The Candy Shop War, Vol. 2: Arcade Catastrophe (33 page)

“What now?” Trevor asked.

Victor withdrew a tranquilizer pistol. “We hurry.”

Trevor pressed through the doorway and followed Victor down an industrial hall lined with pipes and wires. His ursine body almost felt too large for the relatively narrow passage.

“Any idea how to get down a level?” Victor asked.

“I’ve never been down there,” Trevor said. “Nate mentioned an elevator.”

Victor tried every door they passed. The first three were unlocked. He poked his head in, then proceeded down the hall. The fourth door was locked.

Tucking his pistol under his arm, Victor went to work with his tools. The door swung open and he leaned through the doorway. “Bingo.”

“Elevator?” Trevor asked.

“Stairs.”

Victor passed through the doorway. As Trevor started through, he paused, catching the distinct scent of a person other than Victor. The odor came from the far corner of the landing, where nobody was standing.

“There’s a guy in that corner,” Trevor said. “I can smell him.”

For a moment, the air in the corner shimmered, then Todd materialized, charging forward with an upraised baseball bat. Thanks to the warning from Trevor, Victor had already turned to confront the attacker. Stepping toward Todd, the beefy investigator caught the bat in his palm before the swing had reached full momentum. A measured blow from Victor’s elbow sent the smaller, thinner man skidding to the floor. Bending over, Victor seized Todd by the front of his shirt and dragged him to his feet. Todd’s eyes kept darting nervously at Trevor.

“You like my bear?” Victor asked, shaking him. “Bears are omnivorous. They’ll eat just about anything. Even malnourished little twits like you.”

“It sounds like a kid,” Todd said, failing to keep his composure.

“It bites like a steel trap,” Victor promised, still gripping Todd by the front of his shirt. “Who are you?”

“I just work here,” Todd said.

Victor lifted Todd upward so he had to stand on his tiptoes. With his free hand, Victor messed up Todd’s green faux hawk. “You just work here? What are you supposed to be? The invisible custodian who cleans the stairs with his baseball bat?”

“Not invisible,” Todd corrected. “Unnoticed. I’m good at blending if people haven’t seen me.”

“Then you sneak up behind them and knock them out,” Victor said. “You blew it, pal. I’ve seen you. And my sidekick can smell you. Take us to Mozag.”

“Who’s that?” Todd asked.

“He’s the reason you can still walk and talk. Are you sure you want to take away my one motive for keeping you functional?”

“I’ve heard of him,” Todd admitted.

“You feel fragile. I’ve always wanted to see my bear dance on a skinny little guy like you.”

Trevor lumbered toward Todd and started sniffing him. Todd smelled strongly of beef jerky and potato chips. He tried to flinch away from Trevor, but Victor wouldn’t let him. Trevor nuzzled him roughly.

“Don’t waste one more second of my time, deadbeat,” Victor threatened. “Now or never.”

“I’ll take you,” Todd said. “But you have to make it look like you’re dragging me there, or no deal. You won’t get Mozag out, no matter how many steroids you take, no matter how big a bear you use as backup. This is Jonas White’s lair, man.”

Victor shifted his grip to Todd’s upper arm. “Let’s go. Double time.”

Trevor trailed Victor and Todd down multiple flights of stairs until they reached a door at the bottom. Victor opened the door and yanked Todd through. As Trevor followed, a blur from the side streaked across his line of sight, striking Victor on the side of his shoulder and sending him sprawling.

The attacker was a muscular man with spiky black hair. He turned to face Trevor defiantly.

“Watch out,” Victor warned. “He’s a Combat Kinetic—a ComKin.”

This concrete hallway was wider and taller than the one upstairs. Trevor reared up on his hind legs, towering over the man. Sneering, the ComKin jumped forward, kicking both legs into Trevor’s furry chest with sudden ferocity. The blow landed before Trevor could react. It felt like he had been hit with a sledgehammer. Trevor stumbled back, slamming his head against the side of the doorway on his way to the floor.

“Nice, Conner,” Todd said.

Trevor heard Victor start firing tranquilizer darts. Conner dodged from side to side, moving in quick, precise bursts, gradually worked his way down the hall toward Victor. Rolling over, Trevor saw Todd running off down the hall. Casting his pistol aside, Victor retreated from Conner, arms raised defensively.

Conner darted forward, his hands a blur as he issued blow after blow. Unable to divert the rapid onslaught, Victor staggered back like the victim of a machine gun, barely staying on his feet until Conner sent him flying with a vicious kick.

Roaring, Trevor tore down the hall. It felt good to get some speed behind his bulk. Turning, Conner looked alarmed. As Trevor reached out with his front claws, Conner jumped against the wall, then kicked off and sprang over the charging bear.

Trevor wheeled around just in time to receive a fierce kick to the head that knocked him onto his side. The stunning blow made a primal anger well up inside of him.

“Stay on him,” Victor advised, charging forward. As he drew near to Conner, Victor twisted sideways just in time to avoid a supercharged flying kick. Having dodged the extended foot, Victor stuck out an arm in time to clothesline Conner and tackle him to the floor.

Grunting and scuffling, the two men wrestled until Trevor approached from behind and bit down hard on the top of Conner’s shoulder. Trevor shook his head to the side, slamming Conner into the wall. The ComKin went limp in his jaws.

“Good work,” Victor said, brushing off his suit. “It’s all about timing with a ComKin. You have to anticipate and counter the attack before it comes. Otherwise they move too quickly and hit too hard.”

“Are you all right?” Trevor asked.

“I’ll have some bruises,” Victor said, spitting blood onto the floor. “Todd ran off that way.” He motioned down the hall.

“Do we follow him?” Trevor asked.

“I don’t know,” Victor said. “I doubt he was running to Mozag.”

“We know they have at least one other ComKin,” Trevor said.

“Katie Sung,” Victor agreed, retrieving his tranquilizer pistol. He started reloading it. “This guy dodged a few darts, but I hit him a few times, too. He should have been out cold. He must have some kind of immunity. Or maybe Jonas White was somehow using a simulacrum to give him a boost.”

Victor started running down the hall in the direction Todd had fled. Trevor ran along beside him.

“Where are we going?” Trevor asked.

“Not sure,” Victor replied. “But I don’t want to hold still and let them bring the fight to us.”

Reaching an intersection, Victor turned left. Trevor rounded the corner a pace or two behind, letting Victor lead.

From up ahead, Trevor heard a strange clattering, like lumber being poured from a dump truck. “What’s that?”

“Don’t know,” Victor replied, not breaking stride.

Though nothing was visible down the hall, the clacking tumult drew nearer. Then a strange monstrosity bounded around the corner and came galloping toward them. Fashioned from wood, wires, and steel cables, the jumbled construct had no clear form. Considerably larger than a bear, it alternated between running on five and six legs, depending how it tilted. The overall impression was that a bizarre piece of modern art built from scrap wood had savagely come to life.

“Don’t back down,” Victor growled. “We have to fight our way through it.”

Trevor roared and increased to his full speed. The living lumber pile loomed larger than him, but a lot of it was empty space, and much of the wood looked rotted. Trevor bet that he had more mass.

The wooden monstrosity charged equally hard. They were playing chicken, and the enemy showed no sign of relenting. The gap between them closed quickly. Roaring and lunging, Trevor collided with the fearless construct. Wood snapped as Trevor collapsed the front end of the creature. The shock of impact sent Trevor reeling, and he and the construct tumbled end over end. Wires and cables tangled his limbs as Trevor thrashed against moving wooden segments. The more Trevor fought, the more the construct wrapped around him, caging him in wood and wires, tightening its hold rather than trading blows. His thick hide and fur protected him from feeling severe pain, but it was very frustrating to be so strong and yet feel so constrained.

Trevor could hear Victor beating against the wood. Trevor craned to see what was happening. The monstrosity shoved Victor with a wooden limb, sending the large investigator rolling to the floor.

“Go!” Trevor called. “We have each other tied up! This is your chance! Find Mozag.”

Victor regained his feet. “I’ll return for you.” Then he dashed away.

*****

Pigeon watched as John Dart opened the door and collected four mosquitoes. Sirens continued to wail. John shut the door quickly and rushed the mosquitoes over to the kitchen table, where Mozag spread his hands over them, eyes closed. One of the little bugs twitched.

“Victor,” he said. “And a big bear.”

Another mosquito fluttered.

“Nothing of interest.”

A third bug spasmed.

Mozag opened his eyes. “Jonas sent his ungainly monstrosity to deal with the intruders. His sanctum is momentarily unguarded.”

John Dart strode to the counter. He grabbed a pair of locators Mozag had devised, then rushed to the door. Pigeon followed.

“Stay with Mozag,” John ordered as he opened the door.

“Don’t activate the locators until you’re inside the sanctum,” Mozag warned, not for the first time. “Because of his simulcratic connections, his sanctum is imperfect. But the locators will work better if you smuggle them in while dormant.”

“I’ll wait until after I cross the threshold,” John said.

“Let me come!” Pigeon demanded. “You might need help! What if you get pinned down? While you fight them off, I can find the Source!”

“Too dangerous,” John said. “Jonas White will probably kill us when he finds out we’ve left our sanctum.”

“Not if we get the Source,” Pigeon said.

“Take him,” Mozag said. “This may be our only shot. Hurry.”

John tossed one of the locators to Pigeon, who dropped it but retrieved it quickly. John was already out the door. Pigeon hurried to catch up. Out in the hall, John raced ahead, lengthening his lead with every stride. Pigeon resisted calling to him to slow down. He knew that speed was essential. The commotion from the intrusion and the resultant alarm might temporarily prevent Jonas from realizing Pigeon and John had abandoned their sanctuary. But as soon as Jonas became aware, he could turn both of them into living statues—or worse.

John disappeared around a corner. Pigeon ran his fastest, worried about not getting to the corner in time to see John’s next turn. When Pigeon reached the corner, he saw John racing down the hall. A man lay on the ground in the distance. When John reached the fallen figure, he paused, searching his pockets, giving Pigeon a chance to gain ground.

“Sure you want to stay with me, Pigeon?” John asked without looking up.

“I’m sure,” Pigeon said.

“Ah-ha!”

“What?” Pigeon asked.

“Access card,” John said, holding up what looked like a credit card. “This is Conner Grady, one of Jonas White’s most trusted bodyguards.”

“I’m coming,” Pigeon said resolutely. He wanted to help John. He also wanted to run back to Mozag. He definitely didn’t want the wax figure used against him. But if this escape failed, would they get another chance? If they had to take down Jonas White now or never, shouldn’t he lend his help, even if he was underqualified?

“I can’t protect you,” John said. “I have to reach the Source at all cost. I have to find it and destroy it.”

“I won’t do any good back with Mozag,” Pigeon said.

John started running again, crouching to pick up a baseball bat near a doorway. “Try to stay with me.”

At the next intersection John kept running straight. Looking down the hall as he crossed it, Pigeon saw a bear tangled in some sort of trap made of wood and wire. The shaggy animal was wrestling fiercely, making the trap flop and writhe, the wood clattering and splitting.

Once again, John turned a small lead into a long one. Panting heavily, Pigeon tried to ignore the sharp pain in his side. Up ahead, John turned a corner. Pigeon tucked his head and kept pumping his arms and legs. Despite his best efforts, he could not stay at a full sprint.

Pigeon made it past the corner in time to see John disappearing around another one. He hustled, worried about losing him. When he rounded the next corner, he found John receding down a long hall.

Breathing hard, Pigeon kept running, motivated by thoughts of running into enemies without John to help him. John turned again. It took Pigeon more than thirty paces to reach that intersection. When he got there, Pigeon found John standing before a large
iron door at the end of the hall, looking back over his shoulder.

As soon as Pigeon came into view, John swiped the card he had taken from the unconscious bodyguard. Then he hauled open the door.

Pigeon glanced down at the locator in his hand. It looked suspiciously like a plastic Easter egg. But Mozag had explained that the tiny bubbles inside would work like Finder’s Dust. The bubbles would remain inert until activated by contact with oxygen. Once active, the bubbles would be drawn to the most potent source of magical power in the area. If the bubbles were activated before entering Jonas White’s sanctum, they could lose potency upon crossing the threshold.

“John Dart!” a strident voice warned, and Katie Sung sprang into view, wearing a black turtleneck and gray slacks. Through the doorway, beyond John and Katie, Pigeon saw a multitude of wax figures.

Katie blocked John from progressing into the room. For a moment they faced each other motionlessly. Then Katie pounced. John raised his bat to block her punch, and her fist broke it in half. Ducking, Katie spun and delivered a low, sweeping kick with impossible speed. John’s feet were whipped out from under him so hard that he landed almost upside down.