Cold Moon Rising

by C. T. Adams

  “Ah, gotcha. No problem.”

  I flicked my gaze toward her as I shut off the engine. “You just intuitive today, or reading my thoughts?”

  She shrugged and her scent was pretty much normal. No particular emotion. “Intuitive, I guess. It’s a shooting range. We were talking about me becoming an agent. You’re an I’ll believe it when I see it sort of guy, so I presume you want to see it. And hey, I’ve been practicing really hard, so I’d sort of like to show off a little.”

  She would, huh? “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.” I walked her toward the first table in front of the bar and pulled both guns from their holsters . . . one at the small of my back and the other at my ankle. “I’d love to give you earplugs, but you won’t get any out in the field in a crisis. Better to know now if you’re not going to be able to hear afterward.”

  I stepped back and waved a hand toward them in invitation. I wanted to see how she’d approach them. Had she been taught proper handling, and by who? Shooting’s not about just picking up a gun and pulling the trigger. It’s a process. Was she looking down-range to check her target? Did she open the cylinder to check the ammo? Etc., etc. But I didn’t want to coach or reprimand. I’d heal if she shot me, and we were next to the clinic if she shot herself. So I leaned back against the nearest pole support and decided to just zip my lip, lock my head to our mental link, and observe.

  She took a deep breath and let it out slow, knowing my eyes were watching her every move. Her scent was a blend of fear, determination, and worry, which is a really weird combination—sort of like soggy stir-fry left in the fridge too long. It doesn’t smell bad, per se. But it’s odd.

  It didn’t take long to tell me what I needed to know. She picked the guns up with a level of comfort that said she hadn’t been bullshitting about practicing. She checked the gun and the ammo, and found an unmarked portion of an old paper target at the fifty-foot line to fire at. The caustic, familiar scent of burned smokeless powder filled the air as she squeezed the trigger. God, I love that smell. I’d like to say that the noise didn’t bother me, but it did. Guns are hideously loud near the full moon. But I managed not to wince.

  Her stance as she shot told me she’d been using target loads in her practice sessions. She made a little stutter backward in her steps and stared at the gun like it had bit her. I load my shells pretty hot, even for hunting rounds. She glanced at me as a question, but I didn’t so much as blink. Not accusatory, nor comforting. But when she looked away, I noticed that she’d hit about an inch below the black dot on the target. It wasn’t a bad shot, but since I know it’s not the gun, it wasn’t that great either. Still, it would put down a deer, or a charging wolf at that distance, so I couldn’t bitch much. Perfection takes practice . . . and lots of it.

  Still, the second shot, once she’d adjusted her footing and rubbed her hands against her pants to get the feeling back in the palms, wasn’t half bad. It moved up closer to the dot, as did the third. “Try the other one.”

  The Taurus fit her hand pretty well, and it was a .38, so it would be an ideal gun for her. The Ruger was bigger, a .44 Magnum. If she thought my little ankle pop gun was a challenge, let’s see what she made of its big brother. Several of of the Wolven agents carry Black-hawks, although most prefer Colts or Sigs.

  She stared at the gun for a long moment, and I could tell she knew what she was in for. It was going to hurt. Not a little hurt, like a papercut, but a big hurt, like your skin is being ripped from your bones. The Pachmayr grips are dandy for keeping ahold of the thing when you’re wet or bleeding, but those little diamond cuts in the rubber are like freaking razor blades with enough force behind them. But she didn’t argue. She nodded once and picked it up, steadied herself, and held it firmly in front of her in a modified Weaver stance. I approved. Good choice for lessening the kick. She squeezed the trigger, meaning she was taught right. Too many new shooters pull the trigger. That tiny motion yanks the whole barrel upward. Not only will you miss the center of the target . . . there’s a good chance you’ll miss the target altogether.

  Fire blazed from the barrel and I couldn’t help but smile a little. She very nearly hit the center of the dot, which would take down anything in her way. But her composure was finally lost. She put the gun gingerly back on the table and shook both of her hands, the palms red even from where I was standing. “Owwww! Damn it, Tony! What do you have in here?”

  I finally stepped forward and picked up the Ruger. “Silver’s not heavy enough to go the distance and keep the trajectory, and Wolven uses all silver rounds. So you have to have a lot of powder behind it to get it where you need it to go. It’s not perfect, but I tried silver-jacketed and they didn’t work worth crap. So, we have to make do. I’m not saying you’d have to have this level of round in your own sidearm, but if you have to grab a random gun in a fight, you need to be able to handle it on the fly.”

  She seemed to take that in. “So in other words, practice with hot loads and then be pleasantly surprised in a crisis?”

  I bonked her on the nose with a finger. “Exactamundo, sweetheart. Ever see the movie Chariots of Fire?” When she nodded, I added, “It’s like the guys learning the shotput. They practiced with one way too heavy without realizing it and wound up winning because the regulation shot was lighter.”

  I tucked both of the guns back in their holsters, reminding myself to reload when we got up to the clinic. I’d probably have to leave them here anyway, since I couldn’t take them on the plane. But I’d seen all I needed to. “Nice job, by the way. Every one of those would have put down the target for the count.”

  “Thanks. But . . . um, before we go, could you—” She motioned toward the target. “You know, I’ve never actually seen you shoot.”

  Oh. Well, actually she had, but I wasn’t going to remind her that she was in my head during a couple actual jobs, like when I killed a rival boss back home, and a hit man hired to take me out.

  Well, heck. If I was going to show off, it should be a show. I dipped my head and sure enough, there was a wad of chewing gum stuck under the table. It’s not a perfect glue, but plenty for what I had in mind. A quarter came out of my pocket and I stuck it to the wood, slightly lopsided, but firm. I backed up a dozen paces, until I was actually behind the covered shooting stands, near the car. There were tables and railings in the way and I was pretty sure Lucas would kick my ass if I shot them up. So I’d better not miss. I motioned her to come back to where I was standing. I still had four shots in the Ruger, since I always keep the barrel chamber empty when I’m driving.

  Before she could react, I took off running away from the car, parallel to the benches. I then spun and headed back, pulling the gun when I was a dozen feet from the target. I threw myself sideways on the gravel and skidded until I passed the target stand. I fired four times in rapid succession, adjusting my aim around the various supports, benches, and metal sheeting as I moved. I was dumping the empties from the chamber as I slid by in front of her feet and then rolled back to standing before I completely stopped. The whole operation took less than five seconds . . . barely enough time for the movements to register in her brain. “That what you wanted to see?”

  Her eyes were bright and her mouth open in awe. She raced forward, completely forgetting the rule that you don’t run down-range while there are still guns in hands. I wasn’t going to shoot her, but it was still a bad habit we’d have to break.

  “My God!” she exclaimed when she reached the target. “You hit it three times!”

  I smiled and holstered the gun as I walked toward her. I could see the quarter from where I was. “Four, sweetheart. Look again. Two went through the same hole.”

  There wasn’t much left of the quarter. Just a frame of twisted metal around the big slug holes. It took pointing out that one hole had a second dip on the top rim for her to believe it. I tucked it in her front pocket. “Keep it as a souvenir of what you’ll be able to do in the future if you keep it up. There are plenty of perfectly h
uman exhibition shooters, including women, who can do this same thing—just not as fast. Shooting’s all about practice. Keep it up and it won’t matter if you’re a Sazi or human agent.”

  Her scent turned to the light, fluffy fragrance of hope and tangerine happiness. “You really think I can?”

  “We’ll see, but I’m willing to give you a try. I just can’t speak for Lucas.”

  WE UNANIMOUSLY, AND silently, decided that discussing anything with Lucas would be a bad idea today. Apparently, my vision had been right on, but I’d sort of forgotten to mention the blowtorch to the door hinges. Oops.

  Nasil had been right in my head that Amber would have a headache. Apparently she was out for almost four hours and Charles was livid. I caught the tail end of an argument between them as I walked down the stairs to the basement.

  “I told you someone else should have stayed here with you! Dammit, Amber. What if he’d used poison instead of a tranquilizer?”

  Her voice got to a similar shade of red. “Oh, and this is all my fault now? You were with Liz, who absolutely needed to be watched. Holly absolutely needed to hunt and Lucas absolutely needed to sleep. Tony and Sue absolutely needed to not be here in case Ahmad went berserk. Angelique is still unconscious in her room and so is Sarah. Which someone should have stayed to guard me? How exactly was I supposed to have avoided this situation, oh great and wise seer? And by the way—couldn’t you have predicted an elephant tranq? I’d think that would stand out in a vision.”

  “Now look—” Charles’s voice became a rumble, and the sting of magic shot up the stairs like a back draft in a house fire. I had to back up just to keep my skin from smoking from the force of it.

  Oookay. Probably best to let them sort things out privately. I’d technically already seen the door. If I missed seeing it again, I could live with that. More on point . . . I could live.

  Liz was upstairs, learning a valuable lesson about the sting of high-octane magic. Her scent was actually that level of panic where you’re too terrified to move—like a deer in the headlights. She was swatting at her arms like there were bugs crawling on them, while Lucas slammed doors and dug through papers on the desk, cell phone to his ear. I couldn’t hear what was being said, so either the person was whispering, or he was on hold.

  I was pleasantly surprised that Sue wasn’t flinching from all the negative energy in the place. She patted Liz on the arm as I walked up to them. “You’ll get used to it. Honestly. Most of the old ones really have excellent control. It’s the magic you’re feeling. I’m happily immune to the crawly skin because I’m human, but I know it’s a struggle not to take off like a bat out of hell and run.”

  Liz shook her head and tears threatened. “I don’t know if I can do this. I mean, snakes and bears and wolves—”

  “Oh, my.” I added the last bit, since she seemed at a loss for words. She let out a sad little chuckle. “But don’t forget badgers. You’ve got it all over several species if zoology is any indication.” When she looked up at me, her eyes were filled with disbelief, as was her scent. I crossed my arms, settled my stance, and nodded. “I’m serious, kiddo. Animals in the wild are terrified of badgers. Go look it up. There’s hardly a species out there that will take one on, even up to the big cats and wolves. Spend some time online. Learn about your animal. What it can do, you can. What it must do, same thing. Heck, you might even find some footage on YouTube of how they fight or hunt. It’s handy shit to know when the moon comes calling.” I motioned with my head toward the doorway to the basement. “Now, before old big, white, and furry comes back upstairs, what’s the plan? I’ve no doubt he told you and remember . . . I’ll know if you’re lying.”

  Her eyes darted away for a second, so when the burst of black pepper into the air preceded her mouth opening, I wasn’t surprised. I lowered my chin and let out an amused, “Uh, huh. You sure you want to go there?”

  She opened her eyes wide and looked at me with an expression of indignation. But her scent was the dry desert heat of embarrassment. “I didn’t even say anything!”

  It was Sue who responded, with another pat on her knee. “You don’t have to. That’s the problem with dealing with these guys. Scents happen at the same time as the thought. Most Sazi will give you a chance to change your mind, or think things through. But you have to be really careful of what you say. Everybody will know what you’re thinking because of the scent, long before words hit the air.”

  She let out a little huff of air and the pink glow around her swirled and danced in annoyance. “That is really not fair.” I couldn’t disagree, so I just shrugged and stayed silent, waiting. Finally she let out a sigh when she heard footsteps below our feet. “We’ve got a ten-thirty flight to Newark.” I checked my watch. It was already past eight. With the drive and security and such—

  “Crap. That doesn’t give us much time. Did you already download the boarding passes online?”

  She shook her head. “The plane was technically full. We have standby tickets. But Mr. Wingate said you’d know what to do so we can make the flight—whatever that means.”

  I smiled, and it had a dark edge. “That means a few people need to not want to fly today. Maybe quite a few, depending on how many standbys there are.” She looked at me askance, but I just chuckled. “Don’t worry, kid. Stick with me and you’ll learn the games we play.” But with the added time of going to the ticket counter, or logging in at one of the kiosks, plus probably getting extra attention from security for the late purchase, we really needed to get moving. “Where are your bags?”

  “Still out in the car. Should I go get ’em?” The question was too abrupt and hurried. I didn’t need my nose, or my degree in psychology, to know what she was planning.

  It was still amusing, but would get annoying if she kept it up. “Nice try, but you need to stop telegraphing. Can you smell that sweet, cloying scent in the air, with maybe a hint of pineapple?” She stopped and sniffed a few times and then took in a slow, deep breath through her nose.

  “Yeah. What is that? It’s really faint, but smells like a tropical fruit salad.”

  I gave her a pointed look. “That would be you—planning your escape when you went out to the car. So no dice.”

  Now she looked annoyed, and smelled of it too. “You said emotions have scents. What kind of emotion is escape?”

  I was getting tired of standing here answering questions, so I started moving. I snapped my fingers and motioned her to stand while I bent down and gave Sue a kiss on the cheek. “Most everything we do has some sort of emotion attached, Liz. I’d guess excitement, anticipation, and maybe that sneaky sort of happy when you pull something over on someone. I tend to call it dark glee to myself. You can call it whatever you like. But we have to get moving.” I lifted Sue’s chin and she smiled. “You going to be okay here?”

  A quick nod was all I needed, plus the scent of confidence and the burst of warmth in my head. “I’ll be fine. You go and take care of things. But you should probably leave your guns and get new ones there.”

  Oh. Good point. Instead of pulling them from the holsters, I started to unbuckle my belt. Liz raised her brows but I just rolled my eyes. “Gotta get the holster off somehow, kid. Ease up.” The stretch slacks I was wearing had plenty of give, so all I had to do was reach down and unsnap the strap and pull it out from behind my back. Apparently, Liz hadn’t noticed it was there, mostly because I tend to keep the grips down low so they don’t show even when I’m not wearing a jacket. I rolled the strap around the holster and handed it to Sue. Then I reached for the ankle one. “Feel free to spend some time with them, but don’t waste the silver if you can avoid it. Just get some hunting loads at Wal-Mart or somewhere.”

  Liz had picked up her purse and slung it on her shoulder. Lucas wasn’t anywhere to be seen so I walked to the basement door. I hollered down, in case they were in one of the cells in the back. I didn’t hear arguing anymore, but that didn’t mean anything if the level of magic in the stairwell was any in
dication. “Hey, you two! I’ve got to get Liz to the airport. I’ll leave the car in the short-term lot with the key in the wheel well.” Rather than track Lucas down, I just yelled to the open air, figuring he’d hear me, his ears being what they were. “I’ll call when I get to New Jersey!”

  “New . . . Jersey. ‘Ave to get—” The words were a screech that made both Liz and Sue cover their ears. I’d heard the voice before so all I did was wince at the tone . . . like fingernails on a chalkboard. Angelique came racing down the hallway, her cotton gown flowing behind her from the wind she was creating. She hit me full force and we toppled to the ground. “New! Jersey! ‘Ave to get . . . Atlantic!” She started slamming her head against me, as though she had a beak in human form. Her arms were flapping and her feet were clawing at my pants, but thankfully neither could do much more than bruise.

  I grabbed her arms and rolled her over onto her back. Liz and Sue backpedaled hard and fast, and Liz’s purse went flying. But there’s a reason Angelique’s leader of the raptors. Magic flew out of her in a green-gold rush that was like being hit in the face with a blast from an air compressor. It would have thrown me off her if it wasn’t for the fact that I’d wrapped my legs around hers. But it didn’t do my back muscles any good. “I could use some help here, people!” I made the words even louder than my earlier announcements and I heard feet heading my way.

  Angelique shrieked again, the sound of an angry falcon, and she beat at my sides with her fists like a hummingbird on steroids. It hurt. A lot. “New! ‘Ave to fly!”

  Another burst of magic sent me flying, and she changed forms in a flurry of cotton shreds and feathers. But she didn’t get far. Lucas was there and tackled her out of the air before she could take a second flap toward the nearest window. I didn’t think the glass would stop her like it would a normal bird, and I was betting Lucas knew that too.