“Oh, it’s done. It was a special one-time offer from the Power, trying to protect itself. Mission accomplished.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Now he was getting really upset. “You lied. You said you didn’t know about it.”
Better a liar than a murderer. “You’d have to be crazy to think you could kill somebody and take their connection to the Power. You’d have to be insane to believe that.”
“It’s real.” There was an audible creak because he was squeezing the leather-wrapped steering wheel so hard. “It talked to me.”
Enough of this. “The voices in your head are imaginary. Most of the people you killed didn’t even have any magic, you sick son of a bitch.”
“No! I felt it! I felt it as they died! I’m stronger now! I’m doing what has to be done.”
“You killed them for nothing.” The air started to hum with energy. As the killer’s crazed emotions grew hotter, so did the magic inside the car. Henry shoved his .38 against the back of the driver’s head. “Try anything and your brains end up in your lap.”
The cab swerved wildly, first into the oncoming headlights, and then back for the tires to strike the curb and bounce off. But thankfully, the gathered magic dissipated.
“Keep driving.” You didn’t need to cock the hammer to fire a double action, but Henry did so anyway, just to hear the click that let him know he meant business. “No matter how fast you think you are with your Power, bullets are faster. You’re under arrest.”
They got back in their lane. “How’d you find me?”
“Once we figured out your cab was warded, I paid a bunch of Finders to look for something that wasn’t there.” It had taken every dime he had to hire every Finder and Summoner in the city for the last two days. He’d put them on major intersections or sent them past every cab company until one had found a parking space filled with a cab his demon couldn’t see.
Shaking, the driver asked, “So where are we really going?”
“My station house. You’re going to jail.”
“They can’t lock up a man who can kill a guard just by looking at him.”
“Not my problem.” There were prisons with special lead-lined isolation cells specifically for guys like this. Maybe they had a padded one for the crazies. Yet now that Henry knew the why, he wanted to know the how. Very few people in the world knew about the Spellbound, and being able to make wards was a very specialized skill. “I’ve got to know, were you Grimnoir?
“Briefly. They learned what I could do. Some of them took me in when I was a kid, tried to teach me. I was good at it, but I didn’t like being bossed around, so I left. I threw my Grimnoir ring in the Hudson and changed my name so they’d never find me.”
No wonder the elders had sent Moody. The Society knew they’d lost track of a dangerous Boomer. They were trying to do the right thing by stopping him, but they were also trying to save face by stopping him quietly. They tried to do good but caught a lot of hate. Having it come out in court that they’d trained this murderer would make it even worse for them.
They’d reached the bridge, but there was a whole lot of brake lights ahead. Red and blue flashing lights reflected off the puddles. Henry looked ahead and saw that a pair of patrol cars were blocking traffic. It was a roadblock.
Damn it. He’d installed a police radio in his personal car. Crash must have been so worried about him that she’d called for help.
The cabby stared at the flashing lights ahead of them as they came to a gentle stop. The wipers were still beating. The rain made a thrumming sound against their metal roof. The red and blues cast odd shadows inside the cab.
When he spoke again, the killer sounded resigned. “It’s working. I know it. I can still do it. I can’t let you ruin my plans. I’m not the one who wasted all those lives. I was going to use them to build something better. You’re the one trying to throw away their sacrifices.”
Energy was gathering again.
“Don’t do it.”
Henry didn’t have magic himself, but he was no stranger to its use. Even he could feel the spike. This was every bit of magic the killer had, all at once. The hair on his arms stood up. The Bomber was going to blast himself, his passenger, the cab, and probably a big chunk of the Brooklyn Bridge to kingdom come.
Henry’s finger was on the trigger. Now it was his turn to have a shaking hand. “Don’t make me kill you.”
The killer just looked at the mirror and gave him an eerie smile. “You can’t kill a god, cop.”
And then the back window shattered.
Henry flinched as his face was splattered with blood.
The cabby’s head had been thrown forward by the impact. The inside of the windshield was dripping red. The wipers still beat on the other side. He looked at the .38 in his hand, just to make sure he hadn’t just burst the cabby’s skull by accident, but the Smith hadn’t been fired. He turned around to catch a face full of cold rain and got partially blinded by the headlights of the car behind—probably his own car—but that wasn’t where the shot had come from.
There was a big black sedan stopped a little further back. As he watched, a broad-shouldered shape that was most likely Jack Moody lowered a scoped rifle, got back into the car, flipped a U-turn, and drove away.
✧ ✧ ✧
It was another week before he talked to Crash again. After giving their statements, she’d been transferred, while he had been retroactively assigned to the now unnecessary Bomber task force. He had been ordered to smile for the cameras; when the media asked, all he was supposed to say was that he’d been following Detective Richards’s orders when he’d gotten into the killer’s cab, and that he’d been forced to shoot him in the head to keep him from blowing up the Brooklyn Bridge.
The carrot was that if he managed to keep his stupid rookie mouth shut, they’d give him a commendation for valor and fast-track a promotion. The stick, if he didn’t, was getting put on something like harbor patrol for the rest of his life.
Detective Garrett. He liked the sound of that.
He’d called and stopped by her apartment but she never answered the phone or the door. Crash had been avoiding him since that night, and he had a pretty good idea why. He found out where she’d been transferred to—headquarters, ironically enough—and then waited outside until she got off shift.
Crash came down the stairs, looking lovely in plainclothes, and didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see him. Sad, but not surprised. “Henry.”
“Rebecca.” He nodded, then tossed his cigarette butt down and crushed it beneath his heel. “You lied to me. You want to have it out here in front of all your coworkers, or talk someplace private?”
The answer was obvious, and they strolled away from the front doors so nobody would overhear them. It was a much grayer and colder afternoon than when they’d launched their partnership. Steam came up through the grates.
“I heard you’re getting a commendation.”
“It’s my reward for keeping secrets. Luckily, I’m good at that from all the practice. I tried to give you equal credit for finding the Bomber. Imagine my surprise when it turned out your version of events made it sound like it was all my doing.”
Crash shrugged. “I’m just humble, I guess.”
“So how long have you secretly been a Grimnoir knight?”
She sighed. “I suppose I could protest and act offended, but you’re too smart and I’ve got too much dignity. How’d you figure it out?”
“Moody knew how to find us in time to erase their embarrassing mistake. So I got suspicious and looked in your purse. You left it on the seat of my car while you were getting questioned on the bridge. You had a communication spell etched on your little makeup mirror. From the runes, Grimnoir. A powerful Brute like you, with lots of brains and all sweet and innocent-looking, you’re an ideal recruit. Now they’ve got somebody who will overhear lots while not being noticed, working inside the biggest police department in the country. So how lon
g?”
“Years and years before we met. It was tempting back in the academy to tell you that I already knew your parents. It’s kind of funny actually.”
What wasn’t funny was all the grief he took from his fellow cops because they thought he was the one with divided loyalties, even though he was no rat. Nobody would ever suspect the pretty girl with the bubbly personality of leaking information to a magical secret society.
“Did my folks order you to help me?”
She laughed. It wasn’t mean, but it was honest. “Don’t kid yourself. You’re not that important in the grand scheme of things. I wanted to help because I believed in you.”
“Well, too bad I can’t ever believe you now.”
“That’s on you. The elders suspected the killer might be their missing Boomer who’d gone rogue. He was always a little off. That’s why they sent Moody. He’s a thug, but he’s reliable. When he came up with nothing, that’s when Moody recruited your brother. Nobody can squeeze information out of people like a Mouth. You should be proud; you cracked the case when they couldn’t.”
“I was bringing him in, Crash. The right way.”
“Him babbling would’ve hurt a lot of innocent people. I told you not to get in that cab. If Moody hadn’t shot him, you would’ve had to. Or maybe the real reason you’re so angry at me is deep down you’re afraid you would’ve hesitated a second too long and he would’ve killed himself, and you, and me, and everybody on that bridge. Flash-fried so a maniac could go out in a blaze of glory. And now you’ll never know.”
“I would’ve done whatever I had to do.”
“I’m sure Moody would say the same thing. So are you going to blow my cover now, or are you going to let me keep doing what I need to do?”
Police headquarters was a massive edifice rising behind her. The first night he’d stumbled into this case, Detective Richards had told him that Actives protect their own. In the case of the Grimnoir, that was the God’s honest truth. Sometimes that meant taking out their trash. They weren’t perfect, but they did a lot more good in the world than harm.
“I take all my oaths seriously. Your secret’s safe… Just tell me though, Lance at least honestly didn’t know who you were, right? I can only handle being lied to by one person I like at a time.”
“Not that night at the rock and roll club.” She shook her head in the negative, but then a mischievous smile formed on her lips. “But we’ve gotten to know each other better since.”
He groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
A cherry-red hot rod pulled up to the curb next to them. The driver had to shout to be heard over the noisy engine. “Hey, babe, ready to go? I got us reservations at that little Italian place you talked about.” Then Lance Garrett glanced over and saw his brother. “Henry! Didn’t expect to see you here. I heard how it shook out with the Bomber. Way to clean up the streets, Johnny Law.”
Henry looked at Crash. “You can do better.”
“He’s sweet.” She gave Henry a kiss on the cheek and then went to the passenger door. “Take care. I’ll see you around.”
As the hot rod drove off into the sunset, Henry Garrett went back to work.
About the Authors
A native Texan by birth (if not geography), Christopher L. Smith moved “home” as soon as he could. While there, he also met a wonderful lady who somehow found him to be funny, charming, and worth marrying. (She has since changed her mind on the funny and charming but figures he’s still a keeper.) Chris began writing fiction in 2012. His short stories can be found in the following anthologies: “Bad Blood and Old Silver,” (Luna’s Children: Stranger Worlds, Dark Oak Press); “Isaac Crane and the Ancient Hunger” (Dark Corners, Fantom Enterprises); “200 miles to Huntsville” (Black Tide Rising, Baen Books); “What Manner of Fool” (Sha’Daa: Inked, Copper Dog Publishing); “Case Hardened” (Forged in Blood, Baen Books); and “Velut Luna” (The Good, the Bad, and the Merc, Seventh Seal Press). He has cowritten two novels, Kraken Mare (Severed Press) with Jason Cordova, and Gunpowder and Embers: Last Judgement’s Fire Book 1 (Baen Books, Fall 2019) with John Ringo and Kacey Ezell. A solo urban fantasy novel is currently under construction. His cats allow his family and three dogs to reside with them outside of San Antonio.
Michael J. Ferguson is a Master Brewer, a nationally syndicated TV host and now Director of Business Development at Aalberts Dispense Technologies. After eleven years of field engineering, R&D, and tech writing at IBM, Michael set off to find the next step to his personal growth. Michael always enjoyed motorcycles, reading, and writing as hobbies, but in 1989 Michael found himself at the ground floor of a craft brewing start-up named Gordon Biersch Brewing. This began the journey from apprentice brewer to Master Brewer. After helping to install and open six breweries, a move to Director of Brewery Operations at Station Casinos allowed Michael the independence to garner several industry awards including five medals from the GABF (Great American Beer Festival). Michael also accepted an Associate Professorship at the University of Nevada Las Vegas College of Hospitality before moving on to BJ’s Restaurants Inc. in 2004 as Director of Brewery Operations and Beer Training. Michael helped open over 120 restaurants for the company and trained countless team members about the ins and outs of craft beer. It was at BJ’s Restaurants that Michael’s high profile within the craft brewing industry caught the eye of talent scouts at Discovery Channel, which led to the inception and production of Beer Geeks television show, the only nationally syndicated TV show about craft beer, the people who make, follow and love craft beer, and the industries it encompasses. Beer Geeks received a national Emmy nomination for Best Culinary Show in 2015. Michael’s love of writing and science fiction is now the newest phase of a long career. Michael Ferguson lives in Houston, Texas.
David Weber was born in Cleveland in 1952 but grew up in rural South Carolina. He was a bookworm from childhood, with an interest in history which perplexed his parents, who nonetheless encouraged and supported him in it. He was also blessed with a father from the south side of Chicago who collected autographed copies of every E. E. Smith hardcover and introduced him to Jack Williamson at the age of ten, and with a mother who taught high school and college English, ran her own advertising agency, and encouraged him to write. (And who went back to graduate school in her sixties to earn her PhD in Literature.) An avid tabletop gamer (who, alas, no longer has room in his schedule for his hobby), he’s wargamed every era from ancient Rome to World War II armored conflict, and began RPG playing with Gary Gygax’s Chainmail rules in 1972. His younger sister went on to become a hand weaver and his younger brother was a production potter for thirty years, so it’s probably not too surprising that from that start he would find his way into the world of science fiction and fantasy rather than pursue honest work. He sold his first novel to Jim Baen at Baen Books in 1989. Since then he has published sixty-eight solo and collaborative novels, and another has been delivered but not yet scheduled. He has also edited six anthologies and appeared in several more. He is best known for his Honorverse, with twenty-six solo and collaborative novels in print (the twenty-seventh, Uncompromising Honor is an October 2018 release from Baen Books) centered around his character Honor Harrington and her universe, and the Safehold series, with nine novels in print (the tenth, Through Fiery Trials, is scheduled for January 2019). He still lives in South Carolina with a wife, Sharon, who fortunately loves him enough to put up with him, their three children, two dogs, and six cats. And, as Sharon is fond of saying, don’t get him started talking if you expect him to ever shut up again.
Kacey Ezell is an active duty USAF instructor pilot with 2500+ hours in the UH-1N Huey and Mi-171 helicopters. When not teaching young pilots to beat the air into submission, she writes sci-fi/fantasy/horror/noir/alternate history fiction. Her first novel, Minds of Men, was a Dragon Award Finalist for Best Alternate History. She’s contributed to multiple Baen anthologies and has twice been selected for inclusion in the Year’s Best Military and Adventure Science
Fiction compilations. In 2018, her story “Family Over Blood” won the Year’s Best Military and Adventure Science Fiction Readers’ Choice Award. Her collaboration with John Ringo and Christopher L. Smith, tentatively titled Gunpowder and Embers, is scheduled for release in fall of 2019. In addition to writing for Baen, she has published several novels and short stories with independent publisher Chris Kennedy Publishing. She is married with two daughters. You can find out more and join her mailing list at www.kaceyezell.net.
Steve Diamond is the author of the YA supernatural thriller, Residue. He writes for Baen Books, WordFire Press, Gallant Knight Games, Privateer Press, and numerous other publications. He founded the Hugo-nominated review site, Elitist Book Reviews, and is the editor of the horror anthology, Shared Nightmares.
Steve lives in Utah with his wife and two children. He works as a finance manager for a Department of Defense contractor, and does all his writing in the evenings. He’s an avid baseball (Oakland A’s) and football (New Orleans Saints) fan. You can follow him at http://thethroneofbooks.com.
A veteran police officer in a major metropolitan police department out west, Griffin Barber is also a lifelong speculative fiction fan and gamer. He’s had shorts published in the Grantvile Gazette and penned a well-received novella for Roberts Space Industries’ website called A Separate Law. His novel 1636: Mission to the Mughals, with Eric Flint, is available from Baen Books. He and Kacey Ezell coauthored a little noirish SF novel called Second Chance Angel. Madame Sunderhaven features in a novel he swears will be completed soon, tentatively titled, A Petty Necromancy.
Hinkley Correia is currently a college student aiming to get a degree in digital forensics. She has written one other short story, “Blood on the Water,” appearing in the Target Rich Environment anthology, and currently has in the works a full-length novel set in the world of “Kuro.” In the small amount of free time that she has, she enjoys playing video games, making music, and basic photography.
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