by S. C. Stokes
"Well, Miss Chase, fancy seeing you here. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Arthur asked quietly.
"I came to speak about our deal, Arthur," Kasey glanced at John as she spoke, "but it seems that may no longer be necessary."
"Glad to hear it. We have more pressing matters at hand," he answered, turning his attention back toward the assailants.
At the Khan’s direction, several disappeared back into the museum.
Shakespeare continued working his way down the line of patrons.
The guests greeted him with mixed responses. Some trembled as they handed over their wallets, necklaces, or earrings. Others wept as their nerves frayed from the tension in the hall.
Shakespeare came to a stop in front of an older woman in a striking scarlet gown. Her long blonde hair had a tinge of silver running through it. In spite of her current circumstances, the woman seemed defiant.
Shakespeare pointed at her hand. "The ring too, ma’am."
The woman shook her head. "No. This was given to me by my late husband and I will not part with it. The earrings are worth far more, and you already have those. Take them and be on your way.”
Shakespeare leaned forward. "There is no room for negotiation here. ma’am. Put the ring in the bag or you'll be joining your husband in the afterlife."
The woman shook her head. Kasey could see the determination etched into her face. The ring wasn't going anywhere.
Beside the woman, her security guards bristled.
Obviously sensing the rising danger, one of them turned to her. "Mrs. Cardston, we can always get you another ring, but there's no bringing you back."
The woman didn't budge. "No, Stanley, I was married with this ring, and if this young thug wants it, he is going to have to take it off my cold dead body."
Kasey couldn't help but admire the woman's grit. From her position, she could see Stanley's left arm slowly moving behind his back and she knew what was coming.
If Shakespeare made a move, there would be bloodshed.
Around the room others seemed to sense the moment also. The Khan watched patiently as the exchange played out before him.
Kasey’s keen observational skills allowed her to notice the subtle movements as the other security guards in the room weighed their chance of survival.
Even if they cooperated, there was never any guarantee that they would walk out of the room alive. A promise from armed thieves was hardly something one could stake their life on.
The situation was deteriorating but Kasey was at a loss as to how to stop it. There were far too many bystanders to use her magic unobserved.
Her heart pounded as a trickle of sweat ran down her face. She knew what was coming next. Not because she'd seen it in a vision, but because she could feel it in the room.
The tension in the exhibition theater rested on a knife blade and even the smallest nudge would see it descend into chaos and bloodshed.
Discovery as a witch versus death at the thieves’ hands. Should it come to it, Kasey was determined to do her part, knowing her magic might make all the difference in saving lives.
Behind her back, she opened her palm and began to focus her thoughts on the armed thieves before her. As her power gathered she felt a firm hand on her shoulder.
Turning, she found Arthur Ainsley staring down at her.
"Don't you dare," he whispered. “When will you learn Kasey? Your choices will damn us all.”
Chapter Six
Arthur Ainsley towered over Kasey. His voice was quiet but unyielding. "I mean it, Miss Chase. We have an entire hall full of witnesses here. You will not expose our entire community just to save a few pieces of petty jewelry. It’s just not worth it."
"It's not just jewelry, Arthur. There are lives at stake here. Can't you see it? This place is about to blow, and when it does, people are going to die."
She felt time in the room slow to a crawl. She almost expected to see a vision, but nothing came.
Shakespeare shook his outstretched hand at Mrs. Cardston. "Last chance. Give me the ring!"
The woman shook her head.
Shakespeare had had enough, he reached for his MP-5. “I told you already, this is not a negotiation.”
Before Shakespeare could raise his weapon, Stanley had his gun in hand.
At point blank range, there was no chance of missing. The pistol bucked twice. It was lights out for Shakespeare as he collapsed in a heap. His bulletproof vest did him little good; Stanley had shot him through his mask.
The room exploded into a symphony of motion and chaos.
The assailants raised their weapons but hesitated. Clearly, they had expected the robbery to proceed without bloodshed.
"Everybody down!" a voice shouted from amid the hostages.
The patron’s security drew their weapons.
Stanley stepped in front of his employer and unleashed a hail of bullets toward the nearest assailant.
The Khan looked from his fallen comrade, Shakespeare, to Stanley and shook his head.
“No. No. No.” He raised his weapon and returned fire.
Stanley collapsed in a heap as the submachine gun stitched a line of bullets across his chest.
The gala’s guests screamed. Some threw themselves on the floor and crawled toward the cover of the tables. Several of them upended tables to act as a makeshift barrier between them and the assailants.
The assailants began to fall back, guns raised and firing at anyone who lifted their heads above the cover provided by the tables.
At first glance, Kasey had supposed the thieves to be ex-military types. That prediction was proving true as the thieves lit up the room with their weapons.
The MP-5 was a popular weapon among special forces units. Swat teams continued to employ them as their preferred firearm.
To Kasey’s great surprise, the suicide vests didn’t detonate. She didn’t have the time to give it much thought. Without immediate action, they would all die anyway. She simply hoped it was a bluff as she ducked behind a nearby table. Risking a look over her shoulder, she spotted Arthur.
He stood seemingly un-phased by the chaos unfolding around him. She squinted at him.
Perhaps he has some sort of protective artifact or relic.
He just stared straight back at her. "You leave this to us, Miss Chase. Half the Council are in this room and we have a lifetime of using our gifts unobserved. We need to ensure whatever happens that those vests don't explode. You tend to the wounded, we'll see to these thugs.”
Patrons scurried everywhere as they sought simultaneously to avoid the gunfire and get out of the exhibition hall. More tables were upturned in an effort to widen the defensive barrier.
Kasey’s sweeping gaze caught a cluster of guests that were still standing where they had been in the line. While other patrons cowered and did everything they could to get out of the line of fire, this group seemed rooted to the spot.
Kasey recognized the emotion. Fear. She’d felt it at Hudson Road when death had reared its jaws wide open, ready to claim her.
It wasn’t that the guests didn’t want to move. They simply couldn’t. They were terrified, and they were sitting ducks.
Kasey forgot about herself. Kicking off her heels so she could move freely, she sprinted at the group. Time was of the essence and she couldn’t afford to try to reason with them.
A bullet clipped one of the men in the shoulder. The man went down. The woman next to him screamed. Kasey crash-tackled the remaining guests to the ground to get them out of the line of fire.
The private security forces fired back. Two more assailants went down as a veritable hail of gunfire erupted from the cover of the upturned tables.
The thieves returned fire indiscriminately, causing chaos and carnage among the gala’s guests.
Kasey made her way back to the upturned tables to help the security forces against the thieves.
Against Arthur's wishes, she gestured over the table and whispered the words of a spell beneath her brea
th.
"Dinistrio."
The arcane force struck the cluster of chairs and tables that two of the thieves were hiding behind. The furniture shredded as the energy blasted through it. The two thieves fell in a storm of deadly splinters.
Kasey breathed a sigh of relief. Her relief was short-lived when a third thief, wearing an Elvis mask appeared. He bore down on her with his gun raised. In the chaos, the thieves had made his way behind the tables and flanked the guests. Elvis now had a clear line of fire; he had her dead to rights.
Too late.
His trigger finger tightened. Kasey closed her eyes and waited for the end.
She heard a loud metal click. Nothing happened. She opened her eyes and looked at the shooter.
Elvis looked down in confusion, checking the firing mechanism before raising the gun again. He pulled the trigger a second time. Still nothing but a hollow click emanated from the weapon.
Kasey glanced over her shoulder. John Ainslie remained in his spot, a satisfied grin on his face. Clearly, John had opted for a subtle spell.
Kasey charged Elvis before the incantation could wear off. The shooter looked up. Before he could react, she collided with him and tackled him to the ground.
The thief struggled to dislodge Kasey. Wrapping herself around him, she applied pressure to his windpipe. Slowly but surely, she tightened her sleeper hold.
The thief struggled violently but it only served to hasten his fate. After a few moments that felt like an eternity, he went limp, the oxygen deprivation having rendered him unconscious.
“Elvis has left the building.”
Kasey looked up to find John standing over her, a chair raised ready to club the thief.
John looked down at her still entwined with the thief and laughed. "I know he’s unconscious, but is it wrong that I feel a little jealous?"
"Watch out, John,” she said. "Any more of that and you join him."
She rolled the thief off her and ripped his gun away from him. Handing it to one of the nearby private security guards, she shouted, "The back door is clear. Take this and get the patrons out of here as quick as you can.”
The guests didn’t need to be told twice; they darted for the door.
At the exhibition hall’s main entrance, the Khan and his remaining thieves fell back in disarray. Seeing the numbers turn in their favor the security forces pressed forward.
The closest thief, Abraham Lincoln dropped. His bulletproof vest stopped the first few rounds, but his unprotected legs fared worse. Unable to support his weight, his wounded legs gave out.
The Khan glanced around the room before taking one last look at the fallen Lincoln. Shaking his head, he fled through the open door, Thomas Jefferson at his side.
Searching the vast exhibition hall, Kasey pondered on her next move. Dozens of patrons lay on the floor injured. Others fled in panic. Waiters and waitresses were scattered among them. Kasey couldn’t help but appreciate that in this moment of mayhem, whether one was a millionaire or barely making ends meet, it didn't matter, bullets don’t show any favor to the one percent.
In the center of the hall, a wounded John F. Kennedy tried to get up off the floor.
The security forces weren’t gentle. The thief went down in a hail of fire, this time for good.
With all the thieves in the room down and the remaining two on the run, the danger in the exhibition hall seemed at an end. Kasey considered chasing after the fleeing Khan but thought better of it. Scanning the hall, she realized there were many others far more suited for that task.
Members of the security details checked on their charges. One party secured the front doors to ensure the Khan could not return. Patrons fled through the hall’s rear doors.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
The police would pick up the Khan soon enough.
Kasey had more pressing issues that needed her attention. What the gala’s patrons needed more than anything was a doctor. And while Kasey wasn't a GP she was as close to one as the wounded patrons were going to get for the next few minutes.
Kasey set about doing triage. Running to one of the upturned tables, Kasey gathered as many of the cotton table napkins as she could find. Kasey approaching one of the injured patrons. The man had suffered a gunshot wound to his chest.
Kasey pressed a wad of napkins against the man’s chest and then placed his hand over it.
“You’ll need to keep the pressure on to slow the bleeding. Don’t worry help will be here soon.”
Turning to John, Kasey shouted. “If we can keep these people alive until the ambulance arrives, they have a chance,”
John nodded and raised his voice above the chaos, addressing those still in the room, "if you are not injured, head out the rear doors and keep going until you reach the museum's exit. If any of your party have been wounded, help us find them so that we can help.”
Kasey made her way over to Stanley. His courage had started the entire stampede. She didn't need to give a thorough examination to know he was already dead. Cut down by the MP-5, he hadn't stood a chance. Kasey checked his pulse just to be sure, anyway.
Shaking her head, she moved on to the next victim. The first, a man crouched over Stanley, was bleeding from his upper arm.
"Are you hit anywhere else?" Kasey asked.
The man shook his head. "Just this one."
"Well, with all due respect, there are others in far worse shape.” Kasey handed him a napkin. “Hold this against the wound and apply pressure. The paramedics will be here soon. They’ll get you to the hospital and get the bullet out."
The man nodded and made his way over to the wall. Leaning against it, he sank to the floor and waited for the paramedics.
Next, Kasey found herself standing over a woman. One of the thieves stray shots had clipped her in her side.
"What's your name, dear?"
"Dear?" the woman asked incredulously. “I am Alanah Carrington, of the Southampton Carringtons. You will treat me with the respect I deserve.”
Kasey took one look at the woman's stomach and handed her another serviette.
Pointing to the wound, Kasey muttered, “Well, Alanah, with an attitude like that, you can take care of yourself. I'd recommend you try to slow the blood flow. It doesn’t look like the bullet has hit anything critical, but you will want to make sure you don't bleed out in the meantime.”
She turned and walked off.
“Hey, come back here,” the woman shouted after Kasey.
Kasey simply waved her off and moved on. She was not willing to waste time on condescending white privilege.
She made her way through the fallen guests. Some were already far beyond her ability to help. The submachine guns had reaped a heavy toll.
Others, Kasey patched up as best she could, offering encouragement and make shift medical attention of the non-magical variety.
Spotting Arthur Ainsley crouching over a man on the floor, Kasey made her way over to him. The man on the floor was middle-aged. His hair was parted neatly and swept to one side. He was dressed impeccably in a pinstripe suit, but Kasey couldn't help but notice it was of a different caliber and quality to those worn by most of the guests.
His white shirt was stained in red; he’d clearly been hit in the attack.
"Who is he, Arthur?" Kasey asked, as she crouched beside him.
"This is Cyrus Pillar and he is the head of the ADI. Or at least he was."
The ADI stood for the Anti Discovery Initiative. It was the law enforcement arm of the Arcane Council. Tasked with protecting the secrecy of the World of Magic, the ADI ensured witches and wizards registered with the council. They also sought to prevent the community from performing any reckless act of magic that would result in the discovery of their world.
Throughout history, discovery had always resulted in extreme hostility from the superstitious human population. Normals, or non-magical people as they were known, had always proved skeptical of those with special abilities. Only last week, Kasey had
run into several of the ADI’s agents when she'd inappropriately used her magic in the course of her investigation. After the ADI had cleaned up the mess, she'd been censured by the Council and warned against further infractions.
She looked at Cyrus. He'd been struck multiple times in the chest. Leaning over the body, she checked his pulse. In the mayhem, he’d already bled out.
“I'm so sorry, Chairman. He's gone.”
As Kasey went to lift her hand away, a familiar mist descended over her eyes, bringing with it a vision.
Chapter Seven
When the mist cleared, Kasey was standing in the exhibition hall once more.
The gala’s wealthy elite darted about in confusion as the armed thieves breached the hall. Kasey watched as the man known as the Khan raised his submachine gun into the air.
The submachine gun spat a burst of bullets into the ceiling.
Plaster rained from the roof as patrons fled from the armed intruders. They fled for the rear exits, only to find themselves face-to-face with more assailants who had cut off their retreat.
Kasey looked down and saw the familiar pinstripe suit. She knew at once that she was experiencing the night’s events from Cyrus’ point of view.
I don't know that this is entirely necessary. I need to focus my attention in the present, not flounder around in a past I have already witnessed.
Cyrus had been shot to death, that much was evident from the body. It didn't take any great deductive reasoning to work out how that had happened. Clearly, one of the thieves had caught him in the crossfire.
Kasey listened for the second time as Khan delivered his speech to the assembled patrons. He seemed awfully confident for a man robbing some of the richest people in the world.
How does he plan to escape? Kasey wondered to herself. Even if he were to successfully rob the gala and get out cleanly, he was still in the middle of New York City. The police would be all over them before they got more than a block from the museum.
Slowly but surely, the thieves corralled the gala’s guests into the center of the room. With nowhere else to go, the patrons started ambling sideways toward the elaborate ice sculpture that ran along the wall of the exhibit.