by R. L. King
Keep looking, she sent back. Probably won’t be anything to see until the concert starts.
If there’s anything 2 see at all, Greta replied.
Verity ignored that one. Greta was like that and wasn’t going to change, so her only choices were to put up with her or spend less time with the Harpies.
She continued scanning the area, starting first in her own section and then skimming her gaze to the right, the left, and down toward the floor seats. In the dim light she couldn’t get a good look at anyone physically, but all around her the concertgoers’ multicolored auras surged with anticipation. This wasn’t going to be easy—spotting signs of magic among the auras’ glows would be like trying to pick out a single car on a crowded freeway—but if she paid close attention she thought she might be able to do it.
At least the show started on time. A lot of the bands both she and Stone went to see at local clubs seemed to pride themselves on how long they could keep the audience waiting before they gave up in disgust and left. Tonight, though, the lights went down barely five minutes after eight. A cheer rose from the crowd, echoing around from the cheap seats to the floor and back. All along the upper rows, people began a rhythmic foot-stamping along with their cheers and applause. Their auras blossomed brighter. From the stage came the opening chords of a familiar tune, and a moment later the lights came up to reveal the band as they launched into their opening number.
Okay. This is it. Hope it’s not a false alarm.
For a while, she was afraid it might be. She prowled up and down the steps leading to the nosebleed seats, pausing every few seconds to do another scan. It was a good thing she was in good shape, because the stairs were steep. As she’d predicted, nobody paid her any attention, even when she passed in front of the blue-jacketed security personnel stationed at the foot of each staircase. As long as she continued to look like she knew what she was doing and where she was going, she doubted that would change.
The other teams weren’t having any success either. Every time her pocket buzzed she jerked her phone out with excitement, but each time it was only one of the other Harpies letting her know everything looked clear. She felt guilty about it, but wondered if that was because there truly wasn’t anything to see, or because even Hezzie didn’t have her sensitivity and might have missed something. Kyla was an excellent tracker when she knew what she was looking for, but this time all Verity could give her was a vague “look for anything suspicious.” At a concert this size, that could cover a lot of territory.
She continued her scan as the concert went on, but each passing minute brought more discouragement. On the stage, the band swung into one of their biggest hits, bringing the majority of the crowd to their feet with another surging cheer. Verity reached the bottom of another flight of steps and paused for a scan as she passed in front of the first row of seats, then prepared to move on before anyone complained.
Wait!
She froze, stopping in shock as she thought she spotted the familiar traces of magic across the arena in the upper west-side section.
“Hey, move along!” a beer-scented voice yelled in her ear.
She realized she’d stopped in front of another fan, which she’d been trying not to do. “Sorry!” she shouted back, and scooted to the end of the row.
By the time she got there, the magical traces were gone.
Damn. She hurried back to the top of another stairway and sent a quick text to the others. Saw something on west side up high, but lost it.
On it, came Kyla’s quick reply.
Verity wished she’d thought to bring binoculars with her, but it was too late for that now. She descended again, cutting across using the aisle at the midpoint through the section, and headed toward the west side. She’d never get over there in time to do anything herself, but if she could spot the magic again maybe she could do a better job directing Kyla and Hezzie. Hez would be scanning now too.
Ten more minutes passed, and still nothing turned up. Verity’s head had begun a steady throb a while ago from the constant up-and-down and the billows of pot smoke wafting around the arena.
How much longer are we gonna do this? came Greta’s grumpy text. I don’t see shit.
Verity paused at the top of another staircase, switching her focus to the east side of the arena as more texts came in.
Zel: She might be right. I don’t see anything either.
Hezzie: Yeah, no sign of magic. Sorry, V.
Kyla: Let’s keep it up for a little longer. 20 minutes?
Verity sighed as she watched the texts scroll by, grateful for Kyla’s loyal attempt at support. She couldn’t blame any of the Harpies for their frustration, especially since it was really starting to look like she’d been wrong. If a group of young mages was running around here lifting people’s wallets, they’d do it fast and then fade into the crowd before they were caught. They wouldn’t spend the whole concert running around, risking one of the guards spotting them. It took a lot of power to stay concealed that long; she doubted even Stone could do it.
Fine, she sent back to all of them. 20 min and meet by hot dog place.
She jammed her phone back in her pocket and sighed as once again the band began to play one of its number-one hits and the cheering crowd leaped back to their feet. All around her, the standing, swaying people blocked her view. If only she could get up higher, she could possibly get a better vantage point.
A slow smile spread across her face. But I can. I’m thinking like a mundane!
Energized by her new idea, she hurried back to the top of the steps. Nobody was looking at her; the crowd’s attention was focused on the band down below. What she planned to do wouldn’t be easy, but she wouldn’t have to do it for long. And if she could spot something she couldn’t see from here, it would be worth it.
Taking a deep breath and a moment to gather herself, she cast a disregarding spell and then levitation, lifting off and rising high over the crowd. She wasn’t worried about anyone noticing her; that was the point of the disregarding spell. Nobody expected to see a woman floating in mid-air, so even if they spotted her, their gazes would slide right off.
Still, she couldn’t afford to waste time. Moving as quickly as she dared, she rose near the arena’s ceiling and then floated across toward the network of catwalks that crisscrossed the area above the floor. After a glance with magical sight verified nobody was up here, she dropped and settled in a central location where she could watch the entire area below by simply turning in place.
This was more like it! She couldn’t ask for a better view, and if she kept the disregarding spell up she wouldn’t have to worry about anyone spotting her unless they literally tripped over her. If any workers were up here, they’d see her as just another worker. I’m up high, she texted the others.
This would be her last chance, though: more than five of the allotted twenty minutes had already passed, and still nothing appeared. She’d have only a few minutes to scan the sections from here before she’d have to head back down again if she wanted to reach the rendezvous with the others on time. I have to make this count.
She started with the west side, where Hezzie and Kyla were stationed, but didn’t linger there long. Between Hez’s magic and Kyla’s tracking skills, they’d have the best chance of finding anything on their own. Turning, she skimmed her gaze over the south section, Zel and Lara’s post. Those two would need the most help, since neither of them had any enhanced abilities beyond normal tracking skills. She lingered there for a couple of minutes but didn’t see anything—she couldn’t even spot their auras among the clashing colors of the crowd.
Okay, last shot. She turned once more, this time to the east side. This time she did spot both of them, on the stairs on opposite sides of a center section. Tani was creeping upward, while Greta headed toward the front.
She scanned the area between them, and stopped, tensing. Gripping the catwalk’s handrail, she leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. Had that been a trace of magic?
She nearly bobbled her phone as she jerked it free. Greta. Tani. It’s there. Second row in your section.
As she pressed the Send button, debating whether she should try to get down there herself, the band finished their song and the crowd erupted into cheers again, obscuring the magic traces. Damn!
But Greta and Tani were already on the move. From her perch, she watched both of them glance at something in their hands, then jerk forward and take off at a swift pace down toward the lower part of the section. Before Verity lost them in the crowd, she saw them converge at both ends of the second row and start working their way in. Had they seen something?
She couldn’t stay up here. If the figure made a run for it, she’d never be able to reach them with her magic from this far way—not only was the distance a problem, but there was too much chance of hitting somebody else in the crowd with an errant spell. She needed to get over there.
She already had the disregarding spell running. An instant later she was floating again, heading toward the top of the section. She’d have to land there so no one would notice her—the best disregarding spell in the world wouldn’t protect her if she dropped down in the middle of a crowd of people, especially if Tani and Greta had already reached their quarry. She just hoped the thief didn’t have a way to escape before she arrived.
Her feet hit the ground at the top of the section. The crowd was still cheering, and if she looked closely with magical sight she could just spot Greta’s familiar aura shoving her way along the second row between a pair of burly men. The woman was short, but she was built like a fireplug and didn’t have a problem with being pushy. Verity couldn’t see small, skinny Tani. She took off running as fast as she dared down the steps in their direction, still scanning with magical sight.
Greta’s bobbing aura had almost reached the center of the second row now. The crowd was still cheering. Verity’s gaze locked in once more on the wafting magical energy, now heading away from Greta. She picked up speed, not daring to waste the time to send a text.
Two large men carrying trays of nachos and big plastic cups of beer wove into her path as they ascended the steps toward their seats.
“Get out of the way!” she yelled, trying to shove past them.
“What the fuck?” One of them glared at her as his beer sloshed into his nachos. “Slow down, baby.”
Verity threw herself sideways, angling past them and continuing down, but she’d lost the trace again. “Fuck!” she muttered, looking for Greta and Tani.
It was only then that she saw the second trace. This one was past Tani, moving toward the section from behind her. In the middle, Greta made a lunge for something.
What happened next looked to Verity like it occurred in slow motion.
One of the guys with nachos jostled her again, knocking her off balance and into the lap of a seated fan on the end of the next row over.
The fan, a middle-aged man, yelped and shoved her off.
From in front of her, a scream sounded.
Greta?
Greta doesn’t scream…
Heart pounding, she scrambled back up and got her feet under her. She looked wildly forward, trying to spot her friends, but now more people were surging toward the front. In desperation, she levitated a couple feet up to get a better view.
She got barely a split-second to react before something clenched hard in the pit of her stomach.
“No!” she cried, but it was too late.
Greta’s flailing form flew upward as if she’d taken an uppercut from a giant, and before Verity could react, she sailed over the railing and plummeted to the level below.
12
Stone briefly considered staying at the Surrey house long enough to catch a nap; by the time he took his leave of Selby and headed back through the portal it was almost six a.m., and fatigue had already begun creeping into his brain. But he had a meeting at the University tomorrow afternoon, and if he headed back now he’d gain another eight hours to rest. He knew it didn’t work like that, but right now even the illusion of extra time seemed appealing.
He bid Aubrey goodnight and headed out into the clear, moonless night toward the cemetery, already thinking about course syllabi and lesson plans. He’d been working on updating the course material for his introductory Occult in America class over the last couple of months, bringing in a meatier unit on occult- and supernatural-related urban legends, something the students always responded to with enthusiasm. Not for the first time, he considered taking a few months’ sabbatical to drive around the United States researching regional legends (and, if he was honest about it, checking out some of the new rifts—even if he couldn’t close them, nothing said he couldn’t study them) but with everything going on lately he didn’t think being away that long was a good idea. As big as it was, the USA had a shamefully small number of public travel portals, and the last thing he needed to do was get stuck out in the great bugger-all of Nebraska when something happened.
When. He smiled wryly. He’d long ago stopped thinking in terms of if something would happen. Maybe it was just because he was more tuned in to such happenings than he’d been when he’d spent most of his time keeping his metaphorical head down, but regardless, things were indeed happening and he needed to stay on top of them.
He entered the mausoleum without looking around. His mind still far away, he shoved the sarcophagus lid aside, climbed down the ladder, and checked his watch as he used magic to pull the lid shut behind him. Six-thirty a.m, which meant it was late evening in California. Plenty of time to get in a good night’s rest with Raider before he had to get his materials together for the meeting.
He knew something was amiss the moment he stepped into the portal. It wasn’t anything major—certainly not the same flashing colors or odd disorientation he’d experienced on his way to Chicago back when he was investigating the rogue rifts. It almost didn’t seem like anything, and only his years of experience with portal travel alerted him to a vague, almost subliminal feeling of unease.
He paused, looking around. Everything looked normal: the gray, foggy tunnel remained as featureless and muffled as ever, with a far-off darker gray spot indicating the exit point. He didn’t even see any of the occasional dark forms cruising around in the distance. “You’re just tired…” he muttered, the Overworld’s normal, unsettling acoustics removing all nuance from his voice.
He started forward again, walking at a steady pace, refusing to allow the uneasiness to affect him. He’d pay attention, sure, and if anything unusual turned up he’d deal with it, but right now the last thing he needed to do was let his mind run away from him.
He couldn’t stop his increased heartbeat, though. No question about it—he wanted to get the hell out of here, and he’d feel a lot better when he was safely on the other side. In less than five minutes, he’d be at A Passage to India. Maybe he’d stop for a quick cup of coffee and a chat with Marta. He hardly ever saw her these days, always in a hurry when using the portal, so he owed her a visit.
Picking up his pace without realizing it, he soon noticed the small, dark form of the exit growing larger and more substantial. Since he’d known he’d be heading back home shortly he hadn’t cleared the calibration on his private portal, leaving it pointed at the one in Sunnyvale. He reached the exit and stepped through, expecting stacked boxes and the pleasant, ever-present aroma of curry.
He found neither.
Instead of the familiar, featureless storeroom at the restaurant, he stood inside a room he was certain he’d never seen before. In his quick glance around the intimate, dimly lit space, he got quick impressions of paneled walls, candles, a pair of fine chairs with a small table between them, and a sumptuous rug beneath his feet.
It was only a second’s impression, though—al
l he had time for before he was in near-instant motion, raising his shield and whirling back toward the portal. Something was wrong, and he had to get the hell out of here. Now.
Except the portal was gone.
Only a wall stood there now, as richly paneled as the rest of the room, hung with a large, ornately framed print of some pastoral landscape.
“Please,” said a voice behind him. “Calm yourself. I mean you no harm.”
13
Ben Halstrom’s little group was falling to pieces in front of his eyes, and he knew if he didn’t do something now, he’d lose them all.
“Guys, listen!” he called over the frantic hubbub of their voices. “Please! Just listen to me a minute!”
“We killed somebody, man!” T-boy’s voice was high and bright with terror. “Maybe more than one!” He rubbed at his face with both hands. “Aw, man, I never wanted to hurt anybody!”
Daisy, who’d been at the other end of the row when the plan had gone to hell, had tears running down her face. She wasn’t joining in the others’ conversation, but at T-boy’s words she looked up with big haunted eyes. “I panicked…” she mumbled. “Oh, God, that woman just…went over…”
Patch moved next to her and put an arm around her. “It’s okay, Daze. It’s okay. We know you didn’t mean to.” She glared at Ben. “We’re out, man. We ain’t doin’ any more of this. We told you before—no hurting anybody.”
Ben struggled to find the right words. His heart pounded. Part of him felt as bad as they did—from his position on the other side of the Arena, he’d been too far away to do anything to help. The woman had sailed over the balcony and plummeted to the darkened section below almost before it registered on him that something had happened, but once it was over his priority became getting himself and his crew out before somebody noticed them. He’d sent them all the agreed-upon ‘retreat’ signal and they’d all met up at the designated location, one of their squats in an abandoned building back in Oakland.
