by Myke Cole
Britton sat behind the helicopter’s controls and looked at the man floating in the sky.
Harlequin stood in midair, flight suit rippling in the breeze. Over a thousand feet below him, South Burlington High School glowed in the party colors of spinning police-car lights.
Behind Britton, four army assaulters looked down between their boots, dangling over the helicopter skids, shifting flame-retardant tanks and body armor out of the way for a better view.
Harlequin swooped down to land on one of the Kiowa’s skids, rocking the helicopter and forcing the assaulters to pull their feet back inside. The rotors beat the air over the Aeromancer’s head, stirring his close-cropped blond hair.
The assaulters looked nervously at Britton, and Warrant Officer Cheatham shifted in the copilot’s seat. Britton, at least twice Harlequin’s size, turned to face him. The Aeromancer was not impressed.
“All right,” he shouted loudly enough to be heard over the Kiowa’s engine, his blue eyes hard. “You’re to hold position here while we do our job.”
Britton’s brown skin concealed an angry flush. Harlequin might be a Sorcerer, but the assault order came down from on high for all of them. But the real rage came from the sense of relief. No matter how badly he didn’t want to do this, he still had to. Holding position would be tantamount to dereliction of duty.
“With all due respect, sir,” he called out over the whine of the rotors, “I have to follow the TOC’s orders. ‘Big army’ has to run shotgun on this raid.”
“That’s crap,” Harlequin responded. “We’re not in the damned briefing room anymore, and I don’t care what Tactical Operations Command says. This is a real fight, with real magic. I don’t need regular pukes fucking it up. You will hold your position here until told otherwise. Is that perfectly clear?”
Britton sympathized with Harlequin’s desire to avoid unnecessary loss of life, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d flown onto Britton’s helicopter and insulted his team.
And it didn’t change the nagging feeling that if there was any chance at all those kids might be saved, Britton had to be there to make sure he saw it through.
“Negative, sir,” Britton said. “My orders are to accompany you to the target and deploy my team. That’s what I intend to do.”
“I’m giving you an order, Lieutenant,” Harlequin said through gritted teeth. He stretched an arm outside the helicopter. The brilliant stars winked out as shreds of cloud unraveled over the rotors, thudding against thickening air.
Britton’s stomach clenched as thunder rumbled, but he did his best to look unimpressed. He toggled the cockpit radio. “TOC, this is support. Can someone put me through to Major Reynolds? I’m being ordered to…”
Harlequin conjured a gust of air that toggled the radio off. “Fucking forget it!”
Britton sighed and listened briefly to the radio static. “Sir, my orders come directly from the colonel, and last time I checked, he outranks you.”
Harlequin paused, his anger palpable. Britton gripped the controls tightly to keep his hands from shaking. He felt the tremble in the rudder pedals as the rotors spun up, slicing through the summoned clouds.
“We’re moving, sir,” Britton said. “Are you riding with us or with your own team?”
Harlequin cursed, dropped backward off the skid, righted himself, and flew off, outpacing the helicopter easily. The cloud cover around the Kiowa instantly wafted apart.
“Holy crap, sir,” Master Sergeant Young leaned in to shout over the Kiowa’s engine. “I’ve never seen anyone talk to a Sorcerer like that.”
“Seriously, sir,” Sergeant Goodman added. “The SOC don’t give a fuck if they get court-martialed. They’ll just zap you.”
“The army’s the army,” Britton said with a conviction he didn’t feel. “Latent or not, we all follow orders.”
“Thank you, sir. Seriously,” Cheatham said, “I wouldn’t want anyone talking to my people that way.”
Britton nodded, uncomfortable with the praise.
The Supernatural Operations Corps bird, another Kiowa, sleek and black, came into view as they descended. Its side was blazoned with the SOC arms—the Stars and Stripes fluttering behind the eye in the pyramid. Symbols of the four elements hovered in the corners representing legal magical schools: Pyromancy, Hydromancy, Aeromancy, and Terramancy. The red cross crowned the display, symbolizing Physiomancy, the most prized of the permitted schools. The banner beneath read: OUR GIFTS, FOR OUR NATION.
The high-school roof materialized below them, a pitted atoll of raised brick sides stretched with black tar paper. A single, brick-housed metal door led into the building.
Britton set the Kiowa hovering and nodded to Cheatham to take the controls. He turned to the assaulters.
“Okay. You all got the brief,” he shouted. “Two targets barricaded inside. Keep the perimeter secure and the fires under control. Remember, one Pyromancer and one Probe Elementalist.”
“They’re Selfers, sir,” Goodman said. “Why can’t we just bomb the building? Why’s it worth risking our lives?”
“Our orders are to take them down and bring them in for justice,” Britton replied. “If the rules of engagement change, and we have to kill them, then we will. Until then, we’re on a capture mission. Everybody square?”
It’s a damned lie, he thought. Those kids are dead. Harlequin has no intention of capturing anybody.
He made eye contact with each member of his team. None looked away.
Satisfied, he nodded. “Okay, double-check your gear and let’s do this.”
He barely had time to retake the Kiowa’s controls before the commlink crackled to life with Major Reynolds’s voice in the TOC trailer on the ground below. “Full element heads up! Support element, this is TOC. Go hot. I say again, go hot and prep for entry on target.”
“Acknowledged. Support element is hot,” Britton said into the commlink. “You heard the man!” he called to his team. “Weapons free and eyes on target!” He heard the click of safeties coming off on Dawes’s carbine and Goodman’s machine gun. Hertzog and Young hefted their flame suppressors. A quick glance confirmed the assaulters’ sighting down their barrels at the roof.
Oh God, he thought. I didn’t sign up to fight children. He tried to push his doubts away. The law was the law. You didn’t negotiate with unregulated magic users.
“SOC Element,” came Reynolds’s voice over the commlink. “This is TOC. Aero-1, sweep perimeter. Pyro-1, go hot.”
Harlequin dove from the SOC helicopter and rocketed around the school. A figure leaned out of the SOC Kiowa, pumping his fist. His arm erupted in bright orange fire.
Harlequin’s voice came over the commlink, “Aero-1 pass complete. All’s quiet. South Burlington police have the perimeter secure.” A pause, then, “Pyro-1 is hot and ready. SOC Assault-1 and -2 are good to go.”
“Roger that,” Reynolds said. “South Burlington SWAT has been kind enough to provide perimeter and entry from the ground. I’m patching them through now.”
A short crackle was followed by a thick New-England-accented voice. “This is Captain Rutledge with South Burlington PD tactical. Perimeter is secure. Students and faculty are clear, fires are out, and we’ve got the first two floors locked down. Your Selfers are above there somewhere. My men are withdrawn under sniper cover. You’re good to go when ready.”
“Roger that,” said Reynolds. “Okay, Aero-1. Your show. Call ’em out.”
Harlequin streaked over the roof and lit gracefully on the SOC helicopter’s skid. He reached inside and produced a microphone.
“This is Captain Thorsson of the US Army Supernatural Operations Corps,” his voice blared over a bullhorn mounted beneath the Kiowa. “You are accused of unlawful magic use in violation of the McGauer-Linden Act. You have thirty seconds to surrender yourselves. This is your first and only warning.”
The only sounds that followed were the roaring engines of the Kiowas.
“Christ,” Cheatham w
hispered. He had two high-school-aged girls of his own.
“We have to do this,” Britton said, his voice hollow in his own ears. “They’re walking bombs.”
Cheatham set his jaw, “They’re probably hiding down there, scared as hell.”
Dawes was scared as hell, too. Britton put his hand on Cheatham’s shoulder. “Dan. I need you focused.”
Cheatham didn’t look at Britton. “I’ll do my job, sir.”
“‘You’re only a Selfer if you run,’ Dan,” Britton parroted Harlequin’s words. “They could have turned themselves in. They had a choice.”
Cheatham framed a reply, but was cut off by Reynolds’s voice blazing over the commlink. “All right! That’s it! Element! Go dynamic!”
“To arms, Pyro-1. Let’s smoke ’em out,” Harlequin’s voice crackled over the channel. “Spare the good Captain Rutledge’s men and light her up, stories three and higher.”
The Pyromancer stepped onto the helicopter’s skid, the bright fire extending to engulf his entire body. He raised his arms, and the flames curled in on themselves, shifting from red to orange to white. The air shimmered around them, then folded in on itself as the Pyromancer thrust his arms forward. The flames rocketed outward with a roar that competed with the helicopter engines.
The fire struck the building just above the second floor, punching through the windows. A moment later, the remaining glass burst outward. Flames arced upward to paint the night sky. The SOC Kiowa circled the building as the Pyromancer continued his strike until the entire floor burned brightly.
Britton shuddered. If the kids weren’t burned alive, they’d have the choice of fleeing downstairs, under the guns of the police snipers, or out to the roof, where the Kiowas waited.
“Reel her back a bit,” Harlequin’s voice came over the comm-link, amused. “We want to give them a chance to surrender. Okay, Support! It’s your big day! Let’s get on that roof. There’s one egress. Think you can cover that?”
Britton pushed the rotors as hard as he dared. He cleared the roof sides with inches to spare and felt his bones jar as the helicopter made a textbook hard landing. The four assaulters leapt off—Goodman and Dawes covering the entrance. Young and Hertzog were already coating the roof with foam to keep the fire from spreading. The rotor wash peeled the tar paper back, sending the thick gravel beneath skittering across the rooftop.
The metal door flew open, and the boy and girl from the video raced out, coughing and beating at their smoldering hair.
“Contact front!” Young called, then screamed at the kids to get down.
Britton pulled hard on the collective, adjusting the rotor pitch to get the Kiowa airborne. The girl broke from the doorway, reaching out toward the helicopter. The dancing gravel shuddered, spun, and coalesced into a humanoid shape, the stone stretching and flowing together into a man-shaped stone creature, eight feet tall. The tar paper lowered as the gravel beneath drew up into the giant form, its huge shoulders reflecting the flickering firelight from veins of quartz. The rock elemental gripped one of the helicopter skids with a gravelly fist, yanking down hard. There was a roar, a whine of metal, and the Kiowa lurched to one side. Britton heard successive bangs as the rotors collided with the rooftop, breaking into pieces. The helo’s body grounded against the roof, shielding the team from the splintering blades, which sounded against its metal cabin with sharp reports.
Cheatham sagged in his safety harness, punching at the release. “I’m stuck, sir.”
Britton could see the girl continuing to gesture. The wind, whipped into dusty funnels by the breaking rotors, coalesced into human shapes, plunging among the assaulters, who cried out, firing as they fell back to the roof’s edge. The air elementals spun among them, their flexing tornado forms spinning shreds of tar paper, broken gravel, and spent ammunition casings. Dawes squeezed off two shots that punched through one of the creatures harmlessly before it swatted him with a gale that knocked him flat against the roof’s lip. He slammed against it hard, the thickness of his body armor protecting his spine and saving him from going over the edge.
They had landed to take on two Selfers. Within moments, they faced a small army.
Britton knew that to stop the elementals, they’d have to take out the girl. Whether Harlequin wants it or not, he thought, we’re in the fight now.
“TOC! We’ve got sentient elemental conjuration up here! We’re pinned down!” Britton shouted into the microphone, yanking his pistol from its holster.
“Goddamn it!” Harlequin said. “I knew this would happen!” Britton heard more gunfire, then a deafening explosion from the direction of the shooting. He looked over Cheatham’s shoulder to see the boy wreathed in a tornado of flame. Bullets pocked the wall around the Selfer, tore holes in his chest and legs as he thrust his hands forward and arced the burning funnel towards Dawes with such force that bricks went flying. The blast flew wild, but the edge caught Dawes as he dove to the side. The intense heat ignited the helicopter’s side, the metal sparking white as it burned away in patches, mixing with the dripping remnants of the windscreen. The fuel tank kicked outward with a bang, the blast catching Dawes as he sprawled on the roof. Cheatham’s flight suit smoldered, but the Kiowa’s shell shielded him from the blast. The tar paper vaporized, the gravel beneath heated white-hot, the stones exploding like gunshots.
One of the SOC assaulters had rappelled to the roof and leveled his carbine at the girl. She glanced at him, and the lingering flames erupted, spawning three man-shaped figures. They launched themselves at him, pounding with flickering fists. He screamed as his helmet melted, the covering of his armor burning away, ceramic plates beneath turning white-hot. Young and Hertzog turned the fire suppressors on them, drowning the elementals in foam. The creatures stayed on the assaulter, burning him even as they diminished under the flame-retardant chemicals.
Dear God, Britton thought. It’s the girl. If I don’t stop her, she’ll fry the whole team.
Britton finally punched out of the restraints and fell out of the helicopter, his shoulder striking the roof hard enough to jar his teeth. He aimed his pistol at the girl, squeezing the trigger as a rock elemental stepped between them, the bullet whining off the shifting stone.
The misshapen head drove forward. Britton dodged, but it only moved him into the elemental’s arms, which pinned his own, squeezing hard. Britton dropped the pistol and gasped for breath, his ribs flexing. His vision began to gray.
Harlequin’s boots landed on the roof with a thud.
The Aeromancer lifted his arms, and dark clouds spun around his hands, pulsing with angry electricity. Lightning burst forth in a dazzling arc, tearing off the elemental’s head and missing Britton by inches. Electricity pulsed through the thing’s shoulders, grounding through the gravel so that Britton only felt a slight twinge of electric current. Rock flowed up to form a new head as the elemental turned to face the new threat, releasing Britton, who sucked down air, cradling his battered ribs.
One of the air elementals, its vaguely human outline marked by swirling dust, leapt over the helo toward them. Harlequin extended a hand, and a gale swept into it, its shape blurring as it was blown apart, scattering dozens of bullet casings swept up in its funneling form.
“That’s one you owe me, Lieutenant,” Harlequin said, as Britton scrambled to his feet and retrieved his gun. “I told you you’d just get in the damn way.” He leapt into the sky, turning toward the girl, only to be caught by another air elemental that had formed itself into a spinning funnel. Harlequin spun into its recesses, cursing, battered by gravel caught in the funnel’s center. The air elemental contracted on itself, spinning the Aeromancer dizzy, and both swept over the side of the roof.
The rock elemental, its head restored, stormed toward the rest of the assault team, who battled the small army of elementals. Goodman turned the machine gun on the creature, funneling the heavy-caliber rounds until they ripped a sizeable hole in its torso, almost tearing it in half. The elemental stumbled, then paused,
head inclined as the rock flowed to seal the gap. Goodman cursed and fell back.
The SOC bird descended toward them. The Pyromancer, a blazing human torch, balanced on one skid. The other SOC assaulter stood on the opposite side of the helicopter, sheltering from the magical flames in the cool night air. Britton could see him trying to sight the girl, but the running fight between assaulter and elemental obscured his target.
I can do this, Britton thought. She’s not a girl, she’s a monster.
But when Britton rolled out around the helicopter’s nose, leading with his pistol, all he could see was a teenager, tears tracking through her makeup. Even as she concentrated on sustaining her magic, she looked terrified.
The SOC assaulter lay dead in his melted armor. The boy sat against the metal door, he thrashed, spouting random gouts of flame. His chest and gut were a ragged collection of entry wounds. The girl stood beside him, sobbing.
Britton knelt, sighting down his pistol, blowing out his breath and taking his time.
You can do this, he told himself. You have to do this.
He fired by the book, easing the trigger backward, not anticipating the recoil, letting the gun go off.
But he couldn’t. He pulled his shot at the last minute. The bullet broke low and left, clipping the girl’s side, sending her spinning in a circle.
He felt a hammerblow to his shoulder and pitched forward, skinning his nose. He rolled over onto his back, firing two more shots into another rock elemental that had one fist raised. The bullets sparked as they ricocheted off the thing’s chest. Britton tried to roll to one side, knowing it wouldn’t matter, waiting for the crushing impact of the blow that would smash his skull.
But the blow never came. When Britton opened his eyes, the elemental had collapsed into a pile of gravel, cascading over his boots. He kicked out from under it and got to his feet in time to see the remaining assaulters blinking in amazement as the elemental onslaught suddenly broke off.
Then the screaming reached them.
Dawes, burning brightly, clawed the air. His carbine was a melted mass. Young doused him with foam, cursed, and dragged him by one boot toward a puddle of rainwater. Britton ran to his Kiowa for the medkit. He was intercepted by Cheatham, who had freed himself from his restraints and carried it. In a moment, the fire was out, and Britton and Cheatham were kneeling beside Dawes, spreading burn gel over his wounds.
