Test – Page 2 – The Pandemonium

Writing exercises – 1 – A picture is worth how many words

Hi. A friend challenged me to a picture writing exercise and I wanted to share it. The idea is to find a picture and tell the story behind it from your perspective as a writer. I’ve found it to be great practice for focusing on detail for me.

Here’s the picture

And here is the story:

Terry Chang smirked playfully and pressed his wrists together under his chin. The first two fingers on each hand flipped forward, straightening into a pair of ‘V’. He held the pose as Nick struggled to get the camera working on his cellphone.

The colors behind him clashed with each other: A poster which transitioned from white to blue hung over his left shoulder on the red-orange rusted steel door, making his on grey-green sweater and slacks create a neutral transition between the two extremes.

“How do I pull it up again? This cellphone is not intuitive.”

Terry chuckled as he held the pose. “It is intuitive you Luddite. Just tap the camera icon.”

Nick glared at Terry’s cellphone for a moment, then jabbed at the face aggressively. “Why am I looking at myself?” he grumbled.

Terry sighed, then stood up and moved over to his roommate. He sighed theatrically. “How did you ever become a physics major?”

“By not having to worry about technology. Physics is the laws of the natural universe made understandable via mathematics. Nothing in Physics has anything to do with these infernal creations.”

Terry leaned to look at the screen that Nick held out. “Here’s the problem, you reversed the camera choice.” He reached over and tapped the screen. It flipped, showing their feet and the cement pavement.

Terry chuckled as he walked back over to the rusted steel door and sat down on the step. He brought his hands back up alongside his chin and flashed a pair of ‘V’ with his fingers. “Should I say cheese too?” he said with a teasing smirk.

“Got it, and got it.” He clicked an additional shot then walked over to Terry and handed him the camera.

“Looks good Ter.” Nick harumphed. “Despite your Luddite cameraman.”

Terry grinned and looked at the picture. “It’ll make a great graduation photograph. Thanks, Nicky.”

In this instance, the picture generated 313 words. 🙂

Dark Renaissance – Chapter 8

Yellowjakket knocked on the front door of the orphanage. Gewrly was right at the door. The troll opened the door, and sniffed. “Yer early, Ms Jak. Spot of trouble brewing?” Yellowjakket shook her head. “Nothing that affects this.” She handed Gewrly the pillowcase of tinned food. “Add that to the pantry. It won’t do me any good tonight. Gewrly gave Yellowjakket a sinister looking smile. “Ae, ah can do that. Won’t you be needin’ a meal?” “After I get back, and a bed if there’s one available.” Gewrly nodded, and moved with a ponderous silence to a door just short of the cafeteria. She disappeared into it for a few moments, then returned with the same silent padding she had left by.

“Go tha’ way. There’s a bed, second door on your right. Take a nap and I will wake ye when ’tis time.”

Yellowjakket nodded. “I’ll do that.” She trotted to the door, opened and went inside. She located the bed, and was asleep before she hit the mattress.

Some time later, she was roused by Gewrly, who had grabbed the headboard and shaken the whole bed to wake her. “Them boys is near ready. I put some porridge out for them as it might be a long walk to the next station.” Yellowjakket nodded, and kept quiet. As a guide, she knew where the station was. It was up to her to keep the link secret. That way if the mages actually did find Gewlry and the orphanage, they couldn’t track past that as no one knew anything past where they were. It was a hard way to do things, but for their own survival, it was necessary.

Yellowjakket walked up to the cafeteria doors, and strode through them. Twelve boys were at the near table, spooning up the last of their meals. All of them looked to be in the fourteen to sixteen range except one, who was a head shorter than all the others. Unlike the others, he seemed to show no nervousness, and didn’t talk to anyone while he ate. The other boys seemed to avoid him, as if unnerved by his outward demeanor. He sat, blonde haired and blue eyed, his slightly pudgy frame much different than the lean, beanpoles the other boys looked like. This was the boy that unnerved Gewrly so much.

Determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, she walked over to the boy and offered her hand. She saw children’s eyes widen in recognition. They knew her. Correction. They didn’t know her, they knew the costume, and what it represented. She’d gotten a lot of press. A lot of folks talked about her exploits back in the small sewer community she’d just left. The children obviously had heard the stories too. “Oh coo!” “Yellowjakket!” “Wicked!” “Have you been giving the mages more fits?” “What are you doing here?” “Are you the ‘conductor’?” “We’re moving out.” “When do we leave?” The children began chattering and shouting all at once. As Yellowjakket observed them, they all seemed to be excited at whatever adventure was coming. Some were notably relieved to be getting out of London, and a few seemed worried about leaving.

She could empathize with them. It would seem a grand adventure, or a romantic story of themselves escaping the clutches of the evil organization Control. Most she knew, had already seen the reality behind the romance. Siblings and family killed, or kidnapped. Their eagerness for the adventure was a show of how resilient youth was. They hadn’t forgotten, it had just been shuttled to the back, out of mind until it could force it’s way back out front. Some would handle it, some would get devoured by it. It wasn’t her job to try and fix any of it. Her job tonight was to get them to a place where they could live to find their own way through the loss.

She had to find a way to stop the mages. Or find other who could. There were a number of rogue Metas still loose, but as far as her own knowledge went, she was really the only one operating in the open in costume. She remembered how the world changed a little bit at a time. Science started working on smaller and smaller scales, to quantum physics. To quantum spin, and to, as the great physicist Einstein had called quantum entanglement, ‘spooky action at a distance’. It was found that with a deeper link in the entanglement, electron states could be shifted, much like spin. So heat an electron to a higher orbit in one place, the corresponding electron would also step to that higher orbit.

That discovery created the link people could describe as magic, or as super-powers. For the super-rich, small computers could be worn on a wrist to control this power to an extent. Just enough power to make the air around a person glow, or lighten an object. The smaller the mass, the more of it that could be canceled, or manipulated, by the wrist comp. This changed as it was also found that some people had an innate sense of connection to this quantum level. With practice and effort, some few of these with the innate sense could actually manipulate down at the quantum level without any artificial help.

Those with the strongest connections seemed to be those with the greatest imagination. It was not enough to be smart. There needed to be the vision and the desire to create. Artists, one might think, would rank high in this, but such seemed not to be the case. People especially those with thwarted desires, seemed strongest. Which made for a number of upheavals in society. Some Metas stayed in the hierarchy. Business didn’t suffer as did those in political power. Thwarted dreams given power created some very horrific retrebutions.

For a short while, costumed heroes suddenly filled the sky, springing from the comic books into real life, all through the new instinctual understanding of the manipulation of quantum entanglement. Villains also rose up, power filling them to offer the chance of making their own ambitions real. Wizards, as the ones who showed an affinity for using quantum effects in nature around them, began to band together to fight the worst of these new villains. They were joined by more of the metas, people who manipulated the quantum effects within themselves. These villains and sorcerers were captured, or killed.

In one signal instance, everything changed. One villain, aware that the change in time, and remembering the original past, gambled that another shift in time, the right way, would make him more powerful than his enemies. He gambled, and for three days, turned the world into a monument to his dream. A world subservient to him. The heroes were hurled back in time by the change, and the wizards realized that a second time change would strip this reality for another. This effort broke the overlord’s hold, and returned the world to a more or less balanced state.

When it was proven time could be treated in a similar manner, changes to time began. The final culmination was this current world, with this political system in place. Control, that arm of the Wizard’s council, was formed a result of those suddenly given power realizing that anyone who could influence time enough, could change the present, and the ability for them to retain their power. If time was changed enough, it might be the old oligarchs would suddenly were the ones with the power once more.

The wizards decided that the best answer was for them to remain in power. To that end they cast their own spell, tailored to stop other wizards or Metas going back in time. The trouble is that the spell stopped all other spells, but not Meta abilities, that were internally powered.

For whatever reason, Metas could still travel in time, though none could do it reliably. The Wizard Council decided that if the spell couldn’t control the Metas, they would have to, and started tracking down and rounding up any Meta that they could find, just in case that Meta could time-travel. Yellowjakket was overlooked initially, lost amongst the other colorful characters. But as the numbers of Metas were whittled down, her continued escapes brought more of the Council’s attention to her.

Worse, some wizards objected to these actions, and willingly joined the developing resistance. This pushed the remaining wizards into sterner measures, and they began rounding up those who showed an aptitude for wizardry, the ability to affect the world around them. The adults were taken first, as a number had begun to practice on their own, diluting the power of the Council. Later, children were added to the collection as their minds were easy to brainwash, and control.

Thus the reason for moving children out of Londinium. The Council’s power was greatest nearest their center. In places like Ireland, Wales, and Scotland, their power was opposed by others, and by other things that seem to have returned from legend and myth. Creatures like fairies, trolls, will-o-wisps were being sighted. They had their own reason for opposing the Council, and especially Control.

Tonight’s excursion was going to be almost wholly underground. The children would move to Charing Cross and enter the tube. If they were lucky, they could take the subway tunnel all the way to their exit point. More likely, they’d have to abandon it before halfway. It all depended on how much the wizards’ press gangs were canvassing the area. She’d hoped her actions last night would keep them south of Charing Cross. If not, this whole enterprise could end very badly. The children were oblivious to all this. All they knew was that they were being smuggled away from the bad guys to a place where they would be safe.

The children continued ask questions as she held her hand out to the young boy in front of her. He looked at her, then her hand and slowly took it. “Ronald”, he said without prompting. “Yellowjakket”, she replied with a smile and looked at the children around her. “But then you knew that from the way your mates have been carrying on.” The boy nodded slowly, his hand felt soft, like there was no effort to shake her hand at all. She kept herself from shivering as he looked up at her. She could see why Gewrly seemed spooked. His eyes seemed to have no life to them. His orbs were a dull brown, like there was nothing behind them.

“You’re the gel that’s moving us out then?” His voice matched his eyes, sounding lifeless, or completely beaten down. She found herself wondering what had happened to Ronald that would turn him into an apparent vegetable. All she could think was that something terribly traumatic had occurred, and that he’d stopped paying attention to the outside world as a way of either coping, or ignoring the truth. The children had settled down once she’d started talking to Ronald. Their faces were varied between, expectant, and fearful. It was time to tell them what was going to happen.

“All right, gather up, and sit. I’m here as your ‘conductor’ tonight. Which means we’re leaving soon. Get your food, and your packs. Leave anything not essential here. If you’re already packed, sit and catch a little rest. I want everyone who’s not packed to get it done in a half-hour. We’re on a tight schedule tonight.” Her wait was less than ten minutes. All the children had been told by Gewlry to be ready, and ready they were.

“Our first stop is going to be the Charing Cross Underground. There’s no easy way to it from here underground, so we’ll be walking. Go in groups of two and three. Go down, to the Northern entrance. We’ll gather on the platform, and I’ll take to the next stop.” She took a deep breath. And let it out slowly. She noticed a few of the older lads watching her, their faces flushing red. “You all know where the entry is? You will need to get a ticket. Last thing we want is someone becoming curious.”

She dug into her own backpack, and pulled out a handful of tokens. “These will get you on. Each of you take one.” She handed out twelve tokens. “I’ll not be with you on the underground. I’ll meet you at the next destination. The costume attracts attention, so I’ll be using that to draw press gangs away. Take the tube to Camden town and wait on the platform there. I’ll be along.”

The boys nodded and Yellowjakket shouldered her backpack, and trotted out to the front door. “Any movement, Gewlry?”, she asked. Gewlry shook her head. “Nobbut’s around. I’d feel them if there were. The troll looked at the children. “Off wi’ you. Do as yer tol’ and be careful.” She waved a thick finger. “I’ll make sure yer mates are safe.”

Dark Renaissance – Chapter 7 – Sacrificial

Hamish awoke early the next morning with a splitting hangover. He sat on the edge of his bed, and managed to mumble a spell that numbed the pain, but did nothing for the dry mouth and blurred vision. He’d just started his morning ablutions when a sharp rap at his front demanded attention. Despite the urgent knocking, he leisurely finished washing his face and brushing his teeth before answering. He opened the door, scowling, and the runner from Control blanched white. He’d heard of Montrose, and the reputation he’d been garnering as a dangerous man. He satanic features confirmed it to the terrified boy. He thought he’d come face to face with the devil himself.

Montrose smiled at the lad’s reaction. The reputation simultaneously stroked his ego, and made things easier. Being a feared wizard caused others to hesitate. It also gave him an edge in dealing with those in Control’s politics. Everyone thought twice about facing a man with a reputation. It didn’t hurt that the reputation was earned. He’d done his share of dirty work. Hunting dissidents, magical castings, executions, assassinations, research, he’d done what his superiors had ordered. The success he’d had helped build and broaden his noteriety.

It was for the right thing. This world needed those ruthless enough to save it. Magic had created this world, and placed it here for those strong enough to hold it and care for it. He would defend it, and protect it against anyone, or anything that tried to change it. He broke from his reverie to focus his gaze back on the boy. He had the tan stripe on his pants. He was a walking sacrificial lamb, and didn’t know it. He smiled wider, enjoying the pulse of fear coming from the boy. “Come in, explain why you’re pounding on my door.” The boy entered and stood rigidly at attention. “Yellowjakket surfaced last night in South London, Charing Cross. She attacked two press gangs, and when pursued, she fled south. The last report was a sighting near Beddington Park.”

“Lost her, did they?” He pondered the information. Yellowjakket had operated generally around London and the southern counties. The numerous reports should have been able to narrow the primary areas to two or three most likely places for her operations. Instead, it had confused things further. There was no pattern to her appearance and disappearance. Worse, she’d made fools of Control. People were starting to get ideas, and ideas were dangerous. Ideas meant someone remembered the past, and might try to change things.

His gaze hardened. Yellojakket was the cause of all this. Kill her and the resistance would topple. The problem with that idea came round again to the fact nothing could pinpoint a location as a possible base. He stepped aside and ordered the boy, “Stand over there.” He’d need energy if he was to face that meta. Her and her explosive teleportation. He mumbled a spell quietly. The ring sprang up around the boy, locking him in the hidden circle as Montrose intoned the last syllable. His eyes widened, and he screamed. He tried to rush out of the circle, and hit the shimmering wall, causing him to rebound back towards the center.

He begged Montrose, pled on his knees, crying for release. Hamish just watched with a satisfied smile as the spell began to take him. He didn’t have time to beg any more as the spell began to kill him by slow inches. He screamed his throat raw as thick strips of flesh were torn from him and dissolved away. Early on, the mages found that a sacrifice was more powerful when done while in the grip of a powerful emotion. Fear was the easiest to create in their experience. While it wasn’t the most powerful of emotions, it was strong, and that strength could be harvested.

There were a number of masterful casters who could prolong the fear to pull the greatest power from the sacrifice, but Montrose preferred to do his own casting, rather than accept a token of power that might have any number of compulsions or hidden tricks added in. Especially when someone wanted an advancement in position, but could not because another was already there. It was why his rise had been so swift in comparison. He didn’t trust his own kind at all. Anyone who wanted power was someone not to be trusted.

The boy’s cries faded as blood loss finally forced him to lose consciousness. His body rapidly dissolved and the essence of the lad floated in a greenish yellow ball centered in the circle. Montrose dropped the wall, and stepped into the circle. He moved so that his body pressed against the ball of magic, then he concentrated, opening himself and letting the essence fill him with energy. He felt invigorated. His magical aura was at peak strength. He was ready. It was time to find this chit, and deal with her permanently.

Dark Renaissance – Chapter 6

Yellowjakket moved south and west, away from Charing Cross. She hunted press-gangs, and when she found one, didn’t hesitate. She tore into the first one she spotted. The gang had two kids in anti-magic shackles, neck and waist, holding them powerless to resist. The mind control in the collars held them while the belt disrupted any connection to the source.

She fired a electric pulse, striking the lead member. Her bolt caught the man in the chest hurtling him four meters back and to the ground where he spasmed uncontrollably. The other six spread out in a rough defensive circle. One girl ran to the downed man, and started to drag him back to the circle. Yellowjakket fired again, and a cage of electricity locked the two in place, their bodies rigid in the vicious, sparking sphere.

The mages fired back, a large sphere of pinkish red light covered the area around the mages, and Yellowjakket. “No place to run, Chippy”, one of the wizards laughed. “You’re nicked.” She didn’t try to escape, charging into the remaining circle of five. The first man took a high-speed elbow that shattered his jaw, spinning him to the ground. Her electrical blast lifted another mage off her feet, violently contracting muscles propelling her into the sphere. She screamed like a damned soul as her body melted on impact.

She pressed down and reversed field, heading back towards the center of the circle. Only three remained. A cage of electricity paralyzed the one maintaining the spell, and the curtain of death faded. The other two drew themselves up, moving their hands and chanting. The woman pointed at Yellowjakket, the man faced the children. She charged the man, barely dodging the firey blast aimed at her. She fired as she ran by, the electric cage trapping him, the spell, interrupted, fed back into the caster. He screamed in agony as his body and limbs twisted. The woman spat curses and cast another blast of firey death at Yellowjakket.

She dodged once more, lungs beginning to burn. Yellowjakket returned a quick electrical burst at the woman. The hit slowed but didn’t stop her. Her ribs ached as she pulled deep inside and put on a last burst of speed, and arrowed at the woman. The mage saw her coming but had no time to create a defensive barrier. The impact knocked the mage, and Yellowjakket to the ground. Yellowjakket looked over towards the children, and saw the man on the ground, his limbs twisted like tree roots. The acrid, metallic scent of blood was in the air as a dark pool spread under him.

She looked back at the other mage, who rocked on the pavement moaning in pain. A misshapen lump showed the dislocated shoulder. The children were still huddled where they had been dragged when the fight started. “Do you have a family to go home to?”, she asked in an exhausted voice. The pain made her smile more a grimace. She lay on her side, and waited for the pain to lessen. The kids looked lost. Slowly the taller of the two shook her head. Yellowjakket guessed she might be ten. “Come on”, she gasped. “You can talk, can’t you?” The shorter girl piped up. Yellowjakket guessed her age was maybe five or six. “We’re not supposed to talk to strangers.”

Yellowjakket smiled wider. The sharp pain had dulled to a low ache. “I’m not a stranger now, am I? I’ll help get you home if you want me to.” The shorter girl shook her head yes as the older one shook hers in a no. The action made her think of her own sisters. Her heart ached for her identical siblings. She forced herself to smile. She pushed up off the ground, then walked slowly to the remaining mage, the others had fallen unconscious from the electrical shocks. She looked down at the woman, then to the children. “Turn around, I’m going to help this lady, but it’s going to hurt.”, she explained. The mage continued to moan in pain, raking back and forth as she tried to cradle the arm. Yellowjakket saw her left knee had been flexed sideways. It stuck out at a ninety-degree angle. She grabbed the leg, then pushed hard and fast.

The woman screamed, then passed out from the searing pain. Yellowjakket tried to stomp the shoulder socket back in place. Two tries had no effect, so she laid off any more attempts. Instead she went to the children. She slowly kneeled, wincing at the pain shooting up the outside of her knee. She stood up flexing it. Satisfied nothing felt torn or broken, she kneeled again, watch the lower lip of the younger girl stick out in a pout. “I wanna go home”, she said and looked at the other girl. She shook her head and told the girl, “Hush Caroline, we need to be quiet.” The lower lip stuck out further, quivering slightly. “It’s all right sweetie, it’s all right. Why don’t you two run on home. I’ll make sure these bad people don’t follow you.”

The little girl looked up at the black-clad guardian. “You won’t leave? You promised.” The older one pouted like the younger. Her own lip sticking out as she gave Yellowjakket a suspicious look, then moved Caroline behind her. “We’ll make it home, it’s just a few streets over.” Yellowjakket nodded then turned. “Tell your parents what happened. If they want help, have them leave a note with their address at that corner. I’ll come help.” Yellowjakket pointed over to the corner where a small Jewler’s shop resided. “Put the note on the post box. I’ll check every day for you.” She smiled at the two girls, then stood up, the stitch in her side finally gone.

“You two must be special, when those people are trying to take you away from your mum and da.” The little girl nodded as her older sister frowned and Yellowjakket. She smiled at the older girl then turned to look to the north as a faint siren drifted in the air. “Go now, hurry, they’ll be here soon.” Wen they hesitated, she glared at the girls and snarled “MOVE!” The word propelled them into action, and the two ran down the street and turned right between the Jewler shop and the Shoe hop just south of it. Once the girls were out o sight, Yellowjakket sped south, drawing the hunters after her.

For the next hour, Yellowjakket drew the hunters south. Ambushing another group of mages just before she disappeared into the tunnels on the shore of the Thames. Once into the tunnels, she turned north, racing through the storm sewers, the moving water disrupting tracking spells. The mages had planned for that trick, using humans twisted into caricatures of werewolves to follow her scent in the humid air. That too, she’d prepared for. After moving at high speed through the tunnels, she moved back to the surface. A quick run to a nearby cache netted her a 15-liter petrol can. She poured the contents down into the sewer, then waited a minute for the fumes to spread.

Leaving the lid off, she flicked a match and tossed it carefully into the hole. Speeding off as it arced down. The heavy thump of the exploding gasoline would guarantee any scent would burned away. If any of the trackers were close enough, the concussion might daze them for a while, giving her more time to lose herself in the sewer tunnels. Her speed was an advantage. The animals could track her, but at her speed she’d be tens of kilometers and hours ahead of anyone following. That is, if they didn’t have the speed she did. So far, no one had. It wasn’t something to rely on though. Mages could mimic anything she did, given time, and she was certain that speed would be something that the mages would have worked on.

I just hope it’s more trouble than it’s worth to them to make it work. She dashed forward, and emerged at Charing Cross once more from the Tube. It was a quick sprint to the orphanage building. She tapped the door, and waited for one of the guardians of the place to open it. The thing that opened the door looked human in outline. Up close and in the light, she could see the greenish skin and the overlarge eyes of the troll. The creature had been found wounded after a magus patrol had been through the area. She’d survived by diving into the sewers and somehow managing to elude her pursuers to the Charing Cross station. She’d emerged above ground, and in a gamble, found a small park and allowed herself to be turned to stone by the sun’s rays.

The pursuers never seemed to have realized at the time that the stone statue was what they had been hunting. Locals had hidden her, and when Yellowjakket and the resistance had set up the ‘underground railroad’ to Scotland for children and families, she’d volunteered to take watch, in return for the kindness she’d been shown. Yellowjakket always felt there was much more to the story, but never asked. She wasn’t certain how the troll would take the question.

“Hi Gewrly”, she smiled at the troll. “How are the children?” “Ae, they bae rright fine. Yer moving?”, the troll rumbled questioningly. “Yes, the oldest this trip. With all the activity around here, we need to be able to move fast. The younger ones will be following soon up the rail. We’ll be going tomorrow night.” She looked down the unlit hall towards the double doors that served as the entrance to the beds. The Troll turned her head to gaze the same direction. “Ae, I’ll mes’um.” Her voice hardened for a moment. “Not all off’em.”

Gewrly continued as Yellowjakket raised eyebrows in surprise. She’d never heard the troll say one bad thing about any of the children, no matter how they seemed to treat her. Yet now, she was talking about being happy to see a child leave. “What’s gone on, Gewrly?” Her concern caught the troll by surprise, and she turned to look at Yellowjakket with wide eyes. “He’s em’tae. Y’ken? I cannae explain what I see. He’s, wrong tae me sense”, she finished quietly. “He’s not a bad lad, I cannae stand tae be around him.” Yellojakket nodded. “Point him out to me and I’ll take him north with this group”, she replied evenly. “Maybe a change of scenery will help whatever’s troubling him.”

Gewrly looked at Yellowjakket with a long-suffering expression, then just rolled her eyes and turned to settle back into the shadows by the door. She would sit there all night, occasionally going to check on the children if she heard them move. Yellowjakket padded to the doorway, and quietly pushed the door open. The children were all lying down in the crowded room. The beds were pushed together headboard to footboard in a long line that reached from one end of the former cafeteria, to the other. Fourteen long lines of beds were set this way. Each line was broken in thirds, with room for one person to walk between the rows. The packing left the other half of the cafeteria open for the children to play and move about. It wasn’t a cheerful place, but it was a start to a better one than they would be going to if the mages had their way. No, the further they were away from Londinium, the better.

She closed the door and walked quickly back to the troll. “I’ll be back tomorrow night, this same time, have the twelve oldest up and ready to travel. Include that one you talked about in the group. I’ll get them out of town, and to the next contact.” Gewrly nodded, her large white teeth near gleaming in the dark. “Ae will. Ye take cair, dolly. Themselves bae hatin’ you verra much.” Yellojakket noddded, and smiled. “I’m doing all right then.” The troll chuckled, sounding like a baritone chicken. “Tha’ ya are”, she replied.

The trip back she detoured east, going kilometers into Kent, before moving north, and finally returning to the Sewers under Brianburgh. She stopped at her bolt-hole to change clothes. She’d been gone times like this before. It was always easy to cover with talk about scavenging, if anyone became curious about her absence. Not that anyone really did. No one knew her Yellowjakket persona. Most here would cover for her if they did, which is why she took pains to keep her secret a real one instead of a shared one. The fewer that knew, the less danger for them. It was a lonely way to work, but now, more than ever, she had to think that way. She was alone.

She walked to the guards, and gave them the proper response. She could feel their gazes following her. They knew something had happened, but were too polite to ask. She knew the whole community would know in a few hours that ‘something bad must have happened to Sapphire’. I will not let this control me. I won’t let them know Selene’s gone. She clamped down on her sadness, and forced a smile to her lips, and a jaunty spring to her step. The more normal she acted, the less people would question her.

She managed to get to her curtain. The place still felt like Selene was going to appear out of her room, rubbing sleep from her eyes. The mental image made her knees buckle. The backpack fell from her shoulders and she bit down on a sob that forced its way through her teeth. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They were all supposed to be alive, and running the mages in circles. Selene was supposed to be there to tell her and Serinda how to get the resistance really going. That was going to be Serinda’s job. She could sense power in people. She was a mage, but she was a meta too. Serinda was supposed to help recruit metas and mages that hadn’t been killed or captured by Control.

Being able to sense a person by their power was something that always bothered Sapphire about her sister. It was a big deal though. Up until Serinda died, they’d been finding people before the mages, and that had hurt them. Serinda had speculated, and one of the rescuees had confirmed, that the mages could pull power from an unresisting captive and use it to power their spells faster and more powerfully than simply pulling and manipulating the environment.

Life essence seemed, according to the partly trained mage, to be a fount of concentrated energy. The more aware, and alive a being was, the more ‘dense’ the energy they gave off when killed. And the mages found that this was a very fast shortcut to a lot of power. So when a major working needed doing, a number of the ‘lesser’ metas were tapped for the purpose. The description horrified her, and she could see, in the young man’s eyes, how much viewing such a ritual had wounded him. “I couldn’t do that, and in Control, if you can’t do what’s asked, then you’re next to be part of the ritual. It’s how they keep the underlings in line and focused”, he’d explained, shuddering at the memories.

“It din’t matter a whit that it was a kid, or a geezer they used. It’s like they got addicted to it all, and couldn’t wait for the next fix. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough after that. I just ran.” It had given them all a lot to process. For Selene, it crystallized what needed to be done. “We get ourselves our own army, and we make it people and metas and mages. We don’t go at them head-on. We isolate them, make them more desperate to find more ‘recruits’. We find where they’re keeping them, and we break them out, and get them somewhere away from Control. Starve a junkie and they turn on each other to get that fix.”

That led to Serinda’s death, and now, Selene’s. Sapphire felt overwhelmed. It wasn’t like she ever believed they’d die. Reality caught up with her fantasies, and bit her hard. She dropped to her knees just inside the curtain. As she started to cry, there was a quiet thump from behind. A moment later there, were hands on her shoulders as a body painfully kneeled next to her.

“Sapph? Hey, Sapph. It’s Simon. I’m right here. I’ll keep an eye on things.” His earnest, caring voice cut through the fog of pain, and she slowly pulled herself back from the despair that had started to overwhelm her. Unconsciously, she leaned into Simon, drawing comfort from his presence. Simon caught the movement, and moved to a sitting position. He held her as she cried once more for the sisters she’d never see. Later, Simon got back to his feet, and carried her to her bed, then drew the thin blanket over her, and quietly left.

Morning brought activity, and the noise brought Sapphire back from a nightmare of watching her sisters melt away in one of the sacrifices the rogue mage had described. She shook her head to clear it, and gave herself a quick sponge bath, filling the basin with the cold water that had been left on the stovetop. She dressed, then gathered up more portable food, packing it in a pillowcase. She added more utensils and the portable stove to the backpack, then stuffed in clothing. Last of all went in Serinda’s and Selene’s costumes. She pulled up the loose floorboards in front of the stove to get them, and stuffed them deep in the backpack.

Simon was right at the curtain when she pulled it open. He took an awkward step back to avoid spilling the breakfast tray on her. “Sapph! Er, ah, I thought you might like a little something this morning besides kibble. The scent of cooked egg and cheese wafted up to her. Her stomach growled with appreciation as she dropped the pillowcase with a clatter. She grabbed the slice of rough bread, and shoveled the egg and cheese as fast as she could. “Hey hey girlie! Inhale! Take. A. Breath.” he laughed. “Whrm dud you gut dis?”, she choked out between bites. She hadn’t had an egg in months.

“There’s another group south o’ London. I traded some work for a dozen. Seemed a shame not to share ’em with someone.” He shrugged then looked at Sapphire. Her won gaze had wandered up to his face and met his as he finished speaking. The warm feeling came over her again as she watched his eyes. The feeling felt good, and she caught herself leaning towards Simon. She caught herself before she overbalanced, covering her blush with another spurt of shoveling food as fast as possible.

“Look, Sapph, I don’t know what’s got you down, and I won’t question. If you need an ear to listen some time, look me up”, he finished. An awkward silence built up between them. Awkward, yet comforting. She wanted to break the silence, and wanted it to just hang around a bit longer so she could enjoy Simon and the quiet presence around them both. Simon gazed at her and his face flushed. He coughed, breaking the silence. “Umm, I’ll see you later, Sapph. Gotta few chores to take care of and all that.” Sapphire nodded, not trusting her voice. Simon turned and gave her a small wave. “Right, I’m off. Talk with you later.”

She looked down at the tray, and finished the last piece of bread, slathering it in the runny remains of the yolk. Once she’d done that, the tray went on top of the stove, and she picked up the pillowcase. The trip out to the bolt-hole was quiet. Everyone seemed to be about their own business as she passed the checkpoint.

The voices and noise of the small camp faded behind her as she trudged down the tunnel. Replacing it were the dripping of water and the scurrying of rats and other animals that used the sewers as home. She got to the hidden entrance, then ducked inside to find that her hideout had been discovered. The backpack of food was gone. Empty food tins were strewn about. The small portable stove had been nicked. Her clothes were strewn about, with some of them cut.

She dropped to her knees, staring at the wreckage done. As she glanced about the remains, she saw the neck from a bottle. A second glance showed a second bottle further down the sewer. She picked up the neck, mindful of the jagged end and took a sniff. It smelled of Gin. Someone had stmbled across the place apparently drunk and by chance, then eaten their fill, and took anything of value. Sapphire stopped, and listened. If they were drunk, thy might be still ‘sleeping it off’ here.

She lowered the pillowcase full of cans to the floor as quietly as possible, then did the same with the backpack. She held still for a minute, ears straining to hear the slightest sound. Once she convinced herself no one was there, she hurried to pick up what clothes could still be worn, then moved the rocks to get her costume. Placing it in the backpack, she scrambled out of the Hideaway, and shouldered her backpack and pillowcase of food. She wouldn’t have time to look for a place to stay. She had to be back at Charing Cross to lead the kids out of Londinium tonight. With her destination fixed, she started a quick trot Southward.

Dark Renaissance – Ch 3 – Interlude

Hamish Montrose stared stoically out the open window behind his commanding officer. He heard the voice and would recall the exact conversation later. For now, he was content to let the man yell himself hoarse about the botched assignment. The clouds outside were an iron-grey. Low in the air, they carried the scent of water and decay from the nearby docks. He wrinkled his nose, envisioning the captain’s body floating in the brown water. It brought a ghost of a smile to his lips. He sensed, rather than heard the captain slowing in his tirade. It was time to pay attention once more.

“I want that bitch caught, Montrose. Breaking her in public will break the back of the resistance, and secure us power and privilege. You understand this, do you not?” The captain sat behind his huge oaken desk, and glared balefully at Hamish with his remaining eye. The other had been lost when he nearly burned to death. He was a moderately powerful mage, but the burns rendered him a cripple, and only suited for organizational work, which the man detested with a passion. He passed his anger and self-loathing down upon his subordinates berating and belittling their efforts every chance he was given. Hamish loathed him completely. Killing him would guarantee advancement. Hamish glanced at the captain, going through his memory to find what the captain wanted.

He glanced at the sour, burned man, and said with quiet intensity, “Of course, I will make it my sole priority to track and capture her.” He seethed inside while giving the captain an obsequious smile. “Get out of my sight. Report back on progress daily. If you can’t then I’m sure someone else would fill your incompetent shoes just as inadequately as you.” Hamish bit down on his tongue, offering the same bland smile as before. The captain waved him out then turned to looking at the papers on his desk. Montrose walked out, mentally watching the captain’s gutted body float down into the brown water as fish bit small pieces off. He enjoyed the thought of the man being eaten alive. The thought kept him comfortable in the cold, wet wind.

Dark Renaissance – Chapter 2

Both Sapphire and Selene bought in immediately, and Yellowjakket suddenly became enemy number one to the new government. The recorded power effects and her own movements convinced Control that one person was responsible. Her powers became the enigma, as any locator spell never worked properly, frustrating the casters to no end. That was the true power of triplets. Three different signals confusing the search. Each identical to the others, creating a feedback that destroyed the intent of the spell. The last trick was the most morbid. A small bomb, designed to hide any trace of their identity from discovery. It was something they all understood. If one of them was captured, the others were as good as caught was well.

Serinda was the first to die. She stepped into direct fire to help protect citizens from Control’s press-gangs. Her actions saved fourteen children from Zahrenholt, and cost hers. The detonation had an unexpected secondary effect, the first convincing those in Control that this was a new power. It made them more cautious in their efforts to capture Yellowjakket. The second was to further destroy the ability to track the surviving girls, as the ‘essence’ of Serinda had been thoroughly scattered within the town by the blast, that tracking spells were useless.

The two sisters stopped operating for weeks, then returned with a vengeance. Selene was driven to make her sister’s death mean something, and she threw herself into disrupting press-gangs at every opportunity. The effect was to bring the whole of the Magocracy after Yellowjakket, and propel her into the papers. Other heroes emerged, and for some months, the Magocracy started to lose control in Londinium. Riots followed the press-gangs, as did combat with the newly emerged meta-humans. The newer metas engaged the mages in open combat in the streets. Both sides used power and technology. In this the mages had superiority. Their power, being external, was slower to build, but stronger, and more encompassing in effect. Meta-humans, their power coming from within, were able to fire quickly, but in limited manner. They too could create large changes, but the effort to do so cost them personal energy, so it was seldom done.

The mages, could more freely do so, and did. Creating snowstorms, fire, ice, whipping winds, that affected the metas not in close combat. Sheer numbers overpowered individuals. The press-gangs returned, only now to find any children with the affinity to power, not just potential mages. These were turned into the next batch of loyalists to the Magocracy. Tools to fill the depleted ranks of the press-gangs and other arms of the government.

Not that it was easy. People remembered the old, true past, and fought the new history. They fought with words, memories, guns, and their own abilities, when they had them. But for all the resistance, the Magocracy had taken the first step by organizing. The organization allowed them to defend themselves, and repel individual attacks. That was still the way things were. The mages united to hold onto the reins of power. Until a second power could organize, the mages would remain atop the political food chain.

Yellowjakket had threatened to build that organization. When a villain gets into the papers, and then the local papers start showing what the state-controlled papers won’t, people begin to notice, and question. That’s what happened. Questions became rallies, rallies became demonstrations, Demonstrations became riots. The riots started eating at the base of the Magocracy’s power. It had reached a head last night when Yellowjakket had detonated the south wall of Zahrenholt prison, releasing over one hundred children from the re-education wing. Half had been recaptured in the ensuing hours, but over half got away, disappearing into the alleys and sewers under Londinium, and Brianburgh to the north.

Selene had paid for that audacity with her life, and now Sapphire was the last to hold the mantle of Yellowjakket. She huddled in the wet muck, remembering, holding onto every memory she could recall. Replaying them again and again, trying to shut out the truth that they were gone. Holding onto every thought so that she’d never forget them. Hours passed until her feet and bum went numb from the cold water, and her legs ached as the cold crept into them. She stood slowly, her internal clock telling her it was early evening. She shook out her hair, dragging fingers through the tangled wet mess, then jogged slowly back to the west checkpoint. She had to go find a new place. First though she had to cover for her sister, and herself.

The jog back took another half hour. When she was challenged, she swallowed her despair and told the two on duty in a pompous voice, “Ask the password, wizard, I’m not afraid.” The two smirked and waved her through. That was the secret. There was no password. Odd numbered days you challenged the guards, even numbered days you teased them. Anyone who tried to answer the challenge with a password, those were the spies. That little shift in style had kept the small community safe from infiltrators.

She walked back to the small home in ‘Diagon-tubely’, and changed her hair, and borrowed some of her sister’s clothes. She packed a change of her own clothes in her backpack. She got a couple slices of bread from the oven-pantry, and spread some butter and apple slices on it, Slapping the other bread on top, she bit into it and sauntered out the front door. The first person she spotted was Simon, with his distinct limp. She gave him a wave and continued out towards the checkpoint. Once she reached it, just made another jaunty wave to the guards and jogged off, turning down the tunnel heading north up to Brianburgh.

When she was out of sight, she kicked in her power and sped to the next intersection. She found the small emergency tunnel she and Selene had found on their early forays. She moved past the rubble-camouflaged entrance, and put down the backpack, emptying it. She changed clothes, cached the food and Selene’s clothing, then sped down the tunnel to the other camouflaged end that linked with a side tunnel. The side tunnel linked back to the unblocked Brianburgh storm sewers, which she followed back to the main tunnel. She hopped over the three foot retaining wall, jogged back to the checkpoint, and back to her home.

Once home she flung herself on the mattress, and cried silently for a long time. Later, she made two more trips to her hideout. Laying in more canned food and items for an extended stay. She was going to need locations like these if Control got aggressive in coming after the escapees. She needed to find where the others at the ZaP had directed the children. They had to be moved away from Londinium for their safety.

Dark Renaissance – Introduction

She sped through the dank alleyways towards her destination. Her body flickering like a neon light going bad as it constantly shifted location along her route. The clear skies showed her the single moon in it’s waning crescent. That silent sentinel seem to frown down on the city, giving each shadow an ominous sense of waiting. She sped towards Zaherenholt Prison. The massive ziggurat was built on a square mile of land on the edge of Brianburgh’s Industrial district. The soot from the coal-fired furnaces and electric plants showered the downwind area with black, destroying color and rendering everything a shadowy dark.

The slim woman blinked from the corner of the abandoned textile mill, across the half mile of open ground around the ‘ZP’ as it was called. The multiple fences that were intended to impede escapes didn’t stop her in the slightest. A slight popping sound and she would disappear, and reappear beyond the chain-link barrier. She accomplished this four times, then scrambled the last forty feet, snugging tight against the concrete base. Speed was of the essence. Each teleportation had tripped alarms from the seismic sensors in the ground between fences. She pulled the backpack off, and dumped the contents on the ground. She picked up six devices, and teleported again, praying that the map she’d studied was accurate.

The black-clad woman appeared inside the ‘ZP’ with a faint pop. The guards at this base level were robotic, and fell easily to her electric blasts. She placed a charge, then teleported in and up, more confident now of the map’s accuracy. She reappeared a floor up and in. Placing a charge then te;eporting up and in once more, to place the last of the first string. Horns and sirens blared. Safety walls dropped sealing each corridor to itself, containing any potential riot. She ignored them, placing another charge at the opposite end of the corridor. Teleporting down and out, placing a charge each time, she stayed just ahead of the guards until she appeared outside the ‘ZP’ once more.

Here, there was no place to avoid being seen. The guards spotted her, and charged, intending on overpowering her before she could teleport away. Yellowjakket triggered the charges. The bottom ones blew first, followed upwards by the interior charges, setting a resonance in the structure. The rumbling increased as each charge detonated, setting the walls to shaking. The guards slowed the advance, staring at the rumbling building behind the girl. The young woman smiled, then teleported as the walls cracked, then slid down with a roar of shattering stone and steel. Screams issued from inside the building as children from eight to eighteen scrambled for freedom through the breach.

The girl reappeared back at her original spot, taking a moment to watch the prisoners scramble free. There was a faint crunch behind her. She spun, ready for an attack. “You are always where you’re not wanted, girl. Time for you to die.” She tried to teleport, and failed. The man chuckled at her surprise. “Please, I’ve seen that trick before. I came prepared.” He stepped forward, his hand like a striking snake. She tried to dodge, stepping aside and closing, Her hand crackling with power. The man smirked as he mouthed a quick spell, snuffing the building power. His huge paw of a hand engulfed her arm.

She screamed as a hard yank popped the shoulder out of joint. The man smiled, twisting the arm, and tearing another scream from her throat. “You should have never come, Yellowjakket”, he growled over the blaring sirens. He looked up from the struggling woman to the flood of prisoners escaping. “Looks like I’ll be getting a bonus for recapturing this lot, don’t you think?” He jerked on her arm once more, then grabbed her throat, lifting her off the ground. The muscles on his arm bulged as he squeezed. The girl beat at his arm for a moment, then a wet snap caused her to jerk, and hang limp. The man threw the corpse to the side, and started after the escaped prisoners. He plucked at small device off his belt, and held it up.

“This is Montrose, She’s take-”, he started to speak, then a detonation blew him face down as shards of bone pierced his back, and gobs of flesh and blood rained down. He awoke moments later, confused by the blast. It too a moment to orient himself. A squawking noise resolved itself to a voice emanating from the mic on the ground near him. “Montrose! Montrose! Dammit you git, Report! Montrose!” Hamish Montrose pushed his bulk slowly off the ground. A mumbled spell thrust the chips of bone from his body, allowing healing to begin. He looked down at the blood-spattered mic, then bent to pick it up. He shook the blood off, then clicked it.

“Shut it, this is Montrose. Someone dropped a bomb here. Girl’s gone.” “Bloody hell! How she get away? Your incompetence has caused this debacle! When Control hears of this..” “They’ll what!”, he snarled at the mic. “Save your bum from the Processors? Don’t make me laugh.” She didn’t get away. She’s dead. As for the prisoners, we can catch them. They’re all chipped. Get the list and set the Finders loose. The game’s just starting.” He clicked the mic off, then shook himself, and strode towards the blasted wall to cut off any more escaping children.

Dark Renaissance – Prolog

Here it is. The prolog for the story. It’s short and I hope you enjoy the buildup . Please comment and critique to your heart’s content. I only get better when I learn where my weaknesses and strengths are.

Thirty years ago, humanity opened its full potential. Quantum physics had delved deep into the why and where of things, finding in truth that all things are connected in one way or another at the sub-atomic level. Spooky action at a distance indeed, as man found that fiction and science, myth and magic, all had a similar origin in the lowest levels of creation. When it was discovered that with practice, or proper manipulation of genetics, abilities and powers stepped from fantasy to reality. Future, past, all of time, became another tool to manipulate. This kind of ability and power was first jealously guarded by those in power, hoping to hoard it for themselves.

For the first years of advancement, this was true, and a shadow war of sorts developed between those who had the power, and those who discovered that power, and wanted it for themselves. This war created a new world by destroying the base of the old. History looped and twisted, changing with every experiment in time, until all realized that the loops simply fed into one another and created the amalgam that had loosed the power on the world entire. What no one had thought to realize was, that each time someone with power shifted time, they also shifted potential by exposing others in the past to the theories and abilities of the future. This exposure created that opportunity for the power, and abilities to grow outside the controls those in power had hoped to strengthen. In essence, they chased the horse out of the barn before they closed it.

This created the new world. One that constantly shifted with each trip back in time, until time itself provided the final answer by a feedback loop that stopped any rearward development. The world shifted back beyond humanity to find it’s balance, only to find man had been there already. The genie was truly out of the bottle, and what had been a world of man, became a world of powers, aspects, and man.

The heroic age had been born anew. Heroes in capes wielding mysterious and terrible powers. Puissant mages, vile demons, gods, aliens, and men who stepped beyond humanity. In this new world, evil still resided, in more grandiose, and more subtle forms. Tyrannies grew from the ashes. The world had been changed, continents shifted, countries destroyed and rebuilt anew.

North America was split by a body of water where the Great Plains previously existed. The south was drowned. Central America ceased to exist excepting numerous small islands dotting the space between North and South America. The United States was reduced to a shadow of itself. What remained of it was situated east of the Ohio-Mississippi river basin. Canada was split in thrice. The West the South, and the Northeast. Europe was split by the growth of the Mediterranean Sea, cutting Africa by drowning the Arabian peninsula. Despite every change, man still remembered what had been, and wanted to return.

The Deep End – Part 12

“Carny, what the heck is that thing?”

Carny looked down at the small rectangles, then back at dean with a guiless, innocent look that Dean knew well.

He threw up his hands. “Sorry Carny, no. No speakers in here, what do you want to do, tell someone they’re being watched?”

Carny grinned, and Dean smiled to himself. Give Carny attention, fall for his lead, and he’ll tell you anything and everything.

“More than that, brother. These are microwave emitters. The kind the military uses to safeguard sensitive places like, oh say, an armory.”

Dean straightened in surprise. “Microwave emitters?”

Carny nodded. “That’s right. These little beauts emit microwaves that make the skin feel like it’s burning. Works on magickal critters too. A quick zap and they’re beelining for the hills, eh.” Carny gave an evil-sounding chuckle. “Nothin’s sticking around in here when you trigger ‘em.” Carny frowned. “Well, not unless they got a reflective suit. Special ceramic fiber stuff. Hard to get.”

“Please tell me these things aren’t illegal, Adair.”

Dean gazed pleadingly at Adair, who’d been listening to Carny and Dean’s talk.

“I don’t know that they’re illegal, and I don’t know they’re not,” Adair replied with a vague shrug.

“You’re not filling me with the warm fuzzies, Adair. If those things are illegal, I can lose my license” Dean announced worriedly.

“Brother, you’re telling me you forgot how we operated? We weren’t illegal, just para-legal.”

Dean nodded reluctantly. He remembered that sometimes to catch the bail jumper, they had to resort to a few ‘gray area’ dodges, and that had left him feeling uncomfortable. It got the job done, and he could rationalize it with the guy being in jail rather than out on the streets, but some of the ‘bad guys’ weren’t bad. They’d been desperate, but not bad.

Dean looked at the cousins. “How about instead of here, we use this on their place. If we can, we do their car too.”

The cousins turned to stare at each other, and identical wolfish grins spread across their faces.

“I like that idea, we should have thought of that first.”

“Comes from thinking too much about defense rather than offense, Carny.”

“Damn straight.”

Adair turned to Dean. “Know where these hosers live?”

Dean smiled. “I certainly do.”

* * *

The beat-up looking ivory and red pickup truck pulled into the ‘Peak Arms’ parking lot, then rolled to a stop next to an old, red Ford Marten. Three men dressed in identical work clothes exited the truck, and moved to the bed, where they gathered up a large case, a ladder, and some electrical tools.

“This looks like a real rat hole, bro. These guys don’t believe in living the high life do they?”

“Staying under the radar is better for them. Having it known you’re an active criminal makes things dangerous. After all, we’re here because we’re just thinking they’re involved. Just think of the crowd if they were public.”

“True that.” Carny lifted out a tool belt, and settled it around his waist while Adair hauled out a large toolbox that contained the gear they expected to use in setting the bugs. The three men then walked through to the front door.

Adair sat down on the backless bench on the main floor while Dean and Carny went up the stairs to room 3A. Carny pulled out a leather case from his pocket and kneeled in front of the door. Ten seconds later the lock clicked open. Carny held his hand out in front of Dean.

“Magick, bro. We gotta check for Magick alarms.”

“How are you going to do that, Carney? I’m not a user, and I don’t know anyone who is available on short notice like this.”

“No problem bro, Adair’ll be up in a hot minute with a cure-all for what’s holdin’ us up.”

Carney had just finished speaking when his cellphone beeped at him, if the opening chords of Bachman-Turner Overdrive’s old song ‘Takin’ care of business’ could be called a beep. Carney grabbed the phone and muted it before flipping it open.

“Yeah bro, what up? Unlocked and ready for a cursory sweep, soon as we get the door tested for spells or curses.” He listened intently, a frown forming on his lips and brow furrowing.

“You do it! Last time I did a casting like that I had a migraine for three days.” Dean listened and remained quiet. Carney had some small Magick he could do, but it always cost him, and that was the reason he went aircraft maintenance rather than casting corps. He sighed quietly then set about making a quick circle in chalk from the small kit he carried. A quick lopsided circle with four ordinal sigils for eyes, ears, the mind, and the spirit.

The chanting he did very quietly, no telling who might poke their head out if he did it too loudly. Ten seconds after starting a pair of shimmering walls faded into visibility. The outside of the pair had a streaked rigidity to it. The near audible ‘hum’ from it which raised goosebumps on the backs of his hands made it clear to Dean this was the alarm. The hum meant power was being fed into the wall, which meant the caster was plugged in and would feel the spell come down if it was triggered.

The inner wall was even more direct. Fire. Enough fire to likely incinerate the contents of the room and the intruder that tripped the trap. Dean looked over his shoulder at Carny, who was staring at the two walls.

“Why does everything with you always find a way to be ‘worst case’, bro?” He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it abruptly. “This has to be anchored to the door, right? Someone like the super comes up and knocks, she has to avoid tripping it somehow, otherwise it’d have been set off first day in place.”

Dean nodded. “I think you’re right, Carny. Something has to allow for the spell to avoid being set off by accident. Otherwise the dead bodies would bring all sorts of unhappy mounties down on their heads.”

“So what is it, bro? What safety you think it is?” The burly man continued to stare at the door. “I’m guessing hinges.”

“You got a reason for hinges, Carny?”

“Bro! It’s obvious!” Carny started winding up his enthusiasm and his voice.

Dean hurriedly made shushing motions as Carny’s voice started to rise. Both men looked around quickly to see if they’d drawn any attention. When neither man saw any movement in the doorways, they turned back to the warded door.

“It could be the lock, Carny. You have to unlock the door to get in. A spell on the key would be just as good as sounding out a dispell, better even because no one would hear it.”

Carny’s face fell in disappointment as Dean explained. “Dammit, I was sure it’d be the hinges.”

“It still could be. The hinges could be the trigger if the lock is opened without the key.”

Carny nodded curtly and pulled a coil of silver wire from a pouch on his toolbelt. Dean turned his attention back to the door and returned to chanting quietly. The door faded to a semi-transparency that allowed both Dean and Carny to observe where the two spells were anchored. Both went to the lock and the alarm went to both lock and hinges. Carny’s smile grew back when he saw the second anchor.

“Knew it’d be the hinges.”

Dean shook his head slowly as he kept up the whispered chant. Carny measured by eye the distance from the middle hinge to the lock, then cut a length of wire. The two ends had each a six centimeter section bent ninety degrees, with Carny carefully peeling two thin pieces of duct tape and sticking them on the back of his hand.

He pushed the left prong slowly and carefully into the lock then taped it in place making certain not to cover the cylinder of the lock. He glanced over at Dean, then nodded.

“Okay, ready for the tricky part?”lol

Dean took a few deep breaths and let the transparency spell drop. He started doing a yoga exercise to focus his concentration and got a slap from Carny.

“Get yore ass in gear, bro. We don’t have time to wait for you to be centered up. We got to be in, now like.”

Dean got out his pick kit and went to work on the lock. Five seconds later he was rewarded with a soft ‘clunk’ as the cylinder rotated open. The hum from the door escalated as Dean turned the knob. Carny turned the wire so the extension pointed up and slid it in the crack along the jamb as Dean opened the door a centimeter. He let the wire rotate back to horizontal and the hum dropped away to almost quiet.

“I hate that part.”

“You and me both, bro. Let’s get in now like.”

The two men picked up their duffles and toolkit, then enter and closed the door behind them quietly. In the next few moments Dean quickly scanned the room, and found no wards in the room and no alarms. A quick nod to Carny and the big man opened his kit and began setting up the bugs. One micro-cam up in the corner of the room closest to the door with a microphone, another microphone under the table near the small, dingy-yellow kitchen, and a third on the ceiling above the old hanging light in the small hall that held a bathroom between the two bedrooms.

It took Carny all of five minutes to finish the setup. He looked around the small living room. The main door opened into it from the middle of the north wall, and west was the bathroom through the square archway where the light hung. The kitchen archway was just north of the bedroom and was barely wide enough for one person to enter and cook.

“How long we been here?”

“Four minutes. Get a move on, bro.” Adair’s whisper crackled sharply in the quiet. Carny cursed and hurriedly lowered the volume.

“Give us a heads up, bro, not a heart attack” Carny mumbled as he finished packing, then he and Dean exited through the door. Dean pulled it shut and then pulled Carney’s bypass. The ward shivered, then settled back to quiescence. As the two men got to the front door, a beat up looking old utility vehicle painted with grey primer pulled into the small parking lot, and settled in the empty spot next to Adair’s pickup.

The Carre brothers stepped out of the SUV then spoke quietly in French as they walked together towards Dean and Carny. Dean ducked his head and hefted the bag he was carrying. Carny just shrugged and turned his head towards Dean.

“Hey Joe, how about we got get a burger? I’m hungry.”

Dean stumbled mentally, then caught on. “Sounds good to me, but after the next job, we’re running late already.”

“Hurry it up, bro.”

“Yeah, I’m on it.”

The Carres walked by them, still muttering quietly in French. Dean caught a few swear words that he’d heard in the RCAF. Something’s got them a little riled up. Maybe we can find out. He walked with Carny over to Adair.

“Adair, can you turn on the bugs? They’re upset about something, and maybe we can get useful information if they’re talking about it.”

Adair gave Dean a wolfish smile.

“You got it my man. One fly on the wall coming right up.”

Adair opened his kit and drew out a box with dials and switches. He tapped ‘A’ then ran the dial back and forth until a voice crackled over the speaker.

“It’s funking Quebecois, not even real French” Adair grumbled. “I might be able to figure out what they’re saying if they didn’t speak so funking fast.”

He focused on the conversation, which was angry and rapid fire. No way I can follow it, I hope Adair can get something. The brothers argued vehemently for another few minutes, then a loud bang echoed over the comm and the brothers went silent.

“Door. They’re coming out. Get in now! We gotta be gone or they’ll know we’re after them.”

Dean jumped in the pickup bed and lay flat while Carny hurriedly entered the cab. Adair backed the truck up out of the lot onto Tilton Street, then backed up behind a fence that bordered the edge of the lot. He killed the engine as Carny hopped back out of the pickup and went to the corner and took a quick peek back towards the apartments. Adair opened the small rear window, then turned to watch Carney.

“I got a name, Dandelion. Sounds like a restaurant to me. Probably downtown.”

“Could be a building, Adair. We got a few with named ones around. Up in Dayning especially.”

Carny interrupted them as he put a meaty hand on the door, and yanked it open.

“Let’s follow them. Upset as they sounded, what you want to bet it’s about the missing girls?”

Adair didn’t hesitate. He shifted the transmission to ‘Drive’ and rolled recklessly around the corner back into the parking lot just as the brothers vehicle exited onto Grover.

Adair paused a moment to let a few vehicles past, then pulled in to traffic, three cars back of the Carre brothers.

“See ‘em up there, Carny? I’m gonna watch us and you watch them.”

“I got ‘em, piece o’ crap flat black junker, right?”

“That’s the one, bro.”

“Good, junker sticks out like a cat in a dog pound. Gonna be easy.”

Dean lay in the back and listened to the brothers. Both of them, but Adair especially, were long-time pros at this kind of surveillance. Here’s hoping they’re stupid and lead us to the girls.

* * * * * * *

Dean lay back and closed his eyes. I can sleep now, I know I’ll feel the truck slow down when we get to wherever we’re going. It seemed like mere moments that he shut his eyes, and the truck started slowing down. He didn’t sit up right, that might draw attention. He angled his head back to look up at the open window on the back of the cab. He smelled salt and dead fish. Horns and seagulls mixed together as the truck slowed further.

“Halifax dock, whatta ya bet ‘Dandelion’ is a ship name, bro?”

“No bet since we’re at the West Dock, bro. That’s cheatin’.”

“They spot us, Adair?”

There was a soft crash of metal, then a rattling sound of chain. Motors provided a pulsing background to the sounds of the docks.

“No, but this ain’t over yet. Traffic’s thinner here and if they pull off, we’ll have to follow them, there’s not another turn for about three klicks…ah hell, there they go…wanna hope they’re real stupid Carny, otherwise this gets confrontational and none of us is a combat caster.”

“Bullets do for them just as well.”

“I sure as hell don’t want to find out that you’re wrong, Carny” Dean added.

“What bro said” Adair replied. “He could step out of that car fully juiced and then what do we do?”

Carny mumbled something under his breath, then leaned back, bumping the glass with his head.

“Get ready bro. This surveil’s hosed.”

Dean’s stomach clenched in a knot. He recognized the change in Carny’s voice. Instead of a hint of amusement, he’d gone flat. A sure sign that he was ready to go. He’d seen Carny get flat a few times in the RCAF, and once when he’d worked with Adair. Both times were when their plans got hosed and it became a potential firefight.

“Carny…” Dean didn’t finish what he was going to say as the pickup suddenly accelerated and lurched hard left. The tires broke free of the crumbly asphalt and squealed as they left patches on hard surface. Adair was swearing loudly as Carny cut loose with an angry roar and popped the passenger door open.

“He’s juiced! Keep the truck going! I’m getting out here!”

Carny pushed out of the cab and didn’t try to land on his feet. He hit feet first, and dropped like a paratrooper, tucking arms and legs in and rolled with the impact. He did two hard flips and landed in some soft sand. Dean lost track of him as his attention was grabbed by a blast of heat that singed his hair. He yelled in surprise and pain, dropping flat in the truck bed as Adair reversed the skid and dodged another blast of heat.

Throwing fire. Combat basic. Everyone’s scared of being burned alive.

“This be your stop, Dean-o! Last shot got the radiator! I’m gonna feed him the grill! Jump for it!”

Adair screamed and straightened the truck out. Dean leapt right, and tried to imitate Carny, landing feet down then letting momentum carry him onto his hip, arms against his body and roll. Fighting the momentum is how to break bones during a drop. He hit a loose patch and fell backwards as he overcompensated.

The pavement tore his clothes and gouged his skin as he tumbled. After a few seconds he rolled off the pavement onto soft sand. That was awful. Hunh, nothing broken. I got off lucky. Back sure hurts, probably road rash.

Dean glanced up just in time to see the pickup take a fire burst in front of the passenger side door, which burst and melted the front tire. The pickup slewed then rolled once, twice, thrice before coming to a twisted metal heap just off the road. It smoked momentarily then the vaporized gasoline exploded.

Oh gods, Adair!

The Deep End – part 7

He pulled up in front of his office. A yellow furniture van sat in front of his office. The back end was open, with boxes and a few large crates waiting on the ramp to be rolled into his office. Dean unlocked the door and pushed both glass doors wide. A couple rocks held the doors for the movers to bring the new furniture in.

As the movers shifted items into the proper rooms, Dean looked over the paper sheets he’d gotten. The two girls were close to the same age, and only a grade apart from Maren. Both were last seen by friends talking on a cellphone to someone, supposedly their new boyfriend.

That information fits with my case. It’s unusually close to what I’ve got as information. He read further through the first report. The girl’s car had been recovered, wiped down with bleach.

Why not just chop it and have it disappear? that’s what I’d have done. Maybe they can’t? What would stop them from just taking the car to a chop shop? Oh! If they didn’t have a contact. So this is a different group from established ones maybe? Or maybe just a single person is doing the work? That’d explain the car being abandoned. Maybe he parks another car out there to transfer to?

He placed the papers on the receptionists desk, then went to the first crate, and started pulling it open. He wanted to get everything set up and then move a cot into his office so he could sleep in it when he stayed too late.

The receptionist’s office now had it’s own set of upright 4-drawer files, a laptop and printer, an in-house hot spot, and a paid link into police open case files that were allowed to be perused. He sat down in the new swivel chair and powered up the all-in-one screen with a quick triple tap on the face. The machine lit up, with a welcoming display of it’s operating system. A few more taps set up the automatic link to the database, and a few more got links to public information such as wanted posters, lost and found, and missing pets, and missing persons.

All this still works. It’s amazing how much survived all that chaos years ago. We lost half our population in The Change, and yet stuff like the internet keeps on humming. We still have trade across the ocean, though the west is locked up until the government can figure out how to get a safe passage there and back.

He looked up the missing persons, to make certain Maren was on the list (she was) and checked on the car the officer said that had been found (it was there, with detailed information about the condition). he checked it once more against the other two vehicles, and found it similar enough to warrant him putting in a comment showing his belief of a link between the three.

He wrote up notes, then copied them off to the printer, and stuck them in a folder. Electronic records are great, but nothing in his mind makes up for something solid, like a paper copy. It was easier to carry and reference. While they were vulnerable, no one could hack paper for it’s information, like a person could hack a cellphone, or an internet-linked computer. Dean hummed to himself as he finished up, and put the first folder in the new file cabinet.

This sure beats working out of my car, or my house.

Dean went back to his house, retrieving his hunting cot, a pair of blankets, and his pump shotgun. He didn’t own a pistol, and the cost and time to get a license was not something he wanted. Shotguns were legal to own, and could be used on a person’s place of business, or their home, as defense. The Change had changed laws too. With so many dangerous things around, people often went armed. After getting the cot set up, Dean pulled the file again from the cabinet, and sat down at the receptionist desk to look through it once more.

He read through the girls information twice, doing his best to commit it to memory. He dozed off in the middle of reading. The next morning, Dean went back out to the Kwik-Way, hoping to catch Jeff in. Who he found was someone else at the counter, Vlad. The big man straightened up as he spotted Dean. “Hey, anything I can getcha?”

Dean nodded, and said pleasantly, “Good Morning, and yeah, got any vanilla flavored coffee for sale? I’d like a half-pound if you’ve got any.”

Vlad nodded, saying, “Last rack back there. Coffee’s on the bottom. If there’s any, that’s where it’ll be.” Vlad watched Dean until he disappeared behind the row, then put his ear plugs in, and began cleaning behind the counter. Dean stood up, and saw Vlad busying himself with a mop bobbing his head to whatever he was listening to.

I wonder if he’s really involved. He doesn’t seem like a kidnapper. Luka Magnotta didn’t look like a cannibal, but there you are. He strode to the counter, then rapped on the surface to get Vlad’s attention.

The young man pulled his ear buds out and glanced at Dean’s hands. “No luck, eh? Sorry, I don’t know if we’ll be getting any in. Our next delivery’s in two days. Come back then and check it out. The guy usually drops by just before seven in the a.m.”

“So, two days from now? How does that help me now?” Dean countered.

“Uh, well, we have vanilla latte available at the coffee station. You can come by here for a caffeine fix if you need one.” Vlad seemed flustered, but he did try to find an answer, which surprised Dean. Most people don’t think of answers that way, and just tell folks to wait. He’s a quick thinker. I think I’ll leave it alone and come back this evening to talk to Jeff.

Dean thanked him for the suggestion, and got himself a large coffee. Once he was back to the office, he dumped the coffee on the grass, and took the empty cup into his office to toss in the recycle can in the office. He puttered around, re-reading the file again, and when six p.m. finally rolled around, he drove back to the Kwik-Way.

He parked behind Madge’s Yarn Store, and walked to the edge of the large window. Jeff was behind the counter. Here’s hoping I can find something.

Jeff’s face soured when he saw Dean. He said gruffly, “You talked to Vlad?”

Dean shook his head. “No, I wanted to talk to you. About Vlad actually. You said he is a pretty conscientious worker. Were there any times he called in sick suddenly or didn’t show up for any reason?”

Jeff glowered at Dean. “I don’t have to answer nothing. You want to talk to Vlad.”

“I want to talk to you. Vlad may be involved. If he is, talking to him would just let him know I’m looking into things. If he puts that together, he’s gone, and so is my chance at finding the girl.” Dean took a step towards the counter. “You remember why I came here the first time? I’m looking for a girl. She’s an official missing person now. The most likely person to see her last was Vlad. Plus, two other girls in the area are missing. All the…,” Dean shut his mouth as two women entered the store.

Jeff went from irritated to friendly in the blink of an eye. “Welcome ladies, Is there anything I can help you find in your local Kwik-Way?”

The two girls whispered quickly, and one smiled shyly at Jeff. “Umm, is Vlad on later tonight? I was wondering if I could talk to him.”

“Well now. He’s not on tonight, but he’ll be in here every morning at five a.m. to work. If you’re up that early, there’s hardly a crowd until seven. You could catch him then, eh?”

The young woman nodded then walked back out of the store whispering and giggling with her friend as they walked off. Dean waited for them to walk out of the lot before turning on Jeff, who was clearly upset with Dean’s questioning. He also acted uncertain, as though that last talk with the girls had reminded him of something.

“Hey, Jeff. Earth to Jeff. I have three missing girls. Each one has nearly the same M.O. to their disappearance. Now, can you answer my question. It’ll be the last one I ask you.”

Jeff grunted, then palmed a hand down his face. “Fine. I’ll tell you just to get you out of here. He called in twice, once because he got a bug, the other because his car broke down.”

“Do you remember when those times were, off the top of your head?”

“I can do you one better, just to get you out of here.” He pulled up an archaic loose leaf notebook and dropped it on the counter. He opened to the beginning, moved to a tab labled ‘May’, and opened the book. A few pages later he said, “Here, May fourteenth. I covered for him.” It took a minute more to find the second time, which was in September, on the twenty-second.”

“Once moment.” Dean pulled out his cellphone, then linked to the missing persons site, and pulled up the first girl. Her missing date was May sixteenth. The second girl was listed as missing on the twenty-fifth.

“The girls are right in that time window. Take a look.” He handed his cell to Jeff, who took it, and as he looked at the two files, a haunted look came to his eyes. He grumbled and handed the ‘phone back to Dean.

“Doesn’t mean nothing. It could be coincidence.”

“What about four days ago? He call in not able to show for work?”

Jeff’s eyes grew more haunted, and a little fearful. He took a breath and exhaled it slowly. “Yeah, he called in saying he’d be late that day. Something important came up and he’d be in around eleven that night.”

Dean nodded. This kid seems to be an amateur. You’d think he’d use a day off to pull the kidnappings. It all fits together too cleanly. It IS the simplest answer. I’ll get copies of the log, if he’ll let me, and send everything to the police after I follow this up. No use in telling them something until I’ve something more than just circumstance, because Jeff is right, it could be just a weird coincidence.