by Sonya Clark
Cappuccino in hand, Nate left. Just past the door a smaller man in a hoodie grabbed his elbow. He was about to react with his badge and a bad attitude when he realized it was Henry. Nate had a sinking feeling he’d made a friend when he talked to the lab tech the other day, the kind who would insist on sharing their every raving weirdness. “Were you waiting around for me? Shit, Henry.”
“You didn’t return my messages.” Henry looked over his shoulder every few seconds. “Did you hear?”
“Hear what?” Nate wondered if Calla would be at the club again that night, or would that be too soon to approach her? Maybe he ought to give her time to cool off and think.
“About Dr. Walker.” Henry pulled him by the elbow, or tried to. Giving the smaller man an annoyed look that Henry didn’t even notice, Nate relented and walked with him.
“No.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. A nap would be nice.
“She worked late last night, then stopped to get some groceries on her way home. She dropped dead of a heart attack in the store.”
Nate grimaced. “God, that’s awful. She have any family?”
“I don’t know, but I do know she was healthy as a horse. The woman ran half-marathons.”
“Yeah, but she was in her fifties, and besides, you never know what’s in someone’s genes. Her family could have a history of heart disease.”
Henry looked at him as if that was the most preciously naïve thing he’d ever heard. “A heart attack can be faked too.”
“Oh come on.”
“The right drugs in a hypo syringe. You bump up against someone, say excuse me, walk away. Ten minutes later they’re on the floor clutching their chest. Five minutes after that they’re dead.”
“You’re being absurd. Why would anyone want to kill Dr. Walker?”
Henry gave him a look as if he were stupid. “Oh, I don’t know. Covering their tracks, maybe. Making sure one of the few people who know about a certain DNA test never talks about it.”
Nate paused with his cup in midair. “You sound like a paranoid conspiracy theorist.”
“You ever heard the motto of paranoid conspiracy theorists everywhere?” Nate shook his head. Henry said, “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.”
“It still doesn’t make any sense that DMS would want to hide the existence of unregistered Magic Born. Not that I necessarily think there are any.”
“Who knows why those people do anything? I’ve even seen stuff about them having secret Magic Born agents still.”
Nate resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “No, they stopped all that after the Magic Revelation in ‘10. They had to, there was such a public outcry.”
Henry made a face. “Please! You really think the government is going to respond to the will of the people? How naïve are you?”
Nate might not have known much about the Magic Born, but he knew the history of the Magic Revelation. In 2010 a hacktivist collective had discovered and released documents revealing the government knew of the existence of magic and used witches as secret agents for what came to be known as “black magic ops.” The U.S. wasn’t the only government implicated, but its populace had one of the more extreme reactions, with fear leading to widespread slaughter of anyone suspected of being a witch. To put a stop to the killing and subsequent retaliation, the federal government created the Department of Magic Security and began crafting the Magic Laws. Rounding up witches and putting them in urban reservations was one of the first acts of the new federal agency. The DNA tests came later, as did the sanctions from other countries for human rights violations, the relocation of the United Nations, the severing of ties with large corporations based in other countries, and the crackdown on emigration to halt the brain drain of educated people with enough money to flee. Even Nate’s own magic-hating father admitted there had been a lot of unintended consequences from the Magic Laws—consequences that had hurt the country. Seeing his only son go to war in Africa for oil and other natural resources had tempered his extreme loyalty to the government.
“The anti-government demonstrations back in ’10 were just as bad as the anti-magic riots,” Nate said. “I find it hard to believe anyone in Washington would think it was worth the risk to continue those programs.”
Henry sighed. “That’s because you’re a reasonable human being who genuinely tries to see the good in everyone, despite being a cop. Look, maybe I’m wrong. Probably I’m wrong. But I don’t want to take any chances. As soon as I clock in Monday night, I’m putting in for time off and dropping as far off the grid as I can for as long as I can. I suggest you do the same.” He tapped Nate’s biceps with the back of his hand and left.
Nate found a waste bin for his cold coffee and made his way home. He didn’t for a moment seriously consider that Dr. Walker had been murdered, but it did make him curious about the Forbes case again. Whether or not there was such a thing as unregistered Magic Born, he didn’t quite buy that kid Santo as the killer. What he couldn’t decide was whether it was worth risking his career to dig deeper.
* * *
Rain slicked across neon signs, giving them a fuzzy glow. Calla slipped into an empty alley and changed her appearance with a good strong glamour spell. Now anyone who chanced upon her would see a shorter, younger androgynous figure with raven hair wearing a gray waterproof track suit. She pulled the hood of her black rain jacket up, then fished a small compact mirror out of her cargo pants to check her appearance. Satisfied with the glamour, she headed back out into the street.
The arcade was a few more blocks ahead. She trudged through the rain, keeping her head down. Rain was rare in the summer so she didn’t complain, and it helped hide her in plain sight. The plan was to get back online and search for more indications of what the DMS knew about Magic Born that weren’t in the system. Vadim might have wanted her to question Nate, but that wasn’t going to work out. She couldn’t treat him like any other Normal, like any other source of information. It was better to keep her distance.
If she did that long enough, maybe she would stop thinking about him constantly.
She passed the arcade and went around the alley to the abandoned building behind it. Climbing through the window, she dropped to the floor and pushed back her hood, glad to be inside.
That feeling only lasted a moment.
A surge of magical energy hit her senses at the same time she spotted a young man kneeling in front of the hidden broadband cable. Electric blue light flamed from his open palm.
He’s like me, she thought.
For several seconds his attention stayed on the spell he was casting. Then either she made some noise without realizing it or he sensed her own magical energy. He looked at her with piercing blue eyes, dark brown hair covering part of his face. Something about his features didn’t look right—unfinished almost, as if he wasn’t very good at glamours and had tried one without the benefit of a charm. He placed his palm flat against the floor to ground the energy and stood, staring at her.
“Hi,” he said. “I was just messing around. Sorry if this is your space.” His voice was young and guileless.
Calla said nothing, taking a step backward. She was pretty sure she knew everyone in the zone who could practice electric magic, but she didn’t know this guy. If he was off the grid he should have been with one of the sojourners if he was looking to hide.
“There’s a lot of residual energy here.” He pointed at the cable. “It made me curious.”
Calla wanted to scream in frustration. This was the safest spot she’d found for getting online, and now this kid had blown it for her. She didn’t know who he was or where he came from, so trusting him to keep his mouth shut was out of the question. The only good thing about this was that she’d already been paranoid enough to make herself unrecognizable.
The kid raised one hand. “Look,
I don’t mean any harm.”
Calla shook her head and turned to the window. No way was she going to hang around and talk to the guy. She dropped back into the rain-soaked alley and pulled up her hood. She was halfway to the mouth of the alley when the kid called out from behind her. He’d followed.
“Hey, can I just talk to you for a minute? I just...I’d just like to find other people like me.”
Calla didn’t want to be found. She broke into a run. As she neared the mouth of the alley she heard a flat popping noise, chips of brick hitting her arm and cheek. Startled and confused, she turned to look at the kid.
A much larger man in a black suit had the kid by the shoulder, pushing him to the opposite end of the alley where a large black vehicle was now parked. “Get in the fucking car now!”
“Put your gun away! This isn’t necessary!” The kid tried to pull away but the older man was too big.
The man gave the kid another push, then turned to face Calla. He raised the gun, aiming right at her.
She ran.
Chapter Fourteen
Calla skidded across the wet pavement and dove into the pedestrian traffic in the street. Even with the rain there were still plenty of people out. It was a Saturday night after all. Hopefully she’d be able to disappear into the crowd.
The skin on the back of her neck tingled a warning. Trying to keep her face hidden inside the hood, she glanced around the crowd. The usual gamers, club-goers, lowlifes and slummers milled around, except for a guy in a dark suit walking a few steps behind her and to the left. He looked too clean for this crowd, too much like the guy in the alley with the gun. Too much like hired muscle. She hurried her pace. He matched her.
Shit.
She glanced to the right, hoping to find a doorway to slip inside. Instead she saw another dark suit tracking her. Who was that kid that he had a whole security team on him? If she could get somewhere alone long enough to perform another glamour spell then she could definitely lose them, but she had to be careful. No one could see her perform magic outside the zone, or she’d be looking at more trouble than she could handle.
She sped up, pushing her way through the crowd. There were a few nooks and crannies at the next transit stop that might do for a quick hiding spot. One more block and she’d be there.
There was too much pedestrian traffic in this part of town to worry about cars, so she stepped into the street without looking. A hand solid as steel latched onto her forearm and swung her around. Bodies moved past her, pushing her closer to the man who’d grabbed her. She looked up into the face of the man with the gun.
Flat, emotionless, dark eyes met hers. She tried to pull away but couldn’t. Down the street she spotted the big black car from the alley forcing its way through the crowd. He puts me in that car I’m dead. Fighting or yelling for help weren’t much better options. She’d likely be badged and arrested for using a glamour to hide her identity. If these guys were as powerful as she feared, they’d be able to find her and come after her. A nice big distraction was her best chance.
The man said nothing, just held on to her arm with a calm patience. His right hand was just inside his suit jacket, holding the gun. The other two joined him, flanking her.
There’d be no talking her way out of this. The car edged closer. Her mind raced for possibilities—anything that didn’t involve even more trouble. But then what did it matter? They were going to kill her. She was sure of it.
Calla slipped her free hand into her pocket, glad it was the one with her wand. She pushed the button to turn it on. Neon signs shimmered in the rain. Signs to a bar, signs advertising beer, live nude girls, games, cheap food. She opened up her senses to the core of the signs. Gas and electricity—air and fire. She reached out for the tendrils of energy all that neon released into the night, gathering it to her in a tight coil. She’d done this on a small scale before, many times even, but this time she needed big. And public, even though the thought of it terrified her almost as much as the thought of being forced into that car.
The vehicle reached the curb. The man on her right reached for the door.
With a silent plea to the Goddess Calla withdrew her wand, pushing her will and every bit of energy she could soak up and channel through her into its red light. The beam hit the man with the gun in the face, blinding him. He cried out, released his grip on her and doubled over.
From the corner of her eye, she saw some of the closer lights flicker and go dark. She reached out farther, opening herself up to be a conduit for energy. The suit on the left grazed her shoulder with a grasping hand. She jerked away, blasting him with the light. He screamed, falling to the ground. Not waiting for the third man to strike, she turned the wand on him and showered him with light. He flew backward over the hood of the car.
The night melted into panicked screams as passersby reacted, the neon lights that granted safety winking out in a rushing river of darkness. Calla dashed into the street, every nerve buzzing with overload. The first wail of sirens sounded as cops were alerted. Any magic off the zone, but especially something like that, clearly intended to hurt Normals, was cause for bringing out the shock troops. SWAT and DMS would be on their way in minutes.
Taking advantage of the darkness and confusion, Calla cast a glamour spell as she ran. If someone had been able to see her they might have been able to make out her dark hair and clothes morphing into a yellow track suit and candy red hair, her body seeming to stretch outward and upward.
The darkness hadn’t reached the transit station. She slowed several feet from it, still going at a fast clip as she hit the steps leading underground. A blue police warning light flashed from below and she reversed course as quickly as she’d come. Getting trapped on the train while cops went car to car was not a good idea. She had to get off the street before they started stopping everyone and carding them. If she was carded looking like anything but what her ID showed she should look like, that was automatic arrest off the zone.
She hurried past the transit station, letting herself get swept along with a crowd of others looking to get away from the scene. Her fingertips tingled with the beginning of pain. Her heart thudded unevenly in her chest, echoing in her ears. Nausea roiled her belly as shock and energy overload took their toll. For some time—she couldn’t tell how long—she went along in the mass of people, struggling to stay on her feet. At some point she looked up and saw where she was.
The zone was miles away. Recalling what she’d read in his file, she knew Nate lived only three blocks from where she stood. She didn’t know if he’d help her, but she had no other options. She had to get off the street before she collapsed.
It was her lucky night—his building didn’t have a doorman. All she had to do was bypass the card reader that served as the main entrance lock. She looked it over for a moment. It appeared to be pretty standard, feeding into a computer somewhere that wasn’t monitored by a person, if the lack of a doorman was any indication. Piece of cake. She placed her hand over it, pushing her will into its wires, sending a little of her own overload into it. This confused it into believing someone with a legitimate ID for the building had swiped their card, with the added benefit of not logging a record of it. The door popped open and she rushed inside.
Hiding herself from the security cameras with another glamour, she found the stairs and climbed. The elevator would have been preferable but far too risky. As worn out as she was, it must have taken over twenty minutes to reach his floor.
Knocking quietly so as not to attract the notice of his neighbors, she leaned against the door. She had her fist poised to knock again when he opened the door.
“Can I help you?”
She’d forgotten the glamour—he didn’t recognize her. She let the spell slide off her skin, the effort draining the last of her reserves.
“Calla, what the hell? Are you okay?”
; “I need help.” She tried to take a step forward and collapsed into his arms.
* * *
Nate carried her to the sofa and laid her down gently. He stood over her, taking in the cuts on her cheek, the blood on her face and on her sleeve. Her sickly pallor and the shadows under her eyes. His tablet had beeped with a police band alert and he’d been listening ever since, hoping the emergency would be contained so he wouldn’t have to go in. Now he wondered if he’d just carried the emergency into his living room.
He cleaned up her cheek with a first aid kit and a wet cloth, then removed her jacket and did the same for the cuts on her arm. Slivers of what might have been old brick had to be removed carefully with tweezers, one of them large enough to bring forth a fresh stream of blood. She woke as he sat on the edge of the sofa holding the cloth against her forearm.
Neither of them said anything for several minutes. He held the cloth in place, rubbing his thumb over undamaged skin just above it. She drew herself into a sitting position but didn’t pull away from his touch. Wan and pale, she moved gingerly, face stripped of her usual boldness. Seeing her that way made him want to do whatever it took to help her get that back.
“Can I have some water?” she asked.
Indicating the cloth, he said, “Hold this on there and I’ll be right back.”
He returned quickly with a glass of water. She peeled the cloth from her arm, wincing. The bleeding had stopped but the cuts looked jagged, though not bad enough to scar. She drank half the water before handing the glass back and trying to stand. He reached for her at the slightest wobble, stepping close and wrapping an arm around her waist. She froze, not pushing him away but not meeting his eyes either. He could feel the push and pull running through her blood. It matched that in his own.
Sinking back into the couch, she disengaged from him slowly. He sat on the coffee table opposite her, still holding the glass. “What happened?”
