my fill of those particular strange looks.”
The Drow laughed. “Are you afraid of being seen with a wicked Dark Elf?” It was a standing joke between them.
He snorted in false disgust. “Certainly not. But escorting a drunk one who’s not all that good at walking when he’s sober does nothing for my reputation as a tavern-keeper.”
Invel put a hand over his heart. “You wound me. And yes, I’m wounded. Deeply. Tragically. Wounded.”
The dwarf rolled his eyes. “I’m fairly sure that’s your exit cue.”
“No, I’m sure I have a better one. Wait, let me think for a second.”
“Trust me, that was your closing line. It’s time to depart. Leave the audience wanting more. Go, you buffoon.”
Laughing, his guest pushed to his feet and walked mostly steadily to the unwarded portion of the room. Moments later, his portal vanished behind him. Zeb chuckled quietly as he cleaned and mused on the fact that while the Drow might seem to be less influential than the others at the table, he was the first one he would want at his back in the face of real trouble. And if things keep going the way they are, we could see that face before too long.
Chapter Four
Zeb’s urgency to push her out the door the night before had been the catalyst for uneasy dreams. While Cali had always been dimly aware of the presence of a council of magicals present in the city, she never imagined that she would somehow be noticed by it, much less become an unofficial influence upon it via her boss’s membership.
So, when her phone rang with the sounds of “Rock Me Amadeus”—she resisted the urge to pound on the wall and wake Dasante up for adding that particular song to her playlist—she was more than willing to get out of bed and start her day. She ran her bare foot over the scales on Fyre’s back and, as always, marveled at the way they managed to be strong enough to protect him but still completely soft to the touch.
In addition to the joy of not having to share a bathroom with the other members of the boardinghouse, her new apartment also boasted a seemingly unlimited supply of hot water. She luxuriated under it for as long as she could but marked the passing minutes off in her mind until she had to dry herself, get dressed, and head to the dojo.
She left the apartment quietly so as to not wake Tanyith, who slept on the couch. Allege
dly, he would move out today, although there’d been some small possibility of a delay. He wasn’t a bad roommate and they mostly stayed out of each other’s way, but she was ready to have the space to herself. Well, Fyre would be there, of course, but they were a team now. Where the one went, the other would go, and that basically meant always.
Except for that morning, apparently. When she’d tried to rouse the Draksa, he’d merely rolled onto his back and studiously ignored her. With a muttered, “Traitor,” she had popped her earphones in and put on her jogging playlist for the run to Sensei Ikehara’s dojo.
It was a typical start to a New Orleans day outside, the temperature already climbing. The streets were quiet except for dedicated revelers still up from the night before and the city’s early shift on the way to work. As her feet pounded the pavement and the music swirled in her head, she drew on her magic and sent it out in a broad circle around her in a query for danger. So far, the practice had not produced any results, but she was hopeful that it might give her at least a little warning if an attack should materialize unexpectedly.
Frankly, waiting for the Atlanteans to make their move had become a stress of its own. They had promised seven days, and that deadline had passed almost a week before. Since then, she’d kept a watchful eye on her surroundings in search of trouble. The delay in its appearance suggested she wasn’t their first priority or that the adventure at the docks had changed the timetable or something. All she knew for sure was that the fight would happen eventually, and she would do her best to be ready for it the instant it did.
Thus, when she arrived at the rear entrance to the dojo and discovered an envelope with her name on it stuck to the door, it wasn’t as big a shock as it might otherwise have been. The flowing letters were beautiful, almost calligraphic, and looked to have been written with a pen so fancy it would probably take her a month’s pay to afford one. She detached it and carefully cracked the ornate wax stamp with an unknown seal that held the heavy envelope closed.
The message inside was simple and to the point.
Caliste Leblanc. The time for your reckoning is at hand. Appear at the location on the map within at four o’clock. Failure to do so will result in the destruction of the dojo where you train, the tavern where you work, and the boardinghouse in which you live, in addition to your own execution.
Well, at least they haven’t caught on to my change of address. That’s not necessarily good, though, since it puts Mrs. Jackson and her tenants in unnecessary danger. The note was unsigned. A piece of paper with a hand-drawn map on it was enclosed, directing her to what was labeled as a school.
She sighed. Awesome, way too much time to dwell on my fate. There’s no reason not to clean and practice this morning. She chuckled grimly. Who knows? Whatever I learn might come in handy later today.
When the class was over, Cali portaled to the apartment and discovered that Tanyith had indeed removed his belongings from the living room and was gone. “It’s probably for the best,” she announced to the empty space. “He would insist on coming along, and that wouldn’t work at all.” She headed into the bedroom to find that Fyre had moved from his place on the floor to the bed and blinked sleepy eyes at her. She flopped onto the mattress, her head next to his. “Guess what, long, dark, and scaly. We have a date for a fight later.”
The Draksa pushed himself into a seated position and stretched his neck toward the ceiling. “Who have you offended now?”
She shrugged. “Based on the language and the elegance of the note, my guess is that it’s the Atlanteans.” She tossed the paper beside him. He looked at it for a moment and snorted.
“It’s about time.”
Cali laughed. “Right?” She stood with a groan and paced slowly through the room. “So from what I’ve been told, each of the ritual battles increases the numbers on each side as a measure of how many allies one can convince to help them out or something. This fight will be two on two. You, of course, are my first choice of partner.”
He snorted again. “Naturally. As if any other solution would be acceptable.”
She nodded. “And unfortunately, the only weapons allowed are magical ones, so I can’t simply bring in an Uzi and spray the place with lead or anything.”
“You’d be more likely to hurt yourself with a gun than damage anyone else, based on what I’ve seen of your dexterity.” His tone was teasing, and she rewarded him with an extended tongue and single finger.
“So, I have my sticks, you have your skills, and we have all the strategies we’ve worked on together. I would think that should be enough to overcome whatever they might throw at us.”
His snout dipped and rose in a nod. “Still, a backup plan is never a bad thing.”
A quick nod indicated agreement. “I thought about that while I got the dojo ready this morning. Now that Dasante knows the truth about you and me, we can impose on him for that. In fact, let’s have a chat with him about it.”
He answered the door readily at her knock and ushered the two of them into his apartment. It was a mirror to hers in layout but was better furnished. He’d explained that whenever other people moved out and left furniture, he took the nicer pieces and traded them for his own less appealing versions. His laugh had sounded slightly embarrassed as he confided, “Sometimes, it’s good to be the person in charge.” His role as the caretaker for the building on behalf of his mother and stepfather made him uncomfortable, that much was clear, but she liked that he seemed to take advantage of the perks it afforded him.
She extended a flip phone to him. He took it, turned it over in his hands, and chuckled. “The ultimate in decades-old technology. Gee, thanks, Cal.” She punched him in the arm, and he gave a small yelp that inspired a smile.
“Don’t be a chucklehead if you can help it, okay?” She pointed at the device. “It’s got two numbers in it. Mine and Detective Barton’s. If I’m not back here tonight by, say, seven o’clock, send her to this address.” She handed him the map she’d received, which was already locked in her memory.
Her friend looked at her like she had said the words in a foreign language. “Of course I’ll do it, but why?”
Cali shrugged. “I have a date with some Atlanteans and I’m not sure how it will turn out. You’re my backup plan.”
A hint of alarm entered his voice. “Are you going alone?”
She shook her head. “Okay, it’s probably better to say you’re my backup backup plan. Fyre will come with me.”
His relief was palpable. He nodded. “This is the one you’ve waited for, then, right?”
“It seems like it is.”
“And there’s no way out of it?”
“Maybe,” she responded uncertainly, “but I would have to believe they won’t make good on their threats to hurt innocent people who have the misfortune of knowing me. Unfortunately, I don’t think they’re bluffing.”
He looked down, tapped the phone with his index finger, and was silent for a couple of seconds, then met her gaze. “How about having the police ready for them when they arrive? Roll the whole gang up at once?”
“If only.” She sighed. “They won’t bring everyone, and even though there might be some important people there, they’d probably be able to delay the police at least long enough to escape. That’s the best-case scenario. The worst-case is too many dead men and women in blue uniforms. No, I think we need to do as they say. Fortunately, they seem constrained by their weird rules regarding Atlantean ritual combat. I plan to research it when I go to the library.”
He laughed. “So you finally gave in?”
She frowned at him. “I did not give in. I was never against the idea but I have so much going on. Perhaps you’ve noticed.”
His grin preceded a nod of acknowledgment. “Well, at the very least, you should wear that awesome jacket from the Drow. Extra padding could come in handy. And, hey, try not to be killed, okay? I don’t want to have to look for a new tenant this soon after finding one.”
“I’ll do
my best,” she said with a dramatic eye-roll. “See you tonight.”
Cali used her phone to guide her to the location, which was across the city and in a residential area. It was clearly abandoned—probably a high school based on its size—and the side door had been knocked from its hinges. She climbed over it and moved deeper into the structure. A faint glowing trail shimmered on the tiles, and she followed it with Fyre close beside her. He was in his usual disguise as a Rottweiler in case they came upon something unexpected. She’d listened to Dasante’s advice and wore the tough leather jacket zipped over her t-shirt. Black jeans and boots finished the outfit. Her fingers moved rhythmically to circle her wrists as she walked, comforted by the feel of the heavy magical bracelets.
The luminescent path ended at the gymnasium where she found exactly nothing unexpected. A crowd of onlookers were present like the time before and surrounded a rectangular basketball court that would doubtless be the combat arena. The same man she’d fought previously stood with his arms folded at the opposite side from the doorway. His muscles were still large, although they were hidden under a baggy sweatshirt of some kind instead of on display under the tight shirt he’d worn before. His dark skin and tightly braided hair shone under the weird lighting, and his long beard had been clipped to a short goatee. Tactical pants and boots finished his look.
Beside him stood the witch who’d overseen the last bout, presumably to act as his partner. She’d traded her simple dress for a tight tunic and camouflage pants with sand-colored army boots. The necklace with arcane symbols still hung around her neck. The long hair she hadn’t paid attention to before was bound in a long braid that rested on her shoulder. Cali scanned the crowd quickly and her gaze stopped at the sight of a familiar woman in an expensive suit.
Danna stepped forward and directed a grin at her. “Cali, it’s so good to see you again.”
She scowled. “Are you gonna lock me in a box again, wench?”