Mystical Alley Groove: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (Scions of Magic Book 2)

by TR Cameron

  His quarry turned into a tourist trap nightspot and he followed with a groan. On the upside, there was no bouncer waiting to accept more of his dwindling cash supply. On the downside, it was full of people dancing, drinking, and generally getting in the way of his pursuit. Dray’s dark hair and clothes were tinted by the island-themed neon signs as he pushed through the room, and Tanyith trailed as closely as he dared. His quarry’s objective seemed to be a closed door at the back of the space, this one with a bored man standing beside it. The guard stifled a yawn as they drew closer.

  Dray exchanged words with him and the guy nodded. Tanyith cursed inwardly as his friend stepped through. There was no chance he could bluff his way past the guard, and any magical distraction he might use would risk spooking the crowd and blowing the whole thing. Loud voices caught his attention from the left as one man shoved another, and he smothered the grin that the scene inspired. You can never go wrong when you count on drunk people getting into arguments. At the next push, he fired a force blast to knock the recipient of the shove down. There were more shouts as the one who’d been pushed bounced up from the floor and went after the confused attacker.

  He circled around the edge while he kept one eye on the fracas and the other on the guard. Finally, the man couldn’t ignore the situation any longer and he strode in to break it up. Tanyith tossed up a hasty illusion to hide his passage through the door and closed it quietly behind him. This part of the club was unexpectedly elegant. The hallway he was in had been painted a rich brown and was lit with wall sconces to create a soft, calming atmosphere. It led in only one direction, so he followed it and walked softly to keep the noise of his shoes on the off-white tile floor as subdued as possible. A corner lay ahead, and he put his back against the wall before it and stuck his head around as quickly and stealthily as he was able.

  A very large man stood in the center of the hallway. He smiled and nodded. “I’ve been asked to escort you the rest of the way.” He looked as if he wouldn’t mind at all if he had to enforce that request with violence.

  Tanyith sighed. It’s possible that I’m not cut out for investigative work.

  He was reintroduced to his friend when he was ushered into a makeshift office in what he guessed had been a storeroom in the recent past. A beat-up desk was inside, and a couple of chairs were set before it. The other man sat in one of them and nodded at his entrance. “Tanyith. We’ve heard about you and assumed you’d pop up on the radar. I’m Ray.” Up close, it was clear that not only had he lost fat, but he’d also gained muscle. His old friend had the trappings of a fighter, right down to the short crewcut that would prevent an enemy from grabbing his hair. The eyes still remembered mischief, but they, too, seemed harder.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Ray, is it?”

  “It is,” he responded with a thin smile. A glance at the bouncer dispatched him from the room. As the door closed behind him, Dray gave the old signal for surveillance, and Tanyith’s brow furrowed. Okay, what the hell is going on here?

  “So, my people saw you following me from the Stallion. I can only assume you’re one of us and you’re sick of the magicals who are taking over the town.” His jaw threatened to fall open in shock but he caught it before it made it too far.

  “Uh…yeah, Ray. Exactly. How did you know?”

  The man shrugged and leaned back in the office-style chair. It creaked. “The Stallion tends to draw a certain type. And you knew the right things to say and do, so you must be a friend of one of us.” His gaze shifted from casual to intense. “What is it you need?”

  He took the look to mean that he needed to tread carefully. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’m looking for a guy. My…uh, boss needs to speak to him. Something about an old debt.”

  Dray-Ray grinned. “There’s a fair amount of that whole past coming back to life stuff going around lately. Maybe it’s the New Orleans magic, right?” He chuckled. “So, who is it?”

  “Aiden Walsh.”

  His once-friend frowned. “I haven’t seen or heard from that guy in, like, half a year, I think. Why the sudden interest?”

  Tanyith shrugged. “I’m only the messenger here. I don’t know and don’t care. But it’s my ass if I don’t find him, so anything you have to point me in the right direction would be much appreciated.”

  The other man scratched the side of his face. “Yeah, I can dig something up. What are you offering for it?” Another hand signal followed, this time for “deal.”

  He frowned, tried to parse the message, but failed. “I don’t know. What do you want?”

  Ray nodded. “I could use a deniable. There’s someone who owes us money who won’t pay up. Maybe you can make him see the light. If you get pinched, don’t even think of mentioning us or your hours in jail will be short and fatally violent.”

  Damn. It might have been better to stay in prison. The very thought made him shudder inside, and he grasped the arms of his chair to steady himself. “If that’s the price, I’ll pay it.” At this rate, I’ll have too much work going on to actually land a real job.

  The other man rose and spoke in a businesslike tone. “Good. Your escort will help you find your way out of the club and give you the details. Get the job done, and we’ll talk about the information you want.” Tanyith gripped his extended hand while Dray continued to speak. “Do this right and maybe there’s a place for you with us. Do it wrong, and…well, finding the guy you’re looking for will be the least of your troubles.”

  He looked into the familiar eyes and saw truth in them. The door opened without any action on either of their parts, confirming that someone was listening, watching, or both. Whatever was going on, his simple search for the disappearing boyfriend had become something much more serious. And, judging by the look in Dray’s eyes, much more dangerous.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tanyith sat at the counter of a chain coffee shop and stared out the window. He’d done a quick check-in with Detective Barton first thing at the start of the business day and discovered she was not a morning person. Still, she’d given him the extra information required to decide whether or not to do the job for Dray—and damn it, I don’t care what he’s calling himself, he’s Dray to me—and also where to find the guy.

  Fortunately for him, James Crain was a lowlife, even among the losers that made up some of the least palatable human gangs. The rap sheet Barton had called up was replete with petty crimes of every kind, but the offense that was really bothersome was a chain of drug arrests near schools. They’d never made the charges stick and the more junior people inevitably took the fall, but everything pointed to him as an overseer, if not a particularly trusted or elevated one.

  The information he’d obtained from the brute at the club had simply provided a name and an address. When he asked how much his target owed, the giant man had laughed and said in his ridiculously deep voice, “He’ll know.” Tanyith had nodded and made his exit, assuming that either the man wasn’t willing to share because he was a jerk or didn’t know because he was an idiot. He had resigned himself to handling it without any more assistance from Dray’s people.

  Across the street was a location that Barton said Crain tended to frequent for late breakfasts. He checked the photo on his phone for at least the fifteenth time since she’d sent it to him. It was a booking shot of a man with a flat-top haircut, long sideburns, and a neck tattoo of some calligraphic script that he couldn’t make out. He’d considered blowing the picture up but decided the risk of becoming dumber by reading whatever the chucklehead chose to put indelibly in his skin was too damn high. His hair was on the border of black and brown, and his features were sharp. He looked too skinny, a common problem for those who dabbled with the drugs they sold.

  He forced himself to stay seated when Crain appeared across the street, walking in cadence with another man. Tanyith estimated the second one was about five-seven, a full six inches shorter than his quarry. They both wore white basketball jerseys celebrating the Pelicans. Others in his group
had been fans, but team sports generally didn’t appeal to him. He hadn’t heard anything about them since his return but presumed they were still around. Snatching his coffee, he headed out the door and turned in the same direction in which the duo traveled.

  They ate as they walked, wolfing sandwiches held in paper. The sight made his stomach rumble. He’d avoided food in favor of fretting about what Barton might reveal, and even though he was fully confident that Crain would deserve whatever he got, eating before a probable fight hadn’t seemed like a good idea. He regretted it now, but there was no time to stop for something. He was fairly sure he knew their destination, but it was always possible he might be wrong.

  Sadly, he turned out to be right. They turned into an alley a couple of blocks away from a park notorious for being a hangout for high schoolers skipping school. It had basketball courts and some skateboarding rails and curves but was also home to small groups of people who hung out and looked for trouble. Marked police cars drove past at intervals, but those present in the space had serious skills in fading away and returning after the trouble had passed. Tanyith expected that they had lookouts posted but knew that if the police really cared, they’d arrive in plainclothes and on foot. No, it was a mutual agreement situation—don’t get out of hand and we won’t work too hard to catch you.

  He was fine with that choice, but the drug angle turned it on its head. In general, he couldn’t bring himself to care too much about what competent adults did as long as they didn’t hurt anyone else, but trying to manipulate under-eighteens into a dependency was an entirely different story. Even if the kids themselves would tell him they made their own choices and he should go to hell, it didn’t matter. His personal ethics were clear where non-adults were concerned.

  So he’s enough of a scumbag that other scumbags want him dealt with. That’s impressive, really. He considered that for a second and laughed. I guess that describes Cali and I at the moment too, so we have that going for us. He watched for almost an hour and moved to a couple of different positions so as to not attract attention and thought he found the right plan. The best time to strike would be between visits from the folks at the bottom of the chain who collected and distributed. They seemed to report in at ten-minute intervals, either to drop cash off or to get permission or something. He didn’t know and didn’t think he needed to.

  Tanyith circled and chose a position a half-block away and across the street. He was about to make a move when a black-and-white rolled through and upset the entire arrangement. It took another forty minutes before things had resumed a predictable pattern again, and he feared that the police would follow hour intervals, so he needed to get it done. When he had moved from position to position, he had left homemade smoke bombs in several trashcans, all awaiting a signal from the car starter remote in his pocket. They’d been a very useful part of his toolkit in the past. He’d been beyond happy to discover that they still worked when he’d retrieved them from the apartment wall they’d been hidden in a year and a half earlier.

  They detonated in a pattern that would drive people away from his targets, and he was already in motion as the panic began. His gaze was locked on them as he rushed forward, and the smaller one flinched when he detected him and realized what was happening. He did the good subordinate thing and drew a gun while his partner ran. Tanyith growled and cursed, not wanting to use his magic for fear he might be called on it later if anyone saw him. If he wanted to get information from a human group, being outed could be problematic. He twitched his fingers as he started to run in a zig zag and hoped for the best. The rock he’d seen hurtled up from the ground into the man’s hand like it had been thrown and the pistol flew away.

  Tanyith reached the thug while he was still processing the sudden disarming, and he snapped an elbow into his face as he passed. His foe fell with a cracking sound onto the hard surface of the alley, and he took a hasty look over his shoulder to ensure it had been something non-vital that had broken. The hoodlum wouldn’t use his arm for a while by the look of things, but the injuries didn’t appear life-threatening. He swiveled his head forward as the tail of the white jersey whipped around the corner and out of sight.

  Dammit, faster. He increased his speed, already panting from the exertion. His time in prison hadn’t been like the movies, where you went in flabby and came out as hard as stone. Trevilsom had torn everything away and his body seemed to consume itself to keep him alive and sane. He still didn’t know how he’d managed to survive it, but the upshot was that he wasn’t in anything near the best shape of his life. All he needed now was this one break. Thereafter, he promised himself, he would not only work harder at getting healthy, but he’d also think of ways to make the criminals come to him, rather than the other way around.

  A little luck did come into play when he reached the main street. The man was still in sight, running away from the park, which was what he’d hoped the dealer would do. He pushed his burning legs to keep moving and stayed on his tail. He’d have much preferred taking to the roofs and following him from there, but he had to preserve his cover. The chance that this guy would talk his way into a meeting with Dray’s gang was remote, but it was non-zero. If it were only his safety on the line, he might have done it, but with his connection to the tavern known by too many people, he’d risk Cali and Zeb too.

  The crook did something completely unexpected and darted into a door set in the side of one of the buildings. Nothing he’d received suggested that he had connections here. Damn, damn, damn. The only option was to follow him in, and he thrust against the door with a blast of force leading his shoulder and powered through the weak lock. A staircase ascended in front of him and a hallway led to the right. The back part of his brain processed the sound he’d heard a moment before and ordered him upward. He dashed up the steps, caught sight of his prey again, and followed him around the spiraled stairs until they reached the roof.

  The man bolted to the side. Tanyith had to hold back his first instinct, which was to smack him with a force blast and put his face in the gravel. The possibility that he’d fall into the street was too high and there could still be someone watching. He drew on all his speed as Crain leapt over the edge and made it cleanly across the single-lane gap between buildings. His pursuer made the jump immediately after, and when the man ran between some HVAC equipment that shielded him from other eyes, he blasted his feet with a burst of magical force. The fugitive tripped and fell, skidding and screaming. Tanyith slowed and worked on catching his breath as he covered the distance between them and kicked the man’s legs out from under him when he tried to rise.

  “You. Stay. Down.” He panted and fought to calm his breathing. The man on his back below him looked more worn than the one in the picture and the cuts on his face from the gravel changed the shading somewhat, but it was clearly still the same guy. “James Crain. Some people are mad at you.” The man’s hand began to creep toward his body, and he tapped him with the toe of his boot. “Don’t even think about it. If I have any worry that you’re going for a weapon, all the ribs on this side will be broken before you can clear it. You and I both know you’re not that good.”

  Sure, it was a petty taunt. He deserves it for making me run. Bastard. “Okay, so you’re probably wondering why I’m here. Is that right? Are you capable of speech, man? Say something.”

  Crain dabbed at the blood on his lip with his fingers and looked at it, then replied, “Yeah. I can talk. I assume you’re trying to take my territory.”

  He shook his head. “Nope, wrong. But that’s good, right? Now you can relax. I’m here because you owe some people something. I’m sure you know which people, and I’m sure you know what you owe them. The kind of people who would send someone like me to get the payment with orders that failing to do so means failing to continue breathing. Does that sound familiar?”

  “Yeah. I get it.” He blanched and nodded. “But I don’t have it on me.”

  Tanyith shrugged. He’d expected as much. “That’s
fine. You can take me to where it is.”

  The man looked at him like he was crazy. “It’s across town.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll even pay for the ride. But be aware that if you try anything—literally any single thing—I have been given the option to end this the other way and I won’t hesitate to do so.” He hadn’t, actually, and he wouldn’t, but the loser on the ground didn’t need to know that. “Now, get up slowly and turn your pockets out one at a time.”

  He collected a knife and a street-special holdout pistol that he removed the ammunition from and smashed on the roof until it was inoperative. Satisfied that his captive was now weaponless, he marched him down to the road and called a car. When the driver tried to talk, Tanyith explained that his friend had a migraine and he was taking him home to recover, but that noise was a problem. The remainder of the trip passed in blessed silence.

  They were dropped off in an old neighborhood with small houses featuring tiny patches of green at the front and back. It was midday, so they received some strange looks, and the situation grew weirder when he discovered that the man’s grandmother was in the house. She slept in the living room, and they crept quietly past and ascended to the attic. Once there, the guy sighed. “I knew they would demand it but I didn’t want to give it up, you know? Once I got it for them, I decided I wanted to keep it.”

  Tanyith shook his head. “I have no idea and what’s more, I don’t care. Hand it over.” Crain opened a knee-high box and rummaged in the bottom to withdraw a thick blue cloth. He unfolded it carefully and suddenly stabbed it at him. Tanyith saw a flash of silver as he backpedaled to avoid whatever it was, then drove forward, leading with his fists when it missed. His left connected with the other man’s temple, and his right uppercut caught him in the jaw. Crain splayed awkwardly, unconscious on the floor. “Dammit. You’re an idiot, you know that?” He picked up the sharp piece of metal and wrapped it in the cloth once again. His fingers traced the etchings absently as he did so.