Inherited Magic (20 page)

Chapter 62

John had spent the afternoon napping off and on, eventually falling into a deep sleep in the evening, so his alarm clock was a shock to him when he woke up at ten o'clock. He tried not to think about the fact that it was dark, tried not to think about what the night would bring him and the fact that he was going to have to fight for his life. He tried to ignore that he was going to have to kill. You can only ignore so much though, and he felt grim as he bathed and dressed himself. He considered wearing a shirt and tie, but opted for jeans and a t-shirt. He wanted to be relaxed but couldn't with the .45 strapped to his hip.

He didn't even try to eat. He found his last can of warm soda, used a pattern to cool it, and drank it slowly as he waited for Conrad and Eric. When they arrived, nothing much was said. They got into the limo, and Eric drove them across town. Conrad refrained from drinking.

When they were almost there, John looked at Conrad and decided there was no point in keeping secrets.

“If I lose—”

“You'll do fine.”

“Listen. If I lose, there is a Primer hidden behind the fridge in the warehouse.”

“What?”

“There's a—”

“I get it.” Conrad sat forward in his seat. “Where the hell did you get a Primer?”

“It was my father’s. I opened it, and that's what started this nightmare.”

“Did Owen know?”

“I never told him. I tried . . .”

“And couldn't.”

“Yeah.”

“The fact that you can talk about it now tells me you figured out how they open to the rest of the pages.”

“Yeah, have you ever seen one?”

“No. Owen and I searched and found fragments . . .but never a complete one.”

“If she kills me. Go get mine. Don't let it fall into the wrong hands.” John felt overly dramatic saying that.

“I will.”

The limo came to a stop, and they were there.

Chapter 63

Everyone was gathered at the west side of the park under a street light. There were several mages from the conclave that John recognized; one was still wearing his sunglasses. The Tribesman-Englishman was standing behind them, unseen, with a fast food bag that had a smiling hot dog on it. Agent Harris was standing a safe distance from the small group, dressed in her sharpest FBI suit, sipping coffee. As John walked towards them, he saw Veronica approaching from the opposite direction; she was dressed in all white except for a purple scarf. She was carrying a long, slightly curved leather sheath; it fell somewhere between too small to be a sword and too big for anything else.

The guy with the sunglasses stepped forward and signaled for Veronica and John to approach. “I and the other delegates have secured the park; there are no bystanders to hurt. We've done our best to shield the perimeter so most spells won't get through and people won't wander in by accident. Having said that, neither of you may leave the park or it will be seen as surrender, and you will be killed. Other than that, once the duel starts, it is to the death, for control of Chicago territory and the territories amassed by Veronica. There are no other rules. Do either of you have anything to say?”

“No.” John tried to sound brave.

“I do.” Veronica could have been flirting in a bar.

“Yes?” Asked Shades as John was starting to think of him.

“Can I piss on his corpse when we're done?”

Shades showed no sign of amusement or disgust with Veronica. “We have marked out your starting points in the park according to the old ways. Once you hear the gunshot, you may begin.”

They walked into the park in silence. There were two circles chalked into the grass in the rough middle of the lightly wooded park. They faced each other in the gloom of the city lights. There were shadows, but nothing too dark and nothing deep enough to hide in. The baseball diamond and tennis courts seemed like something left behind and forgotten in the gloom. John made a mental note of their locations; he could use a pattern on the fence and make the wire razor sharp.

John counted four breaths before the gun sounded.

In a flash, Veronica had her blade out and rushed John. The only thing that stopped her from hacking his head off on her first swing was his ability to read the pattern as she cast it. He jumped backwards, and she pushed her attack. She didn't swing wildly; she moved with practiced skill, making strikes and lunges that were accelerated by magic. Even though John saw them coming, they were hard to dodge, and she didn't give John a chance to get his gun out or focus on a pattern. It was the boxing ring all over again, and he was quickly getting pushed backwards.

When Veronica pulled back from a lunge, she left herself open, and John moved in close to her without the aid of magic and started throwing punches at her mid-section. He was pleased when he felt his fists connect with her ribs. Veronica swore loudly and pulled her arms into herself defensively and spun. John had to jump back to dodge the gleaming blade. He landed badly and stumbled. Veronica leaped in with a blow meant to take John's head. John let himself fall away from the blade and out of reflex brought up his left arm to block the attack. He survived, but her blade sliced through his arm’s flesh and dragged its tip down the bone for several inches. Somehow, the blinding pain gave John the clarity to make a pattern. He hit her square in the chest with enough raw force to throw her back past her starting circle. He had to give her credit that she landed on her feet, even though she did it shakily. It gave John a chance to regain his footing and draw his pistol.

This, my dear readers, is where we joined this story already in progress.

She was far enough away that John was able to get a shot off as she ran at him. He missed by a mile, but the pattern on the bullet worked. It worked far too well. What was supposed to be a trail of fire was a geyser of flame that chased the bullet down range like a meteor. It crossed Veronica's path and forced her to pause, either from shock or fear of being scorched. When the bullet hit a tree at the edge of the park, the tree exploded into burning splinters that arced out gently into the air. John did not have time to contemplate what he had done wrong to overpower the bullets because Veronica was coming at him again.

This time, she had leaped into the air and was coming at him like something out of a bad ninja anime. She had sped herself up, so she was falling faster, but John had time to move under her with the help of a pattern, so he was behind her when she landed. She was close enough that John was able to get a better bead on her and fired twice. The combined explosions were huge, and John was close enough that he felt the heat wash over him. Yet running out of the flames came Veronica. Her white clothes weren't even dusty. John used a pattern of his own to jump straight up forty feet and avoided her attack. Two could play this anime game. As he fell, he fired two more times. The first shot was too far behind her, but the second one exploded close enough that it threw her to the side like a broken toy.

John landed well but took no joy in it. Veronica was getting up off the ground, and he could see small spatters of blood and dirt ruining her perfect white outfit. He raised his gun, and she pointed at him with an empty hand. John watched the pattern form and threw together a shield to protect himself. Electricity arced from her fingertips and blasted a scorched path between the two of them. John’s shield held, and he could smell the ozone as the air crackled.

Veronica smiled when she saw he was still standing. John responded by superheating the air around her as fast as he could. She jumped clear as the air burst into flame with a flash and a dull roar. She had not escaped totally unscathed. Her hair was burnt in places and her scarf was burning at one end. She ignored it and tried to freeze John’s feet to the ground. He dodged easily enough by jumping again.

John was getting tired; he had also lost a lot of blood. With a severely wounded arm, he wouldn't stand a chance if she got in close again, and she was sure to try that again soon. So it was time to try something different while he still had a chance.

When he landed, John threw a fireball at her that was big enough to wipe out a large building. She shielded herself and started to advance. John took careful aim and fired a single shot at her. She shielded herself from the bullet and the explosion; she was running now, thinking he was running out of tricks. John concentrated, and fired at the same time he cast the pattern he had learned in his dreams. He sent it at Veronica on the bullet that was suddenly just a bullet.

The pattern negated the magic he had imprinted on the bullet and rode it all the way to Veronica, where it canceled the shield she created. The bullet hit her slightly off center in the chest and spun her violently. John waited, but she didn't get up, and he was out of ammo.

John walked slowly to where she had fallen, his wounded arm hanging limply at his side. Even covered in blood, sweat, and mud, she was pretty. He felt bad for her, but not stupid; he kicked her knife out of arm’s reach. He could tell by her pattern that she was dying; it would only be few more heartbeats.

He sat down next her. She gasped and gurgled, choking on the blood flooding her lungs. She tried to get up, but didn't have the strength. She locked eyes with him, her blue eyes were wide and she blinked rapidly before looking away. John could not tell if it was hatred or desperation that he saw there. He only knew that he felt regret. She coughed up more blood and her eyes clenched shut in agony.

John wanted to say something, but there was nothing to say. Nor was there much time to say it. Veronica fought death to the last, but it came quickly for her, without shame or dignity.

Chapter 64

Quickly enough, the others came into the park and stood around for a moment saying nothing. They kept their own thoughts silent and tried to add dignity to the raw and cruel thing they had sanctioned that night. It was Eric that moved forward and looked at John’s wounds, declaring he would need medical help. Agent Harris said she would handle it and walked a short distance away as she dialed her cell phone. The other mages did their best to repair the park, but there was no growing the grass or tree overnight. The children in the morning would wonder about the bare spots on the ground and the missing tree, but nothing would come of it.

Eric and Conrad helped John to the parking lot where an unmarked van soon arrived. The doors opened, and two people in medical scrubs got out and started tending to John. They insisted he needed surgery. Conrad told them if they tried to take John anywhere, he would melt the van with them inside it. Agent Harris told them to do what they could and do it fast. They gave John a shot for the pain and soon everything was lost in a hazy fog.

He awoke with a headache, looking at the ceiling of a hotel room. He sat up slowly and found his left arm in a sling.

“How do you feel?” Eric was in an uncomfortable looking chair, set in one corner, with an e-reader in his hand.

“Ugh.” Was all John could manage. “How long was I out?”

“Not as long as you would think—an hour or two. Whoever your FBI girlfriend called knew what they were doing when they patched you up.” Eric got up and walked over to John, checking his bandages. “I could've kept you alive, but they saved your arm.”

“You're a nurse?” John's shirt hung off him in rags, and he was very aware that he smelled of sweat, blood, and a strange hospital odor. In short, he smelled bad and knew it.

“No, I was a combat medic.”

“I had no idea. Can you take me back to the warehouse? I need a shower and sleep.”

“You're staying here now that it's over. No point in hiding anymore. Conrad said he would cover the cost, as long as you need.”

“Oh.” John didn't know what to say; he was still foggy from the drugs.

“The boss and your girlfriend are in the next room. They want to talk to you before she leaves.”

“Radha is here?” John realized how ridiculous that sounded as he said it.

“Who?”

“Never mind. You mean Agent Harris, right?”

“Yeah.” Eric stifled a laugh as he walked towards the door and announced that John was awake. Conrad walked in with a smile from ear to ear and was followed by the ever chilly Agent Harris.

“You look well, all things considered, John! Or should I address you as Regent now?” Conrad chuckled. Agent Harris stood just inside the door; the smile on her face was unconvincing.

“No. Never call me that.” John wanted to sleep and ignore everything.

“How about killer?” asked Agent Harris, with enough ice in her voice to sink a passenger liner on the high seas.

“How about fuck you?” John heard himself say it before he even finished the thought.

“I could charge you with murder and drag you to jail . . .”

“And if you haven't gotten the point, there is not a cell that can hold me or any mage. You know that, though, and want to play your last screw-with-John card before it expires, don't you? Yeah, I killed her. And, no, I don't feel good about it. You should be asking yourself, though, what it means for you.” John paused to gather his thoughts through the haze that clung to him. He didn't want to screw this up.

“What does it mean for me?” The defiance and challenge in her voice dared John to say anything so she could trump it.

“It means that from now on you work for me. The FBI works for me. Or this is gonna happen all over the country, and people are gonna notice it.”

“Work for you? What, you kill one girl and you think you're a king?”

“No. I think you'll like it because I am going to give you names of mages to pressure, however you want. Until they do as I say.”

“As you just pointed out no cell can hold you. How do we pressure mages—”

“Al Capone was brought down by the IRS.” Conrad pointed out with a smile. “Hit them where it would hurt anyone: their bank accounts.”

“Even if we could make that happen, what would we get out of it?”

“Information. How much would it help to know when there was going to be a natural disaster? How many lives could you save by predicting earthquakes? We won't face other governments or mages, but we can help with some major issues that make any effort on your part seem small.” Conrad explained it better than John could in his current state.

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn't.”

“No.” The haze was fading from the corners of his mind. “You don't have the authority to approve anything so radical and extreme. We just want you to pass the message along to those who do.”

“Eric, could you show Mrs. Harris out now?” Conrad was as polite as a viper with all the cards.

“With pleasure, sir.”

Conrad waited for several seconds after they heard the door close before speaking to John. “Well, we shall soon see what comes of that. In the meantime, rest up. Things are quiet now, but who knows how long they will stay that way. If you need us, Eric and I are in the suite across the hall.” Conrad left John alone in the room. John lay down with no intent of sleeping, but the drugs were still working their way through his system and in moments, he was snoring.