Larry Correia: Spellbound

“You get one warning, then I hurt you.” Sullivan hadn’t even taken his hands out of his pockets. “You boys seem young and times are hard, so I’ll try not to kill you, but I can’t promise nothing.”

“You know who you’re talking at?” said the one with the purse.

“No, and frankly I don’t give a shit.”

“We run this-” Not wanting to hear any nonsense about how their group of criminal losers was tougher than some other group of criminal losers, Sullivan reached out with his magic and Spiked. A bit of space broke and the gravity around the gang member changed direction. Left was now down, and the kid suddenly flew sideways into the brick. He crashed hard under the force of several extra gravities, bones creaking, and stuck there until Sullivan cut his Power. The kid fell into the snow in a shower of red dust.

“I warned you.”

“He’s a dirty wizard!” the big one shouted. “Get him!”

The rats charged, which forced Sullivan to take his hands out of his pockets. He easily dodged the first clumsy swing and slugged the hoodlum in the chest. Ribs cracked under Sullivan’s hardened fist. That one gasped and collapsed. The next attacker slowed, confused, as the pull of gravity changed. It must have felt like he was trying to push his way through molasses. Sullivan’s casual right hook broke the man’s jaw.

The last rat skidded to a stop and dropped his brass knuckles in the snow. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

“Too late.” Sullivan reversed gravity and the hood fell ten feet into the air, screaming, before gravity returned to normal. Sullivan didn’t Spike very hard though, so the man probably didn’t break too many bones when he hit the pavement.

The leader was the only one left standing. He let go of the woman and she sank to the ground, coughing. Sullivan looked down at her and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness was surprised to see it was the redhead from the library.

“Filthy wizard. You stay back!” The thug raised his knife. “Your kind are evil.”

“You don’t find nothing ironic about saying that?” Sullivan walked toward him. “Bunch of men mugging some poor lady and you’re preaching to me about evil? Robbing better be all you had planned…”

“You wouldn’t be so tough without your magic.”

“Well, ain’t you lucky? I done used up all my magic on your crew,” Sullivan lied. He had plenty of Power still, but he didn’t need magic to handle the likes of this trash. “I’m fresh out. Try me.”

The boss thug bellowed and charged. Sullivan let the knife flash back and forth wildly. Sullivan had grown up poor in a tough town and was no stranger to back-alley fights. He’d fought on docks, in rings, at war, and had gotten extremely good at avoiding shivs inside the brutal dog-eat-dog world of the Rockville State Penitentiary. This encounter barely qualified as exercise. He kept moving just ahead of the blade, and when there was the faintest glimmer of confidence from his adversary, Sullivan ruined his night.

He stepped past the swing and broke the thug’s nose with one fast jab. Sullivan was surprisingly quick for such a large man. Before his opponent could even cry out, Sullivan had grabbed his knife hand and twisted it back until wrist bones snapped. Then Sullivan kicked one of the thug’s knees backwards. He stepped back and let the man topple into the snow.

Sullivan paused to dust his coat off. Some nasal blood had splattered his sleeve. All of the gang were down, crying, whimpering, or unconscious. He’d broken something on each of them, so that was probably a sufficient lesson for the evening. Sullivan wasn’t even breathing hard.

The woman was standing up, so he stepped over the thug with the shattered knee and extended a hand. “They hurt you?”

She took his hand and he helped her up. “No. I’m fine. Just shaken up.”

“Let me see your neck.” He gently lifted her chin. It was difficult to see. “That’ll leave a bruise, there.”

“Just a boo-boo,” she insisted.

Sullivan let go and retrieved her purse. The goon that he’d Spiked into the wall cursed him, so Sullivan stepped on his fingers. That shut him up. “This ain’t the part of town for somebody like you.” He passed her purse over. “What’re you doing here?”

She didn’t answer his question. “I thought you said you were the kind of librarian that couldn’t help people?”

“I’m better at some things than others. Come on. It stinks in here. Let’s get you home.”

There was far more light on the street. He could see that the woman was holding together well. Her expensive coat had been stained by alley grime, but her attitude was firm. Not a crier, this one. Remarkably, there was a cab coming around the corner, which was fortunate timing, since he had no idea where the nearest telephone booth was. He waved at the cab.

The redhead looked him square in the eye. “So, what you did back there… You’re a Heavy, I’m guessing?”

She did know a thing or two about magic. “I prefer Gravity Spiker. It’s more dignified.”

The cab stopped before them.

“Who are you?”

“Just a guy who was in the right place at the right time.” His headache was coming back. He opened her door for her. “You got cab fare?”

“I do. Thanks.” She politely took his hand as he helped her in. “Thank you so much. Is there anything I can do for you? Do you need a lift?”

“I’m good. And listen, if you’re going to carry that piece, you’d better be ready to use it next time.”

“Oh, I will. I promise.” The woman smiled at him, and she had a dazzling smile. “Thanks. You’re a regular knight in shining armor.”

Sullivan closed her door. “Oh, you’ve got no idea.”

The cab pulled away. The driver peered into the center mirror to study his passenger.

“So, is that the Heavy?”

“That’s our boy,” she said before turning around and waving at Jake Sullivan out the back window. He was standing there, lighting a smoke, and raised one hand to wave awkwardly in response. She turned back around. “I’m positive.”

Her Power hadn’t been of much help earlier. Despite appearing to be a lout, he was too smart, and judging from the look on his face when she tried tipping the scales, he could feel the intrusion, so she’d been afraid to push. She’d needed to see his magic in action to be sure, and just like the files said, he was one dangerously powerful Heavy. She waited until they were around the corner before removing the red wig. Her primary concern during the attack was that it might have gotten knocked loose, and that would have looked suspicious. “Radio the others. We’ll pick him up tonight.”

Miami, Florida

Francis couldn’t believe his ears. He had made the policeman repeat himself, but the message stayed the same. Heinrich Koenig had been killed.

As a boy, armed only with his wits and Fade magic, Heinrich had survived on the streets of Dead City. He’d walked through the Berlin Wall, joined the Grimnoir, and been one of their bravest ever since. As a knight, he’d fought in dozens of battles, Soviets, Imperium, it didn’t matter, he had a special hatred for anyone who would use magic for evil. Heinrich feared nothing. No matter what the odds, no matter what they faced, Heinrich was always the first to volunteer. He was brash, fearless, and utterly loyal.

And dead.

Francis had to lean against the wall as the world dropped out from under him. His forearm was broken and his head hurt, but the physical injuries were nothing compared to the swift kick in the gut he’d just caught. He could afford a Healer, but from what he’d heard, both of the Healers in Florida had exhausted all of their magic trying to save as many lives as possible. He could wait. The policeman said that Heinrich had been on the steps when one of the magical blasts had gotten him. He had helped carry the injured president toward safety when he’d been struck down. The cop told him that Heinrich had died a hero.