Cloak Games: Shadow Jump

by Jonathan Moeller

  The doorman straightened up as I stomped towards him. “Mr. Roberts, sir. You’re home early today…”

  “My goddamn secretary spilled my goddamn coffee all over my goddamn shirt!” I snarled. My Masking spell must have done a good impression of Roberts’s voice, because the doorman flinched. “And now I realized she still has my keys. Open the door, will you?”

  “Yes, sir,” said the doorman, opening the door. I grunted thanks and stalked past him. Likely he would question the real Roberts about it later, but by then, I hoped to be a long way from Minneapolis.

  People walked back and forth through the lobby, most of them men in expensive suits and overcoats, some of them talking on their cell phones. A few of them nodded to Roberts, and I nodded back. There was a line at the elevators, and I joined it, catching an empty car to myself.

  I rode up to the tenth floor, stepped out, and once I was clear of the cameras I recast my Mask spell, changing my appearance to Michelle with disheveled makeup and clothes. If anyone saw me, they would assume Michelle was doing the traditional walk of shame home from Roberts’s apartment. I hurried down the stairs to the second floor, making sure not to make eye contact with anyone.

  The balcony on the second floor was deserted. The condos down here were cheaper, which meant the people living in them actually had to work for a living, and so were already at work. I walked along the balcony, running one hand along the ornate brass railing, noting the location of the support pillars. The balcony actually jutted a few inches past the pillars, leaving a narrow gap.

  The perfect place to hide something.

  I knelt and reached into my satchel. It only took a few seconds to rip off a strip of duct tape and pin one of the firecracker bombs in place. I straightened up, made sure I was unobserved, and circled to the other side of the balcony, taping my second bomb to another pillar. After that I walked around the balcony once more, and then took a walk through the lobby. I could see where the bombs were taped because I was looking for them, but no one else should be able to see them.

  At least until I set them off.

  I headed back up to the front of the balcony, next to the glass windows overlooking the bustling sidewalk and the busy street. Between the window and the corner was a few feet of wall, a few feet not covered by any of the security cameras, and I pressed myself against it, releasing my Mask as I did so.

  And then I waited.

  You would think that standing in plain sight on the balcony of a busy condo building would have been obvious, but the trick worked. No one in the lobby could see the corner, and most of the people who came into the building went to the elevators or the stairs. Once a man in a doorman’s uniform walked up to the balcony, likely to see where Michelle had gone, but I cast my Cloak spell and remained invisible until he passed. From time to time people came out of the balcony apartments, but I Cloaked until they departed. The Cloak was a challenging spell, but it wasn’t difficult in short bursts, and I had plenty of time to recover my strength.

  The hardest part was the waiting as my mind turned over all the different things that could go wrong. I thought my plan would work, but it was possible that it would not, and there were any number of problems I might have failed to foresee. But I was committed, and I could not back out now.

  And a dark voice in my head pointed out that if this went bad, I need only Cloak, follow Corbisher, and steal the tablet at my leisure.

  But only if this went bad. I would keep my word. I would save Boccand and Cecilia.

  If I could.

  From time to time I moved to my left a few inches to peer out the windows. The Homeland Security SUVs were still there.

  At 11:45 AM sharp, Armand Boccand walked into the lobby, descending the stairs. He wore his usual archaic black suit and white shirt, the silver chain of his watch (or aetherometer, I suppose) glinting against his black waistcoat. I met his gaze for a moment, and he offered a brief nod.

  I walked around the balcony, taking up position between two of the pillars, dropping my ski mask and goggles into place over my eyes and face as I did. I ducked, sat cross-legged, and cast one final Masking spell.

  This time, I made myself look like a potted plant.

  The Mask spell was designed to disguise a wizard as other people, but I had found that with a bit of tweaking, I could use Masking spells to disguise myself as other things. That had saved my life in Madison over the summer, when I Masked myself as the noon sun, allowing me to escape from Sergei Rogomil and his thugs. After that, I had experimented with disguising myself as other objects. There were lots of places where no one would pay any attention to a file cabinet or a chair.

  So, after some practice, I could do a pretty good potted plant. There were a few potted plants scattered around the balcony, though none so close to the railing. Hopefully Corbisher and his men would not notice.

  I waited, sitting cross-legged by the railing, holding the Masking spell in place. I slipped the burner phone into my hand, holding my thumb on the call button. I rehearsed again and again what I needed to do, running through the plan in my head. I kept my breathing slow and deep, clenching and relaxing the muscles of my arms and legs so they wouldn’t cramp up when I needed to move.

  Because when the time came to move, I would need to move quickly.

  At exactly noon, Martin Corbisher, CEO of the Corbisher Group and gubernatorial candidate, strode through the front doors and into the library.

  During the last week, I had not paid much attention to the news, but the campaign ads were a constant background noise, and Corbisher’s face was on that garish billboard mounted outside Corbisher Tower. He looked exactly the way he did in the ads, tall, strong, and blond, wearing a well-tailored gray suit with a white shirt and a brilliant red tie. I disliked him on sight, and not just because he was a Dark One cultist. Something about him reminded me of Nicholas Connor. There was the same arrogant certainty of command…combined with the ruthlessness that would let him sacrifice thousands of people in pursuit of his goal.

  At the moment, I expected he was quite willing to sacrifice the young woman walking next to him.

  She was about twenty-five, wearing a baggy sweatshirt and jeans, Corbisher’s hand clamped around her arm. She had long blonde hair, and I caught a glimpse of frightened blue eyes in a pale face. A storm of emotion went over Boccand’s face as he saw her, and he took a half-step forward, one hand reaching out…

  “Stop,” said Corbisher.

  Metal flashed in his hand, and he pointed a Royal Arms .45 semiautomatic at the side of Cecilia’s head.

  “Hello, Corbisher,” said Boccand, his voice frosty. “How much did that suit cost?”

  “More than you will earn in your lifetime,” said Corbisher. “Where is the tablet?”

  “How is Cecilia?” said Boccand. “The deal was that you would keep Cecilia safe and unharmed.”

  “And she is safe and unharmed,” said Corbisher. “See?” He tapped the muzzle of the pistol against the side of her head. “Fresh as a daisy.”

  “Cecilia?” said Boccand.

  “They didn’t hurt me, Armand,” said Cecilia. She took a shaky breath. “But he showed me all his pet monsters, these gray things with yellow eyes and claws, and he said he would feed me to them if you didn’t come through…”

  “And I have come through, Corbisher,” said Boccand. “Let her go.”

  “She is safe and sound,” said Corbisher, “but that might change if you don’t hand over the tablet. Give it to me.”

  “Do you think I’m an idiot?” said Boccand.

  “Yes,” said Corbisher.

  “Of course the tablet is not with me,” said Boccand.

  “Then where is it?” said Corbisher with polite calm.

  “You’ll let her go if I tell you?” said Boccand.

  “That was our deal,” said Corbisher.

  He didn’t, I note, exactly say yes.

  “Fine,” said Boccand. “You know the train station downtown?”
r />   “The Corbisher Group helped construct it,” said Corbisher. “Of course I know it.”

  “There are rental lockers there,” said Boccand. “It’s in locker number 6785.” He gestured towards his coat. “You need the key?”

  “No need,” said Corbisher. He stepped away from Cecilia, leveling the pistol at her. “Go to him. Now.” With his other hand he reached into his pocket and drew out a phone, punching a number as he lifted it to his ear, keeping the gun pointed towards them. “Oh, by the way, Boccand?”

  “Yes?” said Boccand, holding out his hands as Cecilia came to him.

  “Don’t try shadowjumping away,” said Corbisher. “I know exactly where your anchor is, and if you shadowjump out, you won’t like it.”

  “Why would I do that?” said Boccand. “It’s not like you’re planning to double-cross me.”

  “Of course not,” said Corbisher. He spoke into the phone. “The train station. Locker 6785.” He lowered the phone, the gun rock-steady in his hand.

  “We’re going now,” said Boccand, putting one hand on Cecilia’s shoulder. “Such a pleasure doing business with you, Corbisher.”

  “Do wait just one moment, Mr. Boccand,” said Corbisher. “My men at the station will check the locker. If you’re telling the truth, you’ll be free to go.” He smiled. “If you’re lying…well, a little more persuasion is necessary.”

  Footsteps clicked on the stairs, and a half-dozen tall, gaunt men in black suits walked into the lobby. I tensed as I saw the disguised anthrophages, and I tensed even more as I saw the bloated figure walking in their midst. It looked like an obese elderly man, his skin the color of bread dough, his black eyes glittering like pieces of obsidian. Of course, he wasn’t a man at all. He was an anthrophage elder, ancient and drenched with the blood of thousands of victims…and anthrophage elders could use magic.

  Sometimes they could use powerful magic.

  “What is this?” said Boccand.

  Cecilia huddled against Boccand. The anthrophages remained impassive, but the elder looked at her and licked its lips, its black eyes turning yellow for a moment.

  “Oh, they’re insurance,” said Corbisher. “Our white-suited friend here can cast an excellent Seal of Shadows, large enough to cover this entire lobby. I’m entirely sure you are an honest man, Boccand. But, alas, even I can make mistakes. And if I’m wrong…a little insurance never hurt, does it?”

  “You said that we would be the only people here,” said Boccand.

  “And I kept my word,” said Corbisher. He smiled a predator’s smile. “You know that my friends aren’t really people. They’re something else entirely.”

  “The gray monsters,” said Cecilia, her voice soft. “That’s what they look like when they pretend to be humans.”

  “The sweet little morsel is right,” said the elder, its voice a bubbling, gurgling rasp that didn’t sound remotely human.

  “Of course,” said Corbisher, tapping the side of his phone, “if you’re lying to me, if the tablet really isn’t in the locker…I’m going to be disappointed. And my friends and I are going to have a little chat with you.”

  He lifted the phone to his ear, listening and waiting.

  I took a deep breath, gripping the burner phone. The moment of crisis was almost at hand. Any minute now Corbisher’s men were going to pry open that locker and fail to find the tablet. And when they did…

  Corbisher stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Boccand and Cecilia.

  “It seems the locker was empty,” said Corbisher. “That’s very disappointing, Boccand. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  The anthrophage elder stepping forward, blue light flickering around its fingers as it started to cast a spell.

  “Nineteen chickens,” said Boccand.

  That was the code phrase. I hit the dial button on my phone, calling both of the burner phones wired to the firecracker bombs.

  Corbisher frowned. “Nineteen chickens? What the hell are you talking about?”

  I stood up, the Mask falling away as I gripped the railing and started another spell.

  One of the anthrophages saw me, and then everything went to hell.

  Both firecracker bombs went off at once, dazzling flashes filling the lobby, clouds of black smoke rising from the pillars.

  The noise was stupendous. It sounded like a plane had crashed into the building.

  Corbisher and the anthrophages reacted immediately. Corbisher ran for the cover of one of the pillars, shouting at the top of his lungs. Some of the anthrophages dropped their human guises, become the gaunt, gray horrors I had seen before. Others reached into their coats and produced pistols, leveling them at the balcony. I heard the doors burst open as the Homeland Security officers in the SUVs erupted from their vehicles, storming into the lobby.

  But for the moment, everyone was looking at the balcony and no one was looking at me.

  I’d already jumped.

  I had been casting the levitation spell as I jumped, and I hoped I’d timed it right so I wouldn’t break my legs when I landed. The spell gripped me an instant before I hit the floor, arresting my momentum, and I landed and sprinted for Boccand.

  “Now!” I shouted.

  “Stop them!” screamed Corbisher.

  I grabbed Boccand’s shoulder as he seized Cecilia’s hand, gray light flaring around his fingers. The anthrophage elder kept casting its spell. The other anthrophages charged us, and a dozen Homeland Security officers in full riot armor leveled their weapons, and Corbisher swung his pistol around, and we were about to die…

  Then gray light swallowed the world, and I felt as if I fell a thousand feet in a single instant.

  The gray light cleared, and found myself standing in the parking garage of Corbisher Tower, next to Boccand’s car, which currently held his anchor.

  His car was just as ridiculous and ostentatious as his outfit.

  It was the kind of car commonly known as a “supercar”, which was a polite way of saying “ridiculously expensive and overpowered.” Specifically, it was a Royal Motors TX-199 Venator coupe, with seven hundred horsepower and a coat of electric blue paint. The thing looked like some kind of futuristic spaceship, and while Elven nobles typically did not drive themselves (that was what human chauffeurs were for), when they did, they drove cars like the Royal Motors TX-199 Venator coupe.

  It was the most inconspicuous getaway vehicle I could imagine, and it was the weak point in our escape plan. Boccand couldn’t move all three of us very far, and there hadn’t been time to acquire another vehicle. So I had stashed his anchor in his Venator, hoping that Corbisher and his goons wouldn’t have the wit to guard the car.

  And so far, it looked as if our gamble had paid off. The parking garage was deserted.

  “Armand?” gasped Cecilia. “What are…”

  “In the car!” I shouted, throwing Boccand his keys. That had been my insurance, to make sure he didn’t escape without me. But now that he had Cecilia, we were all in the same boat. Boccand unlocked the car, and I yanked open the passenger door. “In the back, quick!”

  “Armand?” said Cecilia, scrambling into the back of the car. Her eyes got wide as she got a good look at me. Considering I was masked, dressed all in black, and carrying enough guns to equip a local branch of Homeland Security, that was understandable. “Who is that? What are we doing? Are…”

  “Run now, talk later!” said Boccand, dropping into the driver’s seat and starting the car. The Venator’s engine came to life with a roar, and the black dashboard lit up with harsh blue light. I took the front passenger’s side, tucking the AK-47 between my knees.

  “Good God,” I said, looking around as Boccand put the car into reverse. “Did you have to cover everything with black leather?”

  “It’s classy,” said Boccand. “Dignified, really. Cecilia, buckle up. This is going to get violent.”

  Cecilia slammed her seat belt into place, her blue eyes wide. Despite everything, she was calmer than I w
ould have expected. Maybe staying in a relationship with Boccand had made her used to this kind of thing.

  “Go,” I said, hitting the button for the window. It rolled down with a hiss. If I had to start shooting, I would prefer not to have a lap full of broken safety glass. “Go, go, go.”

  “Yes, I know, thank you,” said Boccand, hitting the gas. The dashboard lit up with a rearview camera, and the tires squealed as Boccand drove into the aisle, spinning the car around to face the exit. “This isn’t the first time I’ve fled for my life, I’ll have you know.”

  “Yes, super, that’s great,” I said. A flicker on the rearview camera caught my eye. “Just shut up and…damn it!”

  Six anthrophages in their human guise raced towards the car, pouring out from the stairwell leading up to the lobby. The Venator could outrun them with ease, but for the moment the anthrophages were going faster than we were. Another few seconds and they would leap upon the car, smash through the rear window, and kill us.

  I twisted around in my seat, leaned through the window, flipped the AK-47 to full auto, and started shooting.

  This wasn’t Sergeant Tom’s Shooting Range And Firearm Emporium, and keeping a good grip on an AK-47 on full auto is a challenge, especially for someone my size. For that matter, shooting from a moving car at a moving target is even harder. Fortunately, luck was on my side. I hit one of the anthrophages, the bullets ripping up his torso, black ichor exploding from him, and grazed a second one. The anthrophages scattered, taking cover, and Boccand yelled and slammed on the gas.

  The Venator roared forward, shooting up the parking ramp. For an instant I feared that we would slam into a concrete wall, but Boccand twisted the wheel, and the car howled around the corner, accelerating as we shot towards the sunlight. I heaved myself a back into the car, and I saw the parking attendant standing by the booth, his eyes wide as he waved his arms, and then he screamed and threw himself out of the way.

  The big car broke off the arm of the booth like a twig, and the Venator bounced into the street, the tires squealing as Boccand did a hard left turn without slowing down.