Magic Rising (19 page)

“Want me to call the cops?”

“They won’t do anything. Thanks though.” She stepped around the vehicle, then dropped to one knee, looking beneath the car. “You’d better get back to work. I appreciate you stopping by.”

She looked up long enough to see Scott make his way back across the road. He was a good kid but a kid nonetheless. It also seemed that the guys messing with her car were a couple of kids, not experienced at anything. A piece of paper somersaulted by the wind landed on the street in front of her. She picked it up, and found a damn wiring diagram for her car. The punks had brought instructions and from the looks of it, they were to install a tracking device with some sort of remote detonating ability. Of course she couldn’t be certain unless she saw the actual box they were trying to attach.

The presence she’d felt earlier couldn’t have been from those two. She took a deep breath and stood, turning as she examined her surroundings. The feeling of evil hadn’t gone with the children who’d been following the bizarre homework they’d been given. It lingered nearby, watching her.

“Where are you?” Her words were whispers, carried on the wind. “Where are you?” She repeated no louder. If Niam were nearby, he would hear all the same.

Across from her, a dark figure jumped the short wall separating the parking garage from the street. He wore a long black coat, hooded, flowing behind him like some primitive beast from darkness. Then again, that’s what he was.

His movements were quick, hypnotizing. She didn’t attempt to remove her gun from the holster as he approached. Showing aggression too early would give away her hand. Instead, she watched the poetry of his stride until he stopped, still in the road and addressed her from beneath that black hood.

“Dragonfly. My sweet Dragonfly. My, how you’ve matured.” There was an intimacy to his voice. It was smooth, deep, and revolting at the same time. No matter what he said his voice carried the hint of sex and murder, lacing his words with primitive fears Deirdre had grown accustomed to.

“Why are you bothering me?” She fought to stare into the hood, prove to him that she wasn’t a squeamish child anymore. “I thought our business died with Stone House.”

“Why did you return to Stone House? Was it to find me?”

She couldn’t see his face. The dark cloth shadowed what little of him was exposed. Even his hands were gloved, black gloves, giving him the appearance of nothing more than a shadow that dared to take form.

Deirdre leaned back against her car, trying to appear relaxed but that wasn’t how she felt. Her heart pounded and fear crept through her being like some evil cancer trying to take her apart from the inside out.

“I have my reasons.” She let her right hand ease toward her pistol. “A guy went there searching my past. I needed to know what had survived. I would like my past to stay buried.”

His body held still, he’d look like a statue if he weren’t standing in middle of the road. She wished some big truck would come by and plow into him. That would be good entertainment. See his mystical, supposedly all powerful butt plowed under from a very normal machine. The image of a steamroller came to mind, turning him into an inch-thick blob made her smile.

“What has you so amused?”

She laughed a little, turning him into a cartoon character. No blood, just a thin arch rocking back and forth as the steamroller went by. “Can you not read my mind now?” Deirdre remembered the stories about his power. His skills went beyond the physical into something she didn’t like to consider. She took a step from the car, edging closer to the road. “Lost your touch?”

“You know I could never read minds. My abilities were in other areas.”

Then it happened. She was looking at him and then he was gone, moving faster than her eyes could track. Taking the time to look for him was wasted. She reached for her side holster, touching the gun when she heard him behind her. Only a second had passed and he’d moved behind her, unseen.

“Is it your intention to kill me?”

Deirdre kept her voice low, even. She didn’t want to turn to face him, but that’s what he wanted, so she obliged him. Her movements slow, careful as she faced her nemesis again.

“If that were my intention, you’d be dead.”

His hood stayed low. Although he was three feet from her, she couldn’t see any details about his face. His standard mode of operation had always been to look prey in the eyes, hoping to harvest some energy from them as they passed into oblivion. Now he avoided being seen. Curious.

“Why are you bothering me then? I have things to do.”

“What? You don’t want to catch up on old times?”

Old times
. Her memories of their times together were horrible, with many classes ending with her unsure if she would make it through the night. She knew the taste of her blood, understood pain so deep she’d prayed to die and much of it was attributed to this man.

“I don’t believe any of our old times need to be remembered. You were never one of my favorite teachers.” She shook her head, remembering how he would stand over her, holding his sword, and telling her that today she would die. He taught her hatred, rage, and the desire to kill, although she only desired to kill him.

“That’s too bad. You were one of my favorite students.” She couldn’t see his eyes but she felt them going over her and had to fight to keep from cringing.

“It does seem that your current students are lacking finesse. Have you lost backing from the owners of Stone House or are you hoping to sacrifice a few men?”

He laughed and she hated the sound. She could almost see him at the end of class, sword at her throat, laughing at how he’d defeated her again. He would cut her, just enough to draw blood. On good days he would cut her a little across the hairline, not enough to scar but enough where blood would run, marking her loss.

“Those students are imbeciles. It’s much harder to find good help these days.” His shoulders relaxed. “As for Stone House, we are no longer associated. The real backers dropped our little school back when you were just a girl.”

The wind blew stronger and he put one hand on his hood to hold it in place. A bit of black hair escaped but that was all. He’d never tried to stay covered before; perhaps the fire had left its mark on him.

“A reverend now. What denomination?” Part of her hoped he’d found God, the real one, not the made-up version used to justify murder. It was a fantasy, but one she indulged to keep from running away.

He raised his head. Although she couldn’t see his eyes, they bored into her. Another one of his gifts, studying people, analyzing them until he knew their demons, then he used them. Nothing was worse than watching a person reduced to their worst fears. She doubted he could do that with her. She was facing hers now. He couldn’t pull some psychotic nightmare out of her mind when hers was a real man.

“The Church of the Spirit. It’s a version of my own creation. Something beautiful, if I do say so myself.”

Stone House was a version of someone’s creation. She remembered the ceremonies, the sacrifices. They claimed to gain great power, magic through the bloodletting. All she saw was death.

“I know you never believed in any of it.” Niam reached one gloved hand toward her and tried to touch her face, but she moved out of range. “That’s why I pushed you so hard. You had the gift. You could’ve been something wonderful.”

“I am something wonderful, thank you very much.”

“No. You’ve never released a soul. That is where real power comes from. You never understood that.” He sounded sincerely upset for her lack of blood lust. “Maybe I should’ve been a better teacher.”

Releasing souls was a nice way to describe murder. She couldn’t deny that the leaders did the unexplainable. She, however, had never experienced true magic. Maybe a heightened sense of danger, or inherit gifts for finding enemies, but the bloodletting never brought more than death. There was nothing magical or wonderful in watching those people die.

“Murder is murder, not magic.”

“You always had rather narrow views. Tell me, can you deny the magic we summoned in Stone House?” He spoke while moving gloved hands, always the showman, even in conversation.

“I’ve seen mad men manage more. Poor simple fools do more amazing stunts.”

She saw his gloved hands ball into fists. He never had much patience with her attitude or her comments. She’d earned many backhands across the face for speaking her mind. This time he didn’t strike her though. He seemed to reconsider at the last moment.

“Tell me little Dragonfly, how did you escape the fire?”

“I have a magic trick or two of my own.”

Deirdre kept her hand near the gun, knowing this couldn’t end well. He hadn’t tracked her this far for simple conversation. She didn’t want to fight him. His speed always got the better of her, making her guess where he’d strike instead of following the blows and reacting.

“Where were you going to next?”

Again, he spoke. Niam had never been one to carry out conversations without purpose. He was up to something now. “Another job. Nothing fancy, just a person needing protection from the vermin of this world.”

“Is that what you consider me, vermin?”

She smiled. He knew her opinions, so there was no reason to state them. Niam wouldn’t let his emotions get him to a point where she would have an advantage in battle. Pushing him would serve no means.

“Why are you here? Why are your men trying to mess with my car? Why are we even talking?” She wanted to ask about her mother’s body but stopped herself. Niam wouldn’t tell her the truth unless he thought it would hurt her. “Why bother me now?”

“Bother you? Well, I guess our time for pleasantries has ended.”

Niam drew his sword, a long Samurai sword with carvings in the handle and a very shiny, very sharp looking blade. With his speed and the reach of that thing, he could behead her. Deirdre pulled her pistol.

“I don’t want to do this.” The gun was cocked, her finger resting on the trigger. “Leave me alone.”

There was a flash, then pain flooded her hand, and she heard her pistol hit the pavement. He moved too fast, then stood there like he hadn’t done anything while her hand bled profusely from a cut behind her thumb.

“Don’t ever pull a gun on me. They’re barbaric.”

Deirdre made a move for the gun on the ground with her uninjured hand, while the other reached to her ankle. He took the bait. She felt the wind move, more than saw him. His sword slashed at her hand while she fired. Then she saw Niam. Her teacher took several steps back. His mouth fell open in surprise. He looked at his shoulder than back at her. She’d fired twice but only one bullet hit him in the shoulder. Hardly a lethal shot, but it broke his concentration and confidence. It was a good beginning battle. Both of them were injured, but he broke stance first, shocked that she’d hurt him.

Both his hands grasped the handle of his sword and she knew that he would strike again. He was finding his center. Then he blurred, but she was ready, firing again, sensing the point where the sword joined the handle. The blade broke away flying up and over his head, striking the brick building with a resonating metallic chime that reminded her of a tuning fork.

“Now, what is your problem with me?” Deirdre kept her gun on him.

Niam looked at the handle, the bit of metal shirred off at the base at an odd angle glimmered in the street lights. It was the image of him, standing there with his broken trinket that shamed her. She hated him, wanted him dead when she’d never held that emotion for another person. Seeing him defeated was more than she’d ever hoped, and also shocking.

“You left. You shouldn’t have left.” He hung his hooded head and she knew this wasn’t finished. “Rumor has it that you’re after a girl.”

Back to the girl but if Stone House wasn’t backing him, what would he want with Lora Shope? “What girl?”

“The Haas girl. She needs to be brought to me.” He eased forward. “If you bring her, I’ll let you live.”

“Right now I think you should be more concerned about your own health.”

His strike was fast, turning her head in a haze of black robe while her vision sparked from the blow. The gun went off but flew from her hand. There was no time to think, luckily she didn’t. Her fist went out. She closed her eyes, knowing that her sight wouldn’t help her as another punch found her stomach. Niam made a small noise as she threw wild hits, letting her know that she hurt him, but not as badly as he’d hurt her.

Her thigh exploded in pain and she went to her knee driving her fist upward but only finding air. Then she heard more footsteps in the street and she opened her eyes, hoping for a cop or at least a witness. Instead there were six or seven of his guys surrounding her, most holding guns, all of them ready to destroy her.

“Couldn’t even manage a fair fight?”

Niam stood there, arms folded across his chest. “There’s no point in killing you. Perhaps you could be valuable. I always thought I could use you.” The way he said “use” brought chills. “I always thought you had potential.”

“No one said you were winning.”

“Always stubborn.”

He stepped forward and she balled her fist ready to punch into that black hood and smash whatever was hidden there. Around her, guns cocked, and pointed. She lowered her fist.