by TR Cameron
The Leblancs and their private war against anyone who tried to upset the balance of power in the city had been a thorn in her side from the moment she’d arrived on the continent. Alone, the two would have been nothing more than a nuisance, but they had wisely formed connections with most of the magical communities in New Orleans, which gave them access to intelligence and protection they otherwise wouldn’t have had.
The Empress had naturally demanded that Usha claw her way to power in the new city as she had in New Atlantis. She remembered the woman’s words distinctly and could picture her standing above and looking down with a soft smile. “If you cannot take power, you do not deserve power. It is better to die trying than to live a life you haven’t earned.” Killing the Leblancs had been a big step on that path, and she vividly recalled the triumphant sight of them dying at her feet. She took a deep breath and let herself slip beneath the water.
Of all the things in her life, this was her solace. The feeling of being under the surface, the way the sounds changed and the sensation of primal comfort mixed with the instinctive fear of being unable to breathe. Especially, though, the otherworldliness of it, like she’d left all the dingy realities of daily existence behind in trade for a place that would permit a purity of thought. Her brain traveled unfamiliar paths, searching for new solutions to the challenges she faced. After several minutes, she rose, dried herself, and wound her hair in a towel and her body in another before she stepped into the master bedroom.
This, too, was oversized, at least twice as large as any bedroom she’d ever had. Her residence occupied the entire top floor of its building, which had once housed two apartments and some utility space. Now, it was all hers. The bed was king-sized, her walk-in closet enormous, and the antique-white dressing table that was her destination was bigger than her office desk. There, she focused on business. Here, she indulged her desires, within reason. No one but her and her cleaning staff had access, and the workers had been carefully vetted and given the impression that an actress lived there. She sat and retrieved the variety of skin-care products that made up her evening routine. Her phone rang and with a small smile, she tapped the button to put Danna on speaker. “Yes?”
Her second’s voice was flat and businesslike, which suggested that she wasn’t alone. Usha was sure she was the only person who knew the real Danna, who was as capable of laughing and joking as anyone. But the woman’s projected image was all serious, all the time. “There have been no problems with the Zarcanum deliveries to our magical clients. We’re still on target to start distributing the new drug to the humans tonight. I’ll check on the initial push personally.”
“Excellent. Do you anticipate trouble getting the Shine into their hands?” Entrusting something so important to the gang’s future to Danna made her uneasy, but at the Empress’s urging, she tried to be a little more hands-off in the day-to-day responsibilities so she could focus on the bigger picture. Including the rebellious redhead who takes after her parents and is becoming as big a nuisance as they were.
“It’s doubtful. But it’s good to keep an eye on things when they’re starting out.”
“I couldn’t agree more. What news of our alleged champions?”
The other woman gave a dismissive chuckle. “Alas, they were unable to rise above their failures.”
She sighed. The enforcer had seemed like he would be useful, and the witch had been part of the group for some time and had shown promise. But the proscribed punishment for failure was to fight each other to the death, from which the victor would emerge with a clean slate and the loser ascribed the blame for the lack of success. Her second’s words meant that whoever had won had been too injured to survive, so both were lost. She shrugged. It is our way. And perhaps it will inspire those who face the girl next to greater efforts.
“Do we have adequate replacements for the third bout?” When Danna hesitated, she added, “No. Not you. Not yet.”
The other woman made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a growl. “As you wish. I’ll find better champions, even if I have to portal to New Atlantis to do it.”
“Excellent. Text me when the night’s activities are done and let me know they went well.”
“Will do. Goodnight.”
Usha clicked the end button and pulled the towel off her head as she picked her brush up. She found that particular self-care chore soothing and needed something positive to shrug off the dirt of her underlings’ failures. Like her lack of success shaded her superior, theirs soiled her. She would have to find a way to atone, and one idea returned constantly to the front of her mind.
How can I convince the girl to join us? A second thought emerged unexpectedly. Or how can I force the girl to join us?
Rion Grisham held court each evening in a different restaurant and varied his choices and schedule so no enemies could predict where he might be on any given night. He was treated like a king in each, though, and his lieutenants delivered threats and promises as needed to ensure he would be afforded every luxury the venue could provide. Tonight, it was Carlyle’s Bistro, an Italian restaurant on Decatur a few blocks away from the touristy areas. The main area was all glass and metal, with small candles on the tables and romantic seating all around.
The back room held only the gang leader and his closest comrades. Even his girlfriend of the moment was unwelcome and spent her time at the bar in the main room as he’d ordered her to do. They sat around a table that could have seated six, with Grisham at the head, his two human lieutenants on his left, and his magic man on the right. Tonight, the wizard was in his usual disguise—probably due to the presence of the others—which was welcome. His tendency to use his powers for trivial things, generally at his boss’ expense, rubbed him the wrong way. However, since he didn’t have a replacement handy, it was something he’d decided to simply accept. For now, anyway.
In front of them rested plates of pasta, glasses of wine, and baskets of bread with small dishes of oil and balsamic. The owner, a portly man in a fine suit, stood in the shadows nearby. The mage had raised a sight and sound shield that would prevent him from hearing their words or reading their lips, which he lifted only when they needed something from the restaurant.
The thinner of his human helpers was closest and dabbed sauce from his mouth with the cloth napkin before he set it aside. Colin Todd was clean-shaven and wore a suit and tie as always, following the example of his boss. His brown-blonde hair hung to his collar and no lower, and his face was perfectly ordinary. He wouldn’t have looked out of place behind a pharmacy counter, merely a little overdressed. “So, boss, the word around town is that the ʼLants are bringing a new product to the streets in addition to the one for magicals. A drug for humans.”
Grisham frowned. He’d heard the rumors, certainly, but the reality had materialized faster than expected. “Have we managed to get any?”
The bigger man, Jack Strang, played the role of muscle when he needed it but was much more capable than that. He’d been a linebacker in high school and might have gone pro if he hadn’t become involved in a betting ring in his first year at college. His suit was too big and he hated ties but otherwise, he was a handsome giant. He shook his bald head. “Not yet. So far, it’s only words. But there haven’t been as many of the bastards out on the streets today. They might be gearing up for something.”
“Like what?”
The slender man took control of the conversation again. “My bet is they’re rolling out the new product. It’s the only thing that makes sense. They wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to attack us. Not after the last time.”
Grisham took a bite of the Farfalle Bolognese in front of him and chewed thoughtfully, then chased it with a deep drink of the entirely pedestrian Chianti that was the best the place had to offer. Even though he’d become accustomed to the finer things in life, he hadn’t left his roots behind. At his core, he was a street rat made good, and nights like tonight kept him grounded. “So. What do you suggest we do about it?”
> The mage was the first to reply. “Kill them all.” Three heads turned toward him, and he shrugged. “What? Why should we be afraid of them? If they’re moving in on our territory, we should make sure they discover real fast exactly why it’s a bad idea.” Ozahl’s words were always at odds with his almost boring presence. Tonight, he was in a polo shirt and khakis, neither of which seemed to fit well. Brown hair, brown eyes, and dull as dirt. But he’s as smart as hell and deceptively vicious.
The slim man leaned back and folded his arms. “Isn’t that a little…uh, provocative? We don’t want an all-out war, here.”
He shrugged. “Neither do they, which is what makes the strategy work. If we push, they’ll get mad and consider countering but will realize the only real options are to back off or match us at street level. But we have the advantage. We know we’re already at war, even if it’s a secret one. If they attack us, we’ll eliminate those people, too.”
Grisham’s human lieutenants swiveled their heads toward him, clearly unwilling to move ahead without first gaining a sense of his perspective. He remained silent and nodded for them to continue. Strang shrugged and cracked his knuckles. “I’m not against using the opportunity. They’ll be focused on doing their deals and we can hunt them in packs. We can find the outliers, attack them when they don’t expect it, kill them, and take their merchandise.”
The mage extended a hand toward the other man with his palm up as if to say, “See? He gets it.” The gang leader tapped his fingers on the table. “If it blows up, are we strong enough to win?” He had his own opinion on the answer but was always interested to know what those closer to the action might think.
The men on his left both nodded but unexpectedly, Ozahl shook his head and spoke. “No. If it goes to full, all-out war, their magic will provide an edge that we can’t match no matter how many guns or soldiers you can bring to reinforce you. But it won’t go that far. They’re not ready.”
“How do you know?” Todd asked.
The mage smiled. “I have my sources.”
“And you trust these sources enough to bet your life on their information?” he demanded.
His pet wizard nodded. “Completely. Believe me, the Atlanteans are still getting their ducks in a row. In a few weeks from now, my answer might be different. But tonight, as long as we’re careful, we can act without worry that we might draw any retribution we can’t handle.”
Grisham considered the options. His patience for the situation had worn thin, and his people had taken a few losses at the Atlanteans’ hands lately, both at the holding facility and at the docks. A little revenge would feel good personally and more importantly, would look good for the Zatoras as a whole. So, let’s do it.
He pointed at the men on his left. “You two spread the word. Have our people watch for theirs and report to Ozahl when they see them. Also, warn them to be on the alert for counterattacks.” They nodded, and he turned to the mage. “You gather a couple of troops and get out there. Take out as many as you can without pushing it to the point of forcing a reaction. Let’s be quiet and conservative on this one. And definitely bring back a sample of the new stuff they’re peddling. We need to find a way to compete.”
His magic man smiled. “As you wish, boss.”
The owner bustled forward to refill his glass while his men all stood and headed to the door. He watched them leave and shook his head at their departing backs.
We may not want an all-out gang war and they may not be ready, but neither of those things guarantees that one isn’t about to start. He finished his wine and rose to find his girlfriend of the moment. So we’ll party tonight, for tomorrow, we might die.
Chapter Nine
Ozahl walked into one of the trendy clubs the Zatora soldiers frequented and circulated through the room in search of individuals he considered at least moderately reliable to join him on the night’s adventure. He’d donned a dark overcoat that covered him from shoulders to ankles that he liked much more than the rest of his outfit. But one must keep up appearances.
He noticed two of his favorites quickly, a man and a woman who could almost always be found together. They were imports from New York City, and he’d endeavored to create a working relationship with them immediately after they’d arrived a year before. The chances of them being connected to people in town who might cause him trouble were remote since they were newcomers, and that made them an ideal choice for his needs.
The duo was drinking together at a table with a gaggle of other Zatora people and a few civilian groupies around them. They didn’t have a romantic relationship and hadn’t yet engaged in any within the gang, according to all the information he could discover. Which, to be fair, is considerable. They would quickly be crossed off his list of associates if they found a special connection with anyone other than one another for fear that they might be influenced. But for now, they seemed to be enjoying themselves without concern for anything other than increasing their value to the organization and satisfying whatever desire pushed them at any given moment.
The mage stepped up to the table and caught their attention. “Hey, you two. I have a task from the boss. Do you want to come along?”
They responded exactly as expected, pushed the other people out of the way, and climbed out of the semicircular booth behind the table. Lila came first, her long blonde hair hanging in braids over her brown suede jacket. “You know it,” she replied and smoothed the legs of her leather pants. Dalton stood a moment later and answered with a nod. He played businessman tonight and wore corporate casual khakis and a button-down dress shirt. He’d claimed once before that it appealed to the kind of women he liked, and Ozahl had stopped him from sharing more.
“Good.” He turned and headed to the exit, confident that they would follow him. His mind was already considering the next steps. When they reached the street, he turned and strode toward the location where he expected the Atlanteans would begin their distribution. It had taken a fair amount of internal deliberation to decide which of the several potential options would be the most likely and in the end, he selected the one that offered the easiest repositioning in case he’d misjudged.
They arrived at the target block, which was filled with a number of seedy bars. It was mainly a destination for locals, rather than tourists. He was positive the Atlanteans were interested in more than simply making money from the trade, which made a focus on the city’s visitors less likely. No, they’re up to something else. He remembered being told that everything the gang did served their larger plan, and that was doubtless still the case.
Ozahl drew his associates into the shadows when he recognized two Atlantean street soldiers meandering down the sidewalk. He couldn’t see their faces under the low-tilted ball caps they wore, and their baggy jeans and sweatshirts might conceal any number of weapons. Quickly, he cast a subtle veil, an increase of shadow that would break up their outlines. Against humans, he would have done more, but the problem with battling magicals was that they could often sense enemy magic nearby. It required walking a fine line to use enough to gain an advantage but not enough to lose anonymity. The cadence of their shuffling footsteps didn’t change, which suggested that his effort had been successful.
“They’re the muscle,” he whispered. We need to wait for the dealers.”
His allies were too professional to risk discovery with a reply, which was another reason he preferred to work with them. A group of revelers stumbled out of a nearby bar, and the remainder of the enemy crew materialized. The one who held the product emerged from the shadows across the street and the money man slid out of hiding farther down the sidewalk from them. The soldiers watched the transaction without being obvious about it, and a fifth person appeared to make the delivery after the cash changed hands. He shook his head. “Five. We’ll have to go hard and fast. Our first priority is to snatch the drugs. The second is the cash. Third is to make sure they are all incapacitated—preferably permanently. If one gets away and it’s safe to do so, we purs
ue them so they can’t warn the others.”
The man chuckled quietly. “And the more we get, the more we make, right?”
He nodded. “Same as always.” They perked up at his words because one of the things that kept them loyal and willing to go with him at a moment’s notice was that he didn’t take a cut for himself. He had many ways to obtain money and allowing them to enjoy the earnings from the tasks he needed to accomplish to stay in Grisham’s good graces was an easy sacrifice that paid huge dividends. “I’ll disable the holder. You two target the delivery boy and the cash man. The soldiers will want to fight rather than run, so if we strike fast enough, we can deal with them all with minimum effort.”
Quiet rustles beside him announced that his soldiers drew their weapons. Lila produced two blades. A punch dagger appeared in her left hand and a foldout knife for slashing in her right. Dalton slipped brass knuckles over his right hand and with his left, grasped a heavy sap that he usually carried at the small of his back. He always took the left side and her the right, so their dominant hands were apart, a sign of their intelligence and martial aptitude.
Ozahl waited until the group started another sale before he hissed, “Go.” He hurried across the street and hoped he’d make it all the way before the guards decided to check their surroundings again. Fortunately, the new customer was an attractive woman in a short dress, which seemed to hold their attention. He reached the alley and the man who stood there stiffened in surprise and demanded, “What the hell are you doing?”