by Paul Duffau
He’s right-handed, Mitch saw. He’ll be slower turning and targeting.
Mitch sped across the gap, saw the gun coming around. Ten feet out, he jumped into the air, feet first, aiming for the hood of the Camaro. He landed on his hip, the metal buckling beneath him. He slid across the hood on a downward angle as he aimed his kick.
Too late, though. He was looking at the barrel, saw a flash as his foot missed the torso and connected with the man’s chin. Instantaneous pain exploded in his head and blinded him as he fell off the car and crumpled to the ground.
Chapter 52
Mercury saw the gytrash pursuing Mitch up the road and followed, chest heaving. Old wizards are no match for a fit teenager, he thought. The crack of a gunshot galvanized him to greater exertions, though. Wheezing, he caught sight of Mitch sliding off the hood of his car, arms and legs limp. Between the vehicles, the gunman stood impossibly tall, rifle clasped in his hand. As Mercury procured a spell to remove the man as a threat, the gunman reached an apex and started a final fall to earth.
A glance toward the amphitheater was all that he required to absorb the grisly demise of the man next to the prone body of McKenzie. Graham was crouched over the girl, examining her. Another man unfamiliar to Mercury, but wearing robes, joined him. Graham pulled something from his daughter’s shoulder and stood shaking his head, relief evident on his face. Mercury matched the emotion as he recognized the tranquilizer dart.
More people, all Family from the looks of them, gathered to care for Kenzie and cleanse the site of any evidence that might implicate the collective members. Mercury turned his back on them, a contemptuous twist of his lips marring his features.
He reached the crumpled shape of the boy and checked for a pulse at the carotid. Rapid, but strong.
He stood at the sound of footfalls. Graham approached toward the vehicles.
“He is mine, Raymond,” Mercury said across the intervening distance. “You cannot have him.”
Raymond Graham halted.
“Matthias.” Graham’s voice carried the whiff of an accusation attached to the name. He glanced to the young man. “So you finally found your hero?”
“I don’t use that name anymore. I use Mercury now.” He hesitated. “He’s not my hero, Raymond, and magic found him and delivered him to McKenzie. I had nothing to do with that.”
“Delivered him to you.” The response was emphatic. “Kenzie had nothing to do with this.”
“You owe him your life. Who do you think was next in the sights? And he trusted you to do the right thing for your niece.”
Graham glared at him. “She is my daughter.”
“Is she Sasha’s daughter?”
The question opened a wound, and Graham’s eyes hated him for it. He raised his hand, forefinger up, scrolled a quick character in the air, and flung a spell at Mercury.
Mercury waved a hand as though fanning flies from his face, and the spell dissipated in the space between the men.
“You were not my equal before, Raymond, so stop with the silliness.” He peered at the other man, and a speculative thought crossed his mind.
Mercury indicated the body at the base of the tires with a shift of his chin, careful not to take his eyes from Graham. “You reached out to the hechiceros, did you now?”
“They contacted us.”
“As did the boy. He trusted you.”
“He’s Meat!” The tone was vicious. “He interfered where he had no right, as you did, and—”
“And no responsibility, yet twice he came to McKenzie’s aid. Don’t be a blind fool. You stood next to me when Elowyn passed, heard her prophecy.”
“She was aflame. The magic had already consumed her. Her prophecy means nothing.” Graham shifted the argument. “You encouraged Elowyn to evade her marriage to the Rubieras, and she left the Family for Meat, and the magic of the Families splintered apart.”
“She left for love, I should think,” said Mercury, shaking his head as if correcting the record. He changed the subject. “McKenzie is very like her mother: terrific power without full control. The skills that she has learned in her martial arts—”
Graham started at the revelation that Mercury knew this detail.
“—as Mitchell has mentioned to me, have been a great assistance,” he finished smoothly, to provide cover for Harold. “She has the power to unite us again, but not without Mitch.”
“That was never part of the prophecy,” Graham said.
Mercury quoted: “‘A hero will come to save her—and us. Trust his heart.’” He shrugged. “It’s not quite as clear as ‘Bet on the number seven horse at Emerald Downs,’ but it’s pretty close.”
“You always were an irreverent jackass.” Graham looked down to the boy. “You can have him. Keep him away from my daughter.”
“What should we do with the other?” asked Mercury.
“Whatever you wish.” Graham looked at the body. “Your boy broke his neck.” Graham took three fast strides in the direction of the stage, stopped, and turned back. “You are still banished. You will not contact anyone in the Family. I may not be able to stop you by myself, but you can’t stand against us collectively.”
With a final flat stare filled with a desire to see Mercury face a rougher justice, Graham nodded and went to his daughter.
Mercury knelt at Mitch’s side. The boy’s face was bloody from a wound that creased the middle of his forehead under the hairline. Mitch’s chest rose and fell with regularity. Mercury placed his right thumb along the jawline, first two fingers splayed, the pointed finger on the temple and the middle on the boy’s forehead over the left eye. He muttered “Æsculapium” and lifted his hand.
The boy would sleep for a bit, so Mercury investigated the two cars.
The second one, presumably belonging to the man that Mitch had defeated, held the most interesting surprise: a cell phone jammer. Now, why would . . . ? With a rush of insight, Mercury saw the truth. The jammer had smothered the signal that Mitch sent to alert Graham. Raymond’s response had been on intuition, and he’d arrived too late.
How much to tell Mitch? he wondered. A groan brought urgency to the question. The deaths of the two sharpshooters and Lassiter would be laid to this nondescript, yet apparently lethal, young man. Mitch made a perfect fall guy.
He walked back to Mitch.
The boy’s blue eyes were open, twitching to the sides. Awareness returned to his face. In a spasmodic tightening of all his muscles, Mitch tried to practically hurl himself from a supine position to his feet.
“One step at a time, Mitch.”
“Kenzie? Where is she? She got shot. Is she okay?”
Mercury glanced at the stage. “She’s in the care of the Family and safe, thanks to you.”
Mitch’s hand darted to his head. The blood had already begun to congeal and black flakes stuck to his hand. “I was shot.”
“Not fatally,” said Mercury.
“I need to see Kenzie.” Mitch struggled to his feet, with more success this time. His gaze went to the stage. A cringe crossed his face at the bustle of eerily quiet activity.
“As I said, her father is with her. I would strongly suggest that you do not try to contact her for a bit, as Raymond is most upset with you.” Mercury searched the boy’s face to see if the message registered. Stubbornness glared back. “If it’s any consolation, I’m not welcome at the Graham household, either.”
“It isn’t.”
“Can you walk?” An inane question for the youngster, who a moment ago was ready to rush to Kenzie’s side, but Mitch had more motivation, then.
“Yeah.” Mitch staggered to the side. “Mostly. I’m a little light-headed.”
“Not bad for a man who was shot,” said Mercury, taking Mitch’s elbow. “I left a scar for you.”
Puzzlement greeted the statement. “What?”
“Your wound. I left a scar. It adds a dashing air.”
Mitch saw the killer in the shadows between cars. “What about him?
”
“Graham will dispatch people to handle this,” said Mercury, “and I ensured that he would stay asleep for a while.” He delivered the lie smoothly and pulled the boy along. “We’ll come back for the car in the morning. Graham won’t tow it because it would create questions in the record.”
“It was like I could see through her eyes for a minute there, when everything went crazy; like I was inside her skin and she was inside mine.” Mitch’s voice sounded disjointed.
Mercury tugged. “Come now, your part tonight is done.”
Mitch hesitated, turning to search once more for Kenzie, and then, disappointed, followed.
Chapter 53
How empty can someone get? Kenzie didn’t know, but could feel the void inside her. The shoulder that had taken the dart still ached, but worse, her head wanted to split. She squinted to limit the glare of the day.
It should be raining, she thought.
She’d failed. She had started the spell, felt the magic. Then had come the brilliant white light, the gun in Lassiter’s hand, and before she slid to oblivion, panic at a vision of Mitch flying through the air, getting shot.
She touched magic and sought Mitch, found him, seething, but understood it was magic. It lied. It wasn’t really Mitch, but something her mind created to fill the painful hole left by him. She released the beguiling magic.
Kenzie heard unfamiliar voices downstairs. She ignored them, as she had ignored Sasha and Raymond when they lit into her about her “adventure.” She clenched her teeth, remembering the interrogation by Raymond. She got a measure of revenge, though, pointing out it was Sasha who had put them all at risk and nearly gotten her killed. Sasha, who had kept the full import of MAGE from everyone, including Raymond. Aric had known, was a willing accomplice, because he wanted to be powerful. Now the dumbass was dead, per Raymond, and Belinda the Witch was missing.
A shout from Sasha interrupted her ruminations. “McKenzie, come downstairs, please.”
More like “by imperial decree,” she thought, but roused herself. She checked her hair in the mirror. She was presentable. She practiced a smile. Ugh.
The living room held her parents and two new people, shuffling their feet in tension and talking in monosyllables. The one she could see clearly was an older man. First impressions revealed a tall man, ridiculously handsome, with graying hair at the temples and an olive complexion. A man very much in control of himself—and everyone else. The suit he wore must have cost thousands to look casual, and she could picture him in a tuxedo, opening a gala. And he was a wizard. Lines of force flowed from him. She recognized the pattern. A personal ward.
The other person stood in the shadow of the first, obscured.
“Mr. Rubiera, may I introduce my daughter, McKenzie Graham,” said Sasha, her tone faintly anxious.
Kenzie’s eyes narrowed at the tone and the formal speech.
Rubiera faced her and inclined his head. “A pleasure, Miss Graham.” A cultured voice with a hint of steel; the voice of one used to obedience.
“The pleasure is mine,” Kenzie replied, glancing to his eyes as she extended her hand. The smile froze on her face as she saw his onyx orbs, lacking any warmth or humanity. The smile that came to his lips at her reaction twisted them in a cruel line. Unbidden, her hand dropped to her side.
A teenage boy, her age or close, stepped out from behind Rubiera. He stood an inch taller than his father but shared his looks. Instead of a suit, he wore chinos, a button-up shirt, and polished black shoes. And he, too, was a wizard, but blazing like a nova to everyone else’s pinprick of stars. No constructed wards or spells, yet he radiated sheer power.
“I’m Hunter,” said the youth.
He made no move toward her, and she stood her ground, mind racing.
How many wizards were named Hunter? Kenzie knew of one, Mitch’s friend. There couldn’t possibly be two.
She looked to Sasha, saw the triumphant gleam that she wore, and instantly realized that this was not a chance or friendly meeting. This was a formal visit.
The Magic must survive.
Kenzie glanced back to the Rubieras. An open pit formed in Kenzie’s heart. Sasha would have her will done, but the naked ambition of the woman left Kenzie dismayed. Not only would she force Kenzie to marry but, in the process, seek to unite the two Families. Undoubtedly, she expected to be the matriarch of both. Kenzie wondered if Rubiera understood Sasha’s scheming for what it was.
Kenzie’s stomach lurched, and she closed her eyes. If she put out a hand, she thought she’d be able to touch Mitch, wanted to touch Mitch. If the Families suspected that she loved Mitch, they would kill him.
The Magic must survive.
No, she thought. Mitch must survive. To save Mitch, she had to betray him.
She opened tear-filled eyes. Hunter’s expectant gaze met hers, and she surrendered.
“Hello, Hunter.”
Chapter 54
“There’s a cop here to see you,” Uncle Henry yelled down the hall, triggering a sense of déjà vu in Mitch. He rubbed the left side of his chest in a hard circular motion, below the collarbone. Must have hurt it when he hit the ground. Weary, he got off his bed to see what Mercury wanted now.
He made it to the living room, turned to the door, and froze. It was Kenzie’s father who stood in the doorway wearing a cop face, not Mercury. He wore a pea coat to ward off the weather, which had reverted to Seattle drab.
What now? thought Mitch.
“Why don’t we talk outside,” Graham suggested. He directed his next comment to Mitch’s uncle. “Sir, any problem if I talk with your nephew in private for a few moments? It’s nothing serious, just getting a few points clarified.”
“Whatever,” Uncle Henry said. The mellowing effect that Hunter had laid on Henry was fading, and the old disagreeableness showed at the edges. Mitch gave it another week before he returned to his full-jerk self.
Graham indicated the open door with a sideways nod of his head, and Mitch followed him into a drizzly gray afternoon. The police lieutenant led him away from the door to the middle of the driveway, out of earshot from the house. Next to the garage, Mitch’s robot sat in a cardboard box. The cop looked weary, with furrowed worry lines at the corners of his eyes. Mitch waited.
“What am I going to do with you, Mitch?”
The rhetorical question rankled him, and he bit down on his initial intent to respond flippantly. Mitch said nothing, letting the cop lay out the agenda; though, based on the tone, he was certain to not like it. It must have showed on his face.
“I’m not here to be your friend. Probably the opposite. But I owe you some order of gratitude for the way in which you helped McKenzie. First”—he nodded across the street—“when they tried to kidnap her, and then again with Lassiter. It took some intestinal fortitude to reach out to me as you did.”
“You were late!” Mitch scowled at Graham. “I had it set up, all you had to do was be there on time, and everyone would still be okay.”
“I was late because the second group that crashed your party brought a jammer to make sure that you couldn’t get a signal out.” Graham sighed. “That’s not relevant now. You’re lucky that the hechiceros’ hired man didn’t kill you on the spot.”
Mitch filed the term “hechiceros” away to look up later and fingered the scar. “He tried.”
“And he will pay the appropriate price,” said Graham, his eyes evasive. He reached into an inside pocket of his voluminous coat, pulling out a picture. He held it out.
Reluctantly, Mitch took it from Graham. It took a second for him to recognize the setting: a dim hallway, and a teenage boy in a hoodie sneaking in a door. It was the charter school, obviously. Him in the hoodie. Hunter, though, was missing from the picture, airbrushed right out.
“I have you for breaking, entering, and theft of chemicals, with intent to make an explosive device,” said Graham. “Because of your age, I might be able to get the DA to try you as an adult, meaning a minimum sentence of
ten years.”
Mitch fought his face, strained to keep the anger off it. If Graham had wanted to arrest him, he’d already be in a holding cell. “What’s the condition?” he asked, knowing already.
With a hot stare, Graham said, “You stay away from my daughter. You don’t try to see her, you don’t call her, you don’t even think of her. She’s not meant for someone like you. If I find out that you are still trying to corrupt her and lead her away from her rightful place in our world, I will have the charges brought. They will stick, and you will go to jail. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Don’t show it, let him think he won.
They held a long stare-down, neither willing to concede to the other.
Graham looked away first. “I’ll hold you to that.” He pivoted to leave.
“Have you told Kenzie the same thing?” Mitch called after him.
The man stopped, facing Mitch. “McKenzie knows her duty,” he said with finality.
Mitch gave a fast, angry nod. Graham searched his face for another second and walked to his car. In seconds, he was gone.
Mitch walked to the park. He shouldn’t have expected anything less from Graham, he fumed. Cover up all the traces of Kenzie and Hunter’s family, but keep leverage over Mitch with evidence of felony theft and any other crap charge that Graham could drum up.
Scary as hell that a cop could—would!—cover up the dead bodies of Lassiter and his men.
Mitch counted steps to block out the image of the dead men. The steady cadence of his steps soothed him. Taking his phone out, he looked up “hechiceros.” Spanish wizards.
Natch.
Hunter’s people. So they were behind the second shooter at the park. A shudder ran up his spine as the image of the gaping barrel flashed before his eyes, followed by the crunching memory of his foot connecting with the assailant. He suppressed it by tightening all the muscles in his back and chest, clenching until the fear-filled spasm passed.
Hunter, or his dad, had tracked him, stayed a step ahead of him. He puzzled over it, and the only answer that made a modicum of sense was they already knew who Lassiter’s boss was. If they didn’t, they would have tried capturing him so they could get information. By implication, they knew about the SD card, and the schematics stored on it. Mitch had palmed the original, put a fake into the bag. Right now, the real card was stashed at the bottom of his computer desk drawer. He wondered how long it would be before someone came looking for it. How many someones? Hunter’s family, probably. And whoever hired Lassiter. Kenzie’s mother.
