Ilona Andrews: Magic Rises

“What’s your name?”

“Mick,” the man said.

“Mick, we’re going to take your crossbow, go out there, and have some words with your buddies. You’re going to stay right here in this building, because once we’re done, somebody will need to take those still breathing to the emergency room. You will be that somebody. If you make a noise or do anything to draw attention to yourself or warn your friends, Derek here will hunt you for fun.”

Derek smiled, baring sharp white teeth. Mick flinched. I’d bet right. A coward.

“He has your scent now and he’s guaranteed to have lots of fun you won’t like before he gets tired of playing with you. Am I clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Let him go.”

Derek opened his arms. Mick got up and slowly sat in his chair. Derek picked up his crossbow and we went out of the building.

“You suck,” I told Grendel outside. “You didn’t even help.”

He wagged his tail.

“Think he’s going to stay up there?” Derek murmured.

I nodded. “He’s too scared to move and I gave him an out—if he does as he’s told, he can help his pals in the end. He can tell himself he had a moral obligation to hide and not interfere. Can you take care of the other shooter?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll see you later, then.”

He trotted into the darkness, melting into the gloom as if he had been born from it. I counted to six hundred in my head to give him a nice head start and strode to the Mole Hole.

Years ago someone had carved steps in the crater’s sides, turning it into a kind of amphitheater. I stepped over the rim and took the steps down to the bottom.

The six people watched me with unfriendly eyes. Four men and two women. The shorter woman and three of the men had the familiar Red Guard bearing: their clothes were neat, the men were clean-shaven, the woman’s pale brown hair was pulled back. The taller woman and a guy standing next to her looked like street thugs: dirty, mismatched clothes and a hungry, desperate look in their eyes. Probably brought in for numbers and muscle.

I walked toward them, Grendel trotting next to me. I was in no hurry. Two Red Guard veterans would be a lot to handle. They were in shape and had the proper training. Four Guards and two street thugs would be difficult. My best bet was to avoid a fight altogether. Sometimes if you demonstrate enough willingness to hurt someone, they decide it’s not worth it.

In the cage Saiman stirred.

About twenty yards from them an older, lean man barked, “Far enough.”

I looked up. Saiman’s eyes, cold like frosted ice, looked back at me. Hello, Ice Giant. Atlanta hasn’t been treating you so well, I see.

“Nice cage,” I said. “Must’ve set you back quite a bit.”

“Where is the money?” the older man asked.

The male thug swore. It sounded familiar. I racked my memory and ran across a petition I’d handled about a year ago, during my time with the Order. I’d met this lowlife before. He liked breaking into older people’s houses and beating them until they gave him their money.

“Hi, Frankie. Long time, no see. They let you out already?”

Frankie blinked.

“Your legs healed nicely,” I told him. “Can hardly tell they were broken. Move around for me. I want to see if you walk funny.”

Frankie stuck his arms up in the air. “I’m out.”

The older guy scowled at him. “You walk out, you lose the money, Frankie.”

“Don’t be a moron,” the dark-haired man behind him added.

Frankie pointed a grimy finger in his direction. “No. Fuck you and you.” He raised his hands. “I’m out. Come on, SG.”

The taller woman shrugged and followed him.

I smiled and watched the light from the fire play on my saber. “If anybody else would like to be excused, now is the time.”

The older man gave me his hard-core stare. He carried a tactical gladius in his hand, already out of the sheath, a simple, vicious weapon. Dark gray like a Teflon pan, it had a double-edged blade about sixteen inches long with a wide fuller running down its length and a plain wooden handle polished from extended use.

He surveyed me, then looked at Grendel. “What the hell is this?”

He had to be Tremblay. I matched his glare. “This is my attack poodle.”

“For real?” A short blond man behind him asked.

“Shut up, Darren,” Tremblay scowled at me. “You must think you’re some hot shit or something? I have scars older than you.”

It’s like that, huh. “So you must be easy to hit. Lucky for me.”

“You listen to me.” Tremblay pointed to Saiman in the cage. “One word from me and you’ll be picking up your friend’s brains from the bottom of that cage.”

I leaned forward slightly and pulled the lower lid of my left eye down.

“What the fuck?” the stocky, muscular woman behind Tremblay murmured. Not a melee fighter. She stood flat on her feet, planted like a tree, and carried no weapons.

“She’s asking you if you can see the care in her eye.” Saiman said helpfully.

“Cute,” Tremblay said. “You’ve just signed his death warrant and your own.”

I peered at him. “You sure you should be mouthing off, Tremblay? Because I’m not scared and your service record’s kind of spotty.”

“Do you have the money?” the tall dark-haired man asked, exasperation vibrating in his voice. A long slender sword hung from his waist. A katana user.

“Do you see the money? Do I look like somebody who would have that much money and be dumb enough to give it to you?”

The dark-haired man looked at Saiman. “What are you trying to pull?” He sounded indignant, like his feelings were hurt.

“I’m not trying to pull anything,” Saiman said. “In case your powers of observation failed you, I’ve spent the last few hours in this cage.”

I glanced up at Saiman. “Are you going to pay me to kill them?”

“I’m thinking.”

“I think they should pay me to go away.”

Tremblay stared at me, eyes bulging.

“If they pay you, are you going to take me with you?” Saiman asked.

“Depends on how much they’ll give me.”

The four ex-Guardsmen stared at me.

“Wait a minute,” the shorter blond man said. “She wants us to give her money to take him with her?”

“Darren, keep your mouth shut,” Tremblay growled.

“Yes, that’s it.” I nodded at Darren. “You give me money, I take him with me, and everybody’s happy.”

“This isn’t what you said would happen,” Darren looked at Tremblay.

“Shut the hell up!” Tremblay was actually shaking. There was no way he could salvage this.

“Losing your job is hard,” I said. “But you guys need to find a different line of work, because holding people for ransom isn’t your forte. You’re not very good at it. Why don’t you take off before your fearless leader gives himself a coronary?”

The dark-haired man was thinking about it; I saw it in his eyes. Darren looked confused.

I pushed a little more. “Cut your losses. It’s time to go.”

“Fuck it, fire the flare!” Tremblay snarled.

The stocky woman looked at him.

“Fire the fucking flare!”

She clapped her hands. Magic pulsed and a bright yellow spark shot from between her clasped fingers into the sky, blossoming into a fiery dandelion. The four ex-Guardsmen tensed, anticipating a shot.

Nothing happened.

“Go home,” I repeated.

Tremblay snarled. “Kill the stupid bitch!”

I backed away, giving myself room to work.

Darren turned light, electric purple. His skin sprouted hard bony bumps. He stumbled back, clutching at his head. Tremblay and the mage backed away.

The dark-haired man marched at me, drawing the katana as he struck. Good fast draw. I parried, letting the flat of his blade slide off Slayer, and punched him in the jaw with my left hand. He staggered back. Blood swelled along my forearm. He’d nicked me. I’d surprised him and he still nicked me. Fast bastard.