A Game of Horns: A Red Unicorn Anthology

by Gregory D. Little

  I whirled and almost fell as I overbalanced. “What?”

  He placed his hand on my shoulder. “You missed his message.”

  “What message?”

  “He altered her memories as she was dying to prevent you from seeing him. He knows what you are,” he said.

  Muller thought I fit the victim profile too.

  My mouth went dry. Darkness edged my vision. That couldn’t be right. I clung to the door and tried to remember how to breathe. Jonathan moved deeper into the room, then returned.

  “Keep this on you.”

  He held out a stickpin approximately an inch long.

  “A tracker?”

  “Just in case. Keep it in the lining of your jacket or underwear or someplace he’s unlikely to find it right away.”

  I reached for the device. Jonathan’s free hand closed over mine.

  “For once, be smart. Turn the tracker on. Stay safe.”

  The oranges and reds of worry and distress leaked past his shields.

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Not reassured,” he said, but he released my hand.

  Neither was I.

  A figure looms. I strain trying to see him.

  Vonna, his voice ices through me.

  The world shatters in a scream of blue velvet light.

  I bolted upright in bed. Sweat prickled my skin. My breath, loud in the near silence of my room, came in harsh gasps. The Red Unicorn had said my name. A copper-penny scent tickled my nose.

  “Lights!”

  A unicorn, its coat the color of fresh blood, perched at the foot of my bed. I forced back a scream. I gripped the toy in my shaking hand. The unicorn was sticky with something pinned under its horn.

  A picture of Muller.

  I fumbled for my phone, then punched Muller’s number. Cradling the phone between my neck and shoulder I balanced on one leg as I pulled on the nearest set of leathers. The call tripped over to voice mail. I sat on the edge of my bed to zip up my boots. I snatched the comm and Jonathan’s tracker off the nightstand.

  The Pentagon wasn’t safe.

  “Dispatch. Please locate Detective Muller.”

  I raced down the hall to the elevators.

  “One moment,” a mechanized voice responded. “Detective Muller is 10-10A.” Off duty—home.

  I toggled off the comm and dropped it into my pocket. The elevator dinged open. An eternal ride later, the doors opened on ground level.

  Air heavy with the scent of cherry blossoms slapped me as I burst from the building. Jonathan would lock down any car I requisitioned. If I waited for a cab, security would stop me. Not happening when Muller was in danger. He was my partner, my only friend. And … and I had his back.

  There was a twenty-four-hour diner down Columbia Pike. I could get a cab there. My boots clunked against the pavement as I ran. I fumbled my phone from my pocket.

  “Deva,” I half-screamed. “Tell me Rick is with you.”

  “He went home to sleep. What’s wrong?”

  I debated for a nanosecond. “The Red Unicorn left a calling card with Rick’s picture on my bed.”

  “Oh, God,” Deva breathed. “Was it—”

  “Fresh? Yeah. I’m headed to Rick’s now. Let whoever needs to know he’s in trouble know.”

  “Done.” Fear had driven the drowsiness from her voice.

  “Deva? Tell them … Red’s psy.” I hung up before she could reply.

  The lights from the diner beckoned from four blocks away. My fingers closed around the tracker. I pushed it into the lining of my pants pocket. I made a second call.

  “He’s got Rick,” I said without preamble.

  “Where are you?” Tension snapped in Jonathan’s voice.

  I babbled my bedside discovery.

  Jonathan cursed in the background. Presumably, he’d verified I was gone and the tracker was off.

  “Rick’s bait.”

  Obviously. But Jonathan would sacrifice Rick to protect me.

  Not happening.

  Two blocks to the diner.

  “I won’t let him die.”

  “Vonna, listen!”

  A wave of power slapped me off my feet. Blue velvet lightning enveloped me. The phone slid through my limp fingers. My cheek bounced across the pavement. Layers of flesh scraped off. Blue flashes of lights became black spots. Jonathan’s voice was so very far away and small as he screamed my name.

  O O O

  Dim light streamed down from the empty warehouse’s ceiling-level windows. Panic scattered my thoughts. I closed my eyes. My doppelganger sprang Athena-like from my head. With a push, it assumed my fears. I had to focus.

  The tracker!

  Where was it?

  I wore only a light pink chemise and matching underwear. The Red Unicorn had stripped away my first layer of protection. The emotional residue of living in a city with millions of humans hampered a psyonic’s responses. But ambient emotions didn’t affect me as strongly as other psy did. Empathy didn’t let me feel emotion. It let me see it. If he’d wanted to overwhelm me, he should have packed the room with people.

  My hand was stiff. Streaks of red-brown coated my fingers. No memories had come when I’d touched the blood. No memories meant nothing sentient had died. I’d been stupid. I’d been triggered into panic like an insen.

  I pushed upright.

  A shadow unfolded into a man, a head taller and nearly twice as broad in the shoulders as me. He wore dark blue jeans and a black cotton T-shirt. No barriers. A riot of colors swirled around him: greens for desire; yellows of joy; the deep reds and purples of scorn; the blanched almond of disappointment. The last grew in intensity.

  My head throbbed, and stomach threatened revolt from the visual kaleidoscope. I put out my hand to catch my balance against a nonexistent wall. My doppelganger curled into a fetal position. She recognized death.

  “Lies.” His voice was high and soft.

  Power crashed into me. I dropped to a knee. My shields held. For now. I drew in a shuddering breath.

  I met his eyes. My world pitched and disorientation took me. A hand of power yanked me off my feet. Phantom restraints pulled my arms from my sides. I hung crucified in the air. The Red Unicorn stalked forward.

  My clothes lay in a heap behind him. A white unicorn similar to those we’d taken from his crime scenes rested on top.

  His languid pace and aura showed no fear of discovery. Our best estimate was that he kept the women alive for two to eight hours. How long had I been unconscious? I swallowed despite the dryness of my mouth. Was I out of time?

  The Red Unicorn paced a slow circle around me. I braced for a touch that never came. He stepped in front of me. I fixed my gaze on the edge of his aura to avoid being pulled into his emotional miasma.

  “I had hoped.” He shook his head. “But no. Just like the rest. Not pure.”

  A flick of his wrist sent me flying across the room. Air whooshed out of my lungs. Lights danced before my eyes. The concrete floor scraped my left shoulder and back. Blue velvet lightning smashed into me. Small fissures appeared in my shields. I pushed back. The assault stopped.

  The tracker felt miles away. I lurched to my feet. The Red Unicorn cocked his head.

  I lunged. Silver surprise and cranberry shock dominated his aura. Training rather than conscious thought had him deflecting my punch. Instead of breaking his nose, my fist slammed into his cheekbone. The shock of impact reverberated up my arm. Then my weight crashed into him and he staggered. I hopped back to regain my balance. The dark violet of his outrage grew bright.

  He didn’t like prey that fought back?

  Good.

  I stepped into his jab and took it on my ribs. Something snapped. I twisted and backed closer to my clothes. His hand-to-hand combat training was better than mine, and he significantly outweighed me. Staying in a slugfest with him was suicidal. But I needed him down for a second so I could activate the tracker. I’d trust Jonathan to get here, wherever here was, quickly.<
br />
  The Red Unicorn planted his feet and lowered his head like his namesake beast, ready to charge. Energy pricked my skin.

  I’d last longer in a fistfight than deflecting psychic attacks.

  Stepping into him, I punched his unguarded torso. The building energy wave dissipated. Dark violet turned to dark magenta anger. I backed out of his reach. He sprang. The floor scored my back like a cheese grater. My right hand stabbed toward his throat. He deflected the blow. The nails of my left hand raked his face. He screamed and reared back. I crawled from under him.

  The Red Unicorn knelt on hands and knees. “You were supposed to be pure.”

  Pure? My glance fell on the unicorn. Unicorns came to maidens! Ah, hell. I edged closer to my clothes.

  “I’ve never—”

  Roaring, the Red Unicorn leaped and caught my thigh. I kicked with my free foot and caught him on the temple. His grip loosened. Vids made knocking someone out look easy, but my bare foot didn’t have enough force. His fingers dug into my ankle. We wrestled. I was pinned. His eyes, a muddy green, drilled into mine. Pressure built against my shields.

  “You’re wrong,” I panted.

  “I smell the sex.”

  My neck muscles tightened as I pushed back. “Not. My. Memories.”

  The pressure lessened. I’d caught his attention.

  “You know about me,” I said, keeping my voice level. “I take memories from the dead.”

  Peach-puff interest and Alice-blue insecurity masked his features. Slowly, hope blurred into the mix.

  My body went slack in relief. I had him.

  “They aren’t mine.”

  Praying I wasn’t making a fatal mistake, I lowered a section of shield. If the bet paid off, I’d win precious seconds. If not, I was dead. The blue velvet of his power snaked into my mind. I fought to stay myself as the world dissolved into someone else’s memory.

  O O O

  I can’t believe she’s mine.

  I look across the bridal suite at my new wife. Anticipation of her soft white skin under my hand makes me hard.

  The Red Unicorn seizes the vision, wrestles away from reality, turns to the mirror over the dresser. Sees the blond man in the rented tuxedo looking back at him.

  The vision snaps.

  O O O

  I hammered my shields closed.

  The Red Unicorn reared from psychic blowback. I pushed him away and raced to my clothes. I snatched up my pants and toggled on the tracker. I grabbed my boot.

  The Red Unicorn shook his head.

  I took four quick steps and slammed the steel-reinforced boot heel into his head. This time the Unicorn fell.

  I fished the comm out of my jacket and backed away from the killer on the floor.

  “Dispatch,” I said.

  “Vonna?” Muller’s voice broke through the mechanized response.

  “Rick.” Relief swamped me.

  “We’re outside,” he said, talking over me. “A psychic shield’s over the building. Johnny Boy didn’t know if you were connected to the Red Unicorn and didn’t want to hurt you by breaking it. You okay?”

  The Red Unicorn groaned. Standing on one leg like a flamingo, I pulled on my boot.

  “Vonna?”

  I took uneven strides to the Red Unicorn. I kicked him in the head again with my booted foot. He collapsed.

  “The shield should be gone now,” I said.

  Something heavy hit a door I hadn’t noticed to my left.

  Adrenaline flowed out of me. My legs shook. I was on the ground. Rick reached me a heartbeat before Jonathan did.

  “Don’t touch her,” Jonathan ordered. “Bare skin contact will send her further into shock.”

  Muller moved back. Jonathan’s silk-clad arms lifted me.

  “Is that thing dead?” Jonathan asked.

  A team of black-clad psi enforcers, all Bursters, circled the Red Unicorn. Behind them stood a row of D.C. Metro officers, weapons trained on the Red Unicorn’s still figure.

  “No, sir,” an Enforcer answered. “Needs medical.”

  “The med facilities at Pentagon are closest, and we know how to restrain a psychic,” Jonathan said.

  “He needs to stand trial,” Muller said.

  Colors danced before my eyes. Flashes peppered my vision. My world went dark.

  O O O

  A circle of ten silver stasis tubes stood in the center of the Medical Bay. Psyonics with damaged shields or fracturing minds were placed in Silence—virtual sensory deprivation—to let them either heal or be humanely put down. Medical equipment beeped with vital readings. Tubes flowed from IV stands and machines into the chambers and the individuals imprisoned in them.

  The Red Unicorn lay sedated in the closest tube. Jonathan deemed the man unsalvageable. I owed those other women; I owed Muller to witness this. I nodded.

  “Go ahead,” Jonathan told the medical staff.

  The fluids flowing into the Red Unicorn’s chamber changed from clear to a milky pink. Dark turquoise and deep burgundy, agony and panic, flared from the observation window on the tube.

  He was conscious?

  Terminations occurred once the psionic was comatose. It was supposed to be the humane alternative. Thumps and screams came from inside the tube.

  My stomach roiled. “Jonathan?”

  “He tried to kill you.” His voice had a frozen edge. “I didn’t take him apart cell by cell. It’s more mercy than he deserves.” The purple stone of vengeance and magenta of wrath smothered his image.

  “I …”

  Jonathan put his hand on my back and steered me out of the room. The door closed behind us and cut off the screams.

  O O O

  Maize and light blue leaped around Muller when we walked into the reception area. Modern black and silver furniture was tastefully arranged around the former military checkpoint. Muller paced the space, then he saw me. He hugged me gently and tried to avoid my cracked ribs. I winced.

  “The Red Unicorn died trying to escape,” Jonathan said.

  I closed my eyes, but not before I saw the flash of emotion. Muller knew Jonathan had executed the man and accepted that something closer to the law of the jungle rather than men’s law prevailed.

  He kept a hand on my good arm. “Can I take you to the station? Lots of people want to see you.”

  Jonathan sighed. “Just watch her concussion. Make her take it easy.”

  Muller’s aura indicated his amusement at making me “take it easy.”

  O O O

  “Spooky’s back,” Officer Williams yelled when we entered the squad room.

  Her flash of joy stopped me. Officer Williams hated psyonics; “Spooky” was the nicest thing she’d ever called me.

  I turned to Muller. “What?”

  He smirked. “You got hurt protecting me. Makes you cop. Welcome to the Tribe.”

  Plainclothes and uniformed officers closed around us, all wishing me well. All gently touching an arm, a shoulder, as if verifying I was all right. The rainbow of emotions verified Muller’s assessment. Their acceptance, finally, after years of working with them, brought tears to my eyes.

  Muller’s hand snaked into my pocket.

  “Hey!”

  A swirl of colors was his only response. He held up my comm. “Wear it.”

  I took the device. Sharp needles pricked my skin as the device adhered to the inside of my wrist. Muller grunted. His hand rested on my shoulder. Cornflower blue pride, the green of sentimentality, and the light sky blue of acceptance bloomed in his aura. Around the room officers radiated the same light sky blue.

  Tribe.

  No longer torn between worlds, I was home.

  About the Author

  Nancy is a mom, writer, speaker, and lawyer. Before being a published writer, Nancy had been a blackjack dealer, florist, tax form coder, worked in professional theatre, and accidently went to law school and passed one bar exam while recovering from a concussion. Really, the horse’s headache was much worse. When sh
e reflects that she has normal, boring life, she is often puzzled when people burst out laughing in response.

  Feeding the Feral Children

  David Farland

  Yan woke in the predawn, sweat making her blouse cling to the hollow of her chest. She lay on her bed, unwilling to move, lest she waken her three-year-old sister who curled into her, her face close to Yan’s breast. The little girl would be hungry when she woke; this one was always hungry, and Yan did not want to have to get up and steam the rice.

  Lightning snarled softly in the distance, like a hunting tiger, and just outside the window the bamboo rustled in the wind.

  Yan had dreamt of Huang Fa. Only a few years before, the Silk Road had been opened to Persia, and Huang Fa had dared take it for her last spring. Winter was coming, and snow would soon fill the Himalayas. If Huang Fa did not return soon, the trails would be blocked until next year.

  In Yan’s dream, she’d seen his startlingly clear eyes under the moonlight, while the crickets sang their nightly hymns of longing and the carp finned in the pond beside her cottage. “When I return,” he’d said, “I will have much silver. Your father will surely agree to the match when he sees what I bring.” Huang Fa was but a lowly merchant from a fishmonger’s family, and he dared to hope to marry a landowner’s daughter. He would have to rise much higher in station to do so; he would need to buy land himself.

  His voice, soft and husky, seemed preternaturally clear in the dream, as if he stood over her bed. His image had left her feeling over-warm, with a soft fluttering in her womb. At fifteen, Yan was young and in love, and she felt all of the longing and guilt and confusion that went with it. Her mother had once told her, “A girl’s first love is always the most treasured. If you are fortunate, he will also be your last love.”

  Yan inhaled deeply, hoping that perhaps Huang Fa really had come in the night, that she might catch his scent. But the early morning sky outside smelled only of thunder. She wondered where Huang Fa might be, and as she did, she whispered a prayer to the Sun God. “Wherever he is, may he greet the morning with pleasant thoughts of me.”

  O O O

  The land was black in the Altai Mountains, black stone upon black stone, with only the sparest of grasses and shrubs cropping up here and there.