by Alex Steele
The spell took a great deal of concentration to control all the illusions. They'd keep the werewolf occupied while I took care of the greatest threat: the other mage.
He was thin, almost skeletal. His features were bird-like and severe. Everything about him screamed bad news. He looked like he enjoyed kicking puppies.
His beady eyes flicked between me and two of the illusions that were creeping toward him. With a sneer, he turned toward the hostages and lifted his palms. Shit.
The two closest illusions and I lifted our hands in unison and cast a weak shield as he sent a fireball rushing toward the crowd of terrified prosaics. The two opposing magics collided and the hostages screamed, scrambling out of the way as it cracked and failed.
I was already running toward the mage, which turned out to be a mistake. He whirled around and green, churning magic grew between his outstretched palms. I directed the illusions to merge with me before splitting again, taking the left route.
The mage didn’t seem to care, sweeping his hands in an arc in both directions. The acidic plasma sprayed the area in front of him. I threw up a shield in time, as did the illusions. However, they weren’t real and the attack simply passed through. The acid splattered against my shield with a hiss.
The werewolf was howling in rage behind us as he chased around the illusions that I had running in circles taunting him.
“After I kill you, I’m going to hang a few hostages in the window as a warning,” the mage said, his voice nasally and mean.
“Hate to break it to you, but you’re going to be dead soon. Any last words?” I asked, quickly spooling magic in my hand. I couldn’t risk using my preferred and most powerful magic here, not without my katana, and certainly not with vulnerable hostages nearby. Things tended to get...chaotic when I did.
That didn’t leave me defenseless though. Going back to the basics was sometimes the best choice.
The mage snorted. “You should have just stayed out of this.”
“That’s really not my style.” I grinned at him widely, then threw the spell at him.
Firecracker bursts of light exploded around him in a swarm. He shouted in rage and swatted at them, but there wasn’t a way to dodge this spell. Every pop of magic raised a boil on his skin. They didn’t really hurt you, but they itched like mad.
This was the sort of spell mostly used by kids, and to be honest, bullies, but I’d found it useful over the years when facing opponents that were a little mentally dull.
With my opponent distracted, I pulled the illusions in again, then split, staying to the left to throw him off. People always assumed you’d switch places given the chance.
I charged in, converging on him all at once. He threw the sickly green plasma again, but his attack was unfocused and one-handed, causing it to only hit one of the illusions.
I directed the other illusion to swing the knife at him, causing the mage to flinch toward me. I kicked out, catching him in the back of the knees, then grabbed his head and yanked him backward. He flailed wildly, catching me in the ribs with a sharp elbow as his nails dug into my arm.
With a sharp jerk, I forced his head back and drove the knife up under his jaw. He twitched, hands flying to the knife in a futile attempt to stop what had already happened.
I ripped it free, cutting his throat open, then shoved him away. He landed face first on the floor with blood pouring from his wound.
The scent of blood caught the attention of the werewolf. He howled and charged at me, but this was the easy part. Werewolves, especially once enraged, weren’t the smartest opponents.
I pulled in all the illusions again, then split apart, going to the right this time. He leapt at the one closest to him and passed through it with an angry snarl, before whipping around toward me, his nose twitching. I charged straight at him, casting the same boils spell.
It popped around him but he ignored them, lunging at me. I batted his first strike away as I slid the knife across his wrist. Knife fighting was dangerous. Everyone thought you went straight for the throat, and while you could do that sometimes, if the other person had a knife as well, you had to pick each other apart first.
The werewolf circled around, his shoulders hunched and his breaths coming in angry huffs through the misshapen snout extending from his somewhat human face. He struck again and we exchanged blows, moving quicker and quicker as we danced around each other.
He managed to leave a single, long cut on my forearm, but I had him bleeding. Werewolves healed fast but he wasn’t coming back from my next attack. I kept up a steady barrage of strikes as I gathered a fireball in my free hand. As soon as I had enough magic prepared to make an impact, I dropped to one knee and unleashed it on his face.
The flames shot out of my palm and engulfed his head in a whirlwind of searing heat. A single yelp was all he managed before he toppled backward, his head crumbling to ash as he hit the ground.
That had been a little overboard but I wasn’t going to complain. A fireball can be nothing more than a hot flash, or even hotter and more destructive than the one I’d just cast. One of the benefits of a fireball over a flamethrower is that the magic only lasts as long as you will it too, which is the main reason mages haven’t accidentally set most major cities on fire. Without my katana, my control was iffy at best, and was only going to get worse the more spells I had to cast.
I flicked the blood off the knife with a quick snap of my wrist, a habit from years of using a katana. This would have been so much quicker with my sword. I was never, ever leaving it home again, not even for a date.
There was a sound near the door and I whipped around, ready for another attack, but it was Beckett and the old man. “Took you long enough,” she said, as she leaned against the door holding one hand against a large gash on her side. My jacket, which she was still wearing, was singed and battered but looked like it had been useful at least.
Seven
Beckett looked over her shoulder and nodded, then led in a group of nervous hostages. A few had been injured but they were alive, and that was all that really mattered in the end.
I looked at the hostages I’d just rescued. There were about twenty of them, all looking completely shell-shocked. Their fancy dresses and expensive suits were all damaged with spilled food, rips, and tears. They’d obviously been pushed around and intimidated.
Now that I had a chance to look around, I saw the bodies as well. Just a few, probably examples to force the rest into compliance.
“Is anyone hurt or unable to walk?” I asked.
When no one responded, I shrugged and headed over to the window, grabbing a chair on the way to break it. The glass was oddly hazy.
“Don’t touch the window!” a woman shouted as I lifted the chair.
Pausing, I searched for the source of the warning. A woman had pushed up to her feet, a worried expression on her face.
“Why not?”
“There’s some kind of shield or something. That guy touched it and died,” she said, pointing to a man laying face-down in the corner. His body was smoldering lightly, like he’d been set on fire from the inside out.
Frowning, I inspected the windows a little closer. There was a slight sheen to them. I threw the chair at it and as soon as it hit the outer wall, a burst of electricity arced through it, and it exploded into splinters.
“How are they doing that?” Beckett asked, approaching me.
I ran my hand through my hair as I thought through the possibilities. “It’s something that would take more than one mage to set up and maintain, especially if they somehow managed to get the whole place warded.”
“So it’s a ward?” she asked, eyebrows pinched tightly together. “I’ve never heard of one like this.”
“It’s a variation of a ward. They’re normally used to protect homes, so electrifying the walls isn’t exactly standard operating procedure.” I looked around at the hostages, huddled together and clearly still terrified. “We can’t just leave them in here.”
Mr. Garre
tt stepped forward. “I think I know somewhere we can hide them. There’s a vault for the art that isn’t currently on display. I have the codes for access since I’m a senior guard. That place is fireproof, spell proof, and about as safe a place as you could find in the whole city.”
“That’s going to have to––”
The radio keyed up, interrupting our conversation. “Mark One, sound off.”
We all stared at it like it was a snake.
“Should we try to answer?” Beckett asked.
“There’s no way they’ll buy it,” I said, shaking my head. I walked over to the mage’s corpse and picked it up, then hesitated, looking at Beckett. “They only know about you right now. We should keep it that way as long as we can.”
She nodded and grabbed the radio, pressing down the button to reply. “I think Mark One is going to have a few issues making any sort of sound.”
There was a moment of silence, then a chuckle.
“You must realize by now that you are trapped,” the leader said, her tone easy and unconcerned. “Whether the hostages are kept here under guard, or simply stuck here, doesn’t make a huge difference to me.”
We might have freed the hostages from her guards, but as long as they were in the building, they were vulnerable.
Beckett ground her teeth together. “I’m going to pick off your people one by one, then I’m going to find you, and kill you too. Whatever you came here for, you are not leaving with it.”
The woman laughed. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. But if you want to play hide and seek, I’m more than willing to oblige.”
I had a bad feeling about this. A really, really bad feeling.
Eight
The last of the hostages filed into the vault. We re-counted, just to make sure, but everyone was accounted for.
“How long will the air in there last?” I asked, eyeing the cramped space skeptically.
Mr. Garrett waved my question away. “Longer than we’d last without food. It has its own runetech air system in there to keep the art at the perfect temperature, control humidity, and keep things fresh.”
I nodded. “Well, let’s hope we can get you out before you starve to death.”
He chuckled and nodded his head toward my date. “I’m not worried. No Beckett would ever leave me stuck in here.”
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Beckett asked quietly.
“Someone has to stay with them, and I would just slow you two down out there. I retired for a reason, and I’m not too prideful to admit it,” Mr. Garrett said, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “But be careful. Whatever they’re stealing isn’t worth your lives.”
“We’ll be careful,” she agreed with a smile.
I checked the time on my watch. “We have to get moving. It’s been almost twenty minutes.”
Beckett nodded. “Let’s go.”
“You have the map?” I asked.
She nodded, tapping on the side of her dress –– where I assumed there was a hidden pocket I couldn’t see –– then headed toward the stairs. I glanced back at Mr. Garrett who waved goodbye and pulled the vault door shut. The lock beeped, then flicked over to red. They were in there, safe and sound, until another manager came to let them out.
I turned and jogged after Beckett. The museum was huge, the kind of place you could get lost in all day if you had time to appreciate the history. I ignored all of it as we hurried toward the other side of the museum at a reckless pace. The need for haste was unspoken, but obviously something we agreed on.
We left the radio with the volume low as we jogged through the winding exhibits. As we approached the big hall in the center of the room where we’d dealt with the werewolf, I held up a hand to slow down. The smaller galleries were safer, it was easy to see if you were alone. It would be easy to miss a threat in a bigger area like this one.
I stopped and pressed my back against the wall, listening intently. Beckett stood on the other side, holding her baton and flashlight. After a moment, she shrugged and nodded.
I returned the nod and we slipped into the hall of statues. Our breathing seemed harsh in the deathly quiet of the hall. The dim emergency lighting barely penetrated the shadows.
Hair on the back of my neck stood on end and I paused abruptly. I had learned to trust my instincts long ago and, right now, my instincts were telling me someone was watching us.
“What is it?” Beckett asked quietly, turning in a slow circle to check behind us.
“There’s––”
A shadow to my left moved. There was what sounded vaguely like footsteps but they sounded wrong. They were uneven, and it sounded like something was being dragged across the floor.
Beckett turned the flashlight toward the source and something flitted behind the statue. There was a loud crash behind us and I whipped around, magic rushing to my fingertips as I tightened my grip on the knife.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of claws tapping on tile drew closer, echoing off the tile and making it hard to determine which direction it was coming from.
“What the hell is that?” Beckett hissed.
“I don’t know. Shine your light over here.”
Beckett stepped back until she was even with me, then very slowly turned her flashlight toward the direction I was facing. Yellow eyes glinted in the dark room, just like they had earlier. It was the werewolf named Reynolds that we’d fought earlier, but something was wrong with him. Namely, the gaping hole in his chest where his heart should be. That had not been there last time we saw him.
Nine
They had a necromancer.
They must have been disappointed in Reynold’s performance and decided to make him more useful by killing him and turning him into a undead puppet.
“Please tell me that’s not a zombie,” Beckett whispered. I could hear the horror in her voice. No one liked zombies, but prosaics had a special hatred for them. Probably reminded them of their tenuously short lives or something.
“Well my mom always told me not to lie,” I said with a shrug.
She glared at me. “Now is really not the time for jokes.”
The werewolf looked between us, head cocked to the side like he was curious. Then a guard stepped out from behind him. Also missing his heart.
“Shit.”
The werewolf charged us with a snarl. Beckett rushed forward, swinging her baton like a baseball bat. I ran past them both, throwing the knife at the guard. It flew straight and sunk into the man’s face. He dropped like a stone.
“Destroy their heads!” I said quickly.
Beckett smashed the baton into the werewolf’s skull with a sickening crunch. “I know how zombies work, Logan.”
Three more guards stepped out of the darkness. There were footsteps behind me as well.
“My God, did they raise all of the guards they killed?” Beckett whispered in horror.
“Possibly.” I ground my teeth together, backing up toward her. “This is a delaying tactic. They’re just trying to keep us away while they do whatever it is they’re doing.”
“Obviously. But there’s not much we can do about it other than fight them.”
“I actually have a plan, but you may not like it.”
“What is it?” she asked, casting a suspicious glance at me as the zombies closed in a circle around us.
“Just do me a favor and duck.”
“Wha––”
I shoved her down and let the magic I had been gathering loose. We had no time for this kind of back and forth, so I was going for simple and effective.
Fire poured from the palms of my hands, which I directed in a circle, passing right over Beckett’s head. Zombies, fueled by dark magic, were particularly flammable. It wouldn’t kill them immediately but it would confuse them.
The guards shrieked as the flames hit them, igniting their dead flesh. The sickly, sweet smell of frankincense filled the air.
I yanked Beckett back up and pushed
her toward an opening. “Run!”
She didn’t hesitate and we sprinted out of the circle of fire. The zombies’ screams echoed behind us as we ran. One of them fell to the ground, rolling into the base of a statue and knocking it off its pedestal. I cringed internally, they were going to cause some damage. Hopefully, they could piece some of the statues back together later.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Beckett demanded as we ran, slipping through a gallery with landscape paintings.
“I was thinking we should try to stop the bad guys and not get eaten by zombies,” I snapped. Maybe this date going south was a good thing. She was already getting on my nerves.
“You could at least try to avoid destroying half the museum in the process. No wonder you have a reputation for creating chaos wherever you go.”
I glared at her back. “You’re welcome. Besides most art has basic fire protection.”
We passed into the American Wing and Beckett stopped, panting. We’d come far enough that we couldn’t even hear the zombies anymore.
She pulled out the map of the museum and checked our path. “We’re close.”
“There’s at least three left, and two of them are probably mages,” I said, glancing around us. We were still alone but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. “Are you sure you want to do this? It isn’t too late for you to head back to the vault and wait for help.”
She looked at me like I had grown a second head. “Don’t try to get rid of me. You need help. Being a mage doesn’t make you invincible.”
“Being a prosaic––”
She held up her hand. “If you’re about to say I’m weak because I’m human again, I will shove this baton up your ass.”
A chuckle echoed through the gallery, followed by a squelching noise. “I don’t think your date is going very well.”
I stiffened and turned around. The necromancer stood in the doorway, flanked by two smoldering zombies. More milled behind him, their bodies warped with magic as he forced them to continue despite extensive injuries.
