by TR Cameron
Fyre was only a blur in her peripheral vision in the instant before he powered into her. She dimly heard the gunshots as they tumbled and as she landed beneath him, the realization that he’d saved her swept through her and left the acid taste of disaster narrowly avoided on her tongue. “Get up high, buddy,” she muttered quietly. “I’ll distract ʼem and you freeze ʼem.”
She rolled into a backward somersault to rise to her feet and summoned her sticks to her hands again in time to block a fire beam from the female Atlantean.
“You’re breaking the rules, witch,” Cali yelled and raced toward the attacker with her weapons crossed to continue absorbing the magical attack.
The other woman sneered and while she might have been attractive, her face was sweaty and her mascara ran in dark streaks under each eye. Her shiny, long black hair was in a tangle, and her standard-issue Atlantean gang uniform of jeans and a hoodie looked overly worn. “I don’t give a damn about the rules. The higher-ups are gonna be happy you’re dead no matter how it happens.”
Fyre’s ice breath washed over her and coated her in an instant. It cut off Cali’s opportunity for a reply and she smothered the threat she’d had ready. A quick twist revealed that the man in the tan coat had retrieved his weapon and now attempted to find a clear shot at her. One of the Atlantean men sprawled about halfway between her and the human gang, bleeding from several holes in his chest. Tanyith stood over the still form of the third Zatora, his foot raised over the man’s head like he intended to trample him to finish the fight.
“Tanyith, left,” she shouted and threw her sticks again. The human gang leader dodged them easily but it gave her partner time to recognize the danger and launch himself toward the rooftops.
Okay, two Zatoras are down but alive, one Atlantean is bleeding, and the other is a popsicle. Where’s the third?
The answer came as a blast of lightning from behind a nearby set of stairs. It almost caught her but she’d noticed his hands as they rose into view and summoned a reflexive shield. The force barrier absorbed the energy and channeled it away into nothingness. Before she could launch her own attack, gunfire exploded and he fell. She craned her head upward to locate the source and saw matching glints on rooftops on both sides of the street.
She sensed Fyre heading to one and hoped Tanyith would deal with the other, but it would be too risky to attack the Zatora leader without knowing for sure. With a growl of frustration, she launched herself toward the opposite side of the road from the Draksa. The man on the roof leveled the rifle at her and fired as she landed. The first bullet struck between her feet but she was already moving as the barrel climbed. A clean cartwheel to her left—one of the few gymnastics moves she was comfortable with—carried her mostly out of the path of the incoming rounds. One caught the reinforced heel of the boots she’d taken from her parents’ bunker but it failed to penetrate.
Thanks again, guys. She missed them whenever she thought of them, but now that she had accepted the mantle of family matriarch, her feelings had changed. They were no longer entirely painful but were tempered with her responsibility to keep their legacy alive and accomplish the tasks they’d begun. Starting with protecting my city from scumbags like these.
Cali threw the two sticks in sequence this time and they tumbled toward her attacker. She didn’t have an angle to deliver a force blast without the risk that it might hurl him off the roof, so she muttered a curse and followed them in. He wrenched the barrel down and positioned the weapon in the perfect place to intercept the projectiles she’d hurled and still fire at her. Damn. He’s good. Unfortunately for him, I’m better.
With less than a second to spare, she created a sheet of force magic over the roof and as he pulled the trigger, she slid like a runner going toward home plate. The virtually frictionless surface channeled her momentum directly into his shins, and the sharp kick she delivered as she arrived knocked them out from under him. A snapping sound signified at least one fracture and he howled in pain as she rose, kicked his rifle off the building, and used her force magic to cushion her leap off the building before she paused and surveyed the battlefield.
Fyre had apparently already dealt with the enemy on his side—or Tanyith had—and the Draksa swooped toward the street. The man in the tan suit fired at him and he broke off his attack run and circled to approach from another direction. The use of a revolver would limit the shots, and the canny dragon lizard forced him to waste bullets. She sent admiration and received a distinct lack of humility in return.
With a shake of her head, she dispatched a precisely aimed force blast to knock the gun out of the Zatora leader’s hand again and stood over the weapon before he could recover it. She kicked it back with her heel. “It’s a pretty weapon but not the most practical choice.”
He scowled. Up close, he was vaguely handsome with a strong, clean-shaven face and the build of a runner, from what she could see of the lines of his body. His tie was plain blue and he’d apparently left his suit jacket at home in favor of the trench coat.
“There are different definitions of practical,” he replied. “The jerk over there is still alive after taking three rifle rounds. One shot from me would have put him all the way out, easy.”
“Too bad you couldn’t hang onto it.”
“You’ll get yours, waitress,” he countered with a shrug. She raised an eyebrow and he laughed. “Of course I know who you are. There’s only one redhead teenager who thinks she’s cool for mixing it up with her betters.”
She glared at him. “First, age is only a number. Second, everyone in the city is better than you and your buddies. So, watch this.” She yanked her phone out of her pocket, dialed, and pressed the speaker button at the right moment.
“Barton here. What do you need?” She grinned at the response.
Cali put as much sweetness in her tone as she could manage. “Hey, Detective. A number of gang members seem to have been involved in a fight with each other. You should send one of those things. You know, the cop van.”
A heavy sigh from the other end of the line preceded her exasperated reply. “A paddy wagon? Is that what you mean?”
“Yeah, that.” Tanyith stepped beside her with a small smile on his face.
“You do realize that term is completely politically incorrect and offensive to the Irish, right?”
“I’m not trying to offend anyone other than you. Speaking of which, I’m here with your boyfriend and he’s all hot and sweaty.”
A rueful laugh escaped Detective Kendra Barton. “Tay, is anything she says true?”
He replied cheerfully and completely ignored the gang member. “I am hot, I am sweaty, and there are many injured gang members around. Oh, and a seriously injured one, so send an ambulance too. I gave him a little healing potion but he’ll need additional attention.”
The Zatora leader across from her shifted like he considered making an attempt to run, and Cali wagged a finger at him. “See you soon, Detective.” She punched the button to end the call and stared at the only conscious representative of the human gang. “So you and your buddies attacked the Atlanteans. What’s up with that? Is it a change of policy? I thought we were live-and-let-live at the moment.”
He shrugged. “It’s above my pay grade. I do what I’m told.” His gaze cut toward his watch, and Cali realized delaying might not be a good idea in case he had backup on the way.
“Okay. So, here’s the deal. You get to go back and tell Grisham he needs to knock it off. With idiots from New Atlantis messing around in our city, he thinks it’s a good time to pick another fight? No. Bad plan. He—and you—need to stand the hell down and right now.”
The man laughed. “I’m sure he’ll be real receptive, waitress.”
“Well, you better sell him on it, butthead, or he’ll wind up with more trouble than he can bear.” Sirens intruded on the edge of her hearing. “You should probably get moving while you’re still able to.” He made a move toward his pistol where it lay on the ground behind
her, and she shook her head. “No, no. That’s my souvenir to remember you by. Speaking of which, bye.”
He snarled his anger. “I’ll get that back, just so you know.”
She put her hand over her heart. “I feel threatened. Don’t you feel threatened, Tay?”
Tanyith nodded. “I do. Maybe we should end that threat right here.”
Cali frowned at the sudden anger that radiated from him. “Now, now. If we do that, our good friend Grisham won’t get the message. No, we can let him go this time.” She waved dismissively at the Zatora. “Go on. Get. Shuffle off. Hoof it. Scram. Skedaddle. Other clever sayings.”
The sirens were probably more responsible for his departure than her urging. She spun to face her ally. “What the hell, man? You don’t need to cause any extra trouble, either.”
He shook his head. “I guess I’m on edge. I haven’t slept all that great since we returned from New Atlantis.”
“Maybe you should see a doctor.” She jogged toward the ice-encased Atlantean. With a careful application of fire, she melted the ice on the woman’s back enough that she could access the backpack. She unzipped it and removed the drugs it held, then stuffed the small packets into her pockets. The sirens were really close now, which was her exit cue.
“Since I don’t want to get caught with this on me, I’m out of here. I’ll take it to Zeb, and you can talk to him about how much you need to deliver to your new friends in New Atlantis. He can give the rest to the council. I’m sure they can put it to good use—maybe work on a counter-drug or something.”
He laughed and some of his familiar mirth returned to his face. “A counter-drug? Do you mean an antidote?”
Cali blew out an annoyed breath. “Whatever. Say hi to your girlfriend for me. Try to keep your hands to yourselves in front of the other police.” She launched herself at the rooftop where Fyre awaited her and shook her head at him. “Everyone’s a jerk today except you and me, buddy.”
He laughed. “Except me, you mean.”
She gave him a fake scowl. “Sure, scale-face. Everyone’s a critic.” She circled her arms in the air and a portal drew itself into being to reveal the basement of the Drunken Dragons Tavern on the far side. “Let’s go. I don’t want this stuff near me for a second longer than necessary.”
Chapter Three
Zeb gazed at the Thursday-night crowd, which was a little larger and a little louder than normal. It filled two-thirds of the three long tables that stretched the length of the common area. Cali navigated the patrons with her usual ease, harassed those who responded best to it, and treated the others with varying degrees of respect. Watching her work the room was always a pleasure, as she had the perfect ability to be whatever the customer needed while not compromising her true self.
His inner monologue had gnawed at him lately, and it surfaced with a snarl. At least someone here isn’t compromising their true self.
The dwarf shook his head. The decision to retire from adventure and seek a life of contemplation while running the Drunken Dragons was not something he ever seriously regretted—on a conscious level, anyway. His eyes strayed to Valerie, the battle-ax above the bar, with which he’d spent many a year on the road seeking his fortune.
Much of that windfall had been consumed in the usual ways, but what remained had set him up with this comfortable end to his working days, however long they might last. He sighed and let the worry fade—not resistance, merely acknowledgment of it before he allowed it to flow away. Cali bounced up the three wide stairs to the bar and set empties on its well-preserved wooden surface. She sounded slightly out of breath. “Two ales, four ciders, and an order of stew.”
“Get the stew yourself, girl. I’m a bartender, not a chef.”
She laughed, the attempt to make him do it an ongoing joke, and retrieved a bowl to fill it from that day’s version of the huge cauldron of stew—a blend of lamb, beef, and root vegetables with dark beer for flavor. The pot simmered constantly over a small fire. When she returned, she loaded the beverages he’d pulled onto a tray and offered him a grin. “That was fairly quick. Not bad for an old man.”
He shook his head as she departed and stroked his lush black beard and mustache. The few people seated at the bar itself included some of his most regular customers, and he refreshed their drinks without waiting for a request. Their tabs were usually settled eventually, more or less, and he wasn’t too worried about a free glass here and there. What was most important was that his guests were happy, comfortable, and most of all, peaceful.
Peace. That’s what I need. His internal voice disagreed but he let that slide past him without latching onto it and submerged himself in the routine tasks of bartending for the mostly magical crowd.
At the end of the evening, he watched the patrons flow toward the exit door—Kilomea, wizards, witches, gnomes, elves, and even a couple of the other dwarves who were part of the small contingent of their people in New Orleans. Cali sat across the bar from him after she finished clearing the tables, and he put a soft cider in front of her. Her throat worked as she drained it, and he pulled a second with a smile.
She sighed. “So, how much did Tanyith take?”
Zeb shook his head. “More than half. These people he’s working for will be trouble.”
The girl nodded. “I know. I’ll find a way to get him out from under their thumb before too long.” She laughed. “We’ll have to. If I keep winning the ritual battles, I’ll need his help when we reach the bigger numbers.” He felt a pang of guilt and knew he should volunteer to assist her with the fights but at the same time, he was also aware that it wouldn’t be a good thing for anyone if he did. The two beliefs coexisted uncomfortably, and he did his best to not allow them any additional purchase in his thoughts or feelings.
“You’ll find who you need, I’m sure.”
“Do you plan to give the rest to the council?”
He nodded. “As soon as you get yourself out of here, I’ll set up.”
She yawned. “I could help.” Another yawn demanded her full attention and he waited for it to finish.
With a grin, he replied, “I’m good. Thanks for the offer, though. I think maybe you should get to sleep.”
Cali nodded. “Fyre had better not be laying on my side of the bed. Damn lazy lizard.” She walked away and mumbled under her breath as she headed down the stairs. Portals were only possible in two locations in the tavern—the basement for friends and the secret chamber off the basement for council members after he released the protective measures blocking them.
Zeb had gone over every inch of the tavern when he’d taken the building over and layered ward upon ward to protect himself and those he served. Now, it was a simple matter to walk the common room and dribble power into them to keep them going each evening. He paid particular attention to those that secured the front door, as they weren’t active when the tavern was open and required an extra push to re-engage.
Finally, it was done. The upstairs was clean, the bar was polished with the special solution he used to preserve the Oriceran wood, and the fire under the stew was banked. It was time to head to the lower level for his second gig of the evening. The stairs creaked as he strode down them, and he noted absently that the light bulbs in the basement fixtures needed replacing.
A gesture as he reached the bottom shifted a stack of crates from in front of the false back wall. He pressed his hands into the proper locations on its surface, indistinguishable from the rest, and a broad section moved back and slid off to the right. Another wave released a surge of magic into the lamps in the room to light them and one more sparked the fire in the fireplace, which roared to life.
He nodded with satisfaction. The large round table was clean and polished as always, with seven seats positioned around it. He retrieved a matching number of glasses and set them in place, then spoke the required words to lower the shield that prevented his guests from portaling in. As usual, Malonne was the first to arrive and the Light Elf crossed quickly to av
ail himself of the casks set beside the door to the basement. The first held red wine, the second Malonne’s preferred vintage of white wine, and the third was a seasonal drink of Zeb’s own creation, a tart cherry cider.
The other council members appeared at one-minute intervals until all were assembled and seated with drinks beside them. Zeb drew a heavy metal mug of the cider for himself and took his own chair. Today, they’d left him the seat near the council’s leader, the wizard Vizidus. The others didn’t seem to be in any specific arrangement, which might be because there was no particular issue that brought them together for a change. Tonight was merely a routine meeting.
His inner voice chuckled. That’s how all the best stories start, you know. Zeb ignored it.
“Thank you all for coming, as always,” the white-haired wizard Vizidus intoned. “It is nice to see you without a mammoth octopus or a gang war pressing upon us.” The others laughed with varying degrees of mirth. “Our subject tonight is vice in New Orleans.”
Delia, the brunette witch with the rock-and-roll style and attitude, rolled her eyes. Today’s sweatshirt promoted My Chemical Romance, whatever that was. She wore feather earrings that dangled past her shoulders, and there was humor in her expression. “Now that’s an expansive topic if ever there was one,” she quipped in a raspy tone that was oddly appealing.
Vizidus nodded. “But we’re speaking of a specific vice in particular. Well, two. Drugs, both magical and mundane.”
Brukirot, the hulking Kilomea who represented the city’s largest predators, shook his head. As always, his intelligence came through in his soft voice. “Such things are for the weak.”
The witch shrugged. “Or for those who use them ritually. There are witches whose way includes hallucinogens.”