Freak City

by Saje Williams

  "You know where the beer is,” Loki told her. “Get it yourself."

  Anger from Loki? Unusual. He must still be angry that we put Renee in danger.

  Loki wasn't angry very often. Or, at least, he didn't show it when he was. His usual easy-going manner had abruptly vanished as his gaze turned steely. “If there's nothing else, I'd appreciate it if you ladies would find someplace else to hang out."

  Breed pulled up halfway to the fridge, leaning out of the kitchenette with a shocked expression. “You're kidding, right?"

  "Not this time. I want to be alone for a while."

  She turned back with a snort of disgust and grabbed a beer from the fridge, snapping the cap off with a flick of her thumb. The bottle cap bounced off the bar and landed on the carpet at their feet. Loki glanced down, then shifted his gaze up to Breed, who met it with raised eyebrows and a twist of her lips. “All of us put our lives on the line every day, Loki. Renee's got the top spot in the PARD until we train a replacement. Which means that sometimes she's going to be in the line of fire.

  "What do you think she'd say if she knew you were copping an attitude about it?"

  His eyes narrowed just a little. “I can't really say. And neither can you. Don't try to play me, Breed. You don't have anywhere near the experience to pull it off.” He sighed deeply, deflating a little. “I know it's a responsibility she took on voluntarily. And I know she can handle it. Most of the time. But this guy is different. She's weaker during the day, but she shouldn't have been that weak."

  "So you're worried. I can understand that. Doesn't mean you need to be rude."

  He lifted his lip in a silent snarl and turned away. “I do need some time to think. I'd appreciate it if you'd find someplace else to be. Please?"

  "C'mon, girls. We'll leave Loki in peace, if that's what he wants.” Athena raised her eyes to Breed. “Grab me one of those too, will you? Then we'll get out of his hair."

  Breed grunted noncommittally and retrieved another bottle. She tossed it across to her. Athena popped the cap the same way the blond woman had, with a flick of her thumb. She took a hefty swig and winked at Loki. “Go talk to your lady,” she told him. “This isn't about you. It's about both of you."

  Nine

  Jaz found Baraz on the balcony off his loft bedroom, dappled by the main house's security lights filtered through the line of swaying trees strung between the two houses. He was brooding again. “Hey, Bee, what's up?"

  He aimed a narrow smile over his shoulder. “Just thinking."

  "You're always thinking,” she remarked. “And most of the time it's nothing good."

  "What, you're a mind reader now?"

  She shook her head. “Don't be silly. You mope around for hours at a time, barely saying a word, and I'm not supposed to know you're worried about something?"

  He looked back over the balcony, staring at the ground as if it offered some sort of refuge. “You can't stay here,” he said suddenly. “The boss knows you're here and he's freaking out. I've got until the end of the week to find you someplace else to go."

  "That's not your problem, Bee.” She ignored the sharp sting of betrayal. She knew this wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. She hadn't wanted to come here, but, in the past few weeks, it had almost come to feel like home. For the first time she'd actually felt safe.

  "I've made it my problem,” he said simply. “But I may have a solution. The Thorne Academy opens up for another class in a couple of days. I've made inquiries—they're willing to accept you."

  "The Thorne Academy. Isn't that the freak school over there by Stadium High?"

  Baraz nodded, wincing slightly at the word ‘freak.’ “That's the one."

  "I'm not a freak. Why would they take me?"

  He hesitated for a long second, then shook his head. “I sent a sample of your DNA to their lab to run a few tests. You're a viable candidate."

  "You did what?” She wasn't sure how to take that. Sending her DNA out seemed like such a violation, at least in one respect. But, then again, she knew what really being violated felt like. He'd done it out of concern for her welfare. It was hard to condemn him for that.

  Didn't mean she had to like it.

  "They say you carry at least one metavirus, and maybe something else on top of it."

  She couldn't believe he'd actually approached the school in the first place. He worked for Thomas Grey, the guy who'd been trying to get the school shut down. “Does your boss know about this?"

  He laughed. “Hardly. But I don't really give a shit if he does. What's he going to do, fire me? I'm not working for him because I need the goddam money. Money's the least of my problems."

  "What are you saying—that you're independently wealthy?"

  "Well, yeah,” he said, shrugging. “I am, actually."

  "Ever considered adopting?” she replied with a mischievous grin. Even if he had gone behind her back on this, she couldn't really be mad at him. He was probably the first adult male she'd ever met who hadn't tried something with her. He'd been a perfectly gentleman the whole time and, if she wanted to be absolutely truthful with herself, the closest thing to a father she'd ever known.

  "Not until recently,” he answered soberly. “Problem is that I doubt either of us want to jump through all the bullshit hoops the Department of Health and Human Services would throw up in our way."

  Jaz repressed a shudder. If the state got involved it would only be a matter of time before they found her uncle. And that wasn't something she even wanted to contemplate. “You're right about that."

  "Besides,” he continued, as if she hadn't spoken, “I doubt you want whoever you're hiding from to find you. Right?"

  She didn't know what to say to that. “Would I be safe at this Academy?"

  "From what I hear, yeah. The first six weeks or so is the most intense, I guess. It's tough on a lot of people, especially since you're sequestered and kept away from your family—which in this case would be me—and the outside world in general. It has something to do with what they're teaching you. They want to make sure you're in control before they let you back out into the world."

  "In control of what?"

  "Well ... according to the tests, they say you're a mage. That you have the genes to work magic."

  "I don't understand—how does that work?"

  "Hell if I know. That's just what they tell me."

  Something in his voice told her he wasn't being entirely truthful, but she decided to leave it be for now. “When?"

  "A couple of days. Before this weekend."

  "I'll be ready. Hey, Baraz? Don't spend the rest of the time sulking—if these are our last few days together, I want to do something fun."

  He nodded, a bit sadly, she thought. “Whatever you say, Jaz."

  "Good answer. Just remember that one."

  He frowned suddenly, shifting his gaze to the far corner of the estate, where a twelve foot wall separated it from the road. “We've got company."

  "Huh?"

  "Hush,” he said. “Go inside and lay low."

  My ass, she thought. She nodded and made as if to obey as he vaulted the balcony rail and dropped onto the lawn below. She turned around, crouched behind the rail, and watched as he jogged toward the wall.

  A large, dark, human shape lunged out of the shadows at him. The distance was great enough, and the yard dark enough, that she couldn't quite make out what was happening, but she recognized the obvious signs of a fight.

  Suddenly the security lights came on full, bathing the yard in a harsh glow. A big guy in a skin-tight purple outfit was grappling with Baraz, who seemed to be holding his own despite him being nearly twice his size.

  "Baraz!” Grey's voice rumbled through the loudspeakers. “Let him through."

  Baraz let go and stepped back. The intruder lashed out with a sudden blow that sent Baraz sprawling.

  Son of a bitch! Jaz nipped back into Baraz's room and grabbed his tanto—the short Japanese sword hanging on his wall. The k
atana hanging above it was too big for her, but the tanto was just the right size.

  She stuffed it, scabbard and all, down the side of her jeans, and climbed over the railing, lowering herself until she hung as close to the lawn below as possible. She let go, letting her legs absorb the shock as she hit.

  She whirled, spotting a security detail coming from the house. She sprinted the opposite direction, toward the guy now standing over Baraz as if he was planning to do more than just knock him down. She gave one last burst of speed and fairly flew at him, naked steel in her fist.

  As the big purple guy lifted his foot to stomp down she slid past him on the damp grass, tanto flashing as it bit through the back of his calf into his hamstring. He shrieked and spun on her, only to receive a wicked slash across his stomach as she darted in.

  He reached out toward her as she danced away, so she stabbed him through the hand. Blood poured from the wound. She gave a savage twist of her wrist that sliced up and severed two of his fingers. They fell to the ground at his feet.

  She set herself and started a lunge, but Baraz's shout drew her up short. “Jaz! No!"

  He was back on his feet, looking a bit shocked at the mayhem she'd conjured in such a short time. “Are you okay?” she asked him, eyeing the intruder warily.

  He didn't look like he was in any mood to continue the battle. He looked a little sick, actually, holding his stomach with one arm while staring disbelievingly at the blood flowing freely from his injured hand. He leaned down gingerly and plucked his two fingers from the grass. The flow of blood from his hand had stuttered and died, but nothing shocked her as much as watching him place to two fingers back on their stumps and hold them there, as if hoping they'd reattach themselves.

  The security team jogged up. Shepherd, Grey's security chief, was a fortyish man with a silver crew-cut and prominent sideburns, body built of dense muscle slowly tending toward fat. He cradled an AK-47 and motioned for his five officers to circle them into a net. “What the fuck's going on, Baraz?"

  "We had an intruder. I went to take care of it."

  "Taking care of intruders is our job, not yours. You're not head of security anymore, remember?” He said this as if taking some sadistic joy in it. “Put the knife down, miss,” he told Jaz.

  "Fuck you,” she replied calmly, leaning down and wiping the blood on the grass.

  The big purple guy snarled wordlessly down at her but nodded to Shepherd as the security detail moved to escort him toward the main house. Shepherd stayed behind, hand cupped to the comm unit attached to his ear. “That's it, Baraz. You're out of here. Boss says you're fired. Take your backpack and your chippie and get the hell out."

  Baraz said nothing, cracking his knuckles instead. His malevolent glare was nearly enough to make Shepherd take a step backward, but the rifle in the security chief's hands seemed to give him the courage to stand fast. “To quote the ‘chippie,'” he grunted finally, “fuck you, Shepherd.” He nodded toward Jaz and started for the house.

  "If you take anything out of the house that doesn't belong to you, Baraz, he's going to press charges,” Shepherd called after him.

  Jaz, trotting after Baraz, turned and flipped him off.

  "He's lucky I don't tear this place down around his ears,” Baraz muttered, apparently to himself.

  Jaz jogged up beside him and grinned ruefully. “This is more about me than it is about the big purple guy, isn't it?"

  "Fuck if I know. I've always hated that bastard. His boss too, for that matter."

  Jaz frowned. “Then why did you go to work for him?"

  "They say—'keep your friends close and your enemies closer.'” He shrugged. “Apparently Grey hasn't learned that lesson. Then again,” he added in afterthought, “I doubt he ever realized I was his enemy. He'll figure it out soon enough."

  * * * *

  An hour later they were walking out the front gate, Baraz with a great green canvas duffel bag over one shoulder, Jaz with her green and white nylon backpack. A taxi pulled up just as they reached the street. The cabbie leaned over, rolled down the passenger window. “You the one who called me?"

  "Yeah. Climb in the back, Jaz. I'll ride up front.” He waited for the cabbie to pop the trunk, through his duffel bag inside, then opened the passenger door and slid in. “Downtown—the Thorne Academy."

  "The Freak school?” The cabbie—a grizzled man in his mid-fifties with two days growth of salt-and pepper beard—scowled at him.

  "Yeah. The freak school. You get us there in the next twenty minutes there's a twenty dollar tip in it."

  The offer of extra money seemed to erase the man's objections. He threw the car into drive and sped down the road, whistling to himself as if he'd forgotten his passengers were even there.

  That lasted about a minute. “Hey, did you catch the news? Some big freak in purple spandex tried to rip his way into a bank downtown. Some of those Crimson Sash hotshots tried to stop him and got their asses handed to them. Took three PAC bunnies—” Bunnies? thought Jaz. What does he mean by bunnies? “—to take him down. Didn't help. Ten minutes later he was running amuck again. Didn't try to break into any more banks, though. Last I heard they didn't know where he went."

  Jaz and Baraz exchanged shocked looks. “Did you say purple spandex?” Baraz asked.

  "Yeah. Looked like a loon, if you ask me. Caught the vid on the early news. Real freak, that one."

  Well, thought Jaz, leaning back in the seat. So Mister Grey is inviting would-be bank robbers to his house. Now that's interesting.

  The taxi pulled up outside what appeared to be a dark, looming mansion just under twenty minutes later. Baraz dug out a fifty and handed it over. “Keep the change,” he said. He grabbed the duffel from the trunk and stood staring up at the building as he waited for Jaz to join him. “Well, this should be interesting."

  "What did you have in mind?” she asked, staring up at his blank expression.

  "Well ... we're going to sign you up for classes, and I'm going to apply for a job."

  "A job? Doing what?"

  "Hand to hand combat instructor,” Baraz replied. “Might have to show up whoever they've got doing it now,” he admitted with a shrug, “but that shouldn't be too hard."

  "Overconfident much?"

  "Never,” Baraz replied absently. “You going to ring the bell, or should I?"

  * * * *

  Ben fidgeted as he eyed the row of chairs outside the Dean's office. He felt too nervous to sit, and it was painfully clear just by looking at them that these particular chairs weren't meant for comfort anyway. They'd never put comfortable chairs anywhere you'd have to wait more than about five minutes. It was like a law or something.

  He smelled something familiar and whipped his head around just in time to see a short, squat man with a strangely shaped skull escorting a small, black haired girl through the door from the foyer. He held a massive green duffel bag with one hand as if it weighed nothing.

  "You!” He felt his fists tighten as he glared at the man he thought of as Grey's main lackey. What the hell was Baraz doing here?

  The little girl, rather than drawing away, stepped forward, reaching into her backpack. Her hazel eyes—an odd color for someone of obvious middle-eastern descent—were fierce and protective. A wide hand fell on her shoulder and Baraz murmured, “no. He's no threat."

  No threat? What does he mean by that? And what the hell does she have in her backpack? He sniffed and picked up the faintest trace of blood coming from somewhere near the girl. He scratched his head and raised his gaze to Baraz. “What are you doing here?"

  "Looking for a job,” he said smoothly. “You?"

  "I've gotta take some kind of weird test or someth—wait a minute. You said you're looking for a job? I thought you worked for Grey."

  "I did. Until tonight. Bastard fired me."

  "I know him,” Jaz murmured to Baraz, in a hushed whisper she probably figured Ben couldn't hear. “He's a werewolf. I saw him take down a bunch of gangers down
on Puyallup Avenue a few weeks ago."

  "A werewolf?” Baraz looked at him skeptically. “Are you sure?"

  She nodded. “I'm sure."

  Baraz's gaze was measuring now, as if assessing his threat potential all over again. “That explains a few things, I suppose.” He stepped forward, around the girl, and stuck out a thick-fingered hand. “No hard feelings? I'm Baraz."

  After a moment's hesitation, Ben took it. “No hard feelings. I'm Ben Dalmas. Just Baraz? Is that a first or a last name?"

  "Yes,” Baraz said obscurely, a hint of a smile touching his thick lips. “So you're going to be attending the Academy, then?"

  "If I pass this dumb test of theirs, anyway. Who's the kid?"

  "My adopted daughter, Jaz,” Baraz answered.

  "Oh. She going to be going here?"

  Baraz nodded. “That's the plan. She's already been accepted. Is she going to have to take this test, too?"

  "I don't know. You'll have to ask Dean Thoth."

  The office door opened abruptly. A tall, severe looking fellow wearing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses stuck his head out. “Ben Dalmas?"

  Ben nodded at him. “Yes, sir."

  "Come in. We're waiting for you.” He peered curiously at Baraz and Jaz. “Who are you?"

  "I'm Baraz, and this is my daughter, Jasmine. She's been accepted to the Academy already, but I'd like to apply for a job."

  "Huh. Well ... wait here a moment. Come on in, Mister Dalmas."

  Ben allowed himself to be ushered in.

  The office was almost circular, with the only solid wall being the one behind the desk, where a narrowly framed window let in a hint of light from the grounds outside. Both of the walls on the side were lined with oddly curved bookshelves. The desk was deep and wide, its surface littered with several piles of paper.

  A small, extremely pale woman with long dark brown hair stood at the window. She turned as he entered and flashed a warm smile. “Hello, Ben. Good to see you again."

  He nodded. He never quite knew what to say to things like that.

  She paused a second, then shrugged. “I'll be issuing your suitability test."