by Casey White
That was about as good as Daniel could do. He took a deep breath, then nodded.
“Come on,” he said. Leon’s hand was warm as he took it, holding tight. “Let’s go.”
Slowly, glancing around furtively, they hurried out into the evening.
Faster. His wounded leg stung, searing at the renewed motion. Before they come around the motel. Before they see us.
For a moment, though, he hesitated, giving in to the ache of his leg. He waited, his nerves singing, until James and Maya hurried past. A twinge of relief washed over him.
Rickard was here for him. Not them. It sounded like Daniel had managed to piss him off, and that wasn’t good, but...he exhaled slowly. The least he could do was put himself between his friends and the bullets that’d be coming.
The yells rose louder and louder. Leon’s hand tightened around his. “Hey,” Daniel heard him hiss. “Come on.”
Daniel smiled. “Right.”
Back to hobbling it was. His eyes snapped forward again, searching their surroundings. He needed the next move. He needed to keep them a few steps ahead of Rickard.
The motel Maya had found for them lingered right on the edge of town, with the roar of the highway just beyond the limits of ‘audible’. If Daniel stared off down the streets around them, he could glimpse houses beyond—but all he saw close at hand were old warehouses and worn-down shops, advertising automotive repair services and hardware catalogs in faded, peeling letters.
All of them were dark, at least. They were owned by sane people, then, who stayed in their beds during the proper hours. His group wouldn’t be spotted and reported to the police.
Probably.
“Keep going,” Daniel called, raising his voice as much as he dared. He’d picked out a particularly big garage-looking structure a block ahead, with a deliciously dark alley winding along one wall. Surely there’d be somewhere else for them to hide, up there. “Get under cover.”
James nodded curtly. He’d latched on to Maya, all but towing her along. The bruises covering his skin were starting to turn horrible greens and purples, though, and despite his determination, he was starting to limp again.
He needed a rest, Daniel knew. A proper one, not fifteen minutes of sleep claimed here or there while stuffed into a car and fleeing.
All of them needed a rest.
Grass crunched under their feet, and Daniel winced. It was too damn loud. Rickard’s men would hear them. He kept his eyes glued to the alley ahead, to where the asphalt road met the grass and gravel of the motel’s lot. Olivia hurried along beside him, but twisted back. “Are they-”
“Come on,” Daniel muttered. Gathering his strength, he grabbed at her arm, jerking her to follow.
“Stop squirming,” Leon said.
Halfway there. Halfway out across the open, to their shelter. Soon, they could-
“Hey!” someone cried from behind. “Over here! They’re-”
“Shit,” Daniel lurched forward, ignoring the pain that spiked through his leg. “Faster.”
It wouldn’t be fast enough. He could hear the voices building from the motel, and despite himself, despite how he’d reacted to Olivia, he couldn’t keep himself from glancing back.
That man stood on the grass, staring right at them. The one who’d stooped low at the minigolf park, scooping up the droplets of Daniel’s blood.
A shiver ran down Daniel’s spine as their eyes met. It was as though the man was staring straight through him.
That’s him, the voice inside him whispered. That’s the man who did this. He followed you.
The tracker.
Leon’s hand became a vise. Daniel stumbled as Leon dragged him on. “Run,” Leon gasped. “Run!”
“Stop!” Someone else, now. A man. “Just- Just stop!”
But they were already pounding down the street toward the garage. Houses dotted into the mix of structures, small and nondescript, with scraggly trees clinging to life along the cracked and shattered road. Daniel lumbered on. Every step was fire—but with every step, a bit of the pain went away, turning to heavy numbness.
Not good. Far from good. But he’d take it.
“Cyril!” he heard an accented voice cry, and glanced back again.
Cyril staggered around the corner of the motel, still clinging to his hammer. His skin was ashen, and dribbles of what looked like blood oozed from his nose, but he ran ahead gamely.
His fingers tightened around the handle of the hammer—which he held up, pointing the weapon toward Daniel.
Light flared. Daniel shied away, throwing up an arm to shield his eyes. “No,” he whispered, trying to stir himself on faster. “We have to go, before-“
The blinding light dimmed to an unearthly glow, and Daniel let his arm fall. He already knew what he’d find.
A golden dome, dropped neatly over their corner of the town. Motel, city street, and garage—the whole lot of it cut off from the world. Isolated.
And now, there was nothing keeping Rickard’s group from making good on his threats.
“Get behind me,” Daniel gasped, pushing Leon back.
“Daniel, no, I can-”
“Keep going!” He stumbled backward, still trying to put distance between them and their pursuers. All hell was about to break loose, and there was no way in hell he would let Leon take point on that fight.
Heart pounding harder and harder, he scanned the scene. Where will you come from? How many of you are there?
Cyril kept shambling forward, picking up speed. The tracker, on the other hand, had fallen back, starting to smile smugly. No interest in the fight, then?
A man with hair the color of honey stood poised on the corner between the grass and the parking lot. His head turned as though on a swivel, and he kept gesturing toward someone out of sight. “Come on!” Daniel heard him call, his voice burred by the faintest of accents. “Hurry, already!”
The hair on Daniel’s arms stood on end, and his eyes focused in on the honey-haired man.
So...that was Rickard.
A face he half-remembered from Leon’s house pushed his way around the corner of the motel, with other figures moving in his shadow. The earthquake mage had caught up. Before he could get a good look, though, Leon yanked on his arm. “Come on! We’re almost-”
“R-Right,” Daniel gasped. He forced himself to turn straight again, turning his gaze back toward the garage.
But he’d made it no more than a step or two when the ground started to shake.
No. Daniel stumbled, losing his balance in an instant. His leg screamed in protest, aching with every vibration.
Leon hauled him back upright. “Hurry.”
“Go,” Daniel whispered. His legs felt like overcooked noodles. “Just go, and-”
With a wordless cry, Leon dragged him another step toward the garage.
Daniel tried. He did. Something inside of him had started screaming at the sight of the men running around the corner, something deep and primal. He’d felt this before, back in the motel room, but hadn’t had a name to put with it. Now, he was starting to figure it out.
It’s okay, he whispered silently, turning his thoughts inward. His lungs burned. Every step sent pangs of agony to his bones. I won’t- I won’t let them take you, Alex. We’ll get out.
The fearful power inside of him didn’t subside. He could still feel it simmering, right beneath the skin.
The quaking of the ground was accelerating, though, the ground beneath them starting to shimmy. The sandy terrain between them and the road glooped ominously. It almost looked...more like water than soil.
Somewhere, deep in the recesses of his mind, tomes of half-remembered knowledge started to open one after another. Liquefaction, his past studies informed him. They’re trying to suck you in. Bog you down. And then-
Other men joined Rickard’s group, clustered on the grass. Most of them hung back, lurking at Rickard’s side, but one...one Daniel recognized. The man with the rifle, who grinned across the expanse a
t Daniel, and started to raise the sights to his face.
“Run,” Daniel said. Adrenaline turned his blood to ice, and he pushed Leon ahead of him. “Don’t stop.” They’ll shoot you, he wanted to say. Don’t let them shoot you. He was too tired, and too out of breath, and the ground bucked and rolled enough that he couldn’t spare the words. Far ahead, Olivia and Maya darted into the shadows. His heart leapt. Safe.
The sand underfoot sucked at his steps, though, dragging him deeper. He wrenched his feet free, his vision zeroing in on the asphalt ahead. He was close. So close. He just had to get back to solid ground, and-
A hideous groaning roared across the gold-lit street. Daniel’s chin snapped up.
The ground ahead was churning, too. The street signs driven into the sand were starting to topple one after another.
As was the house-height tree growing alongside the road, its branches bare of leaves. It teetered ominously, twisting faintly as the ground beneath it gave way—and then the roots ripped free with a horrible sucking noise.
The wood screamed as gravity took hold. Bark and branch filled his vision, plunging downward.
Daniel could only gape, lurching a step forward. His hand slammed into Leon’s shoulder. He shoved hard, driving Leon away from him.
Leon could still move. He could get free. There was no reason for Leon to get crushed along with him. Steeling himself, Daniel brought his arms up, shielding his head. He stumbled onward, but already knew there was no way for him to run. Not really.
The cries behind rose louder. Angrier. He’d have smiled, if he had time. Someone wasn’t happy about this turn of events, then. Too bad for them.
The scream of tearing wood washed away their cries. Daniel shuddered, starting to close his-
A figure darted back in from the side, hip-checking him. Hard. He hit the ground with a pained cry.
And Leon lunged in, grabbing for the tree. His shoulder lifted, like he was going to catch the damn thing.
No. He’d get flattened. He’d-
Leon’s hands slapped onto the bark, and-
Daniel’s ears popped. It was like a wave running through the air, as though the pressure surrounding them had just...cleared. It’d stopped.
And so had the tree.
- Chapter Twenty-Five -
Daniel gaped.
The tree hung over him, caught in midair.
For a moment, all he could do was lay there, open-mouthed.
Impossible. It was impossible. Leon should have been crushed. Squashed flat.
Leon, who seemed to have only the barest hold on the tree. It was just his fingertips touching the bark, as though he’d simply reached out and-
The missing puzzle piece dropped into place with a thunk real enough to rock him to his bones.
Leon had frozen the tree in place. Leon, who still had the pipe shoved into one pocket, glistening silver in the golden light. His face was red, and his arms were taut, but he didn’t seem to be putting any strength into holding the tree off the ground. Daniel swallowed, pushing past the lump in his throat.
Well, at least they’d seen his magic rear its head, now.
He rolled away in the next heartbeat, squirming out from under the tree trunk. Just as soon as he was clear, he scrambled to his feet, twisting back to Leon. “I-I’m good. Let it-”
Leon grunted, pushing hard at the tree as though to shove it aside, but the tree didn’t budge. Screwing up his face, he pulled himself free instead.
The tree hovered in midair for a single, pregnant moment—and then slammed into the ground with a rush and a roar of breaking branches.
The sound seemed to be the last straw. The spell thrown over the scene snapped. Beyond the tree’s crown, Cyril straightened, eyes wide. A pair of men closed in behind him, guns in hand.
Shit. Daniel stumbled around the ruined stump of the tree, grabbing for Leon—who reeled, rapidly going pale. He clutched his face with both hands, gasping.
“Move,” Daniel said, and this time it was him pulling at Leon, dragging him onward. “Come on. Move, before-”
The first gunshot split the quiet of the night. Daniel yelped, all but wrapping himself around Leon as the rush of air coursed past. Too close. That’d been too damn close.
He had nothing—no weapon with which to attack, even if he could bring himself to harm them. No magic with which to hold them off. All he could do was move them.
And then what? He swallowed hard, pushing Leon ahead another step. What happens after that, when you get to the next hiding place? You’ll just have to run again. And again.
Things were...bad. He could recognize that, even as he hauled Leon another staggering step toward the alley ahead. They’d been followed hours across the country already. What was there to keep Rickard from doing it a second time?
Nothing. Unless…
Daniel glanced back, pensive despite the chaos. Again, a figure drew his attention—and again, he locked eyes with the man who’d touched his blood.
It’s him. This is his fault. Remove that man, and-
He shook his head roughly, flinching as another gunshot cracked out. The ground writhed beneath them, almost as unstable as it’d been before. Almost. He couldn’t keep a tiny, mirthless smile from his lips. That call had been too close for them, eh?
But he could hear the stomp of footsteps growing closer, the cries that blurred together into a jumbled mess of anger. He lumbered forward again, sliding his arm under Leon’s elbow. “Faster,” he grunted.
“Christ,” he heard Leon mumble. “M-My...My head.”
Daniel glanced back. Damn it, they were so close. If he only had some magic he could use. Or a gun.
“Go!” a voice bellowed. His head snapped back to forward.
James burst out from behind his cover, the pistol he’d claimed in his hand. He fired. Again. And again.
And suddenly the ground beneath Daniel’s feet pushed back, perfectly solid.
Daniel grinned, hope springing to life in his chest, and shoved Leon out in front of him. Ahead, Maya peered out from around the wall of the structure. Her eyes flicked from James to their attackers. Doing the math, Daniel knew.
The cries of Rickard’s group dwindled under the roar of James’ pistol. From the corner of his eye, Daniel could see them scatter, cowering behind what little cover could be found on the street. Shrubs, mostly. Cars. The tree fallen between them loomed like a thorny barricade. The others scurried away like cockroaches.
All but the man Daniel could almost remember—the one with a hand upraised, his fingers clenched. He was crouching, now, his eyes wide and unseeing. Blood soaked through his shirt, so dark as to be black. A blink, a heartbeat, and he crumpled to the ground.
At last, the ground lay still. This time, it didn’t move again.
“Bastard!” Daniel heard one of the others yell. Cyril. The barrier-worker glared at James, his eyes alight and his knuckles white around the hammer’s handle. “You- I’ll-”
“Cyril!” Rickard cried, surging forward to grab him, but his hand closed around empty air.
Cyril charged past the tip of the tree toward Daniel and his friends, his left fist clenched. Blood still streamed from his nostrils, but when he raised that fist, ominous beams of light streamed from between his closed fingers. Thunder crackled through the air.
Just like at the motel. He could still picture it clearly—Cyril, darting out of the shadows, throwing blades of light at their car.
What kind of damage would those do to a person?
A shape leapt out at Daniel. He stiffened, relaxing marginally when he realized it was Maya, Olivia at her heels. She grabbed at Leon, trying to tug him into the alley with her. Olivia seized his other side, joining in the fight.
Leon was having none of it. “N-No, I’m- I’m-”
“Stop arguing with me!” Maya hissed, and gave his wrist an almighty yank.
As Leon fell backwards, moving with the two of them, his eyes met Daniel’s—and he recognized all too clea
rly the message implicit there. Save him.
Daniel spun back around, unable to face the plea in his friend’s eyes for a moment longer. James was still facing down Cyril, the distance between them vanishing as the barrier-mage lumbered down the street.
“Just shoot the bastard!” someone cried from the back of the fight.
No. Daniel threw himself forward—but James was already firing. The gunman in back leapt back behind cover, and James turned the pistol toward Cyril. His finger tensed on the trigger, and-
Click.
The sound was like a blow straight to the chest. Daniel jumped forward a pace, eyes wide. Out of ammo. At a time like this?
James stared down at the pistol, its slide hanging open. His lips parted.
And then he launched himself toward Cyril with an angry snarl. His arm drew back, still clutching the useless weapon.
Not so useless, it turned out. Daniel flinched as James struck hard, using the cold metal as a club. Cyril’s head snapped back. Behind him, the cries broke out anew, but the two of them were too close. Too entwined.
Again, James slammed the pistol into Cyril. Red splattered down the man’s front, but he reeled, lashing out with his hammer. James yelped, stumbling away.
“Get him!” someone cried from the clustered mages beyond the branches.
“No!” Daniel heard Rickard bellow back. “Not with Cyril in the way—you’ll have to-”
Cyril’s hammer struck the empty pistol with a clang. James twisted, his face contorting, and the gun fell to the asphalt.
The light blossomed from Cyril’s fist, brighter and brighter. Daniel stood frozen, right on the edge of exploding into motion. He needed to move, to-
To what? What could someone like him do? He didn’t even have a weapon.
His skin prickled. His head swam like he was drunk. Something crackled within him, rising as he stood transfixed. Maybe he could-
James turned with a snarl, his eyes narrowed—and as Cyril swung back, raising the hammer over his head, James latched onto it. The two spun, locked together.
The gunman alongside Rickard lurched forward, bringing his gun up again, but Daniel saw James’ eyes flick over to him. He shoulder-slammed Cyril, putting the mage squarely between him and their guns. He backpedaled, starting to put distance between him and the figures that sprang toward them.
