by R. L. King
“What’s that?”
He flashed a nasty, triumphant grin at the blackmailer. “That even though the closet door was closed, the camera was still filming.” He dropped the man on his ass against the wall. “That’s a nice trick, filming through a closed door. If you’ve worked out how to do that, you might want to see if you can sell your technique to some spy agency somewhere.”
Selby gasped.
The man slumped, deflating, and his aura flared bright and surprised.
Stone nodded as the last, tiniest bit of his uncertainty dropped away. He had been running a bit of a bluff, because it was possible his hypothesis was somehow wrong. Selby could have misremembered what he saw during his meditations, or there could have been some other factor he wasn’t taking into account. But the blackmailer’s scared, defeated aura told him everything he needed to know.
“So…” Selby whispered, “…there isn’t any video? They showed me an illusion?”
“Precisely. They can’t send it anywhere, because they never had it in the first place. I suppose they could try to fool someone else by showing them the illusion, but they won’t.”
“They…won’t?”
“No. Right?” he asked the man on the floor. “You’re done with this scam. Obviously you can’t send the video anywhere electronically, because your illusionist would need to be present during the display. You won’t risk yourself to do that, unless you’re thick as two short planks and have bigger bollocks than I think you do. There’s too much chance something will go wrong. Right?” he repeated.
The man glared at him. “What are you going to do to me? Kill me?”
“I could,” Stone said contemplatively. “Easy thing, that, and I could even argue you’d deserve it, for nearly driving my friend here to suicide.”
“I didn’t want to drive anybody to suicide!” the man protested, his aura sparking again. His voice shook with emotion. “Listen—you’re right. Me and my mate—the lady—we’re con artists. We do this kind of thing to get a little money, or some swag we can sell. But I never wanted nobody to off himself!”
“You should have thought of that before you went after Selby. See, he’s an honorable man. You can’t imagine how thinking he might have raped someone might have affected him badly?”
He bowed his head. “It was her idea. I didn’t want it to go that far, but she wanted to make sure it looked believable. She really wanted that book.”
“Bit late for that now, isn’t it?” Stone continued his pacing. This was, he had to admit, where Verity’s banging on about official magical authority had a certain point to it. It would be much easier if he could turn the man over to some kind of arcane law enforcement agency and let them deal with him. “But…that leaves us with a problem. I can’t turn you in to the mundane authorities. You already know that. No one would believe your con was based on illusions, and even if you admitted to something mundane and got yourselves locked up, your abilities would have you out in no time.” He rubbed his chin. “What do you think, Selby? What should we do with them?”
Selby didn’t reply. He still looked miserable, clutching the satchel to him like a child clinging to a beloved stuffed animal.
“Stay there a moment,” Stone said to the man, and motioned Selby to the other side of the room.
“I can’t believe you…you did that,” Selby said, staring in wonder at the blackmailer on the floor.
“Well, we’re not done yet. We’ve still got to decide what to do with him. You don’t want me to kill him, do you?” He watched the other man closely for a reaction.
It came instantly: a bright, shocked aura flare and a wide-eyed gape of horror. “No! Of course not! I mean…I want to see him punished, but I don’t want anyone’s death on my conscience. Or yours.”
“Good man. But we have a dilemma. You know that, right?”
Selby nodded. “Yes.” He let out a loud sigh. “We haven’t any choice, do we? We’ve got to let him go.”
“I don’t see any other alternative. I mean, I suppose I could rough him up a bit to help him see the error of his ways, but it hardly seems worth the effort. If you’ve got any better ideas, I’m open to suggestions.”
“I…don’t.” Selby glanced at the man, who hadn’t moved from his spot against the wall.
Stone had thought he might make a run for it, but the room didn’t have a back door. Perhaps his intimidation tactics were working better than he’d expected. “Wait,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I think I’ve got an idea. Go out to the front and bring me a sharp knife and an empty beer bottle. Rinse it out in the loo.”
Selby shot him a confused look, but did as he was told. He returned a minute later with the requested items, slipping carefully in through the door to prevent anyone out front from seeing. “What do you want these for?”
Stone didn’t answer. He’d been keeping an eye on the sullen blackmailer, who still hadn’t been brave enough to try escaping. He was actually surprised the man hadn’t tried any illusionary tricks—perhaps he was right about the blackmailer’s female companion being the brains of the outfit. He set the bottle on the table and held the knife where the man could see it.
“Are you gonna cut me up? You’ll never get away with it.”
“No, no. If I’d wanted to do that, I wouldn’t need this stuff.” Using magic, he levitated the knife and the bottle in front of the man’s face. “Cut your finger and drip some blood into the bottle.”
“What? Why?”
“You won’t begrudge us a little insurance, will you? I don’t trust you when you say you’re out of the con-artist business, so I want you to know if I hear anything about you two getting up to mischief again, I can track you down. And believe me, I won’t be nearly as merciful the second time. So do it. Now. I won’t ask again.”
The man tried another defiant glare, but clearly his heart wasn’t in it. “Bloody hell…” he muttered, taking the knife and pulling off one of his gloves. “Okay. Fine. I’m done. And that’s the truth.”
Outside, the night’s cold bite was a welcome change from the smoky, humid air inside the bar.
“I don’t know how I can possibly thank you for that,” Selby said. He walked slowly, with a slump to his shoulders, as if he couldn’t quite believe the sword that had been hanging over his head was gone. He held the bag containing the Bertrands’ book tightly against his side. “For all of it.”
Stone shrugged. “Glad I could help. I suppose he’ll think twice about trying that again. He might get lucky—probably would—but there’s always the chance he’ll pick the wrong mark.”
“Were you serious about tracking him with the blood? Can you do that?”
“Eh, it’s hardly worth the bother. It’s just a little trick I’ve used in the past. I can preserve the blood for a while, but eventually it will lose its potency. He might or might not know that. But in any case, as long as he doesn’t mess with you again, I’m not planning to worry about it. I’m not a bloody magical policeman.” He pulled the beer bottle containing the drops of the blackmailer’s blood from his coat pocket and examined it, then tossed it in a nearby trash receptacle. “I don’t think he’ll be brave enough to have a second go at you.”
“No…probably not.” Selby stopped and gripped his arm. “Dr. Stone—thank you. I owe you…everything.”
Stone snorted. “Come on, Selby, none of that. You’d best get that book home and safe before the Bertrands find out you’ve nicked it. Hopefully this will be the last we hear of any of this.”
11
Verity wasn’t sure who would show up at the Fruitvale BART station, one stop away from the Arena. Most of the Harpies weren’t wild about her relationship with Stone, with the exception of Lara, who was still grateful to the mage for saving her cousin’s life the previous summer, so she thought perhaps only a couple of them would turn up.
Instead, she spotted almost all of them loitering near a bench past the turnstile. A happy rush shivered up her spin
e as she grinned at Kyla, Lara, Greta, Tani, and Zel. “You guys all made it. Thanks. I really appreciate it.” Max and Bea were missing, but that didn’t surprise her: the two older women had professional reputations to maintain, and generally offered most of their help behind the scenes.
“Eh,” Greta growled. “Nothin’ else to do tonight. What’s the plan? Did you get tickets to this concert? I thought it was sold out.”
“Don’t worry about that. I got it covered.”
“What you gonna do, sneak us in?” Kyla leaned in to kiss her, and ruffled her hair. “Didn’t think you had it in you, babe.”
Verity hadn’t missed the irony of sneaking several people into a sold-out and high-priced concert while trying to track down petty magical criminals, but she’d managed to shove it aside for now. It wasn’t as if they were going to sit around enjoying the concert, after all. They had a job to do. “Don’t worry about that,” she said. “We got this. Let’s get on the train—I’ll give you the details on the way.”
The train was packed, mostly with people dressed in Falconstrike T-shirts and hats. Verity noticed a few teenagers, but most of the concert-goers were in their thirties and up. She switched to magical sight, wondering if perhaps the thieves might try to get a head start on the train, but saw only the bright, excited auras indicating anticipation. The only sign of magic hovered around her. Too bad Doc can’t be here, she thought. He might enjoy the concert, though he tended to confine himself to smaller venues unless the band was a particular favorite. She wondered what he was doing in Paris, and if he was finding any more success than she was.
She and the other Harpies gathered around near the back of their car while Verity explained what they were looking for and how they were going to search for it. It wouldn’t be easy: the Arena was huge, and they only had two searchers with magical sight. She decided the easiest way would be to divide the group into pairs and assign them subsections. Verity, meanwhile, since she had far stronger magical sight than Hezzie, would take a position high up in the cheap seats and scan for magic, using texts to direct the others if she spotted anything. It wasn’t a great plan, but she couldn’t think of a better one. The other Harpies’ dubious looks and silence told her they couldn’t either.
“You realize this is probably all pointless, right?” Greta muttered as the train pulled into the Coliseum Station. “You’re basing a lot of effort on the idea of one kid doin’ somethin’ a little out of character.”
Secretly, Verity thought she was probably right, and felt guilty for dragging her friends into this on such flimsy provocation. But she also felt good to see that they would go along with her. She’d never been a popular kid in school, and after the Evil’s extradimensional energy had warped her mind in her early teens she’d mostly kept to herself, even at the halfway house. Reconnecting with Jason and meeting Stone had brought her a family—both blood and chosen—that she loved more than anything else in the world, but the Harpies’ friendship gave her something they couldn’t provide: a group of loyal female companions she could trust her life to. It felt good.
They joined the flow of people exiting the BART station and heading past the Coliseum toward the Arena where the concert would be held. Nobody paid them any attention; they were a bit younger than the target demographic, but not enough that they stood out. In fact, the more Verity looked, the more teenagers and young adults she saw, both in pairs and in small groups. She wondered if any of them were their targets, but still didn’t see any magic.
“You better tell us how you’re planning to get us in without tickets,” Greta muttered as they approached the nearest entrance. Each of a long row of open doors was manned by a uniformed venue worker standing behind a table and a metal detector. Several police officers roamed back and forth beyond them, watching for potential trouble. Outside, groups of fans gathered to smoke or chat before heading inside.
“We’re not doing it here,” Verity said. “Too conspicuous. This place has several exit doors, so we’ll find one of those. I can unlock it from out here and keep us invisible long enough to get inside. Once we’re in, nobody will check as long as we don’t try sitting in anyone’s seat.”
Hezzie and Greta looked dubious, but all the Harpies followed her when she peeled away from the main crowd. Fortunately it was dark by now, which helped conceal them.
They skirted the outside of the building. More people coming in from the parking lot on the east side headed toward another entrance, but Verity stopped her group before they reached it and pointed out a pair of wide, featureless closed doors. “Okay. We’ll go in here. Hez, you can do disregarding and invisibility, right?”
“Not very well. I can probably get myself and maybe one other person in, but I wouldn’t want to push it past that.”
Verity considered. Because Hezzie was such a talented alchemist, she sometimes forgot that her friend wasn’t anywhere near as accomplished as she herself was with other types of magic. Even her healing, which aside from alchemy was her strongest ability, barely compared with Verity’s own. She wished Stone were here, but then felt guilty about it. He’d asked her to help, and damn it, she was going to help.
“Okay. We’ll do it with illusion instead of invisibility. I’ll go in first, invisibly, and make sure nobody’s hanging around. When the door opens again, come on through. I’ll put up an illusion that the door is closed, and leave it up till we’re all inside. Hurry, though. I can hold it for a while, but not forever.”
Hezzie looked impressed. “Damn, girl. You’ll have to teach me that one.”
Privately, Verity thought that might not be easy, but she flashed a thumbs-up. “Let’s do this.”
It took less than a minute to get them all through. As Verity suspected, the concert didn’t have in-and-out privileges, so nobody was loitering near the exit. She slipped through, cast the illusion, and cracked the door open. One by one, the other Harpies came in until they all stood off to one side of the pair of closed doors.
“Come on,” Kyla said, waving them further in. “Let’s get away from the doors before somebody comes by and gets suspicious.”
Verity didn’t relax until they’d made it to the outer ring, which was lined with concessions and merch vendors. People milled everywhere, getting food, chatting in small groups, and sipping big cups of beer, and nobody gave the Harpies a second look. They found a relatively empty area past the restrooms and gathered in a circle while Verity explained the plan.
“Hez, you go with Kyla, and take the west section of the upper level. Move around, keep magical sight up when you can, and scan your section along with the lower one on the opposite side and the floor. Zel, you go with Lara, and take the south, and Tani, you go with Greta and take east. Same deal. You guys are gonna have a harder time of it because you can’t see magic, but—”
“I can’t see magic,” Tani said in her odd, scratchy voice. “But I might be able to spot agitation.”
Verity frowned, focusing on her. As always, she stood with her thin body crouched, her hair in disarray and an odd look in her eyes. “You…can?” She’d never been brave enough to delve too deeply into Tani’s situation. She’d asked Kyla once, but her girlfriend’s only reply was a shrug and “Damned if I know. She’s a weird one, but she’s got your back if you need her.”
“Yeah, maybe. Better than nothing.”
“True. Okay. If any of you think you see any sign of magic, send me a text with the location. And all of you check the section behind the stage occasionally. Nobody will be sitting there, but our people might sneak around back there to get somewhere else.”
“Where you gonna be?” Greta asked.
“Way up high, in the cheap seats. My sensitivity’s the strongest, so I’ll make a circuit and try to spot anything. They check tickets more carefully down on the lower sections, so I’m hoping that means if the thieves are here, they’ll focus mostly on the higher ones.”
Everybody nodded, though some of them looked like they didn’t have much hope t
he plan would work.
Verity glanced at her watch. “Show starts at eight. That means we’ve got about half an hour to get into position.”
“Let’s take fifteen minutes and circulate around out here,” Zel said. “If you’re right and they’re planning to pick pockets, it might be easier to do it here than when everybody’s sitting down.”
“Good point.” Verity kicked herself a little for missing that, glad she had teammates who were more streetwise than she was. “Remember—text me with your location if you spot anything.”
Scanning the concession area might have been a good idea, but it didn’t pan out. By the time they all started heading to their posts inside the arena, Verity’s phone had remained silent and text-free. Once again, she wondered if this whole elaborate plan had been a mistake. It was all based on a pretty sketchy suspicion, after all—who could explain why teenagers did what they did? Maybe Daisy the heavy-metal headbanger had suddenly decided she liked folksy arena rock. Stranger things had happened.
She mounted the steps to the nosebleed section, cast a disregarding spell around herself, and used the disguise amulet Stone had created for her to make herself look like a fortyish woman in a Falconstrike T-shirt and mom jeans. If you were trying not to be noticed, she’d long ago discovered—or at least not considered suspicious or a threat—looking like a middle-aged white woman was usually your best bet. She thought the whole idea sucked, but she wasn’t above taking advantage of it when it was important to stay concealed. She wished she had amulets for the others, but once again it couldn’t be helped.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Three texts in a row, a few seconds apart: the three pairs announcing they were in position and hadn’t spotted anything yet.
Keep looking, she sent back. Probably won’t be anything to see until the concert starts.
If there’s anything 2 see at all, Greta replied.
