“What power, Lily?”
“The magick,” she breathes.
“That’s something within you,” he replies, his brow furrowing, “You’ve always had it.”
“Not exactly like that,” she elaborates, “Like what you do with your sword, like Nicole has tried to teach me. I felt the power all around me, it flowed through me, flaring inside me, and coated my sword when I struck. Like I was channeling it into my attack.”
Skot just looks at her, staring, and he eventually blinks.
“That’s amazing, Lily.” And he sees the huge, bashful grin appear on her face, and he pulls her into a firm hug. “I knew you had that potential. It just needed to, well, happen. Just as you say.”
After a time, they part again, and he sees that a ponderance has again claimed her.
“Demons are a threat,” she resumes, “not just a risk, anymore. I suppose they were always a threat, but I didn’t fully accept that. My way of teaching is to handle the risks before they become a threat, since a threat is something that has to be handled immediately. Because this threat is so great, so new, so … hidden, it just took me a while to get a hold of it. Longer then I realized. I thought I had it figured out …”
Her voice trails off, and he realizes she is feeling apologetic, perhaps even disappointed of herself. He leans in, hugging her tight.
“Lily, it’s okay. Don’t be so hard on yourself. This is not an easy situation to digest, but trust me, you’re doing well. Very well. You are amazing.” He smiles at her.
“I don’t feel amazing,” she retorts, blunting the words with the suspicion of a smirk.
“Well, it’d be nice if you did, but it doesn’t change it. I have seen this knowledge handled in so many different ways and with varying degrees of success. You are remarkable, and I‘m glad you’re safe and sound.”
They exchange another embrace, adding kisses to the end. He is warmed to see the calm curl to her lips, that easy smile.
“I’m glad I’m back,” she says.
“Me, too,” he agrees, and this brings a blush to her skin, a soft bubble of laughter. “But,” he adds, looking suddenly more serious.
“But?” she pitches when he does not continue.
“I hope it is not just out of fear. We can always ward your apartment better. I want…” He pulls in a breath. “I want you to be here … with me … because-.”
She cuts him off, squeezing his hand. “I know, and I am. I want to be here … with you.”
They smile at one another, just gazing into each other’s eyes.
“I was more scared for Dali than myself.”
“I’m not surprised at all to hear that,” he offers, and though it may seem something lobbed with humor, his expression and intonation sound serious.
“He saved me,” she all but whispers, and he nods, having heard her say that several times when they were filled with anxiety, waiting on the feline in the emergency room.
“That he did, and he’ll get a hero’s welcome when he’s better. And he’ll be given all the comfort he wants here.”
She nods, thoughtful, then a light smile traces her lips.
“What?” he asks, his mouth finding the expression contagious.
“I just realized something,” then she moves her eyes to his, “Dali and I are both guardians.”
His smile increases, and he gives her a squeeze with his hands.
“We’re all guardians, Lily. It’s not about the Book or hunting. I’d be happy if the Book could just be a book, you know? Something interesting, mysterious, but ultimately mundane, or at least, useless. And if there were no more hunting. We’re here to guard this world, to protect humanity. We’re all Guardians.”
She ruminates for a short moment, her eyes drifting in their focus. Then they snap back to his, her grin somewhat lessened, though she does not look as weighted as one might expect from such a realization, such a responsibility. She nods, slowly.
“Yes,” and her voice sounds resolute. “We are.”
And though things are now happier between them, the threats still remain. Not just the Infernal, either, but the very real, beastly things that humans may wrought upon one another.
She receives intelligence about another large building, similar to the apartments in which she was almost killed. Still, this is a place important to the crime ring, and she feels she must launch an assault. The information is checked and cross-referenced. It appears valid, and if so, it could be a potential crippling. She considers turning the information over to the police, but a feeling of guilt surges through her. She needs to let such wash away, like water over stone, but in the end, she decides to pursue this herself.
She leaves information for Skot, knowing he will be worried, displeased that she doesn’t let him provide assistance, but this is how it is. They both understand that.
She’s looked at blueprints, done some initial reconnoitering, and she feels ready. She let herself not rush this one, forcing a restraint to that uncharacteristic lack of patience. Having such a virtue had been important in her success in sniper training, and she realizes now how much of her underlying anxiety had been affecting that. Yes, she wants to save these children, but her rushing into things is not helpful. It pains her to think of what is happening to them. She doesn’t want it to continue an instant longer, but plans must be followed, strategy must be careful.
She now sits atop her motorcycle, shrouded in darkness, looking at the target locale through her small, powerful binoculars. The structure is somewhat old, comprised of dark concrete and regularly spaced windows, nearly all of them paned, composed of half a dozen segments. These are all, also, shrouded. The top level, however, shows large, broad windows, single sheets of glass, and nothing is obscuring these.
The building is comprised of six floors, but where the apartment complex had been broad and squat, this one proves much narrower, reducing its breadth as it rises, the top four stories of quite less area than the lower section. She knows there is also something of a basement, and she had procured what public records she could, learning as much of the subterranean architecture as she could find. There had not been a great deal. She’d fancied using that as a way in, but what she found did not display such a ready avenue.
The place had likely been a modern marvel when first built, and she knows from records that it used to be a very legitimate office complex, though now pinpointing the ownership and function results in difficult data trails.
She has also received some intel on the security of the place, nothing very sophisticated. She used various modes on her binoculars to find a few cameras and plot a course. The doors in front are more tightly secured with lights and such security sentinels, and she has spied the movement of men just inside. She knows others are also within, but the front entrance is heavily guarded.
It appears she can make it to a maintenance ladder, and she heads out after engaging her bike’s theft deterrents. She has her H&K G36C, suppressor affixed, subsonic ammunition at the ready. It is strapped to her torso, held tightly in front, and across her back is her katana. She doesn’t expect to need it, but after the ordeal with the demon attack, she experienced some compulsion to bring it along. She feels somewhat weighted, having brought along many items she thinks she may need, not the least of which is the disposable cell phone she’ll use to call the police once the building is secured. She doesn’t know how many children are inside. This place is not just used for such activities, but she expects to find some.
As she nears the target, she ponders Skot’s invitations to aid her. She has always felt protective of her independence, especially in these ventures, but she now has a moment of doubt. Her ego is not more important than safety, and even with only one other proper person here, the risk would be significantly reduced. Still, the time for such considerations will have to come later. Time to focus.
The maintenance ladder is some feet off the ground to discourage children or others from using it to gain access to the roof. Lilja
draws upon her free-running experience, trotting up to the proper amount of speed as she nears the wall, the jika-tabi offering flexibility. She climbs, placing her hands and feet in the correct way, using her momentum to gain enough height to spring up and take hold of the bottom rung of the ladder. She pulls herself up, quickly climbing to the roof.
There is no access from here into the building, which is usual for the general architecture of the region. She moves about, keeping low, scanning the rooftop, noticing nothing out of the ordinary. She goes to the southeast side, the one most enshrouded in shadow, and she affixes the rope to the railing. She then lowers her goggles, turning on the night vision, and rappels over the barrier. She turns, going upside down, the black rope barely visible, and she peers inside the window. It provides her with an unexpected view of the area, a good portion of it in sight. There is a distant wall, showing that some portion of the level has been partitioned, but other than boxes and scattered furniture, she sees nothing. No signs of life. No signs of alarms or other intrusion preventions.
She releases her weapon, the strap keeping it tight and firmly in place, and she lowers herself more, slowly. She waits, and it still seems as though the inside of this topmost floor is lifeless. She retrieves the center punch tool, pressing it into the glass toward the bottom. The do not appear to have a mechanism for opening. She finally feels the give, hearing the light pop. Now that the glass is weakened, she quickly turns, going back to upright and pushes off the wall to get momentum. On the way back, she crashes through the window.
This is the biggest risk yet, as she releases herself from the rope, taking the rifle in hand, peering about, listening. Once she is confident she has remained undetected, she moves. Rushing is not the way, and the methodical check reveals that indeed there is no one here. It appears this floor is being used somewhat as storage, though even that shows sparse and haphazard. She finds the stairwell, the door unlocked, and she heads down.
She takes her time, the passing of it not much entering into her awareness, except that she knows she does not have all night. She keeps up the deliberate pace. The next floor proves more like what she might expect from an old office building, and she carefully navigates the hallways, entering each room she encounters, checking. They also hold no more than what one might expect from a dust-covered place of memory. Still no signs of guards, contraband, or children. She moves on to the next.
The third proves also not as expected, showing her a spacious chamber, like a ballroom, and she wonders as to the former function. She also begins to worry a bit that she has yet to encounter any signs of life or evidence of illicit goings-on. She knows the building is being used by the criminal organization, the intelligence she received even making it out as though the place is rather important. She saw signs of guards inside before she made her approach and entry.
She walks near a window, and though she’d not normally bother, the oddity of the situation compels her to look. She freezes, then steps closer, getting a better view. The police are out there, in force, and not just regular patrol. She spies special tactical units, some holding ballistics shields, many of them in armor, and they are making to surround and enter the structure.
“Fuck,” she hisses, pulling back from the window.
She wonders what the chances are that the police are here for the criminals, and she just happens to be here, too. She just as quickly tosses that aside. She’s been set-up, and even if not, they’d arrest her as a nice bonus to the raid.
She quickly mulls over what to do. She won’t use force on the police. Besides the fact that they’d respond in kind, she will not willfully harm them. She is approximately in the middle of the building, about as close to the ground as the roof. But they may have sniper teams already in place.
She creeps further along, then dares to peek out the window again. She sees many vehicles, some with their lights on, though obviously they turned off their sirens when they neared. There are vans, of course, and many, many officers. Several small teams are making slow approach, holding submachineguns, shotguns, moving in tight formation behind a lead person bearing a shield. The others are keeping their distance, in cover. This means they’ve been alerted to an imminent armed threat. She’s not sure how long they have been out there, but judging from the time she has been here and from what she sees, she expects them to be in the building soon, if they are not already.
It will take them some time to clear the structure.
She moves quicker, checking other windows, trying to see if they do already have the place surrounded. Of course, they do. She waits, peering, and there, yes, she sees a sniper team getting into position on a nearby rooftop. There may even be air support out there.
She will not fight the police.
She thinks on the basement level, but she knows she’d have to rush down the stairwell, hoping it leads to the underground portions. Maybe the elevator? She gets to it quickly, forcing the doors open, looking down to see the carriage waiting there on the ground floor, almost as if inviting her. She won’t use it, though, but it means she’d have to make a risky entry into the lift and then out onto the ground floor, and one of the first things they’ll secure is that very passage.
“I won’t make it,” she murmurs to herself.
The best thing at this point will likely be to disarm and surrender, letting them have her. There is enough risk already with how well-armed she is, and she doesn’t want to give them any reason to use deadly force on her. She can lay her weapons down, step back, and wait. She knows how to be non-threatening and cooperative. She knows what they’ll do, as she has been trained in the control and capture of potentially dangerous targets.
She wonders at the set-up. They must have leaked this information, hoping the vigilante’s network would find it, check it, and deliver it. This token retinue of guards has been waiting in this building for how long now? And she obviously tripped something when she entered, and they called the police, probably reporting an armed intruder, maybe even mentioning the vigilante. She takes in a slow breath, shaking her head, feeling disappointed. How could she fall for this?
The police are coming. She’s heard a few noises funneling up through the concrete and steel, distant signals of the impending presence. Soon those noises will get louder, more definite. Soon, they’ll be here. She glances about the large room, wondering where the best place would be to surrender, and there, she spies something she missed before. Something out of the ordinary – a fireplace.
She goes over to it. It’s large, and she wonders again as to the purpose of this room. Still, a fireplace means a chimney, and though she had largely dismissed the roof as a reasonable attempt for egress, there may be an option here. It’s so large that she can get inside it, doing so by crouching, stepping fully in, and she bends, turning, and she looks up. There is no opening for exhaust.
Why would someone build a fireplace with no chimney? She looks around, moving her hands to the stone, as though feeling for answers. It makes no sense. She goes back out, still examining, despite knowing the police are on their way up to this floor. She runs her gloved hands lightly over the mantle, and there, she finds it. A small switch, a difference in the surface, a depression, and she hears the answering click in the depths of the dark fireplace. She goes back in, and there, she sees it. The back of it is a secret passage.
She opens the small portal with a push of her hand, leaning in a smidge and looking down to see a narrow passageway, a ladder beginning here and going all the way down. It’s deep, and her best guess is that it descends lower than the ground floor, an obvious secret escape route. She is not sure what is down there, or how long this hidden pathway has been unused, but it seems a better option than waiting for the police. She slips in quite easily due to her petite frame, and she pushes the door back shut, hearing the small sound as it locks in place. She doesn’t bother seeing if she could open it from here, instead beginning the slow, quiet downward climb.
She sits up suddenly, the room
temperature coffee in the cracked and chipped mug almost spills out, belying her drift into unfocused thoughts. She has a series of alerts set up, all sorts with myriad, complicated protocols, and she now hears and sees one of those to which she has given the highest priority, one she has never heard before.
Therese manages to set her mug aside without spilling any of its contents as she sits up straighter in the cheap chair. Her skinny body has gone rigid, tense, and her fingers fly over the keyboard, one hand going to the mouse, as she checks the tickler. One of her cyber-world contacts, one whom she has never met in person but trusts, has sent her a message of something happening that might involve the vigilante. This is not the only thing that has happened, as in the few moments since the alert hit, her computer has done some checking of its own, running scripts, validating, searching, cross-referencing, and this has added to the legitimacy of the situation.
Therese’s eyes move rapidly, consuming the information on the screen. There has been a call on the police comms, a great deal of force sent out to a particular building, one known to be associated with criminal elements in the city, one which she quickly recognizes as a place of interest scouted by herself via many electronic channels. Reports of an intruder, quite heavily armed, and some casualties. The digging has also brought up mention of the “vigilante”.
She runs some other scripts, and she is soon seeing the view from some nearby cameras. It doesn’t show her as much as she’d like, what with the City not quite yet giving over to the ubiquitous cameras as with some other major metropolitan areas, but there are many about. The owners of these electronic sentinels, whether private or municipal, would not be pleased with her ease at piggy-backing their views, but that does not concern her. She studies what she can, seeing that several of the marked police vehicles are there, tape already put up to cordon the area. Most of the officers she spies are wearing armor, all of them in careful, defensive positions.
Sword of the Butterfly Page 36
