I laughed out loud. “Rick, I’m not bulletproof. But that doesn’t mean that guns are as effective against wizards as they are against other people.”
“What does that mean though? Do you heal really fast or something?”
“We’re not the X-Men, Rick. But magic has some pretty cool uses when you put your mind to it.” I sucked in a breath. “Okay, so, say you’re an Air agent, and someone tries to shoot you. If you have enough warning, you can sort of harden the air in front of you, and do it fast enough to either stop the bullet altogether, or at least blow it off course. A Spirit agent can just use their mind mojo to make you think you’re shooting at him, but in reality, you’re shooting at an illusion. Or they could compel you to drop your gun, or even shoot yourself instead. A Water agent could flash freeze the water vapor in the atmosphere in an instant to make a serviceable shield. Fire agents… well, I’ve actually seen them form a barrier of flame that is hot enough to nearly disintegrate lead slugs as they approach. Jason could probably do one hot enough to sublimate it, actually heat it so quickly that it converts the solid lead into gas. Earth agents can affect the gravity in the area so heavily that the bullet wouldn’t get far, or mess with the magnetic field to yank the gun right out of their hands, if they wanted to get fancy.”
Rick’s mouth hung open.
“You’re catching flies, babe,” I told him. He snapped his jaw shut. “The point is that, yes, if you jump a wizard with a gun, you can probably kill him. But if we see you coming… well, you’ll be dead before you hit the ground.”
“Okay… so, if all of that stuff is true, then why does Fire handle combat, and nobody else?”
I twirled a few stray strands of hair around one finger. I liked talking about magic, liked the opportunity to explain some of the finer points of it to someone who was almost totally uninitiated. It was the closest I would likely get to becoming a teacher—something I had wanted to do when I was a kid.
Before my magic manifested. Before my parents died.
“Fire handles combat because it’s most closely aligned with their principles. The same is true for the other factions, too. It doesn’t necessarily have to do with ability—because, like I explained, the other branches are perfectly capable of holding their own in a fight. But the way magic works is tied to our personalities. Fire magic requires certain traits to advance beyond a basic understanding of it. Things like loyalty, patriotism, and… well, rage—but controlled rage. Closer to righteous anger, I guess. You have to understand fire in order to use it well enough to Bond with it. You have to feel it deep in your bones to truly master it. The type of person who can Bond with Fire is usually the type of person who is best suited for using it to fight. And so that is their job.”
“And… Air agents are more predisposed to wanting to help people, to heal them?”
“Basically, yeah. Water agents are nurturing people, ones who want to help things grow, Earth agents want to guide nature without destroying it, and Spirit agents want people’s better angels to win out. If they didn’t believe in the principles of each of their factions, they would never have been able to tap into their Sources to complete the Bonding in the first place, and their personalities make them best suited for their roles in Focus.”
Rick’s mouth twisted once more in concentration. “But… well, what about people who don’t fit into one of those boxes?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if someone didn’t feel strongly connected to one or any of the Sources?”
“Then they don’t go through the Bonding, or join Focus.”
His eyes widened. “You mean to tell me that there are wizards out there that aren’t part of Focus?”
I laughed out loud once more. “Of course there are. What did you think, that Focus was some kind of fascist organization that forced people into service? Joining is a choice.”
“But… you said that they found wizards while they were young, and put them through school.”
“Yeah, and? There’s not necessarily a quid pro quo situation with that. Don’t get me wrong, a lot of the students stay on board and join up. Most of them, actually. But there are a fair number of them that lead normal, boring lives after they’re trained enough to not blow things up when they sneeze. Plus, there’s no way for Focus to actually find all of them when they’re kids. Spirit keeps its ear to the ground, sure, and they catch most of them, but there’s bound to be some that they miss.”
“So, what? You’ve got rogue wizards, just roaming the countryside?”
“I don’t think they’re marauding the outskirts of Detroit or anything, but yeah, I guess. They probably teach themselves enough to stay hidden, maybe use some of their talents to make their lives easier. I’ve only ever heard of one who went full Vader.”
“What do you mean?”
I shook my head. “I heard about it when I observed Fire. A few years ago, someone with enough talent to scare the shit out of the locals managed to make himself a private army, somewhere in northern Africa. He knew enough about Spirit magic to get into the heads of local boys and make them think he was a god. He couldn’t quite control the weather—he wasn’t perfect with Earth or Water magic—but he could make droughts last a lot longer or end a lot sooner if people didn’t ‘pay him tribute,’” I went on, adding finger quotes. “Gabriel sent a Spirit agent to negotiate a surrender. The guy had enough mental defenses to prevent any tinkering with his thoughts, and was fully convinced that he was special, chosen to lead a new world order. He actually was planning on eventually ruling the planet.”
“So what happened to him?”
“Jason sent a single Fire agent to extract the Spirit negotiator and to… well, I say ‘assassinate him,’ but it was more like euthanizing a rabid dog. Guy was reduced to a pile of ashes, and his private army suddenly realized that they had better things to do.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. I wish it weren’t so, but some people can’t be reasoned with. Sometimes, you just have to put them down.”
“I guess.”
“Mhmm.”
“So, we still haven’t decided what we’re going to do if Nick has turned.”
“Right. Back on topic.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. We can’t afford to waste too much more time.”
“So what do we do?”
“I say we call in Jason if it ends up that way. Get some heavy-hitting backup.”
“Yeah, if we can get a hold of the guy.”
“Jason’s doing his own thing,” I reminded him. “I’m pretty sure he’s still giving orders to Fire.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, it’s still business as usual for them. There’s been no restructuring, and nobody else has stepped in. Makes sense that he’s still calling the shots.”
“Hmm. Something to consider.”
“Yeah. Makes me feel better to know that he’s still close enough to pull that off.”
“Maybe we should contact him before we check out Nick’s place. Make sure he’s on standby in case things get dicey.”
I considered it for a few moments. It did make sense to make sure that Jason was in the loop. If Nick had joined the Unfocused —God, I’m actually using that when I think now—damn it, Rick—then the two of us didn’t really stand much of a chance against him, not if he was ready for interference from someone. Someone who had gone through the Bonding and joined Water could… well, the human body is mostly water. Use your imagination.
“I think you might be right. Besides, if anything happens to us…”
“Someone should know what we were doing,” Rick finished for me. I nodded. “Okay. You should make the call, babe. Jason likes you better than me.”
“In fairness, Rick, you can look like anyone he’s ever met before.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t.”
“For all I know, you’re some rail-thin Goth kid with a face covered in bad acne scars and psoriasis all over your greasy h
airline,” I teased.
“Nora, for the last time: this supple Adonis-like body you see in front of you is one hundred percent Rick Torin.”
“You don’t even work out.”
“With looks this good, I don’t have to.”
“No, I mean you can just make your muscles however you want. Do you know how annoying that is? I have to work my ass off to stay in shape.”
“Your ass is, as always, just fine for me.”
“You’re lucky I find your immaturity endearing, or I’d make you get a hotel.”
Rick grinned, shoveled the rest of his cheeseburger in his mouth, and wiped his hands on his napkin as he chewed. “We should get to it.” I nodded.
Contacting Jason was nothing as simple as making a phone call. Since it was certain that the Unfocused knew about his involvement, any direct contact was likely to be discovered. Thankfully, Rick had years of espionage experience, and suggested a relatively easy, if circuitous, method of staying in touch.
First, I posted an ad on Craigslist searching for a lost dog in the greater Seattle area—we had agreed to use that city, since it was on the other side of the country. As soon as it was posted, the keywords “answers to Rufus” triggered an alert on a computer that Jason had set up in a storage unit before he left. The email client on that computer then forwarded the alert to another single-use email address that was set up to receive on a prepaid phone that Jason keeps on him. Once Jason gets the email, he knows to call, after which he ditches the phone and resets the system to work on a different keyword. It’s a little convoluted, but it covered our tracks well enough that we felt better about contacting each other this way.
I suggested a pager, but nobody would listen. Men.
Within ten minutes of posting the ad, my cell phone rang.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Nora,” came Jason’s reply, his voice reassuringly deep and resonant. “Keep this under three minutes, if you don’t mind.”
“Understood, sir. In short: we may have a lead.”
“Excellent. What is it?”
“Nicholas Stone, sir. He went through his Bonding two days ago, but hasn’t come in since.”
“That’s not like him. Which faction?”
“Water, sir. We think that something might have happened. Either he was scared off, he joined up with the Unfocused, or he was taken out.”
“Unfocused?” I could practically hear him grinning through the receiver.
“It’s… what we’re calling them now.”
“Seems good enough. Okay. What are you planning?”
“Rick and I are going to head to his house to check things out—Focus hasn’t sent anyone around there yet. If he’s gone, we’ll look for clues. If he’s still there…”
“Could be dangerous.”
“I know, sir.”
“Okay. I’ll stay close by. If you need me, call me on this number. I’m going to ditch this phone tomorrow at noon. Contact me as soon as you know something. If I don’t hear from you in twelve hours, I’ll come looking. I’ll be in the area…two hours from now.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Stay sharp, Ms. Tress.”
“I will.”
“Good hunting.”
“Thanks.”
We hung up, and I looked over at Rick, who had been listening to the conversation. He raised one eyebrow in an unspoken question.
“We’re on. Jason will be around in the next couple of hours if we get into trouble.”
“Okay,” he said, rising from his seat. “Ready for some breaking and entering?”
“You take me to the nicest places,” I said, lacing up my shoes. Rick reached over and gripped my shoulder.
“I won’t insult you by asking if you’ll let me go on my own,” he began.
“Good, because I wouldn’t let you,” I said, sharper than I intended.
“But… don’t get hurt, okay?”
“Same to you.”
“All right then.” He cracked his knuckles against the palm of either hand. “Let’s go do the thing.”
Are you enjoying this book so far? Share your thoughts with other customers by leaving a review.
Go to Amazon (using a smartphone, tablet, or computer).
Find this book.
Use the Write a Customer Review button (next to the customer reviews).
Chapter Four
Nicholas’s house was smaller than mine, but very well-kept. The lawn was manicured perfectly, a lush, healthy green that made you want to run barefoot across it. The driveway had been recently treated, smooth and uniformly black. Graceful columns supported the awning above the generously sized porch, which sported a small stone-topped table and a pair of wrought iron chairs. Even the mailbox was fancy, a wooden one that was carved to look like breaking waves against the shore. I guessed he really was a good fit for Water.
The only sign that anything was amiss was the pair of newspapers left on his front steps. Rick pointed to them, and I nodded. We got out of my car, and headed for the front door. I kept my head on a swivel, checking in all directions for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing jumped out from behind a bush to kill us. Score one for the good guys.
Rick reached out one hand and knocked on the door. The first tap pushed it open, and the door swung back all the way until it came to a stop against the wall, thudding lightly.
The place was trashed. The living room looked like a tornado had spun through it; the TV was overturned, smashed against the floor, the coffee table was upended, a large crack running through its center, and a couch lay on its back, cushions slashed to pieces, stuffing scattered around haphazardly. DVD cases, all of them open, were thrown about the room, most of the discs crushed, cracked, and in pieces. A large mirror, which evidently hung on the wall opposite the television, swung crazily from a single nail, knocked loose by some kind of impact, its surface cracked in a spider web pattern. Lamps had been yanked from the wall, one of them so violently that part of the electrical socket had come with it, baring a few inches of wires.
Rick and I shared a look.
“Guess we aren’t the first ones here,” he said.
“Damn it.”
“Let’s look around and see if we can find anything.”
“Stay quiet. We don’t know who else might come around.”
He nodded. I turned and closed the front door behind us, and noticed that the doorjamb had been splintered and cracked, and the door wouldn’t sit firmly in the frame any more. Someone had obviously kicked his way in.
We moved into the kitchen, which was just as bad as the living room. All of the drawers had been ripped out, their contents dumped in a pile on the floor. Each of the cabinets had been opened roughly—one of the doors hung awkwardly from one hinge, the other broken off—and glasses, mugs, plates, bowls, and Tupperware had been thrown unceremoniously onto the floor. The fridge was open, most of the food and condiments also on the floor. A single apple near the back remained, next to a small box of baking soda. Even the oven and dishwasher had been searched, the racks tossed out and discarded.
“Gee, you think someone was looking for something?” I quipped. Rick chuckled nervously. “This had to have happened in the past couple of days. Damn it. It looks like Nick didn’t turn.”
“How do you figure?”
“Why the hell else would someone do this? Shit. He could’ve been an ally.”
“Calm down, Nora. He still might be alive. We might find him.”
Irrational anger flooded my consciousness. Damn it, we had been so close. I knew, logically, that Nick might be around, that we might track him down and bring him to our cause, but that didn’t seem to matter. All that mattered was that we had been too late. Too slow to find Nick in time, too stupid to have connected the dots sooner, too damn inexperienced to have made a difference.
And it pissed me right the fuck off.
Nick was probably dead, or had gone to ground somewhere, hidden so well that we wouldn’t
find him in time for it to matter. Our lead was missing, and we might be back to square one unless we managed to find anything useful, which I doubted. Nick wasn’t a genius, but he wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave many clues behind if he ran off. And if he did, someone had already searched the place, and likely found it ahead of us.
Tears of frustration began gathering in my eyes. I took a steadying breath and shut my eyes for a moment. Rick gripped my shoulder tightly, his solid presence reassuring.
“Nora, come on. There are other rooms to check out.”
“Wish we knew when this happened. We could be a day behind them, or hours, or just fucking minutes.”
“Hmm,” Rick said. “Hang on. I have an idea.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ve only done it once before, so I don’t know if it’ll work. Just try not to freak out, okay?”
“Why would I freak out? What are you doing?”
“I’m going to get real ugly. Just… well. You’ll see.”
Rick closed his eyes, evidently concentrating. After a moment, the ripples that announced his shapeshifting, by now familiar to me, began spreading across his face. As I watched, Rick’s nose changed, bulging out a few inches, developing a soft coat of grayish fur, and turned black. Within seconds, Rick had transformed his nose into what was unmistakably a bloodhound’s.
I stared at him for several heartbeats, and Rick stared back.
“I guess it worked,” he said.
“Jesus.” There was little for me to say beyond that.
“Nope, I’m still Rick,” he joked.
“That’s good to know.”
“Yeah. I figured I should see if I can smell something, try to pick up a trace of Nick.”
“Uh huh.”
“Try not to develop a new fetish over this, babe,” Rick said. “I don’t know how I’d feel about that.”
“This is the weirdest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” I said. And it was. “I had no idea that you could just shift parts of you.”
Shattered Focus (A Paranormal, Urban, Fantasy Novella) (Focus Series Book 3) Page 3
