Halfway through my shopping, I began to feel strange. It was something like an itch, only it wasn’t anywhere I could scratch. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing at attention. It felt as though I was being scrutinized by something, not merely watched, but judged. I looked around, but there was only an old woman pushing a cart down the aisle behind me.
Being able to do magic doesn’t mean that I can read minds, see the future, or talk to the dead. I’m not a psychic, or a medium. But I’ve learned over the years that the world is a much larger and stranger place than most people think. There are people in it that are capable of things that would make Einstein scratch out the Theory of Relativity.
I’ve learned to trust my instincts.
Determined to leave as soon as possible, I hurried through the rest of my list, grabbing things off of the shelves as quickly as I could. The feeling of scrutiny didn’t disappear, but it began to fade slightly as I paid for my groceries and left the store. I jogged with my wagon to my car, loaded the bags into the trunk, and got inside.
It’s probably nothing. You’re probably fine.
The problem with “probably” is that it isn’t “definitely.” And when you work for a secret society, you want things to be as definite as possible. If I was being watched, I needed to find out—I needed to be certain.
Most spying and espionage is handled in person. Surveillance methods have gotten more technologically advanced over the years, but most of them still require a human being to deliver them, or at least to monitor them. Unless someone had hijacked the security cameras of the grocery store, I had been watched by another person, probably a customer.
Thankfully, once you’ve rumbled to the fact that you’re being tailed, it’s relatively simple to spot who is doing it. The trick is to act as though you have no idea that you’re being followed in the first place.
I popped the trunk, and got out. Pretending to double check something with my groceries, I leaned over, and scanned the parking lot. It wasn’t particularly large, but there were enough cars and people to make it difficult to remember all of the details. I focused on the cars, noting size and color rather than exact models. Once I had taken a good look, I straightened up, nodded to myself as though I had made sure I remembered to pick up a box of rigatoni after all, and got back into the car.
Then came the next step: running another errand. It might seem ludicrous, but identifying a tail requires you to continue throughout your daily activities. If you start breaking your normal pattern, they might notice. Once that happens, they’ll either cut and run, or, if they’re violent, they might decide to strike.
You also can’t just head home. Anyone with enough skill to follow someone unnoticed knows that pursuing a target into a residential area is like asking to be spotted, especially out in the suburbs. Basically, you need to stay in public places, acting normal, and see if you can spot the same person in multiple locations. While sometimes that can be random chance, odds are very good that meeting the same person twice in one day isn’t an accident.
I drove to the bookstore, kept my speed five miles under the limit the whole way there, and came to a complete stop at every intersection. I checked the mirrors frequently, hoping that I would see someone following me, but felt relieved when I didn’t. It didn’t mean that my instincts were wrong, though. It paid to be certain.
I pulled into the parking lot, and got out. I kept my head on a swivel, trying not to seem overly jumpy, but probably failed. There were only a few other cars parked in the area; half a dozen scattered across the lot. I didn’t recognize any of them.
Once inside, I took my time looking through the shelves, even though I had some frozen food in the trunk and the thermometer read seventy-five. A few bad TV dinners wouldn’t be the end of the world.
I picked out two books, ones I had intended to read anyway—there was no reason to waste shelf space on uninteresting books—and headed towards the checkout line. Halfway between the Best-Seller table and the cashier, a wave of apprehension rolled over me.
It was the same sensation I had felt in the grocery store, amplified up to eleven. Someone was watching me, judging me, making a decision about me. Part of me wanted to run, a part of me I’m ashamed of— but, in fairness, it was a small part. Mostly, I wanted to find out who was responsible and kick them in the teeth. Then ask them what they were doing, in a thoroughly impolite and discourteous manner.
I scanned the area around me, hoping to spot something that would trigger a memory from the grocery store. A few people were browsing the aisles, but the store was almost entirely empty. None of the customers appeared to be threatening, or even remotely suspicious. The cashier was the only one who watched me, a hesitant smile on his face. I remembered that I was supposed to act natural, and rushed forward to pay.
Unlike in the grocery store, the feeling didn’t fade as I left. In fact, it only grew stronger. Once in the parking lot, I scanned the area, and saw it: a silver SUV that hadn’t been there when I arrived. I recognized it from the grocery store. I continued toward my car as casually as I could, though I had started to sweat—not in fear, but in anticipation.
A middle-aged man sat in the SUV, wearing a loose-fitting tee shirt and a pair of sunglasses. I would have said that he looked like a cop, but he was missing the air of arrogance that most of them had. Hell, I probably have one too, considering the things I can do. Whoever he was, he had no idea who he was screwing with.
A pickup truck lay between my car and the SUV. Lucky for me. I opened the driver side door of my sedan, dumped my books onto the seat, and crept around the pickup truck, making sure to slam the door shut as loudly as possible. I continued at a half-crouch, only stopping when I was directly behind the SUV. The engine was idling, faint exhaust fumes pumping out of the tailpipe. I drew a Zippo lighter from my front pocket, cracked my knuckles, closed my eyes, and concentrated. I needed to do four things very quickly to get the results that I wanted. I couldn’t help but grin at the thought of the look on this man’s face.
Magic has limits. There is far more that you can’t do than you can with it. And while I had control of the basic elements, I was far from mastering any of the finer aspects. Even though I could use Air magic, healing wounds was beyond my capabilities, for instance. What was well within my capabilities, however, was manipulating the air around me—including the air in the tires of the SUV.
I opened my eyes, focused, and, with an exertion of will, expanded the air in all four tires simultaneously. They burst spectacularly as sounds like gunshots split the calm of the early evening. A startled cry erupted from the driver as he tried to figure out what had happened, but I wasn’t done.
I focused once more, this time on the area of the engine block. I placed one hand on the ground beneath me, and stretched the one clutching the Zippo toward the front of the SUV. Earth magic doesn’t just fling rocks and cause earthquakes. You know what else is a powerful force originating from the planet? Gravity.
A small area of extremely focused gravity formed right in front of the driver. The speed at which this occurred was so rapid that the hood simply crumpled. Twisting, crunching metal shrieked in protest, and the SUV began to tip forward, as though headed over a cliff. The rear wheels, sporting the tattered remains of the rubber tires, rose from the ground. I kept up the pressure until I heard what I was waiting for: the crash sensor to trip, and the airbags to deploy.
Now the cries from inside the vehicle weren’t startled, they were panicked. Evidently he was in quite some pain, for which I didn’t feel particularly guilty. The damage I had caused thus far had been practical, intended to disable the car, and to confuse and terrify the man inside it. In this one-on-one Shock and Awe campaign, next came the spectacle.
Similarly to the way I had blown the tires, I expanded the air pressure inside the SUV until the windows blew out. Moving fast, I sped towards the driver’s side, reached inside the door, and yanked it open.
The man was dazed, blood pour
ing from a broken nose. Airbags deploy fast, at speeds approaching two hundred miles per hour. It’s better than stopping your forward motion with the steering wheel, but they can still cause some damage.
His eyes, barely focused, found mine. They widened in fear as he realized who I was. Before he could react, I flipped open the Zippo and flicked the ignition wheel. Once again exerting my will, I focused on the flame. Quickly, I released the energy directed toward my open palm, and gathered a large, soccer ball-sized sphere of fire. The miniature star hung suspended above my hand, waiting for me to use it.
My gaze locked on his, I said, “Why are you following me?” It came out almost as a growl. Honestly, I was tired. Slinging around magic looks easy, but it can be mentally exhausting. I would need to rest soon. Not that the man in the driver’s seat needed to know that.
He looked as though he might lose all semblance of control rather quickly. He swallowed, his eyes darting from my own to the fire ball.
“Don’t kill me,” he said. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”
I eased the fire ball forward just a bit. “Why are you following me?” I repeated.
“I’ll tell you everything. Please. It doesn’t have to be this way. I’m not your enemy.”
“Why,” I began, concentrating on keeping the flames steady. “Are you following me?”
“Because I…” he heaved a sigh. He looked into my eyes carefully, searching for something. Evidently he found it, because he continued, “I need your help.”
Caught off guard, I forgot to be threatening when I asked him, “Who are you?”
As I watched, the man’s flesh began to ripple. Waves undulated just beneath his skin. He shook slightly, more of a vibration than a tremor. Within seconds, he changed. The middle aged man was gone, replaced by a twenty-something stranger.
“My name is Rick Torin. If you don’t help me, I think that a lot of people are going to die.”
…shit.
Chapter Three
Skinchangers are incredible people, capable of shifting their shape into virtually anything. Born with this ability, they change their physical form at the molecular level, becoming, for all intents and purposes, someone or something else. They were a natural rarity—as far as I knew, there were only a few hundred in the world.
Focus had done quite a bit of research on skinchangers since its inception, but had come up with relatively little. We knew that they could turn into anything that makes biological sense—that is, anything that could exist. For example, if a skinchanger were so inclined, he could turn himself into an eight-legged creature the size of a school bus, with two mouths and sixteen eyes, so long as the circulatory and nervous systems, as well as the musculature and skeletal structure was sufficient to support such a creature. Because doing something like that would likely require an understanding of multiple fields of biology, they tend to avoid that. Mostly, they used their power to become other people or animals.
There wasn’t a massive cabal of skinchangers. They didn’t have an overriding agenda, like the way Focus functioned. There was a loose community, mainly comprised of families who knew of each other. The skinchangers’ abilities appeared to be genetic, so most family members had the same power. Usually they just kept to themselves, rarely getting involved in the world.
I understood why they did so. As wizards, we were an oddity, capable of bending the elements of creation to our will. But, to the best of our knowledge, it didn’t seem to be biological in nature; our physical bodies were no different from normal human beings. Skinchangers, on the other hand, possessed molecules that could literally rewrite themselves. Imagine, for example, what a scientist researching stem cells would do if he found out about skinchangers. Rather than spend decades developing therapies that could cure a paraplegic’s paralysis, they could have a solution within months of obtaining a sample of skinchanger cells.
It may be selfish of them to stay hidden from the world when so much could be done with just a few tissue samples, but life in a laboratory is a sacrifice nobody should have to make. And it wasn’t like I was one to talk, either; Focus operated in total secrecy, too. Our reasons were different, but the outcome was the same.
Rick sat on a chair in my living room, ten feet in front of me. If I got too close to him, he was perfectly capable of ripping my throat out before I could react. With ten feet, I’d be able to put him on the ground if he tried anything.
Not that he would.
My performance in the bookstore parking lot had cowed him rather effectively. That had been the purpose of the display in the first place, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction that it had worked so well. He had come along with me willingly enough, even consenting to be bound by duct tape for the ride. I had kept him in the passenger seat, insisted that he stayed quiet, and warned him that any sudden movements would result in his immediate death. He could shift very quickly, but his intent would be betrayed by the rippling waves beneath his skin. He merely nodded, and, perfectly docile, got into the car.
Now he sat before me, his gaze locked on my own. He was handsome, I’ll give him that. Tall and broad shouldered, he dwarfed me in size. His hair was a dark brown, and fell just above his ears. His eyes were a pale blue, almost gray. They had a shape to them that suggested Native American ancestry, though the color didn’t back that up. Rick seemed… gentle. Even though he had followed me, he didn’t appear to be hostile, and if what he had said turned out to be true, he might be an ally, even a friend.
I had precious few of those.
“You know who I am,” I said, breaking the silence.
“Yes. Nora Tress, twenty-six years old, member of Focus, but not affiliated with a faction yet.” His voice was soft, but deep. It rumbled from his chest in a smooth basso tone.
“You say you want my help. Why were you following me?”
“I wasn’t sure I could trust you.”
“So you were planning on following me until you were sure I was trustworthy? Then what?”
He shook his head. A thin smile spread across his face. I liked the way it looked despite the situation. I had to remind myself that it was entirely possible that Rick Torin didn’t even look like this. He might have simply shifted into a better-looking form, and I only had his word that he hadn’t. “That wasn’t my intention. I wasn’t planning on asking for your help. I only did that because you found me.”
I bristled. “And if I hadn’t?”
He paused for a moment. “You have to understand that there are many lives at stake.”
“So you tell me.”
“People are going to die if someone doesn’t act.”
“When? Where? How?”
He shook his head once more. “I don’t know all of the details. That’s why I was investigating.”
“Investigating me? You think I’m involved?”
“No. I was almost positive that you weren’t, at least not yet. I just wasn’t sure how you would react if I told you. My life wouldn’t be worth much if the wrong people found out what I know.”
“And what do you know?”
“Enough to realize that Focus isn’t entirely altruistic.”
“Explain.”
He heaved a sigh. His eyes searched mine once more, earnest and unsure. “Do I have your word that you won’t tell anyone else about this? That what I tell you stays completely between us?”
I thought about it for a moment. Most of my major life decisions had been made with help and guidance from Gabriel. The thought of keeping information from him was… well, not abhorrent, but it didn’t sit right with me.
“I can’t promise anything until I know more.”
He shook his head. “Do you want to prevent the deaths of thousands, possibly millions of people?”
When he had told me that a lot of people might be killed, I had assumed the number would be somewhere in the dozens at most. I wasn’t prepared for the scope of what he described.
“What do you mean? Who is going
to kill millions of people?”
“Focus.”
Wind swept through the living room, blowing pillows off the couch and knocking over an empty vase. Rick flinched as it crashed against the floor, shattering. It was a moment before I realized that I was standing, fists clenched at my side. I calmed myself, bringing a stop to the wind I had unconsciously caused. It had been a long time since I lost control like that.
“Focus. The organization that is responsible for humanitarian missions across the entire planet. The one that negotiated peace between nuclear nations during the Cold War. The one that liberated extermination camps in Nazi Germany. The group that protects people, the one that has dedicated its entire life and the lives of its members to making the world a better place. The one that took me in and raised me after my parents were killed. The best group of people I have ever met, known, or heard of. This is the organization that is going to murder millions of people?”
I felt the rage in my voice. This skinchanger, this outsider, was accusing the organization I had dedicated my life to of planning genocide on a scale unseen since World War II. It didn’t make sense, and the outrage I felt threatened to consume me.
“Not exactly. Please let me explain.” He spoke carefully, quietly, the way you address an animal that is about to pounce.
“Two minutes. Convince me not to call this in.”
“Okay. Um. All right, let me start with what I do. I mean, I’m a skinchanger. Obviously you know that. And, well, it’s easy for someone like me to find work. The kind that pays extremely well.”
“You’re a thief.”
“Nothing so ordinary. I work corporate espionage. I impersonate a high-ranking staff member, get inside, and take whatever information the client wants. Or, sometimes I leave false data. It depends on the job.”
Shifting Focus (A Paranormal, Urban, Fantasy Novella) (Focus Series Book 2) Page 2
