by Martha Carr
“Wait,” Leira yelled, wobbling as the watch continued to heal her.
She hopped forward to clutch the dumpster and tried to see where she had gone. Behind her, she heard the crunch of glass. Leira knew the Harriken had found her, but she didn’t turn.
“Give us the artifact,” a man bellowed. “It is not yours.”
“It’s not yours either,” Leira growled, whirling and releasing a fireball at the three men’s heads.
The ones on each side dove out of the way as the one in the middle fumbled to get his wand from his jacket. He yelled as the bright orb of light slammed into him, knocking him into the street. The other two regained their feet and crouched in defensive positions, wands at the ready.
“Come on, guys, this is getting old.”
Leira sighed and slashed her arms through the air, sending another wave of magic at them. One of the Harriken dove but the wave caught him in the side, sending him flying. Leira heard the crack of his ribs as he slammed unconscious to the ground. The last Harriken in the alley attacked even as he backed up, flinging spirals of magic toward Leira. She used her magic to shield herself from the blows, still in too much pain to dive out of the way.
The Harriken chuckled as he stepped backward without paying attention to where he was going. His foot went down into a pothole and he lost his balance, arms flailing. Leira’s fireball slammed into the Harriken’s chest, knocking him out.
Leira grimaced as she put more weight on her hurt leg. She looked behind her for the little girl, but she was long gone. Leira shook her head and opened a portal.
“I’m not a Tomb Raider. More like a bounty hunter.”
With that she stepped through, New York and the Harriken left behind.
Leira emerged from the portal into the alley behind one of the many restaurants in Chinatown. She looked down at her leg, impressed. The wound had healed, and the only evidence was her torn clothes and dried blood.
She took off the watch, shoving it into her pocket. She needed to learn more about these Harriken before their challenge became an unbridled crisis. She had the perfect informant to talk to, but first, she’d need to collect Louie. She’d definitely need backup where she was going.
When Leira entered the restaurant, everyone stared at the rip in her pants and the blood on her hands. She smiled and pointed to the staircase that led to Louie’s apartment, hurrying through the room. She knocked, looking behind her at a couple of people who were now looking up the stairs.
“Well, hello,” Louie chirped, opening the door. His expression darkened when he saw her clothes. “What in the world happened to you? Are you hurt?”
Louie stood to the side to let Leira in. He stared down at the leg of her blood-soaked pants, her red hand twitching slightly.
“Oh, that?” Leira chuckled nervously. “It’s just a scratch.”
Louie opened his mouth to question her but closed it when she walked into his bathroom to clean up. He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. He’d learned not to be surprised by those kinds of things anymore. He just rolled with the punches.
“I need your help,” Leira hollered from the bathroom. She walked out drying her hands. “I need to talk to Lenin, like yesterday, and you are the one who developed that informant.”
She handed him the towel, giving him an apologetic look since it was covered in the blood she had wiped from her boots. Louie tossed it in the washing machine in the kitchen. He looked at Leira, unsure if she really understood what kind of guy Lenin was. He was a snake in the grass, ran with a low crowd, and dabbled in dark magic.
“Why are we questioning Lenin?”
“The newly-christened Harriken, formerly the Yakuza,” she told him point-blank.
“You’ll be hard-pressed to get anyone to talk about them right now, especially after the showings they have made recently. Are you sure Lenin is your guy?”
“I’m sure. Where do we find him? We’ll take a portal. I don’t have a lot of time.”
“All right.” Louie sighed and strapped his sword to his back. “I’ll open the portal.”
Leira stood back as Louie waved his wand, opening a portal in his living room. He stepped through and reached back to help her. They stood at the bottom of some stairs in front of a metal door. Louie knocked three times, and a small eye-level door slid open. A Kilomea eyed him with a snarl and glanced at Leira.
“She’s with me.”
He scowled and slammed the little door. A moment later several bolts clacked, and the heavy door cracked open just far enough to let them through. Louie patted the Kilomea on the shoulder and looked at the bar. The place was full of non-glamoured magical creatures.
The bar was dark, with deep-red walls and old furniture made from Oriceran woods. On the back wall, a tattered old Soviet Flag hung just above a table full of gnomes. The place was secret, but not that secret. It was a favorite hangout for magical beings who played around with dark magic but had no affiliation. Louie spotted Lenin in the back corner drinking alone, his head down.
“Stay close, and don’t look at anyone. They like to start fights in here.”
“Not a problem,” Leira replied.
She kept her head down, staying close as she followed him. He slid into the booth, leaving enough room for Leira. Lenin slowly looked up, lowering his hands to the seat. He shifted his eyes nervously from Louie and Leira to the crowd in the bar.
“What do you want?”
“Information,” Louie replied. “For the one who funds your drinking habits.”
Lenin looked at Leira with big eyes and back down at the table. Most of the informants never met her, and some of them didn’t even know who she was. It was obvious that Lenin recognized her, and was more than a little nervous to be in a place like that with a Jasper Elf like her.
“Get on with it. What do you want to know?”
“I need information on the Harriken.”
The dirty, skinny, bearded man chuckled, revealing his rotting brown teeth. “I don’t know nothing about the Harriken.”
“You’re lying. I can sense it.”
Louie looked at her strangely for a moment and shrugged, figuring this guy didn’t know the difference. Lenin looked over nervously at a group of Japanese men sitting at another table.
“You don’t understand what these guys are like,” he whispered, leaning in. “Cold-blooded, soulless, and well-organized. They’re like a corporation, but retirement consists of someone shoveling dirt onto your dead body.”
4
Senator Trumbull held his coffee tightly as he walked down the hallway. His mind raced as he thought of the Yakuza’s most recent failure. He still had trouble thinking of them as ‘the Harriken.’ A valuable artifact had been stolen from them, one he had hoped to procure. Things weren’t going the way he wanted, and he was starting to get suspicious. Every side-glance from a colleague and every question from a reporter drove him deeper into paranoia. Things should have progressed much farther by now, but Leira Berens kept interfering.
Caught up in his thoughts and desire to shut himself up in his office, the senator didn’t notice the young blonde woman who stood just a few feet from his office door.
“Senator Trumbull,” she called, jostling to get in front of him. “Eliza Jones, Washington Post. I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions?”
The senator cleared his throat and shook himself from his daze. He smiled down at the reporter, having learned early in his career that he had to treat reporters well if he wanted to look good to the public. He glanced at his assistant, slightly irritated, but hid it from the reporter.
“Sure, what can I do for you?”
“As you probably know, the new Humans First group has been all over the news lately. They are supported by extreme conservative groups and opposed by the extreme leftists. As someone generally in the middle, what do you think about the movement’s attempt to tamp down magic?”
The senator’s heart beat a little faster but he mu
stered up his best politician smile, showing all his even white teeth.
“We can all learn to get along. That is essential for the success of our nation in the future. We cannot have two sides, plus the outspoken public, waging war against one another.”
The senator’s aide looked up, searching for an excuse to get him away from the reporter. Before she could step in, though, the reporter lobbed another zinger.
“Do you think there is any risk? Do you think in some ways the Humans First movement is gaining ground because there is something to fear?”
“We have taken great measures throughout history to protect the people of this country. Now, there have been some misses in our past, but all in all, we are usually right on target. The government is going to do everything we can to turn this situation into a positive one, with minimal risk to the public. I suggest the people of this great nation learn to accept change with open arms, with full trust in their leaders to make the best choices.”
“Senator, I...”
“I’m sorry, the senator has a conference call in five minutes. You can set up an appointment with his schedule secretary, if you like, I think he has an opening in a couple of months.”
“Thank you.” Senator Trumbull smiled at the reporter and walked into his office, not dropping the calm demeanor until he heard the door close behind him.
Trumbull whirled and glared at his assistant. “Are you absolutely sure the payment went through the usual sources? There can be no fuckups here, do you understand? We will lose everything we have worked for.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, trembling. “Nothing can be traced back. The Harriken were well paid, but have no idea who their benefactor is.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, sir. One hundred percent.”
The senator's shoulders relaxed as he walked over to his desk and opened the bottom drawer. He pulled out a bottle of aged scotch and a glass, pouring himself two fingers’ worth. He took a sip and let out a deep breath.
“Good, especially since they keep failing.”
He finished the drink and poured himself another before putting the bottle back into his drawer. He sat down in his chair and leaned back, closing his eyes. His entire career had been a giant ruse to get to this point—so that when magic started showing up on Earth, he could do something about it. He had funneled funds to the Yakuza and now the Harriken, since they were the ones capable of taking down people like the bounty hunter and her clan. He just didn’t understand what was so special about that damn girl that they kept failing.
The Yakuza had been around for centuries, and the dark families were no help. Besides, they were too dangerous to become involved with. They had a higher public profile, and had a problem keeping their mouths shut. It wasn’t necessarily that he trusted the Yakuza, but he knew they needed funding to train, to expand the new organization, and to take out those he needed exterminated. Humans First was a front, a distraction for the public, even a way to recruit the humans into destroying the magical bastards, but what he really needed was for the Harriken to get their shit together and make some progress.
He took another sip, opening his eyes and staring out the window. Things were starting to get slippery, but he wasn’t even close to giving up.
The Harriken leader—now unmasked—tapped his fingers angrily on the table, staring at his crew. The meeting in LA was supposed to accomplish something. It was supposed to provide resolution, but all he saw was red. The shifters had become a serious problem for the Harriken and their backup. It was supposed to have been a simple thing: take out the shifter leader and put an end to their new sanctuary.
The last battle had been brutal. Not only had they not stopped the shifters, but they had taken losses. The leader was livid; absolutely livid. It had occupied all his thoughts since the battle had ended, and he was determined to formulate a better plan.
“We were overrun. They were stronger than we thought,” one of the Harriken said.
“No, we are weaker than we believed,” the leader countered. “That is why this new plan is perfect. It may not be quick, but we have survived centuries. To continue to do so, we need to take our time and regroup.”
“What do you suggest?”
“We need to recruit and create a network of teams all over the world. We need to not only grow in numbers, but strength as well. This isn’t the time to be hasty, adding people simply to have bodies. They need to be as strong as the former Yakuza were known to be, if not stronger.”
“What about the jobs that are being handed to us?”
“What about them? What good does it do to take a job we cannot complete successfully? We need to be stronger, bolder, and bigger, and we need to be all those things before we accept any more jobs.”
The leader shook his head. “I am telling you to have patience. When we are at full strength, you will be glad that you did.”
The others agreed and they moved onto recruitment plans. The leader sat back, his hands in his lap, just listening. He told them to have patience and he meant it, but deep inside, he could feel a burning anger toward the shifters. The need for revenge was brewing, but he had to lead by example. When the training was done, he would get his shifter blood.
Trumbull sat in the closed Senate hearing on the panel for Foreign Relations. He was surrounded by council members listening to Pearson Cowley’s testimony on Axion’s role in bringing Oriceran organic material to Earth without government approval. It had been a huge debacle, and had ended up being one of the main reasons magic became public.
Cowley, a heavyset older man, wiped his forehead and took a sip of water. He seemed nervous, and Trumbull thought he should be. The company had overstepped their bounds, in his opinion, by bringing that magical nonsense back to intertwine with human life. Sure, it was a money thing, but there had to be limits—which no one could agree on.
“You also have to remember that there were no trade restrictions with Oriceran,” Pearson pointed out.
“There are also no trade restrictions with galaxies too far away to comprehend, but that doesn’t mean anyone who could build a ship gets to go out and bring materials back to Earth,” another senator quickly retorted. “It’s a magical world that none of us had ever heard of before. There was no common sense used in this instance.”
Pearson nodded, his hands folded calmly in his lap. He’d always known about Oriceran, since some of his relatives originated from there. That was his secret, though, and the key to the position he held. He’d heard stories of the wonders of Oriceran from both his parents and people who had lived and walked on Oriceran soil, so he knew the importance of the place.
Trumbull cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence in the room. It was a touchy subject with varying opinions. Trumbull wanted to move things away from the restrictions and toward company policy.
“I want to first extend my and the council’s sincere condolences for the disappearance of Axiom’s chair, Charlie Monaghan. It was a great loss to the community, and to the world that relied on Axiom technology .”
“Thank you, Senator.”
“How has the company fared since his disappearance?”
Pearson nodded. “Our holdings are doing well. People still have strong faith in the company, even without the leader. That includes the connections we’ve acquired on Oriceran to implement our growing programs and continue the production of Oriceran crops.”
“Crops that may or may not highly affect our own food supply here,” the other senator grumbled.
“I assure you, Axiom has taken all available precautions to ensure that cross-breeding of the crops is not something anyone has to worry about. I do have one concern, though.”
“What is that?” Trumbull asked.
“The growing Humans First movement. They are all over the news, and Axiom has had its fair share of protestors at our headquarters. Have you, Senator Trumbull, or anyone on the council heard any more about this group?”
Senato
r Trumbull cleared his throat, keeping his composure—something he had become a pro at over the years. He looked at the other senators, but no one offered anything. He sighed and leaned toward the microphone.
“Only what I’ve seen on the news. They seem harmless, to be honest—just another group of high-minded civilians voicing their opinions. It is to be expected in a climate like this.”
Pearson narrowed his eyes and nodded. He was fishing. He had realized that the movement was too well-funded and organized to be the usual activists or just some group of rabble-rousers. Someone was backing them, but he had been unable to dig deep enough to figure out who. He knew they—whoever they were—were well connected to people from all walks of life. It had to be someone powerful, which immediately brought him to politics.
Trumbull watched Pearson closely, recognizing the bait for what it was. He wasn’t sure if it was directed at him, but he was definitely not going to get himself caught. He leaned forward to the microphone again, choosing his words carefully.
“Do these protestors have a permit? They have become a highly discussed topic, and we should know more about them. What is their main objective, anyway?”
Trumbull had been playing both sides of the issues for years, and he did it well. The faked sincerity in his voice moved suspicion away from him almost immediately. Many years before, he had been known as a straight shooter, but over the years politics had corrupted him. He still made sure to take a firm stand on the issues his constituents felt strongly about, but just enough to keep himself in office.
“Magic is threatening our way of life,” another senator grumbled into the mic.
Trumbull raised his eyebrow, taking note of the Rhode Island senator. He could possibly be manipulated in the future. Pearson glanced over and took note as well, only he noted the senator as someone to watch.
“If no one has any further questions for Mr. Pearson, he may leave the stand. Next on the docket, we will hear the testimonial of one Leira Berens. Ms. Berens is the world’s first bounty hunter of magical criminals.”
