by Alex Steele
There were holding spells, but they wouldn't keep him from making noise, which was risky if there were others. I had no doubt there were others.
Voices and footsteps drifted through the exhibit at the same time the radio keyed up. I quickly switched the volume off, grabbed Beckett's arm, and sprinted toward the nearest doorway.
"What the hell are you doing? We can't just leave him," she hissed, yanking her arm away but still following me.
"I'd rather catch them by surprise than the other way around. It sounded like multiple voices. If they're mages, I can't protect you and fight them at the same time."
We slipped around the corner and pressed our backs against the wall, breathing heavily. The voices grew louder as the group entered the large exhibit we'd just been in.
"Keep the hostages on that side of the museum. We don't want the police to have any reason to pay attention to the north side of the museum," a feminine voice said.
She had a light accent I couldn't place, which made me suspect another mage. After a long life of travel, our accents and dialects tended to become muddled, and in some ways became distinctive in their own right. The advent of the Rune Rail, which allowed supernaturals to travel between any major city in less than twenty minutes, had only made this effect stronger.
"We're sticking to the plan," a gruff voice replied. It ended on a bit of a growl like he was a half-shifted were, but he did not sound wolf-like.
The footsteps stopped abruptly and there was a hissed command to spread out. After a few tense moments, I heard movement again.
"Is he dead?" the woman asked.
"No," a second male voice replied. There were at least three of them then.
The woman, who I decided must be in charge, said something I couldn't quite catch, then snapped, "Wake him up."
There was a cracking noise, then a yelp of pain from the werewolf Beckett had beaten. "Whaa––"
"What the fuck happened, Reynolds?" the leader demanded.
"Bish...hit me..." he slurred, still feeling the effects of the baton.
The flare of a magical signature, momentarily unsuppressed due to rage, almost made me lose my breath. This guy was not weak. "Was it a guard?"
"No, a woman. Prosaic," Reynolds said, finally managing to speak clearly.
"If some prosaic thinks she can play hero, then she can die. You and you, find her." The leader gave her orders then the footsteps picked up, moving faster now. Luckily, they weren't headed directly for us. They were, however, headed for the American Wing of the museum.
Four
We held our breaths until the exhibit hall became silent once again. I quickly cast the same rune as before to show me how many people were near us.
The smoky map of the area appeared. Three dots quickly disappeared from the map heading north. Three others were spreading out to begin their search. We had a few minutes before one of them came anywhere near us.
"We need to get a message out," Beckett said, pulling her phone out of a pocket in her dress. "Shit."
"What?"
"No signal. It's blocked." She shoved the phone back in her pocket.
"Those explosions had to have been heard outside the museum, and a place like this is going to have an alarm system. The police are probably already here." Keeping the map up, I motioned for Beckett to follow me in the opposite direction of one of the people searching for us. If I was remembering the layout correctly, we'd be able to come up behind him. This place was a little like a maze, and every gallery seemed to be connected.
We crossed through the large exhibit silently.
"The police haven't tried to enter yet, at least not that we've heard," Beckett whispered.
"They said they had hostages. The police may be trying to negotiate."
She shook her head. "I don't know. Something feels wrong. And what hostages would they have? The museum was closed when the attack started."
I stopped walking abruptly and she ran into my back. "The dining room. It is open an hour and a half later than the rest of the museum."
"We need to find them first then and get them out somehow," she said, immediately walking in that direction.
I dropped the rune powered map and jogged to catch up with her, tamping down on my magical signature. It wasn't safe to keep using magic as we moved through the museum. They probably had other mages with them, and they'd be able to feel my magic just like I'd be able to feel theirs. My magic was also especially...unruly. Some people might argue I was cursed, but I preferred to just think of it as powerful.
"We have to be careful approaching the hostages. They've likely set up a trap," I said, growing increasingly uncomfortable doing this with a prosaic. She had been good against the werewolf, but that's not all we were facing. She was lucky there had been just one of them in that particular exchange.
"Obviously, Logan. This isn't my first hostage situation. Is it yours?"
"No," I said carefully to keep from losing my temper. "However, as a prosaic officer, I doubt you would have dealt with many situations involving mages, since the IMIB will be outside as soon as it's clear the attackers aren't prosaic."
Light blinded us momentarily. Magic rushed to my fingertips and I almost let loose an attack before Beckett shoved my arms to the side.
"It's Mr. Garrett!" she hissed.
The guard stepped out from around the corner, limping. Blood dripped from the side of his head and he was covered in dust.
"What the hell happened?" Beckett asked, running over.
He coughed and shook his head. "I was caught in the explosion. Got lucky and a beam fell sideways over me, stopped me from being crushed." He looked down at the floor, lips pressed together in a thin line. "I couldn't get out before they killed the other guards, but I saw them doing it. Two mages."
"What spells were they using?" I asked, casting a wary glance around us, hoping our conversation wasn't carrying too far.
"One of them used fire, the other just stood there, watching. He didn't even have to lift a finger." Mr. Garrett shook his head in disgust. "They didn't have to do all that just to rob the place."
"What kind of security does this place have?" I asked. "It should be covered in runetech."
"It is, and I think they were messing with it. It has a shielding system in place. Not sure if they were trying to disable it or do something else."
Beckett dragged her hand down her face. "Any idea where the hostages are being held?"
"Hostages?" Mr. Garrett asked in alarm.
I nodded. "We overheard some of the attackers talking about them. My best guess is the dining room. There shouldn't have been anyone left anywhere else in the museum, right?"
Mr. Garrett nodded. "Just guards. Cleaning staff doesn't come until early morning."
"How many security guards are here on any given night?" Beckett asked.
He scratched his balding head. "Must be near a hundred. I come on half an hour before closing to work the early night shift. Some of the day shift guard's schedules overlap so they can help make sure no one's hiding behind a statue. I don't know how many got out tonight before the explosions."
"Some of the guards may be hostages too then," I said, growing increasingly nervous about staying in one spot for so long. "Alright, let's head toward the dining room and see what we find. Are there any shortcuts back? Maybe through service corridors?"
He thought for a moment, then nodded. “This way.”
Five
With a place this big, the people robbing it couldn’t be everywhere at once. The more I thought about it, the more insane this whole plot became. Robbing the Met was crazy enough, but why had they bothered to take hostages? They should have done their best to be in and out, grabbing whatever artwork they could before the police arrived.
“Has the Met ever been robbed before?” I asked as we jogged through the narrow service corridor. This one apparently led to a set of stairs that would take us up toward the dining room.
Mr. Garrett looked ba
ck over his shoulder and nodded. “Sure, a couple of times, but nothing like this. A werewolf ran out with a Vermeer one day, another time a couple of gang members managed to steal two or three million in other paintings.”
"You're thinking this doesn't make sense," Beckett said, glancing at me.
I nodded. "Why do they need to be here for so long?"
Beckett pursed her lips thoughtfully, then looked back at Mr. Garrett. "What's on the north side of the museum? Anything particularly valuable?"
He chuckled. "It's all valuable. I don't know of anything..." he trailed off for a moment, his pace slowing. "Actually, that's the only area of the museum they keep guards like your date. Mages. There'll be a couple every shift throughout the rest of the place, but at least three over there near the Temple of Dendur exhibit, always. I never thought much about it before."
As Mr. Garrett opened the door to the stairwell, a muffled scream rent through the silence of the service corridor. We all froze, listening for other sounds of violence. When we heard nothing, I pushed past Mr. Garrett and ran up the stairs. If they were killing or hurting the hostages, we couldn’t afford to stand around and debate the attackers’ motives.
I took the steps two at a time as I raced up to the fourth level. It took all my self-restraint to keep my magic under wraps. Now was not the time to reveal myself.
I stopped by the door that led out of the stairwell to catch my breath and Beckett caught up immediately. Mr. Garrett was still making his way up the stairs.
“Do you hear anything else?” Beckett whispered.
Shutting my eyes and pressing my ear to the door, I held my breath for a moment as I listened intently. In the distance, I could hear a woman sobbing and someone pacing, but no one nearby.
“Not close by,” I said, examining the items I’d taken off the werewolf. I wasn’t ready to turn the radio back on yet, especially not with them knowing we had it. Glancing back at the prosaics with me, I was tempted to lock them in the stairwell and handle this myself, but I had a sinking feeling I’d need help whether I wanted it or not. “Where does this open into?”
“The hall the elevators are in. This door is on the same wall,” Mr. Garrett said.
Slowly, I turned the door handle and pulled the door open a crack. The hallway was dimly lit with the emergency lights, and empty. For now.
Quiet as a whisper, I opened the door the rest of the way and cautiously stepped over the threshold. There was a loud shout from behind me and I jerked back under the cover of the doorway but realized there still wasn’t anyone in the hall.
I pulled the door shut and pointed to my right. “What’s in that direction?”
“The Patron’s Lounge,” Mr. Garrett replied.
Dragging my hand down my face, I shook my head in frustration. “I think they have hostages in two places.”
“Dammit,” Beckett said, clenching her hands into fists. “We have to take both sets of guards out at the same time or we risk getting hostages killed.”
I ground my teeth together in frustration, but she was right. The problem was, I couldn’t be in two places at once, and I didn’t trust that she and the old man could take out the guards without getting killed.
“Do not give me that look. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I can’t do this,” she said, eyes burning with fury.
“I don’t care about your gender. You’re a prosaic. It makes you vulnerable,” I said through gritted teeth.
Her eyes hardened. “You prejudiced asshole.”
“What are you going to do if one of them throws a fireball at you?” I demanded, throwing my hands up in exasperation.
“Dodge it, same as you.” She crossed her arms. “I’m not going to sit here and argue this with you. We’re it. If the police haven’t stormed the place yet it’s because they either aren’t able to, or because the hostages are being threatened. And I am not going to sit here while they kill more hostages.”
I took a deep breath and resisted the urge to say anything else that would piss her off. “Fine, but you’re wearing my jacket.”
“What? Why?”
I took it off and tossed it at her. “There are defensive spells woven into the fabric. It’ll protect you in case you fail to dodge a fireball. It doesn’t do shit against anything with claws or teeth though.”
For a moment, I thought she’d refuse to put it on, but her practical nature won out and she pulled on the oversized jacket, rolling up the sleeves to keep her hands unimpeded. “You weren’t this much of an ass when we worked that last case together.”
“No one was in real danger then. And I’m not being an ass, but I would prefer if the two of you weren’t helping me on this. I work alone.”
She glared at me and shook her head. “I should have realized how well-deserved your reputation was before I agreed to go on a date with you.”
“We all make mistakes,” I said, flashing her an unrepentant grin. “I’ll take the dining room, and the two of you can take the Patron’s Lounge. If you see a mage, do us all a favor, and just run.”
“I don’t run,” she snapped.
Mr. Garrett, however, gave a short nod from behind her back. Hopefully that meant he’d drag her out of there if needed.
I stepped back into the hallway and crept toward the dining room doors. Once again, I wished I had my katana with me. I tightened my grip on the knife I’d found on the werewolf. This would have to do. I couldn’t use it as a focus for my mayhem magic –– only the katana was strong enough to manage that –– but it would be better than nothing. Hopefully.
As I neared the doors, there was a scream inside and a loud roar. Shit. I broke into a run, letting my magic flare out around me. I wasn’t going to listen to another person die.
Six
I slid to a stop in front of the door and drew two quick runes. This was risky but I was out of time. I had to do this fast so I could go help Beckett and the old man, or they might end up dead. The runes hovered in the air, bright orange like lines of fire. I pushed my magic into them and kicked the doors open.
Absolute darkness rushed through the door, enveloping the room instantly. It wasn’t just dark, it was pitch black. The kind of impenetrable, viscous lack of light that comes in your nightmares where you can't scream and you can't move.
The first rune cast the darkness, but the second rune let me see...sort of. Everything was in shades of gray except for the people, whose body heat let off a glow in shades of red and orange. The two guards were immediately apparent since they were the only people standing.
The one farthest from me was lit up like a beacon as magic flared around him. The werewolf, who was closer to me, turned in my direction and sniffed the air. He ran hotter than the rest too, as most werewolves did.
“I can smell you and hear your heart racing from here, mage,” the werewolf growled. “You can’t hide from me in the dark.”
“Who’s trying to hide?” I pushed my magic down the blade of the knife and walked farther into the room. All the hostages were against the wall with the windows. The brief glimpse I’d gotten of the room before it went dark showed they’d cleared all the tables out of their way, tossing them haphazardly into piles around the room.
The mage’s light grew brighter, then a hot, red blob streaked toward me. I leapt to the side, tucking my head into a roll and using the momentum to propel myself back to my feet. A blazing ball of heat exploded near the place I’d been standing. Whatever that was, it wasn’t fire, but it did smell like sulfur and ozone.
The werewolf was already moving, racing toward me faster than humanly possible.
I slammed my palms together, releasing a haphazard spell that knocked the werewolf back with a shockwave, then charged at him myself. The hostages were screaming now, afraid of the dark and the terrifying sounds it held.
Snarling, the werewolf lunged at me. I dropped to the floor and slid underneath him, slicing his thigh open as I went. He yowled in pain and whirled around, slashing at me with
his claws. The strike missed by a hair’s breadth.
Instead of continuing the exchange, I darted to the right and ran straight at the mage. The werewolf followed and I had less than a second before he’d catch up. A fireball hit the ground a few feet away, then another, closer this time. The mage must just be throwing them at random and hoping he caught me instead of his partner. Asshole.
Mage spells had varying levels of difficulty. Elemental spells, like a fireball, were easy. You could cast dozens and some mages never progressed past using them; though to be fair, fire is very effective. I preferred to get a little more creative when I wasn't just fighting with my katana.
I slammed my left hand against the ground and cast a shield around myself. A fireball hit the shield with a rushing noise and covered the sphere of magic in dripping flames. It was a draining spell, but I didn't need to hold it for long.
Using the knife as a focus, I began carving the next rune into the floor. It was more complicated than the others I had used and had less room for error, but it was great for fighting multiple opponents, especially if you had them off kilter.
The werewolf collided with the shield, slamming his fist against it over and over like he could break it apart with brute force. "Open up little piggy! You can't hide in there forever!"
Magic shuddered through me with a heady rush. I'd started out using this spell when my childhood best friend and I would play tag. The stakes were certainly upped now.
I stood, shaking out my limbs and took a deep breath before letting the shield drop and turning the lights back on.
The werewolf stumbled as the resistance to his attack abruptly disappeared. In my peripheral I could see the mage staring at me in confusion, blinking against the sudden brightness.
I grinned, then split into nine versions of myself, all running in a different direction. These were not just illusions, they held my scent and magical signature as well, though there was only one real me.
