Alchemy of Shadows

by David L Burkhead

  “If you can call it that.” Becki held up a two-pound frozen entree. “Expecting an army to come visit?”

  Jeff looked down at himself, then at her.

  “Never mind,” Becki said sweetly. “What are Henrik and I going to eat?”

  “There’s more in there,” Jeff said.

  I held up the belt and eyed it speculatively. Cheap, shoddy construction maybe, but for a single use it had possibilities.

  It had possibilities indeed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The crowd pressed close around me at the entrance to Lucas Oil stadium. I wore a heavy hooded sweatshirt bearing the Jaguars’ logo. It marked me as a fan while covering the belt pulled tight against my waist. I’d removed the brass buckles from the belt and stitched in some plastic ones from a craft shop. I wore nothing to trigger the metal detectors, not even Tru-Magnesium. Chemically, it is non-metallic. Alchemically, that was a different story.

  I wore the welding goggles perched on my forehead. It had been Jeff’s idea to paint the Jaguars’ logo on the lenses, a bit of fan silliness that gate security would think merely harmless fun.

  Somewhere in this crowd were Becki and Jeff. Although we had seats together, the three of us were entering separately in the hopes that anyone looking for us would be looking for the three.

  Eventually the flow of the crowd brought me to the gate. At my size you go with the flow of the crowd, you don’t push through it. First the metal detectors.

  “What’s that on your head?” The security guard nodded at my goggles.

  I pulled them down over my eyes. “Go, Jaguars!”

  I could not see while wearing the goggles but when I pulled them up I saw the guard holding out small bowl.

  “Empty your pockets and other metal in here then step through.”

  I put the goggles and my wallet in the bowl then stepped through the rectangle of the metal detector. On the other side, the guard handed me the bowl. I scooped out the wallet and goggles, then hastened away from the gate to make room for others entering.

  Again, pressed forward by the crowd, I made my way to where others were collecting tickets. I removed mine from my wallet and unfolded it. The young lady in front of me scanned it and handed it back.

  The crowd thinned a bit here as people split up from the bottleneck of the main entry to head toward the various areas of seating. I made my way to a wall and paused there to look around. I did not see either Jeff or Becki, but I did not really expect to be able to pick them out of this crowd. What I did not see what inappropriate eyewear—people wearing sunglasses when they ought not.

  I fought down my own rising tension. The Shadows had limits. I did not know how many there were but clearly they could not just drown the place in numbers. And they had no reason to expect me here, at this game on this day.

  I hoped that if I told myself that enough I’d start to believe it.

  I glanced down at my ticket, noting the seat assignment, then up at the signs. There. That way. I worked my way around the stadium toward where my seat would be.

  Ahead I saw the door to the block where my seat was. I also saw a man leaning against the wall next to it, wearing fancy designer sunglasses.

  My mouth went dry. I backed away, letting the crowd close between me and the door and hoping that I did so before he noticed my presence. I looked to the right and then to the left. Nobody at either of the next two doors. Was this just coincidence or did the Shadows know something, something that had them place an agent at this particular door?

  Or did it just happen to be some guy who liked sunglasses pausing at this particular place.

  I did not like the odds.

  I saw four people moving toward the door in a cluster. Hastily, I wove through the crowd toward the cluster.

  An advantage of being short is that it’s easier to conceal yourself in a crowd. With the cluster of four between me and the watcher by the door I slipped in unremarked.

  Jeff was already in his seat, a chili dog in his hand, a large soft drink in the holder next to him, a plate of nachos in his lap. I could not resist a chuckle.

  “What?” Jeff looked up. “I’m a growing boy.”

  “You do much more growing and I’m going to have to find Jack.”

  Jeff looked puzzled for a moment, then grinned, made a gun with his fingers and “shot” me. Theatrically, I placed a hand over my heart and stumbled backward, then sobered and took my seat next to him.

  "No giant killers here," Jeff said.

  A few minutes later, Becki came down the aisle and took the seat on the other side of me.

  “You see the guy at the door?” Becki hitched a thumb over her shoulder.

  I nodded. “I slipped in behind a wall of bodies.”

  “I just walked in,” Becki said. “He never gave me a second look.”

  “So what do we do now?” Jeff asked.

  I shrugged. “We wait.”

  #

  The players surged onto the field, the Jaguars on the near side and their opponents, the Zips from the University of Akron on the far side of the field. The announcer asked everyone to rise for the national anthem. While I stood, hand over the left side of my chest—the heart is really more in the center, but that’s what people do—I let my gaze roam over the assembled players. I did not see Chuck, the only one I was sure of identifying. The rest were just giants, distinguishable only by the numbers on their backs and some being somewhat more gigantic than others.

  The anthem ended. We sat. I watched as four players from each team trotted to meet with a ref in the center of the field.

  A few seconds later the announcer called. “The Zips have won the toss and have elected to receive.”

  The crowd, quiet during the anthem, began to shout. The shouting, inarticulate at first, soon resolved into two competing chants, each extolling the virtues of one of the two teams on the field.

  I saw Jeff nodding next to me. He glanced over and saw my expression.

  “Not a football fan, huh?” He shouted over the noise of the crowd.

  “Never been much into sports. Spent too many years where physical activity was all about surviving to find it entertaining now.”

  “Where’s Chuck?” Beck waved a hand down at the players on the sidelines.

  Jeff leaned forward to look at her. “I gave him a pretty good working over. He may still be on the injured list.”

  Becki met his gaze for a moment then nodded.

  “Good.”

  Jeff pointed to the man on the sidelines shouting at the players. “Looks like Coach Hanks is running things now.”

  The man, I presumed Coach Hanks, wore a jacket with the Jaguars logo over a polo shirt and slacks. He wore a headset connected to a box on his belt. He also wore wraparound sunglasses.

  What bothered me was that none of the players wore sunglasses. If Shadows rode the players then they should be protecting their eyes from light, unless the Shadows were hiding deep. But if they were hiding deep, how much influence could they have? How much assistance?

  The players ran out onto the field. The Jaguars lined up at one end, the Zips at the other. The public address system was spouting things I did not understand—names, numbers, positions—none of them meant anything to me.

  The Zips spread out over their half of the field. The Jaguars lined up across their side. The Jaguars began to run, then the man in the middle of the line reached the ball and kicked. It rose up and arced toward the other end of the field. One of the Zips players moved under the ball and caught it. The crowd cheered. The Zips player ran. Jaguars players converged on him. Other Zips players ran to intercept the Jaguar players. One of the Jaguars got through and hit the one with the ball, knocking him to the ground.

  “Should we...” Becki laid her hand over the front opening of her jacket.

  “Not yet,” Jeff shouted back. He lowered his voice enough so that we could hear it but the crowd noise would prevent it from carrying to others. “Some of Ata’s specia
ls are on the offensive team, some on the defense. We’ve got to get them all at once, I think.”

  “I agree,” I said. “If we can take them out quick and fast, maybe we can avoid anyone else getting hurt.”

  I shuddered, remembering the agony of the Shadows’ touch.

  “Okay.” Becki stood up. “I’ve gotta...” She slipped out of her seat and to the aisle.

  “Hey, grab me a Coke while you’re up?” Jeff held up his cup and shook it to indicate that it was empty. I saw that both the chili dog and the nachos were likewise gone.

  “You bottomless pit.” Becki reached past me to punch him in the shoulder.

  #

  The game progressed. I watched, still not understanding what was happening. Men ran back and forth, sometimes colliding, sometimes slipping past each other. The ball moved first one way, then the other. Once, after a long pass, a runner carried the ball to the end of the field and the crowd cheered. A touchdown. Yes, even I knew that much but the rest, what they were doing to make it happen? Meant nothing.

  Jeff, however, was riveted.

  Becki had been gone a long time.

  I slid over to Becki’s seat and twisted to look up the aisle. No Becki, but a familiar form walked slowly down the steps toward us.

  My blood froze. Chuck. His face was swollen, purple with bruises, and tape covered his nose, but it was still Chuck.

  He reached our aisle and with a flick of his fingers indicated I should retreat to my own seat. I did and Chuck dropped into Becki’s seat.

  Jeff, his attention on the game, had not yet noticed Chuck’s presence. I poked him in the arm. He did not respond so I poked him again, harder.

  Jeff turned his head in my direction, his mouth open to speak. Then his eyes fell on Chuck. He swiveled, that was the only word I had for the movement but an instant later he was on his feet, crouched, and facing Chuck. The person behind us screamed something about blocking the view. Jeff’s eyes flicked sideways for an instant in the direction of the screamer then back toward Chuck.

  “You want some more, you bastard?” Jeff’s hands balled into fists.

  Chuck leaned back in his seat. “Settle down, boy. Your sister’s fine.”

  “Yeah, we know how that works,” Jeff said, sinking back into his seat. “Last time we played this game, Ata cut her throat.”

  “Because you broke the rules. When you break the rules you get a penalty. In a game like this, the penalty is more than fifteen yards and a first down. We’ve been watching ever since you came in, Jeff. Really. What were you thinking? You are much too easy to spot, even in a crowd.” He paused a moment. “Where is Coach Ata, by the way?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jeff’s knuckles whitened as he tightened his clenched fist.

  Slumping in my seat, I let the byplay pass over me. I slid my hand under the hem of my sweatshirt, reaching for the belt secured beneath it.

  Despite my attempt at stealth, Chuck spotted me. “What have you got there, Adrian? Another of your super-lights?”

  “Better,” I said. I drew out the vial. I had scored the glass to make it break easily. It crushed in my hand. With a quick slap, I dashed a handful of powder into Chuck’s face. His eyes turned up and he slumped unconscious in the seat.

  I dropped my hands low and dusted them together, taking care not to kick the dust up high where Jeff or I might accidentally inhale it.

  “We’ve got to find Becki,” I said. I twisted past Chuck’s knees into the aisle.

  Jeff stood from his own seat. He bent over sharply at the waist at the rising objections of the people behind him.

  Strange how they had not noticed the little altercation with Chuck but raised a loud objection at even a brief obstruction of their view of the game.

  As Jeff scooted past my seat, he paused in front of Chuck and drew back a fist. He stood bent over like that for a moment, then dropped the fist.

  I met his eyes when he wormed past Chuck.

  “Not worth it,” he said. “And you’re right, we’ve got to find...”

  The tone of the crowd’s noise changed. I looked up and saw the big display screen. On the screen two men were carrying Becki, one with arms around her waist from behind, the other holding her legs. She was struggling, twisting in their grip and flailing with her arms. As she squirmed, her own sweatshirt rode up, exposing her own belt. Her right hand fell to it, reaching, grasping, pulling a cylinder from it.

  On the field, play had stopped. Both teams standing from their huddle to stare at the screen above.

  A moment later the screen went white, Becki and the figures struggling on it no more than a pattern of the barest dimming of the brilliance, nothing but a hint of shadow in the whiteness.

  A second light drew my attention above. Light shining through the concrete wall, light that could only come from one source.

  “Jeff!” I shouted. “Now’s the time, I think. Can you do it?”

  “They said I didn’t have the accuracy to be a quarterback.” He pulled two flares from his own belt and looped the activator tab over the thumb of his right hand. Throwing it would start the short delay before it ignited. “But nobody ever said I didn’t have the reach.”

  I reached for my goggles.

  Jeff shook his head. “Go. Get Becki. I’ve got this.”

  I turned and sprinted up the stairs.

  As I turned the corner around the doorway into the main hallway circling the stadium the first Tru-Magnesium flare went off behind me. I was halfway up the exterior stair to the upper levels when the second went off.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I kept a rough map of the stadium in my head as I ran. I could not afford to think about Jeff and what was happening below. I had to focus on reaching Becki.

  Without stopping I shucked off the sweatshirt when I reached the upper floor. I would lose the extra protection the hood would provide against the brilliance of the Tru-Magnesium, but with the belt uncovered I’d have faster access to my elixirs and powders.

  There. The corner ahead would be the one that led to where the flash of Becki’s flare had taken place. I rounded the corner and saw three men, not the giants that played football for Ata but big enough compared to me.

  I kicked my legs out in front of me and dropped to my right hip, sliding on the hip and the side of my leg.

  I had only an instant to size up the men as I skidded to a stop. They wore coveralls, gloves and low-cut boots. Worse, they wore dust masks and plastic face-shields such as one might find in a wood or metal shop to protect against splinters and sparks.

  I shifted my right hand from the sleep powder vial—worthless now—to a smaller Tru-Magnesium. I couldn’t put them to sleep, but perhaps I could temporarily blind them. My left hand reached for the goggles to pull them over my eyes.

  Eyes covered, I popped the igniter on the flare and tossed it blindly up and forward. The familiar red brilliance of the heatless light shining through my very skull washed out my vision.

  The brilliance faded, leaving an all encompassing green afterglow. I pulled the goggles up, careful to leave them on my head. All I could see was green from the temporary overloading of my retinas.

  I rolled to my hands and knees, preparing to rise to my feet, when somebody stumbled into me and tripped. The impact knocked me prone, driving the air from my lungs. A moment later a flailing hand caught on my shirt.

  I twisted, frantically, trying to pull free but the grip held me fast. I felt the wind of something sweeping past my face, almost hitting me. I kicked out blindly in the direction of the grip and felt my foot connect. It was like kicking an ancient oak. The impact reverberated up to my hip.

  On instinct I collapsed to the ground and felt another breath of wind of a blow passing above me.

  Dropping was a mistake. Something, someone, large and heavy landed on top of me, driving the wind out of me. A sharp pain in my side forced a shout from me as a rib let go.

  I squirmed and writhed with everything I had. Th
e green blankness was starting to fade. I could just make out vague shapes, including the bulk of the man atop me, grasping and clutching at me. One of his hands closed on the goggles and ripped them away. I drove the palm of my hand into where I thought I saw his face and felt plastic, and maybe a nose squash under the impact. I curled my fingers and clawed. He pulled back.

  I needed to get away fast. Despite his continuing blindness, there could be only one outcome if I did not. I pulled back and hit again. I could see better now. Blood spurted from the man’s nose, spattering the inside of his face shield.

  I had one leg free to the side. I pulled it up high and drove back, hard, into the joint of the man’s hip.

  With my vision continuing to clear, I saw one of the other men feeling along the wall. Where was the third?

  The third revealed himself as a shadow above me. I twisted, barely avoiding having his foot coming down on my face by simple chance as he stumbled in the hallway.

  The man on top of me secured a grip with his other hand, this one grabbing the shirt at my side, just above the belt. His elbow jammed my thigh and prevented me from drawing it up for another kick. His weight pinned my other leg. I had only my arms to work with.

  The green afterglow had almost faded. I could see clearly enough. I caught the bottom of my immediate opponent’s face shield with my right hand and pulled, levering it up away from his face. I speared out with the clawed fingers of my right hand gouging his eyes. His head jerked back. I jabbed again, then swung my cupped hand against the side of his head over the ear. He screamed and pulled back, releasing his grip to shield his head with his hands. I kicked back away from him, gasping for breath.

  Free, I was still in trouble. Daggers of agony in my side indicated at least one broken rib. And the men’s vision would be returning soon. I ran my fingers along the edge of the belt, searching, seeking. One, two vials of sleep powder broken in the struggle. The third and last? Still intact. I grabbed it and crushed it in my hand then flung it so that the cloud of dust would encompass both the man on the ground and the one who had stumbled past me.