G. Lippert - JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

James looked up at the troll as he passed. Flintlock's eyes stared straight ahead, glinting dully in the moonlight. More than anything, he looked like a machine that had been temporarily switched off.

"Come on," Zane nodded soberly. "Mags went to the right. We have to hurry up or we'll lose sight of him."

With a renewed sense of urgency, the three boys darted through the open doorway out into the streets of nineteenth century Muggle Philadelphia.

To James' eye, Muggle Philadelphia didn't look immediately very different despite the change of nearly two centuries.

The streets were narrower and cobbled rather than paved and the footpaths were made of uneven slabs of stone, leaning somewhat drunkenly toward the brick-lined gutters. What streetlamps there were flickered with gas flames instead of the bright incandescence of the modern lights. The houses that lined the streets, however, seemed nearly unchanged, apart from the lack of any televisions flashing behind the windows. Occasionally, a black carriage or hansom cab would trundle past in the tow of large horses, their eyes hidden behind black blinders, their harnesses creaking and jingling.

"This would be a lot easier if there were more people on the street," Ralph whispered as they trailed Magnussen. "If he turns around, he'll see us straight away."

"Just walk casual," Zane muttered, "and try to keep in the shadows."

Magnussen strode briskly, his cape billowing behind him like bat wings in the chilly breeze. The three boys had to occasionally trot to keep him in sight as he zigzagged through the narrow residential streets. Obviously, Magnussen knew exactly where he was going and was sparing no time in getting there. Shortly, the boys trailed the big man into a neighborhood of much larger houses, most surrounded by low stone walls and wrought-iron gates. The gas lampposts were more prominent here and the windows of the houses glowed brightly, making it harder for the three boys to stay hidden in shadows. Magnussen never once looked back, however, even as he turned sharply and descended into a narrow alley.

"We're heading down toward the river," Zane whispered as they ducked into the alley. "Wrong-side-of-the-tracks-city."

"What's that mean?" Ralph asked. "I didn't see any tracks."

"It means keep a sharp eye out, Ralphinator," Zane said grimly. "This area is seedy enough in our own day. I don't expect it's any better in this timeframe. Watch your back."

Fortunately, it was much easier for the boys to follow Magnussen here since the streets were very narrow and crowded with carts, uneven stacks of crates and barrels, and parked carriages. Figures moved in the dim recesses of doorways or skulked along the cobbled road, their feet splashing in the puddles that trickled downhill toward the river beyond. James realized that they had gotten close enough to Magnussen to hear his boot heels knocking hollowly on the cobbles.

"How far's he going to go?" Zane whispered, darting behind a row of empty carts. "We're nearly to the waterfront. Those're the wharves up ahead. After that, there's nothing but river."

Suddenly, Magnussen stopped and turned around. James ducked behind the nearest cart, his heart leaping up into his throat. Both Ralph and Zane hunkered down next to him. After a long, tense moment, the three dared to peek out from beneath the cart, their chins virtually touching the wet street.

Magnussen was fingering his cane as he peered around the cramped intersection, his eyes narrowed. Finally, apparently satisfied, he turned and stalked into an even narrower alley.

"That looks like a dead end," James whispered. "Doesn't it?"

Zane nodded. "Come on, we can get closer if we hide behind that pile of broken crates."

As quietly as possible, the three boys crept along the edge of the street into the shadow of the jagged pile. Bits of broken wood crunched underfoot as the three gathered against the corner of a brick warehouse.

"It is a dead end," Ralph whispered, peering cautiously around the corner. "There's a little stairway at the end, though, and a door. Looks like a cheap little flat or something."

Zane craned his head around the corner as well, squinting in the darkness. "Any sign of old Mags?"

"No," Ralph shook his head. "He must have gone inside. You think maybe it's his flat? Like, he rented it special just to have a place outside of school?"

James nodded. "He needed a place to hide the horseshoe, where nobody magical would sense its power. While it was up in the museum, it was probably lost in the background noise of all the other magical relics up there. Once he took it out, though, he'd need to keep it hidden. This is probably the perfect place."

"So," Ralph whispered, turning back around and leaning against the grimy bricks, "how are we going to get the horseshoe from him?"

Zane rubbed his hands together against the cold. "Right. What's the plan, James?"

"Me?" James rasped. "I thought you we re in charge of that detail?"

"I got the verse to get us through the Warping Willow!" Zane frowned defensively.

Ralph glanced worriedly from Zane to James. "And, er, I'm the one what found old zombie Professor Straidthwait! Without him, we wouldn't have gotten anywhere at all!"

"Hold on," James said, poking a finger into the air. "We got this far and none of us has any plan for how to actually get th e unicorn's horseshoe from Magnussen?"

"Well," Zane shrugged, "we could just send Ralph out there with his Godzilla wand. I'd put your wand up against that evil cane of his any day, Ralphinator."

"No way I'm dueling a bloke like that," Ralph replied, shaking his head vigorously. "Not after the way all those portraits talked about him. Let's not forget that the man's a bloody murderer!"

James nodded soberly. "That's true. We have to be dead careful."

"Or just plain dead," Zane gulped.

"Don't get spooked yet," James said reasonably. "We still need to follow him to the Nexus Curtain. We can figure something out along the way."

"Yeah," Zane nodded. "Figuring stuff out along the way, that's always worked out great for us in the past."

"Shh!" Ralph hissed, peering back around the corner. "Here he comes!"

A door thunked shut in the darkness and was followed by the tromp of boots on squeaky stairs. James peeked around the corner, followed by Zane. Together, the three boys watched the shadowy form of Professor Magnussen as he stalked along the alley, his feet splashing in the puddles and his cane glinting in the darkness.

"Hey," a man's voice called out suddenly. James startled, as did Zane and Ralph. Magnussen stopped in his tracks, wary as a jackal. After a few tense seconds, the voice spoke again, timidly, but with stubborn resolution.

"She knew you'd come back," it said, and there was a hint of a disbelieving laugh in it. "I told her she was crazy. You'd never come back here, not after what happened. But here you are, bold as brass, big as life."

Magnussen hadn't moved. His voice came out of the darkness silkily. "You have me at a disadvantage, friend," he said. "Come into the light so I can see you."

"What, so you can do to me what you did to her?" the voice scoffed nervously. In spite of its words, however, a figure moved into the mouth of the alley. He was a young man, barely twenty years old, very thin and wearing a bowler's hat. Braces were slung over his shoulders, holding up a pair of ill-fitting flannel pants. He was less than fifteen feet away from James, Zane, and Ralph where they hid in the shadow of the broken crates.

"Have we met, good sir?" Magnussen asked calmly, taking a step forward.