“It’s—it’s too much,” he said winded.
“Nonsense!”
Steve looked up in the direction of this new voice and found Azinon peering down at him. The sorcerer crouched on the edge of the second story roof of the warehouse, and then he was in the air, the tails of his overcoat buffeting in the rush of wind as he fell to earth. He landed as though the twenty-five foot fall had been merely a hop from a step stool, barely causing a wrinkle to the expensive black Armani power suit he wore beneath his open front coat. He made a lifting motion with one hand and the dumpster rose into the air like a balloon buffeted on a breeze.
“It is simply a matter of knowing how,” he said, and then curled his fingers and flicked them open again in a dismissive gesture that sent the dumpster careening down the alley, gouging out chunks of brick from the walls and scoring the asphalt as it bounced and tumbled unpredictably side to side toward the street.
Lurin was already diving to the side. “Look out!”
Scott, Haldorum and Haze dodged to the right just as the mass of steel rushed past them. Scott lifted his head and watched as it tumbled out into the street and narrowly missed his father’s van by inches. Scott muttered a quick prayer of thanks before leaping back to his feet.
Azinon turned his head slowly and looked Steve up and down with an appraising eye. “You’ve changed somewhat since we last met.” He indicated Steve’s face with a vague gesture, “I must say, I love what you’ve done with your eyes. It lends you a certain...credibility.”
The wounded thief edged away from the two men, cradling his broken arm against his chest.
The dark sorcerer glanced at the pathetic transient amused. “I must admit, I did not think you capable of such brutality. I like it.” Pointedly, he added, “I could use it.”
Steve eyed him warily and Kayliss began to circle this newly arrived threat.
“Calm your kitten. I did not come here for a fight.”
“Unlike before?” Steve hissed.
Haldorum entered the alley slowly. “Are you all right, Steven?” Scott, Lurin and Haze remained behind at the wizard’s insistence, but Lurin held an arrow across his bow.
Steve pointed at him angrily. “Stay where you are!” Haldorum halted, looking confused, but advanced no further. Steve maneuvered himself so he could watch both men at the same time. “Both of you just stay where you are.”
“You need not fear me,” Azinon said coolly showing both hands. “I am here to help you, Steven. I can feel the hatred you harbor for the old man from here. Imagine what we two could do united against our common enemy.”
Haldorum straightened, looking more confused than ever. “Hatred?” The old wizard reached out then and touched the psychic energy radiating from the young man and his eyes widened in surprise.
“Steve,” he said evenly, as non-threateningly, as he could. “Steve, I am not your enemy. Azinon seeks to do you harm. He is our enemy in this war. Do you remember?”
“That is a lie,” Azinon said calmly. “You know what I say is true. If I had wished to destroy you I could have done so before you ever even knew I was above you. Could I not?”
Steve could not deny that truth. The sorcerer could indeed have struck at him from his perch and he would have never seen it coming. But Haldorum didn’t—if he…Steve shut his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to sort out the jumble of his conflicting thoughts. Why was it so hard to think!? He clasped his hands over his ears to try and block out the roar, like violent ocean waves crashing around him, always in the background of his mind.
Haldorum stepped hesitantly. “Steven, please. Listen to me.”
Before either of them could say another word, Steve gave a frustrated sound and leaped to the tiger’s back and then urged him away. The great cat bounded past the old wizard and did not slow in the face of Lurin and Haze. The woodsman dodged left and Haze moved right as Kayliss barreled forth between them.
Azinon laughed.
Lurin rose to his feet and pulled his bowstring to his cheek. “I will wipe that smile, sorcerer.”
“No!” Haldorum said waving him off as he ran back. “We haven’t time for a fight! We have to find him!”
Lurin hesitated, but then relented, releasing the tension of his bow without loosing and followed the wizard out of the alley.
Scott was already in the van with the engine thrumming when the three of them piled in through the side door. He did not even wait for the door to slide shut before he floored the gas pedal.
At Steve’s command Kayliss turned right at the next intersection, sending two lines of oncoming traffic into a split of screeching tires and blaring horns down the middle of the street. Pedestrians to the right scampered for cover as cars veered up onto the sidewalk, smashing into light poles and overturning newspaper and mailboxes; while still others veered left and then struggled to avoid colliding head-on with opposing traffic.
“Do not lose him!” Haldorum cried pointing.
“Hang on!” Scott shouted. The van rose up on two wheels as he pulled the wheel sharply right. The vehicle would have continued to roll to its side had he not then jerked the wheel left, bringing the other two wheels back down hard, simultaneously veering them into the opposite lane of traffic. Scott swerved right again, just missing a Volkswagen Bug and throwing Lurin and Haze across the van for a third time.
The worst of it over, Haldorum exhaled. “Well done, Scott.”
“Thanks,” he replied. “Hey, what the hell is up with Steve’s eyes? Is he sick?”
“More likely possessed.”
“What?!”
“Look out, Scott!” Lurin shouted.
The moment Steve and Kayliss raced across the next intersection, a black Cadillac, screaming on its tires, turned sharply into their lane to speed at them head on.
“Shit!” Scott barked with wide eyes. “What’s with this?”
“Azinon,” Haldorum said. He reached forward and placed both his hands on the dash of the van. “Head straight for him.”
“What?!”
Haldorum did not answer, choosing instead to close his eyes as he muttered the ancient words to an arcane spell. A mild blue glow enveloped his hands and then spread outward to the dashboard. Scott made a face as it moved across the steering wheel, over his hands and up his arms. It did not stop, moving over everything until the whole of the vehicle and the passengers within all emanated the same blue glow.
The Cadillac increased speed and swerved in turn, matching move for move Scott’s attempts to avoid a collision.
“Don’t try to avoid him,” Haldorum directed.
“Are you crazy?” Scott said incredulous. “He’s going to ram us!”
“Not while we are intangible.”
Lurin looked worried and his tone said as much. “Haldorum, you said this world affects your powers. How can you be sure?”
With no other choice, Scott laid the pedal to the floor and pressed himself back against his seat. “I knew this was going to be a bad day.”
The two vehicles closed to the point of impact, but the black Caddy hit them like a rushing zephyr. For a split second, time seemed to stand still as the van and the Cadillac existed as one superimposed figure over the other.
In the next moment, the two separated and Scott—who had been holding his breath—exhaled explosively. He checked his rearview mirror in time to see Azinon’s car careen around the next corner out of sight.
Haldorum was looking frantically left and right. He scanned the streets, the sidewalks to either side, but the young man and tiger they pursued were gone.
“Damn! Azinon didn’t want to hit us; just distract us.”
Scott almost did not see the streetlight ahead of them change to red. He pressed the brake pedal hard and brought the van to a screeching stop just before reaching the white line.
For the first time in what seemed a very long time he did nothing but breathe. They were all quiet for a full minute before finally he said to Haldor
um, “I think I’m starting to understand why you make Steve so nervous.”
Lurin snorted. “You should try working for him.”
Steve relaxed against the driver’s side door of a white Toyota pickup, seizing the opportunity to rest and think. With two different parties searching for him—and likely the local authorities—he needed to find an alternate means of transportation. Besides, riding around Seattle on the back of a twelve-hundred pound tiger was just not conducive to anonymity.
The car lot of the Dodge dealership Kayliss and himself had taken shelter in proved the perfect place to be alone. Apparently, no one wanted to shop for a car this late in the evening on a Friday night.
Wait a minute.
Steve motioned for Kayliss to remain hidden between the two parked pickup trucks and then walked toward the large central showroom. Despite the dearth of customers, the lights remained on and no sooner had he stepped through the glass double doors than a well-dressed salesperson—Dave Orlong, by his name tag—in khaki pants and sports coat approached him smiling from ear to ear.
“Something I can help you with, young man?”
Steve smiled and shielded his eyes with one hand as though the sun was shining down overhead. “Sorry, I’m on antibiotics so I’m a little light sensitive,” he said by way of excuse. The salesman gave him a curious look but said nothing. “Anyway, my birthday is tomorrow and I’m interested in that white truck you have out there. My dad told me to pick out the one I wanted, just so long as I don’t go crazy with the extras.”
Dave’s face lit up at that. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” He disappeared briefly into one of the offices and then returned with a pair of keys dangling on his finger. With a deft motion, he tossed them to Steve and then together they walked out of the building.
Steve pressed the remote and unlocked the doors to a white Dodge Ram 4x4 with chrome rims and eight cylinders under the hood. The two men entered, Steve in the driver’s seat, and the engine thrummed to life with a turn of the key. Dave gave him an appreciative grin at the sound.
“Lots of power in this baby,” he said.
Lots of power. Steve snorted humorlessly at the thought.
“What the!...” the salesman stammered as the truck bounced heavily on its shocks. He glanced back over his shoulder and nearly wet himself as the tiger on the other side of the glass bared its fangs in a hiss.
In the midst of Dave’s terrified distraction, Steve reached across and opened the passenger side door. The salesman toppled out of the vehicle in the next moment at a shove from him. Suddenly exposed, and likely fearful of being eaten alive, Dave had the presence of mind to quickly scrabble beneath the next vehicle over. Steve only laughed.
He released the emergency brake and hit the gas. The passenger door swung closed as the truck lurched forward over the curb and then sped out onto the street.
Azinon watched from the other side of the lot with a malicious grin. He held out his hand palm up and a wisp of smoke swirled briefly and took shape. Elated at its summoning—an escape, really—from the ethereal realm, the tiny winged imp danced and spun in wild joy.
“Follow him,” Azinon said simply. The tiny imp stopped abruptly, for it could do nothing else but comply. The tiny winged servant of the ethereal plane bowed deeply to his master’s command and then shot upward into the night sky like an arrow.
People swerved and honked their horns in agitation, but Steve didn’t care. He raced past them heedless of their protests in his hurry to put miles between himself and all otherworldly visitors. The towering structure of the Space Needle loomed high in the distance and called to him like a beacon. In the main body of Seattle he could easily lose himself in the night life. There were at least a half dozen clubs he could name off the top of his head with crowds large enough to hide someone who didn’t want to be found.
Twenty minutes later Steve pulled the truck onto the “loop” that circled the hot spot of the city. Traffic moved steadily—as the streetlights allowed—and consisted mostly of young people in their late teens and early twenties, all of whom wanted nothing more than to cruise the loop for a good time.
Stay low, Steve cautioned. Kayliss growled his assent and lowered his head, his body already hidden beneath the weatherproof car cover the young wizard stopped long enough to throw over him earlier.
Up the street, the bright lights of “The Oz” dance club coruscated in a multi-colored invitation, drawing most of the Friday night crowd to its doors. Steve circled around the back side of the club and then parked in the rear lot.
“Stay here,” he said to Kayliss. The cat answered with a wave of emotion interpreted only as disappointment. Steve sighed and then jumped into the bed of the truck. “I can’t take you inside,” he explained, stroking the thick fur on the tiger’s head. He then smiled and added, “But feel free to come and get me if things get too exciting in there.” Kayliss licked his hand with a coarse tongue in acceptance and Steve left it at that.
A minute later, he rounded the corner of the building and then walked without care to the head of the lengthy line ending at the front doors of the establishment. There a well-dressed man wearing a black tuxedo with white shirt checked I.D.s before waving people inside. Tall and muscular, all the regulars recognized him as one of the bouncers not one to be trifled with.
The man reached out and grabbed Steve by the arm as he attempted to walk past. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
Steve jerked his arm away and then glanced at the bouncer’s nametag. “Inside, Lyle.” He spoke the name as if the very syllables were rancid on his tongue.
The bouncer’s face twisted into a scowl. “First of all, watch how you say my name. Second, you wait in line like everyone else.”
Steve glanced once over his shoulder and snorted. He flipped out his driver’s license and then pointed out his age. “Line’s too long, Lyle; but I’m nice and legal-like.” He turned to walk inside but the bouncer’s strong hand clamped down on his shoulder.
“Don’t make me—“ he started to say.
Steve whirled around. He seized a fistful of the bouncer’s jacket and threw him into the opposite wall. The breath left Lyle’s lungs explosively, and he then slumped to the ground gasping for air. Steve smoothed the fabric of his shirt and then went inside beneath a plethora of astonished stares.
The corridor beyond the entrance grew darker the farther he walked, until finally opening up under dim lights, thundering speakers, and an enormous crowd of people. Strobes flashed from above and spotlights tumbled on mechanized spindles in time with a techno beat roaring from variously placed, six-foot tall speakers. Steve maneuvered his way inconspicuously through the press of bodies, lifting a pair of sunglasses from someone’s back pocket as he went. He moved to the center of the club and stopped at a guardrail overlooking a sunken, hexagonal dance floor below, and rest his forearms upon it. The air wafting from the mass of bodies below came to him hot and humid, carrying with it the smell of deodorant, hormones, and a hundred different perfumes. Steve’s attention shifted from one person to the next as he watched them gyrate in time to the music—some more skillfully than others.
After a time, a young blond woman, no more than nineteen years of age, passed nearby and Steve took her by the hand. Shouting over the music he asked, “Do you want to dance?”
She leaned closer to him. “What?” she asked just as loudly.
The perfumed scent of her hair filled his nostrils and he shouted even louder than before. “Do you want to dance?”
She nodded. “Sure!”
Steve led her around the guardrail and down the short flight of stairs. The music thumped with a fast-paced energy and they joined the crowd of dancing young people without a care in the world. The girl smiled and raised her arms into the air as she and Steve danced closer together against the press of the crowd. In less than a minute, however, the song abruptly ended, and a much slower melody took its place. All over the dance floor couples came together,
wrapping their arms around each other in slow, undulating rhythm.
The young blond—Steve still didn’t know her name—stepped closer and asked, “Who are you, anyway?”
Steve backed away a step. Something in the way she approached reminded him of Amy. Her arms snaked up around his neck and he steeled himself against her touch.
Feeling his body go rigid, she asked, “Is something wrong?”
Steve remained silent, forcing himself to endure but unable to relax under her innocent contact. He reached up then and slowly eased her arms back down to her sides.
“It will not happen again,” he said. He walked away leaving her standing alone on the dance floor.
He ascended the steps quickly, feeling the press of his anger flare anew. Mike Simly, Amy Weiland, Haldorum; they taught him a lesson he would never allow himself to forget. Steve moved purposefully to the back of the club and then seated himself at a small empty table in the corner.
Never again.
Steve could not be certain how long he sat there, brooding in silence and entertaining dark thoughts of revenge. He only knew the slow song played itself out, and then several more faster techno songs followed, and still he remained there unmoving. Only when the dark figure of a man approached and stood before him did Steve come out of his sullen revelry.
He glanced up and just shook his head. “None of you can seem to take a hint.”
Azinon gathered the folds of his overcoat about himself and then took a seat opposite the young man. Looking about he said, “You’re a clever one, aren’t you? Amid a crowd of so many, you are truly difficult to find.” He looked at Steve pointedly. “Unless I already know where to look.”
Steve carefully, without moving his head, looked around for anything he could use as a weapon.
“You needn’t fear me,” Azinon said, noticing the attempt without evident concern. “I am not here to harm you. I would think you might find that obvious after my help in the alley.”
Steve sighed and sat back in his chair. The sorcerer obviously had many talents, so the situation was going to require a bit of imagination. “All right,” he said, “I’m relaxed, but I trust you no more now than I did then.”
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