by TR Cameron
Thank goodness Sensei Ikehara is a non-traditionalist who believes in some direct action. She spent a moment locking away every thought other than her opponent before she waded in and left a deliberate gap in her defenses on her strong right side. He spun the weapon faster than she would have thought possible and stabbed it at her chest. A loud clang accompanied the impact of her right-hand stick against the fork at the end as she rotated counterclockwise and extended the left one in a strike at his temple. He leaned back to escape it and the reach of his longer weapon protected him. She finished the spin with a leap forward to swipe at his head with the right stick, but he circled away to evade.
His trident slashed across at knee height, and she bounded back to dodge it. In the instant she was in the air, he charged and thrust the blunt end at her face. She caught it with her left stick and tried to circle it aside. He disengaged, stabbed forward with the same part of the weapon, and landed a glancing blow in her ribs as she twisted too slowly to avoid it. Panic surged at the contact, but she pushed it away ruthlessly and gathered herself for his follow-up attack.
Instead, he stepped back with a laugh and wove the trident one-handed through a series of moves that demonstrated his speed, dexterity, and arrogant confidence. “Ah, little girl, there’s no way you can defeat me. Give up now and I’ll make it mostly painless.”
She growled, thoroughly annoyed. It was one thing to have to fight for her existence but another to do it against someone whose idea of trash-talk was limited to “little girl.” “Listen, chucklehead, you might want to get out of here before we reach the point of no return. We can still go our separate ways.”
He shook his head. “It’s not over until you breathe your last at my feet.”
“That’s not very friendly.” She set her stance to be sure she was perfectly balanced. “Bring it, scumbag.”
Her opponent gave her another infuriating grin and seized the offensive. She backpedaled and smacked the thrusting trident aside each time it sought her heart, waiting for an opportunity to present itself. Her plans were foiled when she stepped on a piece of broken concrete and stumbled. He took advantage of the distraction and skipped forward to land a kick to her stomach that lifted her and hurled her back. She landed in a skid and crumpled around the burning in her core. His laughter filled the space between them and betrayed his advance, and she scrambled to get up and moving before he could reach her.
His trident scraped along her back as she darted away and scored three lines of fire beneath her shoulders. The sudden shock made her eyes water and a part of her brain started to gibber. The rest of it, though, seemed to spring into clarity as if she’d only then accepted the life-or-death nature of the battle. She walled the pain off with caution tape in her head and narrowed her focus. He was clearly stronger and had greater reach. Her current plan wasn’t working, so she needed a new one. She jammed the marked portions of her sticks together and willed them to change, and they melded into a seamless jo staff. Before her advanced training with Ikehara, she would never have had the confidence to use the longer weapon in a real fight. He had drilled her on its benefits and challenges and fought her with an array of weapons until her skills with the jo were at a level he deemed acceptable. In general, though, she preferred the variety of options that paired weapons presented. But when your opponent is wielding a large, multi-pointed stick, not rushing in to get impaled is a wise choice.
She surged toward him and stabbed it at his throat, hoping that the surprise move would give her an opening. He batted it away with a scowl and spun his weapon in a half-circle before he jabbed it at her legs. She blocked, and he tried to strike her in the face with the hilt. Deftly, she deflected it with the staff and attempted to sneak it in again, but she couldn’t penetrate his defenses. He lifted the trident and hammered it down at her, and she raised the weapon to block it. The impact rang through her hands and knocked the jo out of them. By reflex, she reached for it, only to watch the trident sweep down and knock it away.
What the hell am I doing, fighting the way he wants to? She threw two force punches, and they connected with his chest and face and forced him back a step. Unlike in previous battles, though, they didn’t appear to deal significant damage. He released the trident with one hand and brushed at where she’d struck him. “That was a cowardly choice, little girl. But thank you.” He flexed his muscles and the trident’s glow increased, and a blast of energy streaked from the fork as he pointed it at her. She dove to the side to avoid it and rolled up to her feet as she summoned a force shield to intercept the one that followed. The sheer power of it knocked her off balance and she staggered. Damn. Not cool. Okay, next plan.
Cali imagined a giant hand in the air. Her force magic channeled into that shape and caught hold of the trident to yank it from the man’s grasp. She bared her teeth and hurled it through one of the windows surrounding the second level. The sound of shattering glass brought inordinate pleasure. Her foe blinked at her like he couldn’t comprehend what had happened. She gave him the smile she reserved for particularly slow and stupid customers. He clearly understood the message and attacked with a growl.
Now this is my kind of fight. He threw a broad haymaker with his left and she redirected it with an outside-in block and latched onto his wrist. She rotated it downward and wrenched it up behind his back, but he spun and threw an elbow at her head before she could get the joint locked out. Cali swayed to the side to avoid the blow but lost her grip as he drove forward. Her foot lashed out in a kick at his spine, but his speed took him out of range before it could land.
She imagined the force hand again, snagged a piece of stone lying on the floor, and hurled it at him when he turned. A magical bracer appeared on his arm, and he intercepted the projectile with a downward slash that shattered it into rubble. She yelled, “Cut it out,” before she could restrain herself and threw more rocks at him. The Atlantean was completely calm as he deflected or destroyed them before they could do any damage.
Her foe seemed to concentrate for a moment, and the glow expanded to cover his fists. He held them up, inviting her to admire them. “You have only to stop running, little girl.”
Cali growled her annoyance. “Name-calling is immature. Knock it off.” She threw several more pieces of rubble, noticed that her supply was diminishing fast, and cast about for other options. A piece of the second level to her left hung by only four spikes of rebar that projected from the wall and she decided she could probably pull it down if she could get him beneath it. Of course, he might be able to do that to me with his sparkly hands, too, so that’s a problem. She raced in that direction when her ammunition ran out but stopped before moving under the weakened area. He closed the distance with his fists raised like a boxer to protect himself.
She threw punches but he blocked the magic blows before they struck anything vital. The threat of her imminent demise grew with each step. Casting an illusion to drive him into the trap occurred to her, but a quick glance at the woman in the fancy necklace revealed that she was watching carefully. The sight dredged up a half-memory of a story told by her parents about Atlantean gladiators and how only physical manifestations of arcane power were permitted in ritual combat. An illusion might change the rules the same way her force attack had if this was one of those, and she definitely didn’t want the people standing around to join in.
Her adversary reciprocated her strategy and flung a rock at her head, but she ducked and summoned a large shield to deflect the others he threw on his run toward her. She extended her hand and willed her magical weapon to return to her, and it arrived barely in time for her to stop his charge and keep him at a distance. It wouldn’t last, though. Her skills weren’t enough to deter him while protecting the staff from his grasp if he decided to take it from her. She circled and focused her concentration for a final attack.
Using the technique Emalia had taught her, Cali reached for his mind with hers. She saw the outline again and pushed in but didn’t get the series of dots she
’d had with her teacher. Instead, she encountered a thick barrier. She frowned and imagined herself moving around him until she found a place that looked less strong. Calmly, she pressed against it, pictured her thrust as a needle, and punched through. It took only a moment to implant fear of a sudden fire attack, and she followed it immediately with an illusion that existed only in his head of a cone of flames that rocketed toward him. He flinched and dodged to the side.
His evasive maneuver placed him under the weakened concrete.
Cali snapped out her force hand and pounded its fist on the stone to shatter it and drop the pieces on her foe. When the rumble faded and the dust settled, he was trapped under a large section and only barely conscious. Blood trickled from his nose and the corner of his mouth, and his eyes stared without focus. She turned a slow circle, ready to engage any of the others who might attack her, but none seemed interested in doing so. When her gaze reached the woman, she stepped forward and nodded. “You have won this battle, Caliste, and have thus advanced to the next level of combat. You have a week to rest, recuperate, and prepare.”
“Okay, wait a second. What the hell are you talking about, lady?”
She smiled. “The rules do not require me to explain the many things of which you are ignorant, princess.” Syrupy sarcasm dripped from the final word.
Cali had now had enough of the abundant condescension. She scowled. “You people need to get something straight. No one calls me princess, or a little girl, or child, or whatever. You haven’t earned the privilege. And unless you want to go a round right now, you’ll knock that garbage off.”
The woman shook her head, her irritating grin unchanged. “I’d like nothing more, little girl. But it would be breaking the rules for me to attack you. However, if you wish to start something, I am more than happy to oblige.” She folded her hands in front of her in the most annoying and superior manner possible.
Cali thought about—really thought about—making her eat her words. A rustle from behind her dispelled the idea quickly, and she strode toward the exit. The man blocking it waited until she stopped eye to eye with him to move out of the way, and she gave him a grin. “We’ll settle up for that later, jerk.”
He nodded. “Anytime, child.”
She suppressed a growl as she exited the building and ran into the darkness to find a place to cast a portal. Sirens were audible nearby, and she texted an all-clear to the Detective so she wouldn’t engage the Atlanteans. Now, I’ll have to explain everything that went down here to her. Damn, I hate Saturday nights.
Chapter Eighteen
Tanyith scratched at the collar of his dress shirt, which was annoyingly over-starched. The outfit had been laundered in preparation for his trip to the Stallion Bar, and the place he’d used was apparently really excited about making everything perfectly stiff and creased. Still, based on his own knowledge from the past and Detective Barton’s from the present, the expectations for sartorial splendor inside those walls remained high.
The entrance was a block ahead. He’d parked down two more in the opposite direction so no one would connect him with the motorcycle. It was entirely possible tonight’s outing would lead to more surveillance, so he needed every ounce of anonymity he could get. It was almost certain that the Zatoras had the place watched at all times. A magical disguise would have been too dangerous, but he had dyed his hair and beard black and put enough product in them to mask their normal shape.
The Stallion Bar had been neutral territory for the human gangs for far longer than he’d known of its existence. The stories said that one of the gangs opened it as a way to launder money, and when the others arrived to fight, they instead made a deal to keep it running. All the gangs were welcome and any of them were permitted to use its services freely. Over time, those services grew as the number of competing factions diminished. Now, it was primarily a Zatora stronghold, Kendra had said, but the other gangs still maintained a minority ownership interest. She assumed it was a means for the syndicate to keep tabs on the potential competition and he had no reason to doubt her assessment.
A bouncer stood at the entry door, but a twenty-dollar bill and the words, “Room at the bar?” got him inside. Barton had pressed an informant or two to learn that particular piece of information. She’d also discovered that he had to slip the bartender another bill before he’d get the reserved sign moved away from in front of an empty chair, which was a method of identifying those who didn’t belong. There was no way to know each member of every gang, so the rituals kept the uninitiated at arm’s length.
The transaction went smoothly, and he ordered rye on the rocks and earned a nod of approval from the man behind the bar. Tanyith’s dark suit was quite similar to those worn by the wait staff, but his black shirt and long blue tie differed from their white shirts and ebony bow ties. When the drink arrived, he sipped it and absorbed the atmosphere. The main restaurant took up most of the space, filled with four tables in the middle and booths on either side. They were occupied by well-dressed men and better-dressed women, all of whom appeared to be enjoying an evening out. Date night for the gangster crowd. Tanyith chuckled inwardly.
The bar, on the other hand, was entirely populated by solo men in dark suits who possessed the solid looks of people who worked hard for a living. Very likely, their careers were a little different than those holding down chairs at other restaurant bars—shooters instead of stockbrokers and numbers runners instead of accountants—but the feel was the same. There was a shared camaraderie among the dateless assuaging their sorrows with alcohol.
He finished his first drink and ordered the next. When the bartender returned, Tanyith asked, “Hey, have you worked here long?”
The man had the build of an aging high school quarterback, with broad shoulders and arm muscles that pushed against the fabric of his suit. His hair was starting to thin visibly, despite the careful part that swept it all over to one side. He sported an impressive brown mustache, and he toyed with it while he worked. His voice was smooth and his tone professional but guarded. “Sure, about four years or so and full-time for the last two. Are you new in town?”
He shrugged. “I was away for a while. Things changed in the meantime. I’m new here, though. A friend of mine told me it was a good place to meet important people. Is that true?”
The bartender chuckled. “Well, you met me. What do you think?” He turned and headed to another customer.
Tanyith sighed. Basically what I expected, but damn, I don’t have the time to invest to build credibility here. He thought for a few moments about what he might do and swept his gaze over the dining room before he froze in astonishment. Right there, across the expanse of tables from him and seated in a booth with a beautiful woman at his side was Dray, one of the people from his time with the Atlantean gang whom Sienna had said was missing. What the hell is he doing here? There were only two options he could see. First, he was part of a rival group in town and was undercover. But the Dray that he remembered wasn’t really into that kind of thing, nor was he equipped for it. The other option was equally concerning. Could his old friend have joined one of the human factions?
If he hadn’t seen the man’s face clearly, he wouldn’t have recognized him. The facial hair he remembered was gone, and his clean-shaven features were sharper than they had been before. He looked like he’d lost a dozen pounds, at least, and had seriously cleaned up his act. His suit cost easily twice what his own had, by the looks of it, and the jewelry on the woman he was with would probably have paid Tanyith’s rent for six months or so. His mind was vapor-locked until the moment when Dray excused himself and headed to the back of the dining room and toward where Tanyith presumed the restrooms were. He left a large tip on the bar and made his move.
The woman seemed surprised when he stopped in front of the table. She was a redhead with darker curls than Cali’s and big green eyes in a perfectly made-up face. He imagined there were freckles beneath the makeup, and she appeared younger than she had from across t
he room—early twenties, tops, he guessed. Dray is robbing the cradle. I should get Kendra in here to arrest him. She didn’t seem concerned by his presence and merely looked doubtfully at him and asked, “Do I know you?”
He gave his most disarming smile. “Not yet, but we have a friend in common. Your date and I go way back. Sorry for being weird and coming over like this, but I was really shocked to see him.”
“Okay.” The word held doubt. “Maybe you should wait for him to return, then. Back wherever you came from.”
“I’ll do exactly that.” He nodded reassuringly. “I only wanted to ask what kind of wine you both liked so I can send some over as a surprise.”
Her guard didn’t drop but her suspicion lessened a touch. “Cabernet.”
“Thanks. Enjoy your evening.” He turned and headed to the bar to place the order. The whole exercise had been a ruse to get a better look at her, and it was a relief that the woman hadn’t made a scene. He was out the cost of a bottle but he’d gained a little data. That will probably turn out to be useless. He sighed. This investigation gig is for the birds.
He was a block away on his idling bike, the helmet protecting his anonymity, when the couple exited the restaurant and strolled to a car. Dray helped the woman in and slid behind the wheel, and Tanyith trailed as far back as he could without losing sight of them. The dark sedan pulled over to the curb in front of an apartment building and the woman got out, then leaned through the open window to say something. She stood with a smile and gave a wave as she turned to head inside the ornate door atop a short flight of steps. He’d imagined the two of them finishing the night together so was surprised when Dray drove toward the Quarter rather than finding a parking space.
Twenty minutes later, he was on foot behind his old friend, weaving through the tourists on Bourbon Street. Fortunately, Sunday nights weren’t quite as crazy as the weekend, so he had a reasonably easy time keeping tabs on the other man. It also made it more likely that he’d see an attack before it reached him. After the text from Cali detailing her adventures the night before, he’d been suspicious of everyone and everything.
