It made me pause. The sight of that pink skin brought back the memory; the hooked claw digging in and dragging through my flesh like a razor blade. The pain. The blood. The chaos all around me.
I closed my eyes tight against the sight of that pinkish skin, against that memory. Clenched my fists tight, as well. That helps, sometimes. Gets you back into thinking about what needs to be done, rather than dwelling on what’s been done to you.
All right, then, I thought. Once more unto the breech, I guess.
I shoved my pistol into its holster hard, as if to shove aside any more of those hesitant thoughts, and swung my go bag over my shoulder. Just another day at the office.
The text message I’d received included the street address for tonight’s festivities, and by the time I got into my car, I had the route called up on my GPS. The app showed a bunch of traffic on the streets around the location, even as late as it was. Damn, maybe this was something big.
Didn’t matter. Around my apartment, the streets were empty… it was three in the morning… but I put my little blue flashing light onto the dash of my car anyway. Safety first.
Now that I was moving, I plugged my phone into the car, and the last podcast I’d been listening to automatically kicked in and started playing over the speakers. It was a new one I was trying out; a young former MMA fighter and an older stand-up comedian talking about this and that.
This time, they were talking about magic.
“Yo, all I’m sayin’, B,” the younger guy said, “is being able to toss around a lightning bolt would be pretty dope.”
The older man laughed a little. “Well, yes, but let’s think about this for a second. Okay, for starters, think about the talent it takes for a person to be able to perform a Trick that powerful. Think of the years and years of training, and that whole time, you never know whether or not you’re going to be able to do it.”
“Yeah, but…”
“No, think about this. Think about… let’s set aside lightning bolts or something splashy like that. Even a simpler Trick. It takes these mages years and years of study and practice, every day, and a lot of them never progress beyond being able to do even the lowest levels of Tricks.”
“Still, I’m saying…”
“Hang on. I want you to think about this. Let’s say you decide to study magic. Let’s say you show some aptitude early on… they are testing in all the public schools now.”
“Yeah, I remember doing that as a kid. They made us hold those metal handles and look at that weird painting thing…”
“A glyph. It’s called a glyph.”
“Whatever. Anyway, my shit didn’t move at all,” the young man said with a little laugh. “I’m talking, not even like a little twitch.”
“Nothing?”
“Naw, nothing. We had a couple of kids who moved the needle a little, though. I remember. I don’t think they ever did anything with it, though.”
“Well, that’s probably because they couldn’t afford the tutors,” the older man said. “Training in magic is expensive. But let me get back to my earlier point. So let’s say you show some talent, and you can afford the time and money to go through those courses. Immediately… and I mean immediately… your name goes on a government list of registered mages. Even if you quit the very next day, you are still registered with the government. For life.”
“That’s messed up, B. Like Big Brother shit.”
“Little bit, maybe. But magic is dangerous. My point is, if there’s ever any criminal investigation involving magic in your neighborhood, your name is on a very short list with the local police department. Better have an alibi. Better have an alibi. Or, good luck with finding a lawyer who specializes in magical legal defense who doesn’t charge at least… what? Fifteen hundred an hour? Minimum?”
“Minimum? Messed up, man. I mean, even if I quit? Like, even if I can’t do any Tricks at all?”
“Right. And think how difficult it would be to prove that you can’t do something. They don’t know. The cops don’t know that you never completed this course or that one. So you’d better have an alibi.”
“It’s a freakin’ hassle, is what it is. Any magic case, and they’re up my ass? Fuck that, man.”
“Exactly. Exactly. Now, think about all of that hassle, and risk, and add that to the time and money it takes just to find out if you’ll ever be able to throw any Tricks around… now ask yourself this: is it worth it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is it worth it? I mean, realistically, in your day to day life. Okay, let’s say you can shoot a lightning bolt. Oh, ha ha, okay, I’m gonna fry anybody that looks at me the wrong way or cuts me off in traffic. No, you’re not. No, you’re not. That’s murder. How fast does your ass end up in prison, and for what? I mean, think about that. By that logic… why not just carry around a gun? Right? You don’t carry around a gun, and just shoot anybody that pisses you off, right?”
“True.”
“Or how about this? You’re a trained, professional MMA fighter. And a big boy. You’ve got the capability right now to do a lot of damage to somebody if you want to. But do you?”
“Naw, man, you know me. I’m a… I’m a pussycat outside the ring. I don’t like violence. Like, you know, if you and me agree to have a match, I’ll beat your ass, but…”
“But you’re not a psycho. You’re a decent person.”
“Right.”
“So this is my point. We all see these mages do these crazy things, but really, in a practical sense, most magic isn’t all that useful in your day to day life. It doesn’t solve a lot of problems. And I think that’s why more people don’t go to all the trouble of studying it.”
“I get your point. Still, it would be pretty dope to have that shit in your back pocket if you wanted it.”
The older man laughed again. “Yeah, yeah. It still is pretty cool, right?”
“Oh, hey, I have a question. Those glyph things… who makes those, anyway? Google that shit for me…”
I switched off the podcast to give myself a little quiet. It was a discussion that had been gone over a million times before, on every podcast and in every corner bar all over the globe.
It was nothing but talk at this point. Tonight, I was going to have to deal with the sharp end of the consequences of the wrong people getting their hands on some magical abilities.
Again.
I saw the sea of flashing lights created by the squad cars making up the perimeter around the target building. I flashed my badge to one of the uniforms who was directing traffic away from the perimeter, made my way as close as I could to that moat of flashing lights, and parked.
I gave myself one more second to get centered before getting out of the car. It was déjà vu all over again. This is how it always went with SWAT; something wacky goes down, the uniforms respond to see what’s up, they get clobbered by something horrible and fall back to set up a perimeter. Then my phone goes off with a very distinctive ring tone and I reach for my go bag.
“All right, then,” I said to nobody in particular, and got out of the car to wade into the chaos.
It wasn’t until I reached the wide parking lot in front of the office building that it finally clicked into place exactly where I was. I had to let out a bitter little laugh. About time it came around to bite them in the ass, I thought.
In front of the building was a cement blocker identifying it in glittering steel letters: Revival Technologies, Incorporated.
***
There were scattered news vans mixed in with the police vehicles forming the perimeter around the headquarters of Revival Technologies, Incorporated. Small knots of news crews, each made up of a cameraman and a reporter, mingled around the perimeter, looking for the best camera angle, trying to pry information out of one police officer or another. Cass had been hoping to creep her way past them without incident, but a small spotlight clicked on in front of her, attached to a shoulder-mounted camera.
She cursed under h
er breath and froze. There was one of the enemy, right in front of her, prepping and primping herself for the camera.
"Okay, let's try it again," the cameraman said, settling the camera's light on the reporter's model-perfect face.
"Ready," Cass heard her say.
"Go."
"Ever since the discovery of the so-called ‘mage sciences’, magic and science have competed to attract the best and brightest minds available, until the creation of Revival Technologies, Incorporated," the reporter said to the camera. “Then, the world saw something as controversial as it was unconventional: the combination of the two arts, magic and technology, to bring the dead back to life.”
The reporter raised a plucked eyebrow and continued, until something distracted her and made her trip up her lines. “This controversy came into the headlines once again today, when eight hours ago, eyewitnesses reported a pillar of fire that fell straight out of the sky..."
"Heavens," the cameraman said. "You're supposed to say 'heavens'. Let's try it again."
The reporter began scarring her sparkling Miss America persona by swearing like a pirate, and Cass tried to take advantage of the distraction to slip past the news crew. Her luck didn’t hold out. The cameraman spied the tight-muscled SWAT team leader as she maneuvered to avoid them, and waved to Miss America urgently, spotting Cass with his spotlight like a deer in the woods.
Miss America snapped back into reporter mode and moved to cut Cass off. "I'm here with Cass Wheeler, team leader of Reclamation Squad Four from the Special Weapons and Tactics Unit. Ms. Wheeler, you lost one of your team only a week ago, in a particularly violent action against..."
"No comment," Cass said, making a move to side-step Miss America, but the reporter was quick on her feet, and blocked Cass's progress.
"Then how about sharing your thoughts on reports that incidents with Revived or rogue mages are on the rise..."
Cass stopped dead and stared the reporter down with a look that could've shattered granite. "How about you step the fuck out of my way, Barbie Doll?"
With that, she elbowed her way past Miss America and into the safety of the glittering sea of squad cars. Scanning the dark blue uniforms of the SWAT troopers mixed in with the patrolmen, she was able to pick out Dread, her gigantic second-in-command, in a heartbeat… no one else came even close to his size.
As she made her way towards him, he saw her coming, and he started his report before she could ask for it.
"Twenty-four story building; Revival Technology, Incorporated's headquarters. Target took control about eight hours ago. Maybe a dozen or so custodial staff, janitors, that sort of thing, were caught inside. We got a call from inside the building, one of the custodial staff, probably, and two units were dispatched.”
“What’s this about a pillar of fire?” Cass said. “Heard one of the reporters say something about it.”
Dread nodded. "Those first two units on the scene got torched. Column of flame ten feet wide, straight down out of the sky, ran across both squad cars. Boom.”
Cass broke her gaze away from the building to look at Dread, raising an eyebrow.
“Hey, don’t look at me,” Dread said. “It’s an eyewitness report.”
Cass shrugged and turned back to the building. “That’s a new one for me. I’ve heard about some mages who could pull off a stunt like that, but I didn’t think any were still around.”
“There weren’t,” Dread said. “The target’s a Vive Job, that’s confirmed, but we’re still waiting on an ID. Shifty and Peter are already on site; I sent them to get outfitted at the weapons truck.”
The huge man’s report was interrupted by the insistent shout of a man in a blue SWAT windbreaker pushing his way around the flashing squad cars and well-armed cops composing the perimeter. A man dressed in an expensive suit followed closely in his wake, as the cop in the windbreaker waved his arms frantically. “Cass! Cass!”
“Edison,” she said. It sounded like the name left a bad taste in her mouth.
“He’s the boss, Cass,” Dread said, laying a familiar hand on her shoulder.
She didn’t flinch at the touch. Dread was probably the only man alive, with the exception of her father, who could put a hand on Cass that way and not end up with a broken wrist.
“You know he couldn’t even pass his pistol qualification, right?” Cass said. “The man heads up SWAT, and he couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn if he was leaning up against it. His little buddies at the top had to fudge his results so he could keep his job and continue making our lives miserable.”
“We can’t all be marksmen like you.”
“Thirty pounds overweight, and the last time he tried to hit the heavy bag, he sprained his wrist,” Cass said. “And quit making excuses for him. You always ace your qualifications.”
“I was in the Corps,” Dread said, letting that be his entire explanation.
“Yeah, so you keep telling me,” Cass said, then stopped herself. “Sorry. That was… it’s just… you know how he makes me.”
“Because normally you’re such a ray of sunshine.”
“Suck it,” Cass said, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips.
“All I’m saying is…”
“I’ll be nice,” Cass said, sounding as if she was spitting out snake venom.
“Wheeler!” Edison said, somehow out of breath before he even reached them. “What the hell took you so long?”
“It’s three a.m.” Cass said. “I was asleep.”
“Harrison got here fifteen minutes ago.”
Dread winced at the use of his family name. “Sir, I live about twenty minutes closer than Cass.”
Edison glared at him briefly, as if the big man had ruined his train of thought, then gestured toward his companion in the expensive suit. “This is Doctor Adjani, our liaison from Revival Technologies.”
Cass looked Adjani over. Thin, neat, a little too put-together. Asshole clenched tight at all times, no doubt.
“So who is it?” she asked him. “Who’s the Vive Job?”
“You didn’t tell her?” Edison asked Dread.
The big man shrugged. “Nobody’s told me yet.”
Doctor Adjani cleared his throat. “I’d prefer it if you did not refer to them as Vive Jobs. That term is really somewhat of a slur. We prefer the term ‘Revived Individual’.”
Cass snorted. “Oh, well, pardon the fuck right out of me.”
“Wheeler…” Edison said, matching his warning tone with a look.
“No, seriously,” Cass said. “So sorry to disturb your delicate sensibilities, Doctor. Who’s the Revived Individual you brought back to life so that he could torch two squad cars and seize control of your building?”
“Wheeler, Dr. Adjani is not here to be your personal whipping boy,” Edison said.
“Well, it’s about time somebody said something to these people, Edison. What’s your nose doing up this guy’s ass, anyway? You know as well as I do that this building is ground zero for creating the worst disasters this city has had to…”
“I told you to back off,” Edison said, but Adjani spoke again, and what he said brought their burgeoning argument to a screeching halt.
“It’s Maestro Polonius,” he said.
Cass
Unbelievable. Polonius. They Vived Maestro Polonius. Of all the people on the planet to not kick back to life, the one I’d put at the very top of the list.
I mean, the guy’s been dead for… what, a year? A year, and they still thought the rotten, decayed gray matter in his skull was going to work just fine once they shot enough dope and magic and God knows what else into it.
I should’ve seen this coming. I did see this coming, ten years ago, when they first started Viving humans. They swore they wouldn’t, those bright and eager scientists and mages who’d been working their way up from earthworms to frogs to mice to hamsters to dogs, but once they announced they’d managed to revive the corpse of a sheep, a full-blown sheep, mind you, I knew they cou
ldn’t resist trying to kick a few dead people back into moving around.
I think that they might’ve waited for a whole year before the ants in their scientific pants got too itchy and they Vived that Emily Benes woman. She wasn’t anything special, other than that she wasn’t too old, wasn’t dead for too long, and didn’t have any next of kin to scream in outrage when the boys in white coats jerked her back from Beyond. She lasted something like four days, before she wigged out and started tearing her own skin off with her bare hands.
Here’s a shocking fact those research geniuses slammed into face-first when they Revived that poor woman. When people are dead, their brains decay. They decay, and the synaptic connections and tissue structures go to shit, so even if you do somehow re-ignite that ethereal spark that makes us walk and talk and breathe in and out, you’re going to have to expect a little... Mental Dysfunction, was the original term. Later they called it Revival Psychosis.
Batshit Crazy, was more accurate, once you added in the trauma of telling someone they haven’t been asleep, they’ve actually been dead, and that sore feeling they’ve got all over is their body trying to remove and replace the sprinkling of decayed tissue scattered throughout their Revived body.
But wait! the Revival Research proponents cried. At least it’s better than being dead! Sure, they freak out once they realize they’re half-rotted, and sure, their mushy brains usually drive them straight to psychosis, but it’s better than being dead, right?
Right?
Besides, it was a Great Step Forward, and we all know how important those are to have, especially with investment money so hard to come by these days. So, Revival research marched on, and more and more Vive Jobs got up off the slab and started walking and talking and breathing in and out again, until the boys in the white coats really flubbed up, and Vived a dead wizard.
That’s when the real trouble started.
Look. A rogue mage… a living one… is no joke to begin with. What happened to my team a week and a day earlier ought to be a pretty good example of that.
Mage Hunters Box Set Page 2
