Winterhawk reacted instantly: snatching the backpack containing the dragon, he pointed his hand at the window next to him and blew it outward in a hail of armored glass shards. A couple of seconds after that, he had lifted off the seat and was zooming out through the opening he’d made. “Out, Cody!” he called over his shoulder.
I was already feeling woozy from the gas, but I was expecting something to happen and moved fast enough to avoid the worst of it. Casting my own levitate spell, I flew out the window behind him. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder in time to see the driver’s face, red with rage as he watched us slip his trap. His window was coming down. I didn’t wait to see what he had planned.
“Hostiles ahead,” Spassky said over the comm. “I’ll get my toys on ’em.”
Everything was moving so fast I was having a hard time keeping track of what was happening. Winterhawk had hit the ground and rolled—I wasn’t surprised he looked a little pale after taking out that armored window. I kept my levitation spell up and zipped over toward one of the warehouses, trying to find cover. Spotting a junker car missing its wheels, I ducked behind it and tried to get a view of the scene.
Voices chattered in my ear, getting off clipped reports one after the other. Greta was yelling for ’Hawk and me to get back to the car. I crept along behind my junker trying to get closer—I’d just gotten a glimpse of Greta’s car screaming up toward us when a loud brown crack split the air and something huge and impossibly bulky rose up out of the street in front of it. Holy drek, that was the biggest earth spirit I’d ever seen in my life! It was bigger than Dax!
As I stared in horror, it tore itself free of the street, flinging chunks of plascrete in every direction. Greta tried to stop the car but it was too close: she succeeded in slewing it sideways and hitting the spirit with the passenger side instead of head-on, but it raised a rocky fist and slammed it down on the car’s hood. The thud echoed through the air and bounced off the warehouses on either side. Greta scrambled free of the wreck, clutching her big gun, and backed off.
I fought to get my breath and my heartbeat under control. This wasn’t some small battle like at my doss, or even at Uncle Mason’s place. This was the big time, and if I didn’t keep my wits about me, I’d get flattened like roadkill. For a second I thought about just firing up my invisibility spell and getting out—Winterhawk and his team didn’t owe me anything, and I didn’t owe them anything.
Except I did. They’d saved my life at Uncle Mason’s place, and that little dragon in a jar was what had gotten all my friends killed. Even if I didn’t owe my team anything, I was damned if I was gonna just take off and let those asswipes on the other side have it.
I popped my head up again, carefully. Winterhawk wasn’t in the middle of the street anymore; he’d gotten behind some cover on the same side of the street as me and was currently trying to deal with the earth spirit, which, after it had destroyed the car, was looking for a new target. Something spanged into the car he was behind with a metallic blue pop, and he moved quickly around where I couldn’t see him.
“Sniper on the roof,” came Spassky’s voice. “Marking it. I’ll see if I can take it out.” I had no idea what he meant by “marking it,” but I glanced around anyway. I couldn’t see any snipers.
It occurred to me that for a team as well organized as our opposition, they didn’t seem to be attacking with the kind of coordination I’d expected. It only took me a second to realize why: we’d fragged up their plans! Or rather, I had. They’d set up some kind of ambush for us, and we’d almost reached it when I’d recognized our driver’s voice and tipped Winterhawk off. That meant whatever they’d set up was still ahead of us. It couldn’t have been far, though, not if snipers were shooting at us.
Ocelot zoomed by on his motorcycle, back toward Greta’s car. There was a high-pitched whine and something exploded just behind it. He reacted quickly, but not quickly enough—the bike bucked and flung him off. Without thinking, I threw off a levitate spell and grabbed him, lowering him to the ground. He leaped up, unhurt, and dived for cover. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to toss off too many more spells before I tired myself out, so I had to make them count.
“Sniper’s down,” Spassky’s voice came over the link.
I took quick stock again, popping up like some kind of urban prairie dog. Greta had left the earth spirit to Winterhawk and sprinted off behind cover on the other side of the street, where she was exchanging fire with the driver of our van.
Winterhawk himself, the backpack still securely slung over one shoulder, was focusing on the spirit. He waved his hands in an intricate pattern and something formed in front of him, pulled from the piles of garbage, trash cans, and other bits of the street and whirling around until it formed a vague humanoid shape as big as the earth spirit. He snapped a harsh syllable at it and pointed toward the dirt creature, and it rumbled off with a series of metallic clangs and clatters to engage it.
At the other end of the street, the one we’d been heading toward, something else was approaching. I couldn’t get a good look at it because it was staying close to the wall, but it didn’t move like any kind of metahuman I’d ever seen. “Something’s coming,” I said over the ‘link. “Fast.”
Ocelot had seen it too. “On it,” he said, leaping out from his cover and sprinting off. He looked like he was pulling something small from his pocket, but I couldn’t make it out.
Something slammed into my junker car. I dived sideways, eyes wide, realizing I’d just been shot at—and almost hit! Okay, so much for my theory that they’d leave me alone because I was a nobody. I was in the fight, so I was a target. Panting, I flung up my invisibility spell and headed for fresh cover. The shots weren’t repeated, so I guess whatever had fired at me couldn’t see me.
A bright red-pink scream through the comm snapped my head up. Greta! I watched, helpless, as a round from the driver’s assault rifle found a space between her armor. Blood erupted from her and she spun to the ground. A second later, one of Spassky’s drones stitched him with automatic fire and he fell too.
The thing that had been heading toward Ocelot was close enough to see now. For a moment I just stared. What was that thing? Was it a dragon? Couldn’t be—it was too small to be a dragon. But it was definitely something reptilian, and it moved every bit as fast as Ocelot. Their bodies blurred as they slammed into each other, darting in and out like a pair of jungle cats. I thought about trying to help, but I was afraid I’d aim wrong and end up hitting Ocelot. Instead, I moved off toward where I’d last seen Winterhawk.
The two spirits were still taking each other apart, their large-scale urban renewal sending up clouds of dust and hunks of ’crete and dirt. They seemed evenly matched—there was no way I wanted to even try getting into the middle of that.
Trying to get a bit of perspective on the scene, I levitated up to the roof of the nearest warehouse. After verifying that nobody else was there, I dropped the invisibility and settled down in a crouch, panting. Combat casting was hard when you weren’t used to it!
From up here I could see better: Winterhawk had located the other team’s spellslinger, a dark-skinned woman crouched behind a dumpster on the other side of the street, and the two of them were flinging major mojo at each other. Like the spirits, they seemed fairly equally matched, but I knew from experience they wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long. They were stronger than me by a long way, but they were also throwing a lot bigger spells. Fortunately, Spassky had seen the battle, too—I could see one of his small, armed drones moving into position. It let loose a barrage of fire at the woman, who was forced to duck back behind her cover. Winterhawk did the same, puffing with exertion.
And then, from the corner of my eye, I saw something zooming fast toward him. I couldn’t even get a warning out before it was on him. It was another guy on a small, fast bike, crouched low over its tank. Instead of hitting Winterhawk, though, it appeared to just zoom past him. It was halfway down the street before I realized wh
at the guy had done: He’d sliced the strap on the backpack holding the dragon embryo!
“He’s got the dragon!” I yelled into the comm.
He was moving so fast, though, that none of our team was close enough that they’d be able to stop him. Ocelot was still tied up with the dragon-looking thing. Greta was down, probably dead. It was out of Winterhawk’s line of sight, and his spirit was busy beating up Dirtman. Spassky might be able to get it, but it was moving so fast I couldn’t count on that.
It was up to me.
I acted without thinking. Gathering mana, I focused on the fast-moving bike and used a spell that I’d used a lot at work, but never in the wild. I’d fantasized about it a few times, but usually throwing up mana barriers in front of people in public is frowned upon by polite society.
Frag polite society. This asshole wasn’t getting away with Uncle Mason’s dragon.
The glowing barrier shimmered into existence in front of the bike, so perfectly placed that I figured for once in my life maybe the gods figured they owed me one. The guy had no time to stop—I doubt he even saw the barrier before he slammed into it. The bike, being inorganic, went right through, but the rider was stopped like he’d hit a brick wall—which he sort of had. The guy hit the ground with a splat, and the backpack skittered away.
By that time Spassky had caught up. One of his little drones dropped down and neatly snatched the pack. It hesitated for a moment, then soared up and dropped the pack into my lap as I sat there panting on the roof. It dipped its rotors in salute, then scooted off again. I clutched the pack and listened as the fight raged on below me.
At this point I really hoped we were winning, because I was so exhausted I didn’t think I could be any more help.
Saying the restaurant where we got back together that evening was the nicest I’d ever been in would be like saying trolls are kind of bumpy. The only reason I didn’t feel completely out of place was that we had a small back dining room to ourselves, so I didn’t have to put up with all the beautiful people giving my cheap suit the stink-eye. I didn’t want the meal to be over, but too soon it was.
Winterhawk waited until after the waiters had cleared away our plates and made themselves scarce before turning to me. “Before we leave,” he said, “I just wanted to say: well done. And thank you.”
His words hit me like I hadn’t felt in years, since back when Uncle Mason used to give me rare praise for getting a spell just right.
“Thanks.” I shrugged. “I guess I didn’t have a choice, really. My ass was on the line back there, too.”
The dragon baby had been safely delivered earlier that day. Winterhawk had introduced me to a tall, dark-haired man he called “Quicksilver,” who had assured me that the little guy would be given proper respect. I liked him instantly, though I wasn’t sure why.
“I guess it’s over, then,” I said. “Do you think they’ll come after me now?”
“Hard to say,” he said. “Knowing what I do about who was funding them, I doubt it. It’s not good business, and he’s not quite as fanatical as some.”
I nodded, looking down at my plate. So there it was. They’d be leaving, and I’d be back to being Cody the Slacker. Except now I was Cody the Jobless, Friendless, Family-less Slacker. Great. Even Greta, the only one of them who’d admitted to being local, was dead.
“There is the matter of your cut, though,” Winterhawk was saying.
My head snapped up. “Cut?”
He nodded. “You’ve got a knack for this sort of thing. Without your quick thinking, that job would have ended quite badly. I’d say that’s worth a cut of our payment for it.”
I looked at him, then at Ocelot. He was expressionless, but he nodded. “Damn right.”
’Hawk held up his commlink so I could see the number on it. “Is that acceptable?”
I stared. Swallowed. Swallowed again. The digits showed more cred than I’d seen all at once in my life. Almost as much as I’d have made in a year at my job back at ManaSure. It would be enough to get me set up in some other town until I could figure out what I wanted to do with myself.
Except I knew what I wanted to do with myself.
I took the plunge. “Tell you what,” I said. “How about I take half of that amount? And something else.”
His eyebrow crept up. “Something else?”
“Yeah. I got nothing left to hold me here anymore. I’ve never really known what I wanted to do with my life. Now I do. I want to do this.”
Both of them looked surprised. I wasn’t sure what I expected: laughter, scorn, contempt? I got none of that. They glanced at each other, then Winterhawk shrugged. “We could arrange to introduce you to some people, if that’s what you want. You understand it would be a bit more—prosaic—than this?”
I had no idea what “prosaic” meant, but I got the gist. “If you mean I’d have to start at the bottom, I figured that.”
Winterhawk nodded. “Done, then.” He switched a number on his ’link and finished the transfer. “We’ll be in touch,” he said, rising. And then they were gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I looked down at the number on my ’link for a moment, then initiated another transfer. I didn’t need much to live on. The rest would make sure that Dax and Mimi’s daughter Katie and her grandmother would get by, at least for a while.
I got up, took one last look around a place I probably wouldn’t see again for a very long time, and exited onto the rainy Seattle street. I was pretty sure I’d get a good night’s sleep tonight.
Hey, you gotta be well-rested when you’re starting a new job.
Blind Magic
Dylan Birtolo
Lucas pressed his body against the wall, the cold of the metal seeping through his clothes and chilling his skin. He watched the indistinct image of an excavation worker as she walked in front of him, unaware of his presence. Lucas smiled, confident in his spirit’s abilities as it concealed him from both man and machine. It wasn’t perfect, but as long as he wasn’t observed too intensely, the illusion would hold. It affected his perception, like he was looking through a constant thin storm cloud with the occasional flash of lightning. But it was a view he’d gotten used to over the years.
He was almost at his destination, a nearby door with a sign that read EXECUTIVES ONLY. Before getting to it, Lucas once again changed his perception, sliding his consciousness partially into the astral realm. Yes, the room was as he pictured it. The spirit was right: it was heavily warded against magical entry. However, only a simple lock protected the physical door.
He needed to see what was in there. The elders had sent him to investigate this towered excavation facility, located deep in Salish-Shidhe territory. The council had sanctioned the construction and operation of this structure—part of the standing agreement with the Evo Corporation. However, some elders had also voiced concerns that the corporation was overreaching their influence. Lucas was here to check on that potential breach of trust, and if so, to handle it appropriately.
So far, the mission had been a joke. Evo put too much faith in their obscure location, and barely had any security. In the entire complex, Lucas had found only four security guards, none of whom were Awakened. The only thing that seemed at all out of place was this box of a room, warded against magical intrusion. He could have easily taken the wards down and sent his spirit in to investigate, but that might have triggered any number of traps or alarms. Lucas thought a better idea would be to investigate in person. And here he was.
The handle tingled in his hand when he grabbed it, sending small jolts of energy up his arm. It wasn’t painful, but he knew something powerful and mystical had to be on the other side of this door. Perhaps Evo was hiding something after all. He pulled a bump key from his jacket pocket. Sometimes, even with all the technology in the world, the simplest solutions were best. He slid it into place and put tension on the handle as he worked the lock. After a couple of tries, the lock gave way.
With one final look down the hal
lway in both directions, Lucas eased the door open and stepped into the room beyond.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, he felt it. What had been a slight tingling in his arm grew to a prickling, burning sensation over his entire body. It wasn’t powerful enough to actually burn, but every nerve itched at the same time.
The room had no other exits, and the only feature was a pedestal holding a small stone idol. The idol looked like a sculpture of some beast god, but that was all Lucas could determine in a brief glance. For as soon as his gaze fell upon it, the statue flashed a blinding light that sent spears of fire through Lucas’s eyes into the back of his skull.
He screamed and fell back, raising his hand to his eyes and feeling sticky wetness. He tried to keep pressure on the wounds, but the pain overwhelmed all sense of logic. The spirit concealing him tore away, disappearing in response to the sudden shock of pain transmitted through their psychic link.
From some distant part of his mind, Lucas was vaguely aware that the prickling sensation had stopped. Or maybe it was that he couldn’t feel it anymore. His eyes felt on fire, the flames threatening to engulf his entire head. He writhed on the floor, with no idea what was going on. Oblivion threatened to consume him, and the temptation to give in was almost too much to resist. Lucas forced the desire down out of sheer instinct, the ability for rational thought having long since fled.
Eventually he ran out of air and stopped screaming, gulping down a breath. His throat was raw, but it helped to jar him back to some semblance of awareness. Lucas managed to roll over onto his hands and knees and start crawling toward the door. His hand made a sickening wet sound when it smacked against the floor. In the distance, he heard people screaming, the shouts indecipherable.
Lucas knew he’d never escape like this. He collapsed to the ground, not having enough energy to stay on hands and knees. The floor was like ice against his cheek, and his nose was filled with the coppery odor of his own blood. Focusing his will, Lucas pushed his senses down, suppressing their signals and trying to look internally.
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