Cloak Games: Shadow Jump

by Jonathan Moeller

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  The next day, I was ready to try a little experiment.

  At around ten in the morning Boccand made his customary stop at the Gilded Bean, half-heartedly checking his phone. He looked irritable and restless, and did not engage in his normal flirtatious banter with the baristas. Maye his cricket (or lacrosse) team had lost the game.

  I wondered if he knew about the anthrophages in Corbisher Tower. Maybe the cult of the Dark Ones was after him for that tablet.

  I would get the whole story out of him, one way or another.

  I had slipped a little device into the coffee steamer, one that would react once it got hot enough. I bought a cup of overpriced coffee and waited, pretending to concentrate on my laptop, but keeping an eye on Boccand. Any minute now…

  The smoke bomb I had concealed in the coffee steamer went off with a loud bang, startling everyone in the shop. Boccand rocketed to his feet, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open in surprise. The black smoke billowing from the steamer was harmless and odorless, but it looked much worse than it really was.

  Boccand reacted exactly as I hoped. Gray light flared around his hand and he vanished, disappearing in a shadowjump while everyone was still gaping at the smoke. I glanced at the compass and saw the needle swing to point at Corbisher Tower.

  “Fire!” shouted one of the baristas. “Everyone out! Fire!”

  I joined the crowd as they streamed out the front door and onto the sidewalk. I took a few quick steps to get away from the crowd, checking the compass. Yes, Boccand’s shadowjump had indeed taken him back to his anchor in Corbisher Tower.

  I felt myself smile in satisfaction…and then the smile faded as I saw two men in black suits emerge from the narrow alley next to the Gilded Bean and head down the sidewalk towards Corbisher Tower.

  Because they were not men, but anthrophages in the guise of men.

  Which meant that the anthrophages were either chasing Armand Boccand or watching him.

  And getting the tablet from him had become that much more complicated.

  Chapter 6: Trap Game

  As I watched the two anthrophages walk to Corbisher Tower, I decided to act at once.

  Tonight, if at all possible.

  I had the feeling that time was running out. If the anthrophages were watching Boccand, that meant a Dark One cult wanted the tablet. Or the Dark One cult had hired him to steal the tablet, and Boccand was playing hardball to get more money, which would likely get him killed. It was possible he had stolen the tablet for someone else, and the Dark One cultists wanted to steal it from him.

  The circumstances didn’t matter to me. I needed to get that tablet, and my best chance was to get it from Boccand himself. If it fell into the hands of a Dark One cult or the Rebels or some other well-funded group, I might never get it. Taking the tablet from an overconfident thief was the best opportunity I would have.

  Which meant I had to get it from him today, before the cultists and whoever else wanted the tablet decided to act. Leaving Boccand at the mercy of his buyers seemed like fair repayment for leaving me to take the blame for the theft at Castomyr’s mansion. I wouldn’t kill him unless it was necessary, but if he was a Dark One cultist, I would kill him and sleep soundly after.

  I had to lay a trap for him, and I knew just how to do it. Boccand had spent a great deal of time watching sports games at the bar, and whenever I had been able to glance over his shoulder, I had often seen him checking sports scores on his phone. The picture in his apartment had showed him and his girlfriend wearing sports jerseys of some kind. That meant there was an excellent chance he would leave his apartment to watch another game of lacrosse or rugby or whatever tonight.

  I did some research, checking last night’s game listings…and it turned out he was actually watching a soccer game.

  Okay. It's a little embarrassing to admit this, but at the time I couldn’t tell the difference between soccer, lacrosse, and rugby.

  For all the time I spent exercising, I had absolutely no interest in sports because they were of no use to me. From time to time I watched a football game with Russell and James, since they were big fans of Wisconsin’s football team (I forget the name, but it had something to do with cheese), but I was usually zoned out at the time.

  Anyway, Boccand had been watching a soccer game last night, and to judge from the colors on the jersey in the photograph, his favorite team was playing in some kind of international tournament, and so had a match against a French soccer team tonight. I had no doubt he would go to the sports bar to watch the game.

  Which, in turn, gave me an excellent opportunity to steal his anchor.

  Though I needed a place to put it.

  I decided on the cellar of a building across the street from Boccand’s sports bar. The main floor of the building housed a little mall selling items aimed at rich women – uncomfortable shoes and makeup and expensive undergarments and so forth. Unless Boccand had taken his girlfriend shopping there, I doubted he had ever set foot in the place.

  The cellar was an ideal place to set the trap. It had a narrow window facing the street, so I could watch the sports bar. It had security cameras, but they were not placed properly, so with careful use of a Masking spell I could come and go as I pleased. Additionally, the cellar was divided into rooms, and I found one room holding old cans of paint. To judge from the layer of dust upon the floor, the room hadn’t been used for some time.

  It was perfect for what I needed.

  I started to cast the Seal of Shadows.

  I traced the pattern of the Seal upon the floor, large enough that it would cover most of the room’s interior. I had never used a spell like the Seal, but Morvilind’s ruthless lesson had ensured that I knew how it worked. Most of the warding spells I knew required me to hold the power in place, much like a Cloak or a Mask. Casting a Seal was a bit like…oh, painting a wall, or heaping a pile of cinder blocks. It took a lot of initial power, but once I had laid out that power, it would lie dormant until I activated it, which would also free my magical ability to work other spells. When I used a Cloaking spell, it took nearly all my power and concentration, and I couldn’t use other spells. But with a Seal, I need only prepare it, and the Seal would wait until I activated it. In an emergency, I could cast a Seal at once, but holding it in place would take all my power and leave me vulnerable. No, better to prepare the Seal first.

  In fact, if I had wanted, I could have worked Seals over every single room in the mall, building a trap from which Boccand could not escape. But that would have taken weeks, and I did not have that kind of time. For now, I settled for Sealing this one room, and it still took an hour and a half to finish the spell.

  Once I finished, I sat down for a while, breathing hard. I made myself stand up and do some stretches until I felt my stamina recover. Once it did, I cast the spell to detect magic, tracing the lines of the Seal. I was mostly sure it would work, but I wouldn’t know until I tried to trap Boccand within it.

  The first stage of my plan was done. I slipped out of the mall’s basement, using my magic to bypass the locks, and then Masked myself as an elderly woman as I left the building. I walked to the parking garage and climbed into the back of my van to set up the second phase of my plan, letting my Mask dissolve.

  First, I got my stun gun ready.

  Stun guns were massively illegal, and more heavily restricted than firearms. That seemed weird until you remembered that whatever law of magic granted Elves immunity to bullets manufactured upon Earth did not extend to fifty thousand volts of electricity. Just having an unlicensed stun gun carried a mandatory sentence of seventy-two lashes on Punishment Day, followed by a week of public shaming holding a sign listing one’s crimes while the video was livestreamed to the Internet for the amusement of the High Queen’s loyal subjects. The stun gun I had obtained was a sleek yellow pistol with a bulky power pack. It had a gas cartridge that fired a pair of needles into the victim, and a wire spool that sent the electric charge into the target. Once the cartridge wa
s expended, you could jam the muzzle against the victim to create the same effect, though I tried to avoid hand-to-hand fighting whenever possible.

  The second item was my faithful .25 revolver. A little gun, true, but the right bullet in the right place made a world of difference, and whatever Boccand’s skills, I doubted he could ward himself from bullets.

  It took a little time to build the third item. I started with a set of blasting caps, designed to set off dynamite in quarries. They would make a small explosion, not enough to hurt anyone. I wired a string of firecrackers I had bought in Los Angeles to the blasting caps, and then dug out a brand-new burner phone and activated it using a false name and credit card. Once it was ready, I activated a second burner phone, and then wired the first phone to the blasting caps and the firecrackers, tying them together in a tight little bundle.

  I had just made an improvised bomb.

  Granted, it wouldn’t explode with enough force to shatter even a glass window, but it would make a lot of noise and light without hurting anyone, which was what I wanted. I changed clothes to jeans, boots, a thick sweater, a heavy black overcoat with a lot of pockets, gloves, and a ski cap, and tucked the bomb, the stun gun, and the revolver into a leather courier’s bag, the strap across my chest. As an afterthought I grabbed a collapsible pair of plastic binoculars and dropped them into the satchel, followed by two sets of plastic zip ties.

  Then I headed for the sports bar.

  It was lunchtime, and the place was full of office staffers from the nearby buildings. A line of people waited at the bar, placing orders, and a small army of workers in black T-shirts and jeans worked behind the bar, filling drinks or running back into the kitchens to pick up sandwiches. I watched them, pretending to stand in line, and then ducked into the ladies’ room. I slipped into one of the stalls and cast a Masking spell. Once again I disguised myself as Michelle, but this time I dressed her in jeans and a black T-shirt. No doubt she would have been horrified at the prospect of working at a place like this.

  I left the bathroom, picked up an empty tray as I crossed the dining room, and then ducked behind the bar. A few of the workers gave me disinterested glances, but so many people worked here that I doubted the bartenders knew everyone. I squatted behind the bar, reaching for one of the bottles in the cabinet next to the sink, but as I did, I drew out my improvised bomb and from my courier's bagand tucked it beneath the sink, lodging it behind the pipe. The sink ought to act as a loudspeaker for the noise, magnifying it further…

  “Hey!” barked one of the bartenders.

  I stifled a curse, hoping he hadn’t seen the bomb. “Yeah?”

  “Are you on table nine?” he said, glaring at me.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Then for God’s sake stop wasting time and move!” said the bartender. “Their order was ready five minutes ago. Get going!”

  “Okay,” I said in a meek voice. I straightened up and headed into the kitchen, which was a crowded, steaming maze of steel counters and ovens and cooks and waitresses shouting at each other. I threaded past them, pushed through the back door, and ducked into the alley behind the bar. It was deserted save for a pair of dumpsters, so I released my Mask and strolled back to the sidewalk, leaving the sports bar behind.

  I glanced at the compass. It still pointed right at Corbisher Tower. Boccand hadn’t left yet.

  I returned to the parking garage and paid an exorbitant fee to move my van to the long-term storage level. There was always a chance that my plan would go awry and I would have to hide for several days like I had at Castomyr’s mansion, and I didn’t want my van to get towed. It might get searched, and there was a tremendous amount of illegal stuff in the van, including the Dark One medallion. Once I had the van secured, I wrapped up in a blanket and took a nap for a few hours. After I woke up, I made some instant coffee, fired up my laptop, and did some research on Timothy Roberts. I flicked through pictures of him, and watched several videos where he talked about the Corbisher Group’s enterprises. I watched the videos and stared at the pictures until I had a firm picture of him in my mind.

  At about 9 PM, the needle started to quiver in the compass.

  I left the van and headed towards Corbisher Tower. I spotted Boccand making his way down the sidewalk, wearing his usual clothes, his expression distant. I watched him until he disappeared into the sports bar.

  Then I jogged for Corbisher Tower, ducking into an alley long enough to Mask myself as Michelle once more. A different doorman stood on duty, though he gave Michelle the same sour look as the previous night’s doorman. He swiped my forged keycard once more, and the light turned green. With a sigh he nodded, opened the door, and I wobbled inside, making sure the Mask gave off loud clicks for Michelle’s illusionary stilettos.

  I walked into the temple-like lobby once more, scanning for anthrophages, my heart speeding up. The lobby was deserted, but I knew that wouldn’t last. I ducked behind one of the pillars, out of sight from any security cameras, and released my Mask spell.

  Then I cast the spell again, Masking myself as Timothy Roberts.

  I made myself look taller, wider, and paunchy, dressing the illusion in a double-breasted black suit with a blood-colored tie. I strode across the lobby, imitating Roberts’s forceful walk, and started up the stairs. Looking at photographs of him, I couldn’t imagine why he had as many mistresses as he did. Yet after watching videos of the man, I did admit he had a certain sort of forceful charisma. Someone like Michelle might find that attractive. Me, I liked a different kind of man, one who was hard and competent and…

  Hell. Middle of a job, and I was thinking about Riordan again. I put him out of my mind and focused upon the Masking spell.

  On the twenty-fifth floor, I passed a pair of older men in suits descending to the lobby.

  “The stairs, Timothy?” one of them said. “I am shocked.”

  I grunted. “Wouldn’t kill me to lose some damn weight.” I hoped the Masking spell did a good approximation of Roberts’s voice.

  The second man laughed. “If you keep playing around with those pretty young things, you’ll need to get in shape before your heart gives out at an awkward time.”

  “Why do you think I’m taking the stairs?” I called over my shoulder as I kept climbing. Both men laughed and kept walking. I shook my head, disgusted and a little amused. I was a thief and a murderer, but the thought of adultery got me angry. Maybe I had some standards after all.

  I saw one disguised anthrophage as I climbed the stairs. My whole body tensed with fear, but the creature gave a polite nod of its head. I wondered if Roberts knew that monsters like the anthrophages lurked in the building. I made the Mask nod back, not breaking stride, and the anthrophage continued on its way.

  No one else passed me on the stairs. Likely most of the other residents used the elevator, but I didn’t want to repeat the experience of standing in an enclosed space with an anthrophage. I reached the 41st floor, breathing a little hard. I’m in good shape, but it had still been forty-one flights of stairs. I walked to Boccand’s door, cast the spell to open the lock, and stepped inside.

  The living room had changed since my last visit. The table still sat in the center of the room, holding Boccand’s anchor. Yet two blue tarps had been rolled across the floor, and upon the tarps lay…

  I blinked a few times.

  Guns. Lots and lots of guns.

  I saw a half-dozen AK-47 rifles. The design was centuries old, but it was still the favorite gun of anyone who wanted a relatively cheap weapon that could still fire after getting dropped in a river. Next to the AK-47s rested a dozen Royal Armaments .45 semiautomatic pistols. I also saw a half-dozen M-99 carbines, customized with laser sights and expanded ammunition capacity. A few wooden crates rested next to the tarps, and I saw that they held hand grenades and basketball-sized steel spheres that I suspected were fragmentation mines.

  He had enough guns and ammunition to equip a Homeland Security squad or a battalion of an Elven lord’s m
en-at-arms. If even one of those fragmentation mines went off, it would kill everyone in the room, and probably the next few rooms as the ball bearings punched through the drywall.

  I looked at the end table holding the anchor, wondering if he had rigged it to explode, but the table hadn’t changed since my last visit. So why did he need all the weapons? Maybe he had figured out that the anthrophages were after him. Bullets worked on them, but if the anthrophages decided to take him, he couldn’t kill them all even with this much ammunition. Though I suppose setting one of the mines on a timer and then shadowjumping away the instant before it exploded might prove effective.

  Well, in a few hours I could get the location of the tablet from him, and then it would cease to be my problem.

  I took the anchor and dropped it into my satchel. It was heavier than it looked, and it made the satchel’s strap dig into my shoulder. I Masked myself as Timothy Roberts once more and left apartment 41K behind, taking the steps to the lobby. I didn’t see any anthrophages, and I noted with amusement how the doorman stood straighter when Timothy Roberts, Corbisher Group executive, walked past him. If I lived through this and Morvilind didn’t kill me once Russell was cured, maybe I could get a job with the Corbisher Group and terrorize doormen.

  On the other hand, if anyone in Corbisher Group knew about the anthrophages hanging around Corbisher Tower, then it would probably be better to find employment elsewhere.

  Once I was out of sight, I let the Mask dissolve. To anyone on the streets, I would simply look like a young woman with a big purse. I checked the compass once more, and saw that it was pointing at the sports bar. Boccand had gone out to see his favorite soccer team play the French.

  It was time.

  I slipped into the mall, Masking myself as one of their security guards, and headed for the cellar. Once I reached the room with the latent Seal, I locked the door behind me and placed Boccand’s anchor in the exact center of the dormant Seal. I had to time this carefully. I needed him to shadowjump to the anchor, and I had to activate the Seal and stun him before he could escape or overpower me. That long coat of his could conceal all manner of weapons, and he might have spells like my lightning globe that I could not block. Best to overpower him quickly.