by R. L. King
Every time he thought about it, though, something in the back of his mind nixed the idea. It was a weird feeling, sort of like the one you got when you were in bed and knew you had to get up and go to work, but you couldn’t force your body to make the necessary motions. Some part of him—and apparently an influential part—didn’t want him to leave the Bay Area.
Maybe it was the kids. He hadn’t contacted them in a while, knowing instinctively that he needed to give them their space so they could recover from the events at the Arena. That had been a horrific situation, and he didn’t blame a bunch of teenagers for being freaked out about it. But he also knew if he didn’t push them too hard it would fade, and when he finally did approach them again he’d do what he needed to make sure they rejoined the team. For the first time in his life he was helping someone (other than Ma, anyway), making their lives better. He didn’t want to give that up.
This morning when he woke up, it was with an idea in his head, one he hadn’t thought about before: he wanted to visit Ma’s grave.
One of his biggest recent regrets, second only to the decision to pull off the Arena job, was that he hadn’t attended his mother’s funeral. He’d found the notice in the paper a week after her death, stating that the service would be held at a small church on MacArthur, not too far from their apartment. It made sense—Ma didn’t have any other family, but she did have a lot of local friends and had been active in the church, so they probably cobbled something together so she wouldn’t die unremembered. More than anything, Ben had wanted to attend the funeral, but even with his illusionary disguise he didn’t think it was a good idea so soon after the murder. For one thing, there might be undercover cops there, especially if they thought he was responsible. For another, he wouldn’t put it past Julio to send a couple of his men to check the place out. If the second attacker had reported Ben’s actions, it was almost a certainty that they’d at least be watching the church.
So Ben didn’t go. Instead, he spent a miserable morning regretting every decision he’d ever made: agreeing to work for Julio, not making sure the second attacker was dead, disobeying his mother regarding his use of “that stuff” he shared with his father.
At least the kids had taken his mind off his growing depression. Maybe he’d made a mess of his life, but if he was careful, maybe he could help them improve theirs.
Now, though, he wasn’t so sure. Was he helping them? Would they desert him now that things had gone wrong? An uncharacteristic anger filled him as he rode the bus to the cemetery. Yeah, the gig had gone completely sideways, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t helped them. Hell, none of them would even know they could do magic if he hadn’t told them. If he hadn’t taught them how to use it. He wondered how many other people were out there who had the potential but had no idea about it.
Idly, he scanned the other riders on the bus. It was early evening, the sun beginning to set, and the seats were about three-quarters full. Ben watched the dancing, colorful auras, scanning from the front of the bus to the rear. Some were bright and vibrant, throbbing with life as their owners chatted amiably or watched the bleak scenery roll by. Some were more faded, spotted with dark bits indicating ill health or underlying mental issues. As he often did these days, Ben wondered what their lives must have been like, what might have happened to change the brilliant colors to something more muted. He wondered if his depression and anxiety would cause his own aura to grow dimmer in time. Right now, it looked the same: the usual boring orange overlaid with the yellow-green that hadn’t been there before. The color that showed he had magic.
Nobody else on the bus had that color, which disappointed but didn’t surprise him. Maybe he could go out and look for others, recruit some more people to the group. He’d give the kids another chance, but if they tried to bail on him he’d have to do something more drastic. They couldn’t just take the gift he’d given them and toss it aside.
Toss him aside.
Once again the anger rose, and he had no idea where it came from. It had been happening more often lately, and at unexpected times. Sometimes it was accompanied by an odd, almost raw feeling somewhere at his core, and once when he’d been using his special sight during one of the attacks, he’d noticed the yellow-green part of his aura sort of…surging. His dreams—when he didn’t take sleeping pills to shut them up—grew increasingly haunted by visions of his mother’s death and profound feelings of anger and vengeance against Julio, his men, and anybody else who wronged him. Once, a couple of nights ago, that had included the kids. He’d awakened in a cold sweat after that, breathing hard and terrified he’d done something horrible, but discovered he was safe in his bed at his latest hidey-hole.
The bus stopped a block from the cemetery and Ben got off, lengthening his stride to a near-jog as it pulled away from the curb and rejoined the brisk evening traffic. He carried a bouquet of flowers he’d picked up from a street vendor—not as nice as Ma deserved, but at least it would bring some color to her grave. He glanced around as he entered, searching for signs of other people in the area, but saw nobody. He supposed most people visited graves earlier in the day.
He found hers without much trouble; the cemetery wasn’t large, and it was one of the few with a fresh mound of dirt that hadn’t settled yet. She’d paid for the plot around the same time Dad had died, but Ben was sure she hadn’t expected to be using it for many more years. A rush of grief ran through him as he approached it. He and Ma hadn’t always seen eye to eye on everything, and they drove each other crazy more often than either of them had wanted to admit, but deep down they had loved each other. The loss was still as raw as ever, worsened by the image of her staring eyes, bloody dress, and that slipper hanging off one of her small feet. Ben didn’t think he’d ever get those images out of his mind, no matter how long he lived.
He knelt next to the grave and laid the flowers on it, up near the stone. It was a simple one, with only her name and dates of birth and death. Even if her friends had taken up a collection, they weren’t wealthy people.
“Aw, Ma…” he murmured, pressing a hand to the dirt and trying not to imagine his mother’s chubby form lying beneath it. Had they put her in her favorite blue church dress? Had they straightened out her neck, and cleaned up all the blood? More images rose in his mind: Julio’s men getting rough with her, trying to make her tell them where Ben was. Had they meant to strangle her, or just scare her? Had one of them cinched the cord too tight around her neck, or had she slipped? Either way, it didn’t matter. Even if it had been an accident, they’d still killed her. Ben didn’t care about degree of guilt.
“I’m sorry, Ma…” he whispered. “This whole thing is my fault. If only I’d—”
Something tingled in the back of his neck.
He stiffened, straightening to a standing position, and looked around.
Was someone here? Was someone watching him? The police, maybe? It made sense that if they thought he killed Ma, they might stake out her grave to see if he came back.
Sweat popped on his brow and the back of his neck, crawling down his back. If the cops were here, he’d have trouble getting away—the cemetery was a wide-open expanse of green lawn studded with headstones. There weren’t even any trees to hide behind. He swallowed hard and forced himself to calm down. He wouldn’t do himself any good if he panicked.
It was a little harder to switch to his special sight when he was so nervous, but he’d been getting better at it lately. He’d been getting better at all kinds of magic since the night everything had gone wrong. Maybe he was just more focused now. Maybe he could have been better all along, if he hadn’t let Ma’s fear sway him. The thought brought more guilt.
Too late to worry about that now, though. He had the power, and he’d better use it if he wanted to keep himself safe. Trying to look as nonchalant as possible, he spun in place and scanned the area around him. If anybody was lurking nearby, their aura would stand out.
He saw nothing, except the far-off figure of somebody wa
lking a dog. He watched the figure with suspicion—dog-walking would be a good way for an undercover cop to hide—but it ambled off and disappeared around a corner.
There’s nobody here, dummy. You’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing.
Ben glanced back at Ma’s grave. The little bundle of flowers looked somehow inadequate against the drab brown dirt, and he wished he’d splurged for a dozen roses. He could afford it now, even with the dwindling cash from the various jobs he and the kids had done.
I’ll come back, Ma. I promise. I’ll bring you something really beautiful.
The twinge hit him again, stronger, and this time a thought came with it.
It’s Julio. He’s got his guys watching you. He wants to finish you off.
He jerked his head around again, scanning once more for auras, but still saw nothing suspicious. Even the dog-walker was gone.
He’s watching you. He killed Ma. You need to do something about him.
Ben swallowed again. He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but the thought scared him. That was why all this time had passed without him making any attempt to go after Julio. He’d done his best not to learn too much about his old boss’s activities, but even a nobody like him knew Julio had a lot of power and influence in this part of Oakland. He couldn’t prove the man was involved in all kinds of illegal activities—and didn’t want to—but everybody knew all the same. Just like everybody knew where his headquarters was: a collection of warehouses and industrial buildings in the Fruitvale district, where he maintained Caliente, one of the trendiest underground nightclubs in town. The place might look like it was going to fall down any day, but anybody who wanted to be anybody in West Oakland’s underworld made sure they were seen there at least once a month.
Ben, of course, had never been there. He wouldn’t have known what to do with himself at a place like that.
At least the old Ben wouldn’t have.
You’ve got to get him before he gets you. Think about what he did to Ma. He thinks nobody can touch him.
I can touch him.
He smiled a thin, brittle smile and bent to place his palm flat against the cold dirt of his mother’s grave. “Don’t worry, Ma,” he murmured. “I’ll get him. I know you don’t like it, but you don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine now. And I’m even gonna have some help. You wait and see.”
He looked around one final time before hurrying out of the cemetery, still convinced somebody was watching him even though he couldn’t see them. As he did, he caught a glimpse of his own hand.
Was he imagining things, or did the strange, yellow-green aura around his orange one look a little bigger and brighter than it had before?
He snorted, picking up his pace. He was just being paranoid, and he couldn’t afford that now. He had people to see. Already a plan was beginning to form in his head, and he’d need help with it.
No more hiding. It was time to demand a little loyalty out of those kids he’d trained. And besides, once they heard why he wanted their help, they’d come right around.
19
Jason wasn’t sure he should be doing what he was doing, but he supposed in this case it was better to ask forgiveness than permission. Verity’s phone call the previous night, mentioning that Stone wasn’t having any more luck tracking down the mage gang than they were, spurred him to do something he’d been mulling over for quite some time. It couldn’t hurt, and in the long run it might actually help more than he hoped.
Leo Blum was already at the coffee shop when Jason arrived, sitting in the back at a table Jason suspected he’d staked out on more than one occasion for similar such off-the-books meetings.
“Hey,” the detective called, motioning him toward the seat across from him. He gathered up some papers he’d been reading and stuck them in a canvas briefcase.
“Hey. Thanks for meeting with me.” Jason settled in, dropped his messenger bag on one of the unoccupied chairs, and set his steaming cup of coffee in front of him.
“You got me curious. Didn’t expect to hear from you. Stone, yeah, but not you.”
Jason looked the man over, noting that Blum was doing the same thing right back at him. The detective didn’t look much different from the last time they’d worked together the previous July, trying to prevent a magically-compelled terrorist from using explosives to sink a bay cruise ship. There might have been a bit more gray in his short brown hair, but Blum had always looked wound up, like he perpetually had far too many things on his mind. “Yeah. Al doesn’t know about this—not specifically, anyway.”
“Keepin’ secrets?” Blum’s eyes narrowed.
“Nah. More like not bothering him with stuff until I know if it’s even possible. He’s got enough on his plate right now. Depending on how this goes, I’ll probably need to have a talk with him, but we’ll see.”
Blum looked dubious—it was obvious he didn’t quite believe Jason and was looking for hidden motives—but shrugged. “Let’s hear it, then.” He glanced at his watch. “I don’t have a lot of time, unfortunately.”
“No problem. I’ll get right to it.” Jason paused to think, realizing he wasn’t entirely sure how to get right to it. Dive right in, I guess. He glanced around to make sure nobody was paying attention to them, then leaned in closer. “Okay. So here’s the thing—ever since I met Al and found out my sister’s a mage, I’ve been tryin’ to find my place in this new world I’m in the middle of.”
Blum nodded knowingly. “Yeah, I hear that.”
“I mean, I can’t throw lightning bolts with my mind. I can’t float to the top of buildings. I can’t read people’s auras. For a while, that bothered me. Hell, even after V figured out a way to use her alchemy to give me some temporary stuff to make me tougher and stronger, I still couldn’t help feelin’ like the second-string player.”
“Wait a sec.” Blum’s gaze sharpened. “You say your sister used alchemy to make you tougher?”
“Yeah—temporarily. I won’t say anything else about that, because it doesn’t look like it’s gonna happen again anyway. But that’s not the point.”
“Okay, okay. Sorry. Keep going.”
“So anyway, ever since I’ve accepted the fact that I’m ass-deep in this whole thing and I’m not getting out any time soon, I’ve been tryin’ to figure out a way I can help more. A way that Al and V and the rest of their mage buddies can’t necessarily do.”
“I’m guessin’ you came up with something, or we wouldn’t be here right now.”
Jason sipped his coffee. The shop was crowded, and as far as he could tell, nobody was paying the least bit of attention to their conversation. “I wanted to talk to you because you’re the only other mundane I know who’s clued in to the whole magical world and also involved in law enforcement.”
“Yeah, okay…” He looked dubious again. “Not sure I like where this is goin’.”
“Just bear with me. Do you know other mundanes who know about magic? Members of magical families who didn’t get the powers? I mean, hell, Al’s been telling me for years that magic passes along gender lines. My mom was a mage, so V got the power instead of me. So that must mean there are a lot of people out there who grew up around it but didn’t get it, right? I’m betting at least some of those people know about it. It’s hard to keep it a secret from your family and closest friends.”
“I know a few…” Blum said carefully, eyeing him with suspicion. “What are you getting at?”
“Do you ever use them?”
“What do you mean, ‘use’ them?”
“Keep in contact with them. Ask them for help.” He gave a cynical chuckle. “Come on, Blum—I know from years of experience with Al that most mages don’t think we mundanes can get out of our own way when it comes to dealing with magical stuff. I know some of them don’t mean to treat us that way—hell, I know V doesn’t—but they do anyway. It used to bug me, but lately I’ve been thinking we could use it.”
“Use it?” Blum tilted his head, his suspi
cious expression morphing into the beginnings of interest. “How?”
“Ever since I got my PI license and set up my agency, I’ve been using the internet a lot more. I’ve got an assistant who’s a wiz with it. She can find all kinds of things for me, and she’s teaching me some of her tricks. And it sounds to me like you’re dealin’ with more magic-related crime than you used to, right?”
“Maybe. Or it might just be that I’m noticin’ it more. You know, how like after you buy a particular kind of car, you start seein’ more of them around?”
“Yeah, okay. But either way, you have to admit it might be a good thing to have more eyes out there on the street who know what to look for, right?”
Blum frowned. “Are you tryin’ to say you want to set up some kind of—what—network of mundanes who know about magic?”
“Well—yeah. I’m not talkin’ about a formal organization or anything. But if we can connect people who are in on the game, it might mean next time there’s somethin’ out there we might find it faster. Hell, this whole business in Oakland is still goin’ on. Al’s taken over the investigation, but he hasn’t turned much up yet. I was just talking to V about it last night, and he’s stumped.”
“Oh, fuck, I was gonna call Stone back about that to see how he’s doing. That whole mess with the Arena was a fuckin’ bad situation. We talked about it a little, but then a couple of my other cases heated up at the same time and I didn’t get a chance to get back to him.”
“V’s friend got hurt bad. One of the group she hangs around with.”
“Yeah, I heard. One of those vigilante women, the Harpies.”
“Yeah.” Jason bowed his head, remembering what Verity had told him.
“Last I heard, her leg got messed up and they didn’t know if she was gonna walk again. Do you know anything else? Stone didn’t give me a lot of details.”
