“That place upsets me,” she said, looking at him. “It reminds me of him. I miss him. Even the way he used to curse at me.”
Kane raised an eyebrow.
“But…that…okay, and this is better?” He looked around the trashed apartment. “This place looks like a shithole.”
Tabitha smiled at him.
“Thanks, Kane,” she said. “I know you’re trying to cheer me up, but it’s just not the same.”
Kane raised an eyebrow at her and shook his head.
“We’ll need to get back to Antonia’s soon,” he said. “Preferably at night.”
Tabitha looked at him.
“I want to stay here,” she said. “Clean a little.”
“I can’t let you do that,” Kane said. “I won’t leave you alone.”
Tabitha smiled at him, stepping close to him and kissing him on the cheek.
“You’re sweet to worry, Kane,” she said. “But I’m not leaving you a choice.”
Kane’s ears perked as a shout rang out in the alleyway outside.
He backed away from Tabitha and went to the window. The sun was still out, the alley filled with light and barely shadowed by the buildings as a man in a sport coat stumbled over some trash cans. Kane looked in the direction the man had come from and saw two police officers walking toward him.
“Shit,” Kane muttered under his breath as Tabitha joined him at the window.
“No,” the man said as he reached the fenced end of the alleyway. He turned and pressed his back to the fence as the two officers walked toward him.
“I swear I saw this guy somewhere,” one said, smiling. “He fits a description.”
“Of what?” said the other, feigning curiosity. He snapped his fingers in the air. “Oh, I got it! Kane Shepherd! That Magician that they’re looking for!”
The man pulled his hat off. He was young, a kid. Maybe in his twenties. His eyes widened under his large, bushy eyebrows, his beard unkempt and knotted.
“We gotta get down there,” Tabitha said. “Kane, they’re gonna hurt him!”
“No,” Kane said. “They’re gonna kill him. And we can’t just warp down there. Using magic will draw attention. Make it worse.” Kane leaned closer to the window, looking the fire escape over. They weren’t that far up. He opened the window, climbed out onto the fire escape.
The man held his hands up as one of the officers pulled his gun.
“Is he casting?” the cop said.
“Yup,” said the other. “In fact, I’m pretty sure he went for your gun.”
“No! Wait!” the kid shouted, begging. He covered his head and shrank to the ground as if the effort might somehow save him from the inevitable bullet.
This might hurt, Kane thought, looking down at the scene. Ah, fuck it.
Kane hoisted himself over the railing, left nothing underneath him but air and the street below as he dropped down toward the cop with his gun aimed. The impact hurt, his legs and back jarring so hard he felt it in his neck, but the cop got it worse as he collapsed to the ground, screaming in pain, the gun going off and sending a stray bullet into a wall. Kane drove his fist into the man’s temple and put him to sleep instantly.
“Freeze, asshole!” the other cop shouted, his revolver out instantly. Kane spun on him, swatted the gun away. He lunged at the officer, grabbed him by the uniform, slammed him into the opposite wall. The cop pushed off against Kane, swung at him. Kane deflected with his left hand, sent the cop over-leaning, and boxed his ear. The cop dropped to the ground like a sack of bricks, laying still, his eyes rolled back and a slight smile on his face.
Kane stood back, looking from one knocked out cop to the other. He looked up as the kid stepped toward him a spoke with a long and exaggerated Southern drawl.
“Thank you,” he said, still hunched over as if Kane might turn on him. “Thank you! They were gonna kill me!”
Kane stood tall, looking down at the kid.
“Why?”
“They said I was a Magician,” the man said. “I’m no Magician. Hell, I can’t even pull off a card trick. Can’t throw no fireballs or nothin’.”
Kane looked at him sidelong.
“Cut the fake accent. Real Southerners don’t have to try so hard.”
The kid gave his head a small shake as if Kane’d just slapped him.
“Right,” he said, his Southern accent gone instantly. He stood up straight, still a head shorter than than Kane. “Sorry about that.”
“What happened?”
“Like I said: they were accusing me of being a Magician. Then they said I stole a newspaper. I’m a newsie. I work for the newspaper!” The kid paused. “Well, a newspaper. Really the only one people should be reading anymore.”
Kane shook his head.
“Get out of here,” Kane said. “This never happened.”
The kid nodded, then pulled a notebook out of his pocket. Kane looked up and saw Tabitha looking down at him from the fire escape. Shit, he thought.
“So can I ask you a few questions for The Rag?”
Kane looked back at the kid.
“No.”
A low groan came from one of the officers. Kane looked down and saw the one he’d landed on roll over, wincing as he went. He stepped up to the man, a small mark on his hand catching his attention.
The cop looked up at him and blinked.
Kane balled his fist and drove it into the man’s temple. The cop slumped over, his eyes closed and his jaw slack.
“Good night,” Kane muttered.
“Damn!” the newsie said. “Got a name?”
“Fuck off,” Kane said, standing back up. “And go. Away.” Kane turned away from him and walked toward the end of the alleyway.
“You can’t save me from Danwood’s little personal goons and expect me to just walk off without a story.”
Kane stopped in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder, then turned to the kid.
“What did you say?”
The newsie grinned at him.
“Come back and give me a story, and I’ll tell you.”
Kane clenched his jaw in anger. If nothing else, newsies were a persistent bunch. He walked back toward the newsie, this time coming closer, using his size to loom over the kid, try to shake him a little.
“Start talking.”
“After I get a name.”
“Better idea: you tell me about Danwood’s thugs and what he’s up to, and I let you walk out of here on two legs that work.”
The newsie’s eyes widened, and Kane heard an audible gulp come from the kid’s throat.
“Danwood created a team shortly after the two Magicians he was after escaped New Chicago,” said the newsie. “Commissioner Gentry is obsessed with one of them. Kane Shepherd. Won’t stop at anything to get him. Calls them something, but I can’t remember exactly. But he did say they were Hunters.”
Kane looked down at the man he’d just coldcocked. He knelt down and held up the unconscious man’s hand. The mark was small, tattooed. It was a symbol Kane didn’t recognize. Some kind of rune. It was a cross, but unlike the ones Kane knew. All four arms were the same length, each one ending in a small flare. He’d seen it somewhere before, but he couldn’t remember. Being raised and educated Catholic, he’d seen many different types of crosses in Catholic School, but the nuns had never elaborated on the different crosses from other sects of Christianity.
“What’s this tattoo?” he asked the newsie.
“A lot of the newer cops have it,” the kid replied. “Dunno what it means. The library in New Chicago is off limits to the press these days. Don’t know that they would have much, anyway. A lot of the archives have been tampered with. They’ve trashed a lot of information.”
Kane stood back up and looked at the kid.
“Got a name?”
“Chris,” the kid said, holding out his hand. “Chris Jacobson of The Rag.”
“What’s The Rag?” Kane asked, ignoring Chris’s outstretched hand.
Chris nodded, pulled the hand back.
“It’s an underground paper,” he said, his tone carrying some pride. “We report the truth about the Oligarchy, the police, and the Revolution. And we’ve been waiting for you. Kane Shepherd.”
Kane was on him instantly, the kid’s shirt gnarled in his fists as Kane lifted him off his feet.
“How the hell do you know who I am?” Kane growled in his face. “Start talking. Now.”
“Put me down,” Chris said. “I’ll talk, just don’t hurt me!”
Kane felt a cold hand on his shoulder. He looked and saw Tabitha standing beside him, the frost from her travel spell fading as she looked at him.
“Kane, put him down,” she said. “He’s friendly!”
“How do you know?” Kane said, looking back at Chris.
Tabitha stepped closer to him, playfully slapped him on the arm.
“Had a vision, silly,” she said. “We can trust him.” She looked at Chris, her eyes steel, her tone gentle and sweet as she put her face close to his. “And if we find out we can’t, I’ll turn you into a popsicle. Does that sound okay?”
“Wow, they really did a number on this place,” Chris said, giving a low whistle as he looked around Tabitha’s apartment.
Kane rolled his eyes as he grabbed the kid by the shoulder and moved him to the couch.
“There you go,” he said, his voice rich with sarcasm as he pushed Chris down onto the couch. “Couple of throw pillows, a newsie that knows too much for his own good: what do you think, Tabitha?”
Tabitha clapped her hands rapidly.
“Perfect! I think I still have some coffee! I wonder if Becky is still up for brewing?” She looked around the kitchen. “Becky? What do you say?”
Kane looked over his shoulder at her as Chris looked at her and cocked his head to the side. Tabitha hummed a cheery tune as she rummaged around what was left of her kitchen in search of coffee and her coffee pot.
“So that’s why they call her ‘Mad Tabitha,’” Chris said.
Kane turned back to him.
“I like to think she’s just energetic. Start talking. How do you know who we are?”
“Your picture is all over the police department,” Chris said. “You’re the most wanted man in New Chicago. Probably the Northern Union.”
“Oh, Kane!” Tabitha called from the kitchen. Kane looked over his shoulder and saw her close a cabinet, the canister of coffee in her hand. “You’re being recognized for something! Isn’t that great?”
“I don’t think ‘Most Wanted’ is something I want on a medal,” Kane said, looking back down at Chris.
“Hey,” Chris said, shrugging. “Aiming high, right?”
Kane growled at him.
“Okay! Jeez, man,” Chris said, holding his hands out defensively. “They swear up and down you’re a Magician. Based on your little performance at that event they had a few weeks back, I’d say they’re on point. That, and your girlfriend, there, just appearing in the alley out of nowhere a few minutes ago. They want you in a bad way.” He motioned to Tabitha. “They have her on the radar, too. But you’re the big lion in Gentry’s sights.”
“He doesn’t just want to kill me,” Kane said. He looked down and saw the overturned chair next to him. He picked it up, dusted the pink cushion off, and placed it upright across from the couch. Kane sat, and stared at Chris. “He tried to trap me in Charleston, have me end up staying there when the city burned. He killed a lot of people in front of me, tried to make me kill my friends. He wants to break me, first.”
Chris blinked.
“Okay. Yeah. Guy wants to kill you, and you talk about it like it’s not a big deal.”
“People wanting to kill me is nothing new.”
“Right,” Chris said. He pulled his notepad out again, flipped the pencil in his fingers. “For the record?”
“Put it away, or I’ll make you eat it.”
Chris immediately tucked the notebook back into his coat pocket.
“I need to record this,” he argued, not hiding his frustration. “The Revolution needs to know you’re back.”
“The Revolution is dead,” Kane said. “The Special Forces came to the South and wiped the floor with them. Charleston, South Carolina is gone. There’s nothing left.” Kane sat back in his chair as he listened to Tabitha humming a tune while she poured water into her coffee pot and scooped grounds into the basket. “Now, I want to know why those cops were after you.”
“They saw me snooping around this place,” Chris said. “They know good and goddamn well who I am. The Rag is an underground publication. Hell, some of our drops are in dumpsters and trash cans, for Christ’s sakes. They still manage to get their hands on it from time to time.”
“How?”
“Loyalists to the Oligarchy,” Chris said, shrugging. “People who are so brainwashed that they think the Oligarchy works for them, considers their best interests.” He snorted. “That’s not even the definition of an Oligarchy.”
“It’s a small group of men who control everything,” Kane said automatically. “In our case, it’s the super-rich. Corporations.”
“Exactly,” Chris said. “You’ve got what, maybe a hundred people who control the entire country? And Frostmeyer is the top.” He chuckled. “Control the money, control the world. The loyalists can’t or won’t wrap their heads around the idea that these guys aren’t noble enough to consider anything that doesn’t directly affect their bank accounts. The Propaganda they put out through The New Chicago Tribune and other Northern Union rags is rich and plentiful. Trust me when I say that there are corrupt newsies out there just like there are corrupt cops.” The newsie leaned forward, eyed Kane as he spoke. “And you’re wrong about the Revolution. I promise you it’s alive and stirring here.”
Tabitha called out from the kitchen.
“Coffee in about two minutes!”
Kane kept his eyes on Chris.
“What’s your involvement?”
“The Rag,” Chris said. “I find the stuff the regular newsies can’t get and report the stories they can’t report without the Oligarchs getting involved. We’re completely independent, and we’re scattered. There’s no main office. We print where we can. There’s a rundown press here in Hidden Valley, so we use that to print off a few copies when we can get the thing working. The people who read it are encouraged to pass it around, and burn it after two days. They can’t touch us, they can’t find us, and they can’t stop us.”
“Got two cops in the alley that would care to argue that,” Kane said.
“Ah,” Chris said. “That. Yeah. There’s more of us. Those two came for me specifically. Apparently, the police commissioner isn’t real happy about my latest headline.” He pulled a rolled newspaper from his pocket and handed it to Kane. It was small, maybe a few pages. Kane took it and unrolled it, the front headline catching his attention immediately.
Special Forces and NCPD Joint Operation Under Way!
“This isn’t news,” Kane said.
Chris smiled.
“Keep reading.”
Kane looked back down at the page.
General Elias Chesterfield of the Northern Union Special Forces has joined with Police Commissioner William Gentry in a joint venture to hunt down and destroy the rising Revolution in New Chicago. Revolutionaries are encouraged to take evasive action if police are spotted in the streets of New Chicago and the communities of Hell’s Kitchen, particularly the Hidden Valley community.
Kane looked up from the paper.
“You’re not pulling punches, are you?”
Chris’s grin got broader.
“The truth doesn’t pull punches,” he said. “Facts don’t pull punches. We’ve got to report it the way it is. The fuzz isn’t out because crime is up. In fact, if you can get your hands on the police reports, crime is actually on a decline in New Chicago if you take out the crime being committed by the police. Well, overall anyway. Hidden Valley has seen a surge with these murd
ers happening.”
Kane knew the answer to his next question, but he asked it anyway. He wanted to hear what the kid had to say.
“Meaning?”
Chris blinked, his grin fading as he spoke.
“Meaning they’re full of shit,” he said, pointing at the paper in Kane’s hand. “The whole thing isn’t anything more than another way for them to push back against the people in this city—namely, the lower class that makes up a large portion of the population here. We outnumber them and they know it.” Chris sat back. “The rich run this town and they aren’t about to let us lowlifes take that away from them.”
Kane raised his eyebrow. “Got you pretty fired up, I see,” he said as Tabitha came over and handed him a cup of coffee.
Chris grunted.
“I’m surprised you aren’t fired up.”
“Why would I be? I just got back. This isn’t anything new to me.”
“I guess not,” Chris said, nodding to Tabitha as he took the coffee from her. “Thanks.” He took a sip and looked at Kane. “You started this, after all.”
Kane sat up straight, his temperature turning up.
“This should be good. How the hell is any of this on me?”
“You attacked them directly,” Chris said, motioning to Tabitha. “When you went to free her. Christ, you went right for Frostmeyer, himself!”
“Get your facts straight, newsie,” Kane said. “I didn’t ‘go’ for anyone. They were about to kill Tabitha. Couldn’t let that happen.”
“My brother is the one who attacked, actually,” Tabitha said, her voice low, her tone somber. “Kane stepped in to try and save him. It didn’t work.”
Chris nodded.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He looked at Kane. “Then, you blew up a shipyard and took out a squadron of Special Forces ships.”
“I was trying to leave,” Kane said. “If I stayed, they would’ve turned Hidden Valley into a warzone looking for me. I wasn’t about to invite open war into the streets. Too many people live here for that.” Kane leaned forward. “Look, I appreciate that you think I’m some kind of superhero or something. Fine. But I’ve seen how this ends firsthand. You’ve got numbers, they’ve got firepower. And this Chesterfield is something else entirely.” Kane pushed the idea of telling the newsie about Gentry and Chesterfield being magic users away. For now.
Gaslit Revolution Page 5
