by R. L. King
She rejoined him five minutes later, dropping into a seat across from him. She accepted his offered small Coke and grabbed a few of his fries without asking.
“You find anything?”
“Yeah. She’s there. Don’t look now, but she’s at the farthest table from us. It’s just like Wim said—she had a monkey tattoo on her neck.”
Jason flicked his gaze quickly in that direction, counting four other laughing teens—two girls and two boys—at the table with her before glancing away. “Gonna be tough to talk to her with all those others around.”
“Yeah, and it doesn’t look like she’s planning to go anywhere anytime soon.”
“So what do we do, just sit here and wait for them to leave?”
She pointed. “I have an idea. Take your stuff and go sit at one of the tables on the other side of that planter, where you’re not visible.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“Just…use a little magic. Quick, go do it before they notice us. I’ll put a disregarding spell on you until you’re out of sight.”
Jason, having learned long ago not to question his sister’s schemes, did as she requested, gathering the fries and Cokes and carrying them past the planter. He glanced over his shoulder before turning the corner, and was surprised that Verity was nowhere in sight. He sighed, sitting back down. Between his sister and Stone, he sometimes wished he had a little less magic in his life. But without magic you’d never have met Amber, he reminded himself, smiling as his fiancée’s image appeared in his mind’s eye. It wouldn’t be long now before she returned from Los Angeles, and they could get started on their minimal wedding plans. It was another thing he loved about her: she didn’t like big fancy ceremonies any more than he did. You weren’t any less married if you didn’t spend a fortune on a party, and it made more sense to use their money as a down payment on a place to live.
Caught up in his thoughts, he almost didn’t notice Verity shimmer into sight across the table from him and reclaim her Coke. “There,” she said, satisfied. “That should do it.”
He glared at her. “Were you invisible?”
“Yep. Watch and wait.” She leaned back, turning the chair so she could keep the approach to their table in sight.
A few moments later, a figure appeared around the corner of the planter. Just as Wim had described her, she was short and chubby, with a pretty face and long, dark hair. She wore jeans and an Oakland Raiders jersey, and moved with caution.
“Don’t spook her,” Verity mumbled, raising a hand to beckon her over.
Monita paused, clearly nervous about approaching the two strangers, but then she tensed, glared at them, and stalked over. “What do you want?” she demanded. “What did you do?”
“Sorry about the secrecy,” Verity said, waving her to a chair. “We had to get you away from your friends so we could talk to you. I assume they don’t know about…what you can do?”
“How do you know about what I can do?” Her face was still wreathed in suspicion; she didn’t look like she planned to sit down.
“Mutual friend. I won’t tell you who it is because they asked us not to, but this is pretty important, Monita.”
Jason, content to let his sister handle the interrogation, leaned back and continued picking at his fries. He spotted the familiar, fuzzed-out look on Verity’s face indicating she was using magical sight. She was getting really good at hiding it, but he knew her well enough to notice the subtle cues.
“So you know my name, too. Who the hell are you guys?”
“I’m like you,” Verity said. “This is my brother—he’s not, but he knows all about it. Come on—please sit down. I promise we don’t mean you any harm. We just want to talk.”
“Talk about what?” She glanced back toward the planter, almost as if weighing her odds of making it back to her friends, and then dropped into a seat.
“About some stuff that’s been going on lately in Oakland.”
“What stuff?”
“We think there’s a group of people—people like us—who have been causing some trouble over the last few weeks.”
“Trouble?”
“Yeah. Petty thefts, break-ins, that kind of thing. Kids using their abilities to let them get away with stuff without being caught.”
Monita narrowed her eyes and rubbed the side of her neck. The tattoo, a whimsical dancing monkey, took up the whole side of it, one of its furry arms reaching up to wrap around an ear sparkling with several earrings and studs. “So what’s this got to do with me? You think I did this stuff?”
“I don’t know,” Verity said. “I thought you might have, but now I don’t think I do.”
“Why not?”
“Because of your aura. You’re nervous—and it makes sense you are, since we’re strangers. But not nervous enough to be part of what I’m talking about.”
Monita glared. “Okay. Whatever. You’re right, I ain’t got nothin’ to do with anything like that. That it? Can I go now?”
“Please don’t go yet. I want to ask you about one more thing.”
“Look, I gotta get back—”
“I promise, it’ll only take a couple of minutes. Will you settle down? It’s hard to talk to you when I keep thinking you’re gonna take off any second.”
“Why should I talk to you? I don’t know who you are. You ain’t cops, are you? Because I’m not snitchin’ to the cops about anybody.”
“We’re not cops,” Jason said. “We’re looking into this for a friend.”
Verity nodded. “Monita, I’ll tell you the truth about something, in case you don’t know. Remember a little while back, the thing that happened at the Arena, where those people got hurt?”
“Yeah…” Her suspicious, narrow-eyed gaze got a little more nervous. “Was that them?”
“Yeah. It was. And a good friend of mine got hurt real bad because of them. She almost died, and they’re still not sure whether she’s ever gonna walk again. That’s a big part of why I want to find them.”
“So what are you gonna do if you do? You gonna hurt ’em?”
“No—not unless we have to. But the more we learn about this, the more I think they’re just kids—scared kids who got in over their heads. We think they’re hiding now. Maybe they aren’t gonna do anything like this anymore. But we have to find out. I can’t just let this happen to my friend without figuring out what’s going on.”
Monita hesitated, then looked at her hands. “I don’t know nothin’, okay?”
“You don’t know any of these kids? We think one of them might be named Daisy. Do you know Daisy?”
She shook her head.
Jason glanced at Verity. Obviously, the girl knew something.
Verity held up a hand to stop him and faced Monita again. “What about the man, Monita?”
“What man?”
“You know what man. Please don’t lie to me—I can see it in your aura. It went up like a firework when I said that. So what about him?”
She dropped her gaze again. “I dunno anything about him, and I don’t wanna. He was creepy. I told him to fuck off.”
“Creepy?” Jason asked. “How so?”
She glared at him. “If I tell you guys about him, will you get the fuck outta here? My friends are gonna come lookin’ for me any time now, so if you don’t want a big scene, you better get out.”
“Yeah,” Verity said. “You tell us what you know about him, and we’ll go.”
Monita rubbed her neck again and didn’t meet either of their gazes. “He showed up a few weeks back. Said he just wanted to talk. Just like you two,” she added with a growl.
“What did he want to talk about?”
She swallowed. “He…said he could help me. Said I could be special, if I let him help me…how did he put it? Realize my potential.”
Verity frowned. “That doesn’t sound creepy at all.”
“Right? Like I said, I told him to fuck right off.”
“What did he do then?”
“He said it again—that he could help me, and I’d regret it if I didn’t let him. He said I had abilities I didn’t even know about, and he could help me bring them out.”
“What kind of abilities? Magic?”
“Yeah. He showed me a little magic—nothin’ big, just lifted my coffee cup off the table—and looked at me like I shoulda been freakin’ out, all impressed, y’know?”
Jason leaned forward. “You mean he acted like he didn’t think you knew about your own magic?”
Monita shrugged. “Dunno. Kinda seemed that way. He said he was lookin’ for people like me—people he could help. Said he already had a couple, kids like me, and I’d like ’em. Maybe this—what was her name again?”
“Daisy,” Verity said.
“—this Daisy was one of ’em. He didn’t use any names, though.”
“Did he tell you his name?”
“Nah. And I don’t think he knew mine.”
Verity exchanged glances with Jason. “Can you tell us what he looked like?”
She shrugged again. “Nothin’ special. White dude, short brown hair, maybe mid-twenties, a little soft. Dad bod type, y’know? Definitely didn’t look like he worked out. Wearin’ normal clothes, jeans and a T-shirt. Like I said, nothin’ special.” She glanced over her shoulder again. “Look, can I go? I don’t know nothin’ else. The dude creeped me out, so I left.”
“He didn’t follow you?” Verity asked.
“Nah. When I turned back around at the other end of the block, he was gone. Ain’t never seen him again, and I hope I never do.” She stood, explosively. “That’s it. I’m done. Good luck findin’ this asshole, but I don’t want nothin’ to do with any of it. Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Monita. I know this was kind of freaky and I’m sorry about that, but thanks for talking to us. It was helpful.”
“Yeah, whatever.” She shot them a final suspicious glare, then stalked off toward the corner of the planter.
“Oh, Monita?” Verity called.
She stopped and turned back, looking angry. “What?”
“One other thing—can you tell us where you were when he met you?”
For a moment it looked as if she might not reply, but then she snapped, “On San Pablo, okay? Near the library! Now leave me alone!”
Jason let his breath out as he watched her disappear around the corner. “We should get outta here.”
“Yeah.”
They tossed their cups and headed out of the mall, ignoring the muttered suggestive comments from the groups of loitering teens. Jason didn’t speak again until they were in the parking lot. “I think this guy she’s talking about could be behind the gang of kids. Don’t you?”
“Yeah, it sounds like he could be. Seems weird, though, that he’d go around looking for kids with magic. How the hell would he find them? And why did he act like Monita didn’t even know about her own magic?”
“Maybe one of her friends told him about her.”
“Maybe…but it doesn’t sound like she tells many people about it. I wouldn’t if I was her. Most kids that age who have magic don’t even know it—maybe weird things happen around them that freak them out, but a lot of them don’t associate it with magic because they don’t even know it exists.”
“So how did he know, then?”
“Good question. C’mon—let’s head back to the City. You can crash at my place if you don’t want to go home, but we should tell Doc about this. There’s something really weird going on here. I don’t know what it is yet, but I’m sure there is. Maybe he’ll have some ideas.”
27
Raider pounced on Stone’s phone when it rang, startling him out of his light doze. He snatched it up, knowing it had to be Verity. Nobody else would call him this late. “Did you find anything?” he demanded without greeting.
“Hello to you too,” she said. “But yeah, I think maybe we might have.”
He listened with growing interest as she described her and Jason’s conversation with Monita at the Oakland mall. “So you think this man she’s talking about might be some sort of…magical Fagin character, gathering street kids with magic talent and forming them into some kind of criminal gang?”
“It sure sounds that way. But unfortunately, we’re not any closer to finding him. The way she described him—mid-twenties white guy, a little chubby, brown hair—he could be just about anybody. She didn’t have a name or any kind of distinguishing characteristics.”
“Hmm, yes.” Stone slouched back on the couch, and Raider immediately jumped into his lap. “Doesn’t give us much to go on, does it? I’ll give Blum a call with the information. Perhaps between the description and the location, he might have some ideas. But I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”
“Yeah.” She sounded disappointed. “We’ll keep sending our feelers out—the Harpies are still looking, and Jason’s new group of mundanes knows what we’re looking for. These guys can’t hide from us forever.”
“Unless this man has left town,” Stone said. “It sounds like it’s not the kids we’re looking for, but him. You’re probably right that the incident at the Arena spooked them. Perhaps they aren’t even associated with him anymore, and he’s letting things settle before he starts looking for a new team.”
“Maybe so,” she agreed reluctantly. “Oh—one thing I forgot to mention. It’s probably nothing, but it did strike me as weird. Monita said when this guy approached her, he acted like he thought she didn’t know she could do magic. He showed her a levitation spell and acted like he expected her to be surprised. Told her he could help her realize her potential. Sounded like he was trying to recruit her into a cult or something.”
Stone thought about it, gently discouraging Raider’s attempts to poke his head under his chin. “That is odd. Are you sure about that?”
“That’s what she said. There isn’t any way for a mage to recognize a potential one, right? Not without some kind of examination like the one you did on me?”
“No. It’s impossible to tell, especially in a latent talent. It’s not even possible for most mages to tell at all—the examination I did on you is a fairly advanced technique. The only way to spot another mage is if they’ve been using magic recently—but if that were the case, the man wouldn’t have acted like Monita didn’t know herself.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Do you have any idea what it means?”
“Not offhand. Let me give it some thought. I’ll get back to you if I come up with anything. For now, keep doing what you’re doing, and I’ll do the same. I’ll give Blum a call and describe this man—maybe he can turn something up.”
“I hope so, but I’m not betting on it. The guy sounds about as dull as he can be. Not the kind who stands out in a crowd.”
“He may be counting on that. Thanks again, Verity—good work, both of you.”
He hung up and tossed the phone back on the couch, leaning back so Raider could drape himself across his chest.
None of this was making sense. A bunch of garden-variety talents shouldn’t be able to hide themselves this well, and if some new mage was running around a major city collecting mages into his little gang, somebody must have heard something about it.
And then there was the rift. Every day he felt more guilt about his failure to go back up there, even though he knew Kolinsky was right: he couldn’t close it. Up until now he’d been using work as an excuse for not returning to examine it again, but he couldn’t do that any longer. Even though he still didn’t see any way it could be connected to the man Verity was talking about, it still posed a significant danger. Perhaps if he took some ritual materials up to the warehouse, he could do the same thing someone had done to the one outside Pittsburgh: weave an illusion or some other kind of spell to discourage mundanes from entering the area. It was by no means a foolproof solution, since he had no idea how insidious this rift’s power was and how far its reach would be for unprotected mundanes, but at least he could keep them from blundering right in
to the middle of it. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
28
Ben hadn’t had a good night’s sleep for days. Ever since he’d returned from his visit to his mother’s grave, intrusive thoughts increasingly dominated his mind, and nothing he tried made them go away.
He was no longer concerned that someone—either the cops or Julio’s men—were after him. Enough time had passed since Ma’s death that he began to relax his vigilance, if only a bit. He still didn’t stay long in the same place, moving from one short-term rental to another, always paying cash, but by now he’d gotten to where he didn’t look over his shoulder every time he went out to get some food or take a walk.
Money was easy to get. The more he practiced with his magic, the better he got with it. Even with the minimal teaching his father had given him as a teenager, he still found he had little trouble learning new techniques. It was almost as if all he had to do was think about something he wanted to do, and after a little practice, he could do it. He’d already learned to levitate himself, move things around using telekinesis, turn himself invisible, disguise himself, create a protective shield, and open locks. He could create illusionary figures that looked real enough he almost scared himself once. He’d even experimented a little with using magic offensively, something his father had never gotten around to teaching him. He’d promised to when Ben was older, but he’d died before he got the chance.
Ben wasn’t sure he’d be able to figure it out on his own, but when he’d broken in to an abandoned building one night and set up a line of aluminum cans on a dusty counter, he discovered all he had to do was concentrate hard on wanting to knock them off and off they went, one after the other. He had no idea where the yellow-green blasts he shot from his hands came from; they made his fingers tingle when he used them, but they didn’t hurt. He felt like one of those superheroes from the comics he used to read as a kid, before Ma told him he was too old for them and tossed them all out. He supposed in a way he was a superhero. How was magic different from comic-book super powers, anyway, except that one of them was real and the other occurred only in fiction? Hell, he could do whatever he wanted. He could get out of Oakland, set himself up somewhere far away where he was sure nobody was looking for him—maybe even some other country—and live like a king. Maybe he could even help people. Ma would be proud of him if he did that, even if he was using the powers she hated. She’d always wanted him to be a good boy.
