by TR Cameron
Tanyith walked quietly up the stairs and kept his weight on his back leg as he tested each new step for creaks. He avoided the center portion and positioned his feet near the wall and the railing. A small bathroom came into view as he climbed and again reminded him of something from several decades before. He shook his head as thoughts tumbled through it. What happened to the guy? Is this the house she moved into then or another one she moved into after? And, most importantly, where the hell is she?
A linen closet revealed nothing interesting, so he turned his attention to the two doorways on the hall leading toward the front of the house. He approached cautiously and looked around the corner of the first. It was the size of a small bedroom and served mainly as a closet but held a narrow computer desk with disconnected cables resting on the top, presumably for a laptop. He took a step inside and examined her clothes and had to grin at the collection of jeans and hoodies that took up one side. You can take a person out of the gang, but you can’t take the gang out of the person. If he hadn’t been sent to prison, he was sure his wardrobe would include similar items.
He reversed the step that had brought him into the room and moved down the hall to repeat the process. When he found nothing awaiting him, he entered her bedroom. It was half again as large as the last room and held a queen-size bed, a dresser, and a vanity table. A stack of translucent bins held makeup and other personal care products when he pulled them open. A search of the dresser and the vanity was as fruitless as the rest of his efforts had been. He was about to start to take things apart in either good investigative tactics or frustration when a strange sound froze him in his tracks.
Tense and alert, he waited, listening, and heard a creaking that seemed to emanate from above. Following the noise, he paced into the office-slash-closet and examined the ceiling. Above the clothes was the outline of a square. An attic. Okay. The general heat in New Orleans meant most people didn’t use the highest parts of the house, if they even had them, for anything other than storage, so checking up there hadn’t occurred to him. He dragged the chair over and pushed up on the cutout area. It gave easily and he tossed the drywall section off to the side.
Muttering curses under his breath for the stupid thing he was about to do, he jumped, grasped the edges of the attic floor, and pulled himself through the opening. Tanyith crouched above it, his hands raised defensively with shields of shimmering force held in each, but no attack came. He maintained that position while his heartbeat returned to a normal rate, then dispelled one of them. Quickly, he cast a simple light charm—basically lightning magic bound into a small sphere—and rolled it along the floor away from him. It took two more before most of the room was no longer in darkness.
It was a storage space of plywood over rafters with dusty pink insulation visible at the edges. In the center of the room lay a prone figure with its back to him, and the dull silver of duct tape covered its wrists and hands. The black hair that spread around the head gave him mixed hope and fear that he’d found Gina. He stepped forward, knowing a minute either way wouldn’t make a difference and wary of a trap. Nothing materialized, and he circled the body.
Blood stained the floor in front of her face, which had seeped there from her skull. She was too pale, but relief flooded him when her chest moved. He touched her cheek and whispered, “Gina. Can you hear me?” She didn’t respond, and he weighed the choices of moving her or calling for help. The head wound made his decision for him. He pulled his cell phone out and called for an ambulance. There would be ways to connect with her later—at the hospital maybe—once she was taken care of.
He couldn’t stay for the police and couldn’t give her the reassurance of sharing the ambulance ride with her, but at the very least he could unbind her hands. He retrieved his pocketknife, sawed at the duct tape, and pulled her arms free when it parted.
Later, he wouldn’t be sure whether he heard it or saw it first. The device was small but its shape was unmistakable. Instinct propelled him and he threw his body on top of Gina’s and summoned a force shield around them both.
The grenade was an incendiary. The initial explosion sent flame in all directions, but none of it penetrated his defenses. He had time to think. Okay, I can wait until the nearest flames die out and then get us out of here by blasting a hole in the roof. Unfortunately, the rest of the trap activated. The sparks triggered a series of other explosives that had been planted all through the rafters. He held her tightly as the force blew the top of the house off and they careened helplessly, driven by the force of the blast.
If they hadn’t been shielded, the grenade would have at least hurt him and probably killed Gina. The explosion would have ensured their deaths and destroyed most of the evidence as well. As it was, he struggled to maintain the shield as they plummeted and wrenched his body around so he wouldn’t land on her. Flaming debris battered them on the way down, and he tried frantically to calculate the right moment to act. Finally, with the ground no more than eight feet below them, he banished the shield and summoned his force magic to control their fall. He managed to successfully bleed off the speed so that when they landed, it was as if they’d fallen only a reasonable distance instead of from the top of a building.
It was enough to drive the air from his lungs and leave him reeling in pain from the impact of his body with the ground and the woman’s with his. He finally managed to gasp in some oxygen and rolled her carefully off him onto the grass. She’s still breathing, good. Hang in there, Gina. He heard shouts and the screeching of tires and forced himself into motion. I can’t be caught. They’ll ask too many questions. He stumbled toward her back yard and summoned a portal as soon as he reached the darkness, plunged through it, and closed it immediately.
Tanyith thumped painfully on the carpeted floor of his living room. The small apartment was bare and a mattress in the bedroom was his only furniture at the moment. He crawled to a wall and used it as a support to push to his feet, then staggered into the bathroom. In the medicine cabinet was the red vial he sought and would have carried with him if he hadn’t been overconfident and stupid. He drained it, dropped the container, and managed to get under the covers before the exhaustion of the event rendered him unable to move any longer.
Questions kept him from falling asleep, however. The ones he’d had all along were still there and still bothered him. Where had Sienna’s ex-boyfriend Aiden Walsh, aka Adam Harlan, aka Harry disappeared to? What made him so difficult to track? How were the Atlanteans involved, and how was Dray’s group involved? Now, however, there was a new and far more worrisome factor to consider.
How did they know I was looking for Gina, and why do they want to stop me from finding Aiden? And who are “they,” anyway? No answers surfaced before he finally succumbed to slumber.
Chapter Sixteen
Her alarm hadn’t managed to wake her that morning because Tanyith had texted her with details of his adventures from the night before. Cali wasn’t able to get back to sleep thereafter, so she’d spent the time straightening her apartment, grateful to have so much space even though it required more upkeep than her last home.
The class at the dojo had been good, and her personal session with Ikehara better. He’d asked her to come in the next day, which was a rare closed Sunday for the martial arts studio, to do extra cleaning. She didn’t consider refusing. A serious amount of pride came with being within her teacher’s trusted inner circle, and that would have been enough to motivate her even without the additional training he’d provided.
She’d run home afterward and enjoyed the exercise. All the damage from the battle with the Atlanteans had faded, and it was good to feel completely confident in her body again. When I see Nylotte, I need to ask her what the deal is with the healing potion not working like it should. Zeb hadn’t known the answer and the Drow was her second-best option.
A half-hour under the hot water was a glorious end to the first part of the day, and she took a few extra minutes to get her hair under control, putting moi
sturizing product in it and brushing it through. She still had four hours before she had to be at the tavern and had arranged with Dasante to spend that time busking in Jackson Square.
Once she’d pulled on shorts, sneakers, and a t-shirt, she called, “Up and at ʼem, Fyre.” The Draksa gave something between a yawn and a growl from the front room, and she laughed as she entered and found him stretching like a cat with his rear end sticking up. “Honestly, you are the strangest creature.” He opened his mouth and lolled his tongue at her but didn’t respond.
Cali rolled her eyes. “Put your costume on, doofus.” The air rippled as he changed, but she continued to see the Draksa where anyone else would see a Rottweiler of one shade or another. She’d realized he varied his color from comments that others who saw him had made. With a shake of her head, she walked into the hallway and took a few steps to Dasante’s door.
A post-it note was attached to it. Got tired of waiting. See you over there.
She looked at Fyre with a grin. “Why must you make us late for everything?”
“Yes, it’s me that’s the problem,” he drawled.
“You know it, scaly.” She led him down the stairs and out the door, and they shared a happy walk toward the heart of the French Quarter. Along the way, they encountered the usual things—restaurant windows framing tourists having lunch, frozen drink bars serving the early afternoon crowd that wanted to get a jump on their party, and artists plying their trades for tips wherever they could find a space. While the Square was her favorite place, some found it too busy and didn’t enjoy the competition. Maybe, if it was her primary source of income, she’d feel the same. She said a small word of thanks to the universe for the relative stability she had compared to others she met on the streets.
They arrived and Fyre dashed ahead to greet Dasante, acting like a dog happy to see his owner. Her friend laughed, and she shook her head as she bumped the Draksa out of the way and exchanged their secret handshake and a fist bump with her neighbor. “What’s shaking, D?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been doing basic stuff. Clean comedy. Warming up the brain. Not that you’d know anything about that.”
Cali chuckled sarcastically. “Yeah, yeah, I’m well aware of your brain and the limited possibilities thereof. What are you thinking for today? Magic show?” She’d noticed the suitcase that expanded into a performance table and contained his implements and collapsible top hat.
“Probably. But I wondered… Can you, like, read minds now?”
“No. I can’t and wouldn’t unless it was essential, even if I could. Why?”
“I was trying to come up with a new act. Doing a matchmaker gig to find out who might be compatible with each other, that kind of deal. But if you can’t read minds, it won’t work.”
She thought about what she’d learned recently. Her telepathy was fairly good, as was her direct mental magic. She hadn’t practiced the indirect distraction in a while but was sure it would come when she needed it. Force magic and unpredictable fire rounded her skills out. “No, I can’t. But I do still have my ability to detect someone’s intentions by touching them.” Dasante and Emalia were the only ones who knew about that one. “Could we put that to some use?”
He pulled an oversized coin from his pocket and made it appear and disappear repeatedly as he considered it. “We might be able to play it off like you’re an extension of my magical ability if you touched them and sent me a thought about what you got from them. It seems a little convoluted, though.”
“Agreed. Plus, I’d have to touch all those strangers. Ew.” They laughed together.
“Okay,” he said finally. “Dasante the amazing and magnificent magician it is. Give me a few minutes to get set up.” She snatched one of the balls from his kit and went to play with Fyre inside the fenced area of the grounds. The Draksa complained from time to time about being forced to behave like a dog while playing fetch, but she was sure it was merely blather and that he actually enjoyed it. Either way, it was something they could do together without attracting notice.
After a few throws, they wound up seated next to each other on the ground. D was still a few minutes away from being ready. She focused her magic and looked around. It was no longer necessary to picture an actual mind or balloon to manage telepathy. That part had become automatic. Cali was able to easily transmit a message to anyone she could see unless they were actively blocking, something that magicals apparently could do. Emalia had told her some of her upcoming training would need to be focused on managing her own internal barriers, which opened whenever she performed mental magic.
She willed words into Fyre’s mind. “It’s a beautiful day to not have anyone trying to kill us, don’t you think?”
He snorted in response and through the hand resting on his back, she tasted the pineapple cinnamon mix that usually accompanied humor, a mixture of mischief, and positive feelings toward her. At one time, she’d thought that the ability to sense others’ moods or intentions would be the strongest magic she possessed. Now, it merely felt like a manual tool in an ever-expanding box of powered equipment.
Of course, where the Draksa was concerned, she usually knew what he was feeling from his expressions. Each day brought them closer together, and she wondered where that would end. Already, she couldn’t imagine a life without him. He barked suddenly and dashed away, and she laughed until it hurt when she realized that the magical dragon lizard from Atlantis was chasing two squirrels and generally losing the race.
Finally, she composed herself and called Fyre back to her as she gathered a handful of small wildflowers that grew nearby. They headed over to where Dasante had positioned his tools on his unfolded case which sat atop a shaky support, donned the long sleeve shirt with the cuffs rolled that he wore for the role, and placed the top hat in a position to accept contributions from a hopefully entertained crowd. She took her place before the table and motioned for the dragon lizard to sit behind her.
In her barker’s voice, loud and eager, she yelled, “Come one, come all, to see the Amazing Dasante! His mystical arts and superior sleight-of-hand cannot fail to impress.” She continued the patter as people walked past and occasionally called them by name and looked for her favorite target, a twenty-something man with a companion on his arm. She found him and shouted, “You, sir, show your lady friend a good time by exposing her to the magic of the Stupendous Dasante.”
They laughed and looked embarrassed but as usual, it didn’t stop them from coming over. Her partner launched into his routine, which always started with the magic rings that only he could unlock, several card tricks that relied on a marked deck and a truly skilled ability to read subtle reactions when he whipped through the possibilities for a given card, and finally, the three-card-monte inspired ball and cups trick. The man got it right, and she rewarded him with a dandelion, to everyone’s amusement.
They left, and a bill fluttered into the top hat as they passed. She exchanged a grin with Dasante and yelled again. “See the mystical magician and his mighty canine companion. Dasante and Fyre, here for your delight.” The laughs came from behind her this time as well, and she gave herself over to the joy of being an entertainer.
By the time she had to leave for work, she’d earned half as much as she’d make in tips that night, which would be a busy shift. She exchanged fist bumps with D and knelt to give Fyre a hug. She whispered, “Are you coming to the tavern or staying here with the magical man?” He stood and leaned against her leg to indicate the former. “Long way or shortcut?”
He trotted in the direction of the Drunken Dragons many blocks away, which was answer enough. She grinned. “You’re right. It’s entirely too nice not to enjoy the incredibly long walk to work, after which I’ll have to be on my feet all night while you sleep behind the bar.” He snorted and increased his pace. Damn dragon.
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning, Cali was up and moving before her alarm. She was eager to go to the dojo and get the cleaning out of the way,
with the promise of another day of lucrative busking afterward. Plus, she hoped to have time to stop and talk to Emalia since the woman flatly refused to share any non-emergency information by any means other than face to face. Her great aunt should have visited the library by now and might have more knowledge on the sword—or on the charms, which she’d taken on as her own special project.
It was a pleasure not to find a message waiting for her on the real entrance when she arrived. She’d felt comfortable enough about the reality of the promised interval that she didn’t demand Fyre come with her, and to have that belief at least partially confirmed was a step in the right direction.
Cali let her mind wander as she worked and mulled over the many things going on in her life. While she used a mop to damp-wash the canvas mat, she considered the open questions that vexed her. Chief among them was the sword, of course, but she couldn’t do much with that until her great aunt weighed in. She laughed internally as she realized that all the others seemed equally out of reach at the moment.
She had a key to part of an address—1601. That would be the easiest thing to make progress on next, as there couldn’t be that many buildings with that address. She put it at the top of her mental agenda. After that came the book. If it was actually written in code as Scoppic had concluded and not in an existing language, she was well and truly stymied unless something unexpected transpired. So, we’ll hope for something unexpected on that one. Next.