by Colin Sims
By now, the other club goers knew something was wrong. A mad stampede was beginning to bottleneck at the front exit, while I pushed toward the rear.
Green-Tinted Bodyguard was still on my heels. He bowled people out of the way like a wrecking ball. A heavy hand landed on my shoulder and spun me around. Without thinking, I did my first, official cantrip. I flung an instant Firebolt right in his face. He bellowed in sudden pain and slapped at the flames.
I continued my dash for the exit. Now that I’d seen him up close, I noticed he had a distinctive underbite with little fangs pointing upward. Definitely an orc. Then the red-dressed succubus from earlier planted herself directly in front of me with a snarl. She raised a fist, but I tagged the hem of her dress with another Firebolt and kept moving. She didn’t give chase. And I’ll admit—at that moment—I felt like kind of a badass.
When I got to the exit, I found Cassie waiting impatiently with a slumbering Von Traubel slung over her shoulder.
“Where were you?” she demanded, and kicked open the door.
“There was an orc and I did a cantrip!” I exclaimed. (I couldn’t help the enthusiasm—I’d been practicing the damn thing for an eternity.)
“You should be proud,” she said and rolled her eyes. We then ran down the back alley behind the club. We only made it a few steps before a dark SUV pulled into view and barreled toward us.
“Is that the BPI?” I asked, skidding to a halt.
“No.”
Cassie dropped Von Traubel without ceremony and I heard a crack when his arm hit the pavement. She snatched a holding disc from behind a discarded crate. All of a sudden, she was balancing an RPG on her shoulder. She shouted for me to plug my ears and then fired. The rocket hissed and collided with the windshield of the SUV, blowing out its insides in a flash of fire and smoke.
“Come on,” she said, slinging Von Traubel back over her shoulder. She did it so easily it made me wonder just how strong she really was. Definitely superhuman. That was for sure.
I followed her past the flaming wreck of the SUV onto the street where I could hear police sirens approaching. We ran down the road until we burst through the doors of a noisy Chinese restaurant still bustling at one a.m.
I caught several baffled stares as we ploughed through the narrow spaces between tables. Cassie moved like she was on a mission. (No pun intended.) She kicked open the double doors to the kitchen and quickly apologized to the cooks as we ran past.
“It’s in here,” she told me, taking a sharp left down a narrow hall toward a janitorial closet. She fished a key from her dress and unlocked the door. It opened into a parking garage—definitely not connected to the small restaurant—and we ran through. A line of black Escalades pulled up and the doors swung open. This time it was the BPI. A flock of men in dark suits and sunglasses descended on Von Traubel and told Cassie they’d take it from here. She handed him over, and in a screech of tires, the convoy was gone.
Cassie looked at me and announced that the party wasn’t over yet. She burst into a full sprint to the other side of the garage. She opened the door there, which took us to another garage and then another and another. She explained as we ran—somehow she was able to talk and breathe at the same time—that we were jumping between “Transit Points,” covering our tracks in case any of Von Traubel’s people were following. Finally, we exited one of the garages into another back alley. I had no idea where. We could’ve been in Shanghai at that point and I wouldn’t have known the difference. Cassie tapped an imbued yellow brick. It opened a pitch black hole in the wall and she told me to jump through it.
“Where does it go?” I panted, bending at the waist and resting my hands on my knees.
She urged me forward with a gentle shove. “Just do it,” she said.
I climbed through the hole and fell onto a hard, parquet floor. Cassie landed next to me and the hole vanished behind her.
I looked around. “Holy crap,” I said, still gasping for breath. “How did that happen?”
We were back in the Presidential Suite of the Ritz-Carlton. The room was bright and air-conditioned, and the cool air felt incredible. I was absolutely drenched from head to toe.
“I’m a good little girl scout.” Cassie grinned. “I always plan ahead.”
We lay there for a few minutes catching our breaths. Cassie probably didn’t need to, but I sure did. I hadn’t run like that since I was on the track team in high school. Without thinking, I closed my eyes and rolled onto my side. I didn’t plan on falling asleep, but the next thing I knew, I was waking up to familiar surroundings. Someone—probably Cassie—had moved me back to my own bed in Los Angeles.
Chapter Six
You’re a Wizard
Here’s a funny thing about college: No matter what is going on in your life, there’s no escaping the ever-looming need to study for midterms. For example, even if you just helped kidnap a Vampire Lord the previous night, the fact that you have a Statistics 13 midterm on Monday still fills you with dread. It was my least favorite class this semester, and unless I studied, I was going to fail it.
But before I could do so—and this was more important than anything else—I needed coffee. Good coffee. Not the emergency reserve stuff in the kitchen. I needed a fresh, professionally brewed cup of Joe, and I needed a lot of it. There was only one place in a thousand locations where I could get such a thing: Starcups. (Not to be confused with Starbucks.)
I headed outside in shorts, flip-flops and an old t-shirt, and hopped onto Mary Lou. There was a nice breeze as I puttered up Wilshire, enjoying the sunny Saturday morning. When I got to Starcups, I found it packed to the gills with people who’d had the same idea that I’d had—coffee and lots of it. Still, it only took a few minutes until my order was up. As I walked outside, my brain was consumed with how I was going to carry my precious cargo back to the apartment while piloting the Vespa. My plan was to jerry-rig an impromptu cup-holder from the bungee cord dangling off the back.
I was in the middle of trying to turn that dream into a reality, when a silver Rolls Royce pulled up beside me. It was brand new and sparkled under the early morning sun. The passenger door opened slowly and Agent Thomas Rosewood appeared, complete with immaculate, double-breasted suit and silver-topped cane.
“François,” he said, smiling pleasantly. “Dear me. It warms the heart just to see you! You are well, I trust?”
I gave a furtive glance from left to right to see if anyone was watching. The only culprit was a teenage girl filming us—although I’m pretty sure she was hoping for a celebrity to emerge from the Rolls.
“I’m great,” I said.
I found myself strangely happy to see him. There was something about that cheerful, British demeanor that put an involuntary smile on my face.
“Marvelous! I tell you, François. I heard about your exploits with Cassandra last evening and I must say! My hat—as it were—is off to you, sir. I am most impressed. Most impressed indeed.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I did a cantrip.”
“So I heard. You know, it took me six months of practice before I did my first? You have a rare talent, François. Truly.”
“The orc was about to punch me in the face,” I noted. “I think that helped.”
“Ha! Well I am most glad it did! So listen. I don’t wish to intrude upon your morning, but I was wondering if I might have a word? It won’t take long.” He gestured toward the open door of the Rolls and gave a little bow.
“Is it about Professor Steinberg?” I asked.
“Partially,” Rosewood answered. “But it is best we discuss these matters inside the vehicle. The inside is well guarded against prying ears—including the young lady filming us.”
I chuckled. “I think she’s hoping to see Justin Bieber.”
Rosewood glanced in her direction and frowned in thought. “Well, I suppose I could conjure an image of the Biebs, if she wished.” He turned back to me. “Did you know he’s actually a hobbit? It’s a rather marvelous disg
uise he wears—it’s nearly impossible to tell.”
The Rolls Royce had a uniformed chauffeur up front wearing a visored hat and white gloves. Once we were underway, I noticed his skin looked vaguely plastic. Rosewood told him—in a surprisingly curt tone—to take us back to Westwood and then circle the UCLA campus. The driver gave a jerky nod that made me suddenly wonder if he was an automaton.
“So François,” Rosewood began, setting his cane aside. “I apologize again for kidnapping you this morning, but it will only take a moment. We need to discuss our mutual friend, Cassandra. You may have noticed already that I care for her very much. I dare say, she’s like a daughter to me.”
“She’s really great,” I said.
“Oh, indeed. She’s a very special girl—much more so than you know. Are you aware that succubi, by their very nature, are intrinsically evil? Yet Cassandra—for reasons unknown—is good. In all my years wizarding, I’ve never come across her equal.”
“She mentioned she was only half succubus,” I said. “Does that have something to do with it?”
“Yes. Her father—dead upon her conception, I’m afraid—was a normal human. Her mother, however, was something else entirely. She was the most powerful succubus to ever enter this realm. And she was, quite unfortunately, very mean. She raised young Cassandra to follow in her footsteps. Yet something rather remarkable happened instead.”
I noticed I was literally sitting on the edge of my seat. “What?” I asked.
“Young Cassandra rebelled. And while such behavior is quite common for a human teenager, it is most certainly not common for a succubus. Now I don’t wish to burden you with the sad details, but let us just say Cassandra’s mother was not pleased.” Rosewood paused a moment, stiffening. “She tortured the poor girl,” he said quietly. “And that, François, is when I found her. She was fifteen and nearly dead. It took all my skills to revive her. To this day, she remains my greatest accomplishment.”
I felt a sudden pang in my stomach. The thought of Cassie being tortured by anyone—let alone her mother—made me sick.
“What happened to her mom?” I asked.
“Banished,” Rosewood said sharply. “I sent her back from whence she came. It was a rather nasty battle, too. She didn’t go willingly.”
“So what happened to Cassie after that?”
Rosewood looked at me. “I took her under my care. I trained her as best I could, until she was ready to ‘leave the nest,’ as it were.”
“You raised her?” I asked.
“For two years, one month and six days. I dare say I miss having her around the flat. She’s quite funny, you know.”
“She is,” I agreed with a small grin. “Very.”
“Yes. And so, François, we get to the heart of why I’ve come to see you. Cassandra told me what happened last night. She told me everything that happened last night.”
For a split second, I didn’t understand what he meant until a pile of bricks fell on my head and I remembered my epic make-out session with Cassie on the dance floor. The memory made me shift in my seat.
“Oh,” I said. “Yeah. I, uh …”
“There is no need for embarrassment, dear boy. I’m not angry. Quite the contrary, in fact. Cassandra likes you. She likes you a great deal. I knew as much the instant the pair of you walked into my office. Which is why I must ask you a favor. It is very important.”
“Anything,” I said.
“I need you to look after her for me. I fear for her safety. Now more than ever.”
I had to stifle a snort. Me look after Cassie? That didn’t make any sense.
“Mr. Rosewood,” I said.
“Oh, call me Thomas, I beg you.”
“Thomas,” I said awkwardly. “How could I possibly look after Cassie? She’s a total badass. She’s the one looking after me.”
Rosewood suddenly chuckled with an unmistakable hint of pride. “Oh, she’s quite formidable, I know. Yet you are new to the world of magic, François. There are many things you still need to learn. As for Cassandra, she’s more vulnerable than she appears. Her ‘tough girl’ persona is mostly an act.”
“I find that hard to believe,” I said.
“Oh, she can fight,” Rosewood said. “And if you drop her in front of a villain, she will most certainly ‘kick his butt’—of that, I have little doubt. But François, listen to me.” He leaned closer. “There is more to this game than fighting. Cassandra is very strong, it’s true. But strength isn’t everything, especially when confronting magic. You are a wizard, my boy. Untrained, yes, but a wizard all the same. And when you’re ready, you will need to protect her. Just as I have done.”
It occurred to me that Rosewood still hadn’t reached the real reason he was here. I didn’t doubt that he wanted me to help Cassie, but he knew as well as I did that it would be a long time—if ever—until I was ready to do so. He had another motive. And if I had to guess, he was scared of something.
“Mr. Rosewood,” I said. (There was no way I was calling him Thomas.) “What’s going on? Did something happen?”
Rosewood paused a moment, regarding me. When he let out his next breath, his whole body seemed to deflate. His shoulders slumped, and for a brief moment, he looked like a truly old man. And not the cheery, dapper one I’d come to know. There was a deep weariness in his eyes that I hadn’t noticed before.
“It’s Steinberg,” he said heavily. “Something sinister is brewing, François. Something big that threatens us all. I don’t know what it is, and none of my colleagues will listen, but I feel it in my heart. I have a rather good sixth sense about these matters, and I am certain Steinberg’s disappearance has something to do with it. We must find him. I know I told you earlier that there wasn’t any urgency. I fear that is no longer the case. The professor is either a villain himself, or someone else is using him for nefarious purposes. Either way, this could be a very troubling development. With his expertise in both nuclear science and alchemy, it is quite possible he could be a dangerous man—one way or the other.”
At that moment I had the strangest thought that ten days ago my biggest worry was interviewing for a summer internship with Meagan’s dad. Now, I was sitting in a Rolls Royce with a wizard who was telling me about a plot for world destruction and that I needed to do something about it. Therefore, I asked the only logical question that came to mind. I asked him what I—a twenty-year-old college student—could possibly do to help.
“I told you,” he answered. “I need you to watch Cassandra’s back. She isn’t safe—not against forces like these. I’ll do what I can from afar, but François,”—he glanced over and his eyes twinkled—“I’m afraid I’m a bit of an old man under this suit. I won’t be around forever. I need to know that Cassandra has someone she can trust. I would very much like that person to be you.”
I promised him I’d do everything I could. I felt a little cheesy when I told him that, like I was a medieval knight or something. But more than that, I feared I was making a promise I wouldn’t be able to keep.
A minute later we pulled in front of my apartment building. Just as I made to get out, Rosewood put a hand on my elbow. “François,” he said. “I would appreciate it very much if we could keep this chat between us. Cassandra gets rather cross when she feels I’m being overprotective.”
I chuckled. “I can definitely picture that. I won’t tell her. I promise.”
“Good.” He nodded crisply. “Very good. I thank you.”
“No problem,” I said, and opened the door. I was halfway out when I stopped and turned. “Cassie’s really lucky you found her,” I told him honestly. “You’re a good guy, Mr. Rosewood. For real.”
He grinned and gave me a wink. “It takes one to know one, François. I’m glad you are with us. Until next time.” He touched his forehead in an old-fashioned gesture of farewell. The Rolls’ door closed on its own and the car sped off, disappearing in a blink. I looked to my right and Mary Lou was parked on the curb with my coffee balanced perf
ectly on the seat. I stared, dumbstruck.
How the heck did he do that …?
• • •
When I got up to my apartment, I was greeted with an unwanted surprise. As I walked through the front door, Buckner—who was playing Xbox on the couch—saw me first. He pressed pause and winced. “Brace yourself, buddy boy,” he said. “The future misses is here and she don’t look happy.”
“Shit,” I said. I still hadn’t told anyone about Meagan cheating on me. “Where?”
“Your room. I tried to tell her you moved to old Mexico, but she didn’t buy it. She’s waitin’ in there. Sorry, partner.”
I really didn’t want to deal with this right now. I still wasn’t even sure about what to do. Should I break up with her? Get mad? Talk it out?
All I knew is that I didn’t feel like doing any of those things right this second. Yet apparently I didn’t have a choice. It’s one of the major pitfalls of any relationship—you seldom get to choose the time and place of your battles. Thus, with a sense resignation, I trudged back to my room where I knew an epic argument awaited.
I found Meagan, wearing a short skirt, lying on my bed. She was on her stomach, reading a magazine with her feet swaying in the air. Her face instantly brightened when she saw me. “Hey!” she chirped, and hopped off the bed to give me a hug. I stood still as a statue as she put her arms around me and rested her cheek on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry about the other night,” she said. “I know you’re pissed. I should’ve called earlier, but … well, I want to make it up to you.”
I didn’t know what to say. My inexperience with getting cheated on and what to do afterwards left me completely mute as Meagan kept talking. She pushed back to look up at me. “My dad can be a total jerk sometimes,” she said. “If it makes you feel better, I’m not returning his calls anymore.”
