by TR Cameron
He let the camera retract as he stood and examined the door. It appeared to be a standard interior model that would be no match for him. He moved to the side with his back against the wall and pushed it open. Nothing happened, so he risked a quick glance and entered the room, his rifle trained on the woman in the chair.
She seemed amused, a small smile on her face as she put an opulent bookmark in place.
That is not good.
Bryant spoke in a calm tone but with the weight of iron behind it. “Hands on your head, get on your knees, and don’t say a word.” He motioned with the weapon to punctuate the command.
Her smile broadened as she snapped the book closed and Bryant’s finger twitched on the trigger a split second before the pain erupted. The areas of the gun that his gloves touched suddenly felt like they’d been dipped in lava. He threw the carbine aside by reflex, and it skittered across the floor. Fortunately, he’d at least had the presence of mind to throw it away from the woman. He did the same with the spare magazines, which seared at his thigh. He wasn’t sure whether it was an illusion or if they really had changed temperature, but it didn’t matter.
“Okay, if you want to talk, let’s talk.” He held his hands up in a placating gesture.
While he had been in the room, the computer network and techs at the bus had been hard at work. Data scrolled in the right-hand periphery of his glasses. The woman’s name was Lienne, and she was on their radar as a person of interest, suspected of being part of a power-seeking group from Oriceran. She’d been mentioned by a couple of informants, but the team had never put eyes on her before. “Okay, Lienne, how about you come along quietly and we’ll sort all this out down at the office?”
An even wider smile preceded a velvet voice. “After what you did to the fools we had in place to mess with your little train? It was only appropriate that we thank you properly.” She waved a hand, and Bryant’s data feed disappeared. “Ah. Now we have some privacy. As I was saying, after your actions, we felt an appropriate response was in order. So, I invited you to my home.”
Shit. Here I worried about the small traps and missed the big one right in front of my face.
He lowered his hands and spread them in appeasement. “Well, I’m here. What do you want to discuss?”
The woman shrugged and the perfect shoulders of her suit bobbed once. She slipped her left hand casually into a pocket, which immediately triggered alarm bells in Bryant’s mind. He stepped back carefully toward the opening and ran into what felt like a wall.
Uh-oh.
The Oriceran stood with liquid grace. “Your little organization has become a nuisance. It is time for you to be taken off the board.”
Her hand emerged from her pocket, and she hurled a tiny pellet that burst into flame as it rocketed across the room. Bryant hissed, “Scield,” and a shield shimmered into place around him. He gritted his teeth against the pain of the charm that burned into his neck and dodged left. Tiny fireballs imploded in the space where he had been and spewed divots into the wall. He drew his pistol, flicked it to single shot, and fired. She conjured an invisible barrier between them with a flick of her fingers, and the bullets clattered harmlessly at her feet. He advanced with each round in the hope that he could get near enough to do some damage.
Her mouth moved, but his earpieces were dialed down to compensate for the blasts, and he couldn’t hear the words. He felt the slightest warmth through the glove that gripped his pistol and grinned. “It’s ceramic, asshole. That doesn’t conduct heat nearly as well.” He realized his error a second before it was too late and threw the weapon toward his opponent as the bullets cooked off and shrapneled metal and non-conductive shards in all directions.
“I hate this wench,” he muttered. A yank freed the matte-black bowie knife from where it rode on the back of his vest. He held the dull edge of the blade along his forearm and extended his other hand toward her as if he held an invisible wand. She donned her arrogant smile again, and the shimmering field between them dropped. She spoke with a sibilant hiss that grated on Bryant’s ears. “Really. Do you think you’ll get close enough to use your little dagger on me?”
Bryant gritted his teeth and dug deep as he muttered, “Get over here.” A line of force, invisible to everyone but him—as far as he knew—materialized and latched onto her foot. He yanked hard and she went down. The expected wave of weakness swept through him, but he had painstakingly trained himself to keep going despite it. He attacked the woman, who was already rolling away.
Heh. You got your suit dirty.
During one of the rolls, Lienne fired a blast of flame at ankle level, and he hurdled it. The one that followed struck him squarely, and his anti-magic deflector crystal shattered as it consumed the energy of the spell. She thumped into the wall and bounced to her feet. More fire pellets hurtled at Bryant, and his shield failed beneath the onslaught. One caught his shoulder and spun him violently across the room. Despite that pain, the pinprick burn left by the consumed charm was worse. It made the next thing he had to do suck all the more as he squeezed his eyes tightly closed.
“A light shines through the darkness,” he intoned, and a blast of radiance filled the room, accompanied by another searing burn further up toward his left shoulder. The necklace held a number of single-use spells that had been exceedingly expensive to procure and both difficult and time-consuming to attune to. This one created a brightness that could be blinding. If it failed to destroy his opponent’s sight, he’d been told there would at least be temporary damage that would make the user more difficult to hit. He took a deep breath and lurched to his feet to accelerate in a long curve toward his opponent.
She shouted, her perfect hair askew, and menace twisted her features. Her previous display of serene confidence was now thoroughly ruffled. The blasts of fire that punctuated her threats weren’t quite on target. He closed the distance, jumped to slice at her neck, and his right hand flowed in a flawless arc. Somehow, Lienne blocked it when she fell backward and shoved a thin arm in the way of the blade. It cut a long gash in her flesh and she cried out in pain, then screamed in fury.
Bryant was hurled across the room by a ferocious explosion of heat and his back impacted into the far wall at high speed. Only the fact that he’d instinctively curled prevented him from cracking his head open. He landed with a thump and rolled to extinguish any flames, then pushed dazedly to his feet. His adversary staggered, her once perfect suit a mess, her shirt stained with her blood, and her tie askew. He summoned his magic line again and this time, wound it around her neck. When he pulled, Lienne stumbled forward, her balance lost. A twisting yank that added his body’s torque to the line’s power propelled the woman face-first into the wall beside him with a loud crack. She dropped bonelessly to the floor. Bryant checked her vitals, but she was gone.
Damn. Still, you earned it.
He made a quick circuit of the room in search of anything immediately useful before he finally turned toward the exit to assist in Diana’s exploration. His face fell, and he sighed.
What he’d assumed was a magical barrier that would vanish when the woman was unconscious was actually a reinforced steel door that wouldn’t. With a sense of foreboding, he drew the shotgun from behind his back and checked for visible damage. Finding none, he guessed at where a hinge might be and triggered the weapon. It blasted drywall away to reveal metal behind it and utterly failed to damage the heavy door.
He was trapped.
Chapter Thirteen
Diana crept carefully down the narrowing staircase. Her AR glasses showed no signs of traps ahead, and she didn’t have any unexplained feelings of worry.
Only the normal ones you get when sneaking to confront a mage on his home turf.
The stairs ended at a pair of closed double doors. She arrived without incident and crouched before the one on the left. Tentatively, she turned the handle on the right door downward at an inch at a time. The door opened with a click and swung away. She looked back and nodded at the agent who follow
ed her, then risked a quick look at what lay beyond. A ninety-degree angle turned left three feet ahead.
She stayed low as she traversed the doorway and flattened her spine against the wall to her left. A peek around the corner revealed a long hall with doors on either side that terminated in another ninety-degree angle to the left.
What is this, a bloody maze?
She stepped into the hallway, her rifle ready, and jumped when the door slammed shut behind her. A spin to caution the agent about noise discipline was ineffective because he wasn’t there. She looked around the corner, and he wasn’t there either. Unless he was an enemy plant, the door must have closed of its own volition and locked him out.
A deep, amused voice echoed in the hallway. “Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.”
Shit.
“Status report.” There was no reply. She toggled her mic to make sure it was on. “Anyone there?”
Silence was the only response.
Awesome.
She turned, raised her rifle again, and paused for a centering breath. On the blueprints, the basement had been rendered as a single wide space. Clearly, it had been renovated without getting the proper permits.
We’ll add that to the list of charges.
The first door she reached matched the double door she’d already used. She repeated the procedure from the staircase. A quick glance revealed an empty white leather loveseat, and elegant paintings covered most of the eggshell walls. She stepped inside, her footfalls silent on the luxurious midnight-blue carpet, and examined the rest of the living room. It was far more attractive and spacious than her own. The loveseat was one of a pair that faced each other, with a matching couch along the far side of the rectangle they created. A low silver and glass table filled the shape. One corner was home to a pellet stove that caused the air above it to shimmer with heat.
The living room was empty of other beings but showed all the signs of an inhabited space. The remainder of the basement held a kitchen, a bedroom, an exercise area, and the room that held the water, electric, cooling, and heating systems. She returned to the doors that led upstairs and jiggled the handle, but they remained obdurately locked and allowed no passage through.
This doesn’t make sense.
She returned to the living room and tried to look at it with fresh eyes. It seemed like the most comfortable space on the level, and she imagined she’d spend most of her time in there if hanging out in basements was her thing. And yet it was empty.
Diana searched thoroughly, even the furniture, in search of hidden switches or other secrets. At irregular intervals, the same echoing laughter made her whirl to check behind her as it had done since she entered the basement.
When I find that mocking bastard, I’ll put an extra bullet in him for annoying me.
As she made a slow circuit of the space and ran her fingers over the parts of the painting frames she could reach, a prickling sensation intruded on the edge of her consciousness. It was subtle and easy to miss but returned whenever she neared a certain point in the room. Excitement tempered with worry blossomed in her chest as she traced her hands over the wall.
It felt exactly the same as the surfaces to either side of it.
Fuck. Okay. Think, Diana. What does this remind you of?
She wracked her memory for when she’d experienced this sensation before. It took a few minutes before she had it and she checked to be sure her microphone was off. There’s no point in making an idiot of myself for everyone to hear. She stood in front of the wall, extended her arms, and closed her eyes as she reached for the prickly feeling. It was slippery and skittered away each time she tried to grasp it. After a minute of frustration, she chose a different tactic and allowed her intentions to fade as she emptied her mind. The sensation crept in at the sides, and after what seemed like forever, it was fully present. She whispered, “What is hidden, let it be found.”
When she opened her eyes, an odd wavering effect hung before her—much like the air above the hot stove. She tried to peer through it but only saw the wall. The barrel of her rifle slid through and vanished, then reappeared when she pulled it back. Diana did the same thing much more slowly with her left pinky, and it too returned unharmed.
This is such a stupid idea.
Before she could think about it further, she leapt shoulder-first at the wavering wall. She plunged through an instant of blackness before she was back in the light. Diana landed awkwardly and stumbled, the floor not exactly where her brain thought it should be. She tracked her rifle around and took stock of her new location. It was an office, sized and furnished in a manner appropriate for the chief executive of a big corporation. Mahogany furniture filled the room, including an ornate desk with an almost spotless surface.
Behind it sat a man who clearly attempted to look like an elf. Long platinum hair cascaded over his shoulders. His perfect pale features were set off by a dark turtleneck. Gems sparkled in his non-pointed ears, and he wore an ornate necklace with a heavy purple stone pendant. Its facets caught the light. He rose and gave a slow, entirely condescending series of claps.
“Agent Diana Sheen. Well done. I began to worry you wouldn’t figure it out. Our children can sense and dispel an illusion before their second birthday.”
She raised the rifle. “Less talk, more getting on the ground with your arms spread wide, Legolas.”
Tolkien would’ve given this pseudo-elf his stamp of approval for sure.
The man rolled his eyes. “Next, you’ll be reaching for pedantic comments about crackers. Such pettiness demeans you, not me.” He snaked a hand out and made a yanking motion, and her rifle shuddered to break free. The strap kept it in place, however, and she recovered it and aimed again in one smooth motion. “Nice try. This is your last chance. Get on the ground or you’re done.”
He frowned, seemed to think about her request, and snapped his fingers. Another gesture was immediately followed by a click as the magazine fell from the bottom of her rifle. She watched it tumble and disbelief locked her gaze to it before she wrenched her eyes back to the mage. That superior smirk begged to be smashed off his face.
“Let’s dispense with the petty threats and speak as polite people do, Agent Sheen.”
She dropped the rifle and drew her pistol—her off hand clamped on the bottom of the magazine—but did not raise it. “Okay, say your piece.”
He nodded and gestured at a pair of chairs set in the corner. She shook her head, and he shrugged. “Very well. As you have realized by now, you are here at our invitation. It was a simple matter to feed you this location through sources you trusted. After you dispatched our pawns and the disappointing hireling Guerre, we felt a response was in order.” He put his hands in his front pockets and her whole body tensed for action, but he didn’t pull anything out of them.
“There are other disposable humans to be had, and there are many more locations than the coffee shop that allows access to the magical train. You have, at best, only cost us time. And unlike you humans, with your short lives filled with base obsessions, we have plenty to spare. You have accomplished nothing, and your efforts have resulted in the deaths of your comrades—and soon, of you.”
Diana had heard enough. “We’ll see, asshole.” She yanked her pistol up and squeezed the trigger three times. In the instant it took the bullets to reach him, he gestured casually with his hand and conjured another of the damn shields to stop the rounds in mid-flight. She continued to fire as she charged and used her left palm to vault the desk. Still in motion, she aimed a two-footed kick at his chest with all her strength and momentum behind it. She registered his sidestep and prepared for a rough landing against the wall, but it never came.
Tentacles appeared from nowhere and encircled her, stood her upright, and held her suspended. The first to grab her vanished as her anti-magic deflector consumed them, but there were too many. Her pistol was trapped against her waist as the thick flesh of whatever had her bound pinned her arms. The loops were tig
ht enough that it was a struggle to breathe. Fear washed through her.
The satisfaction on his face was revolting. He lowered the hand that had cast the shield, and she noticed the heavy bracelet he wore that seemed to be merged with his flesh. It pulsed, and the tentacles around her twitched in time with its changing glow. He flicked the other hand, and the nearby furniture slid away with a crash to make space for him to walk around her. She craned her neck to the left when he vanished from her vision for a few moments before he reappeared on the other side to complete his circle and stand less than a foot in front of her. “You’re weaker than I expected.” He reached a slender finger to touch her cheek. Pain crept outward from that point and ignited every nerve in its path. The invasion sickened her even as the spreading agony pulled a groan from her aching lungs.
He retracted his finger and laughed. Bereft of contact, the creeping tendrils under her skin vanished in a slow wave that matched the first. She panted and clenched her fists. The tentacles shifted. A small hope blossomed, and she struggled a little more while she allowed the real fear she felt to show fully on her face.
Enjoy, and don’t pay attention to the man behind the curtain, you poser.
He nodded. “Now you see, human. Your species is as far beneath us as your Neanderthals were to you. Given enough time and the right circumstances, there is one chance in a billion that you might rise to our level. Sadly for you, however, you will not have even that most minute of opportunities.”
Her groping fingers found the magazine holder on the back of her belt. She released another groan and panted to cover her actions. “You won’t get away with this, scumbag. The agency knows where you are. After this, every SWAT and HRT team in the country will be after you. The bounty on every last one of you sleazeballs will be so high, you’ll never have a moment’s peace.” The tentacles squeezed again, and she screamed to cover the sound of the Velcro as she pulled the flap open.
He laughed and touched her other cheek with agonizing slowness. This time, the pain was greater, and she devoted her concentration entirely to the need to endure it. Memories of the Atlanta battle washed over her and added to the terror of the moment. Angry tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Despite all this, one part of her mind worked without conscious instruction, summoned the grenade to her fingers, and primed it. Now, all she had to do was get it free and toss it at him.
