Spellbound: Book II of the Grimnoir Chronicles

When I began my career, I was told that there was no longer a need for stage magicians in a world with real magic. Yet I knew, as everyone knows, that the easiest way to attract a crowd is to let it be known that at a given time and a given place someone is going to attempt something that in the event of failure will mean sudden death. That’s what attracts us to the man who paints the flagstaff on the tall building, or to the ‘human fly’ who scales the walls of the same building. Bury a Fade alive and there is no wonderment when he escapes, because nothing can hold a Fade. Bury a normal man, such as myself, and the crowds will gather to see if I may die. That, my friends, is showmanship.

—Harry Houdini,

Interview, 1931

Mason Island

Lights could be seen down both sides of the Potomac, but the island was only a blacker shadow on the river ahead. Luckily for them, it was a particularly dark night, moonless and cloudy. It smelled like rain. Their oars dipped quietly as Toru steered their tiny boat toward the island. Twenty feet behind, the water could be heard lapping gently against the second rowboat.

Sullivan was in the front, bullpup BAR pointed in the general direction of the island. There was a Maxim sound silencer screwed onto the muzzle. If a sentry spotted them, he’d need to shoot them down before the alarm could be raised. “Ian?”

Their Summoner was at the back of the boat, listening intently. “Molly doesn’t see anybody close to the shore,” Ian whispered. “I’ll have her go further south.”

He’d learned in the Great War that spirits were good scouts, but they often missed things. They weren’t that smart and could be easily distracted. Just because Molly didn’t see any guards, didn’t mean there weren’t any there. He went back to scanning the shore.

The first boat carried him, Dan, Ian, and Toru. The second held Diamond and his three knights. All of them had smeared grease on their faces and were dressed in dark, rugged clothing, from Sullivan’s beat-up dock worker’s coat and skull cap, to Ian’s brown get-up that was straight out of a safari outfitter’s catalog. Everyone was armed with a long gun, extra ammo, a sidearm, and other gear. Under Sullivan’s coat were three canvas BAR gunner’s belts improvised into a sort of crossed bandoleer, one over each shoulder, roped to the one around his waist, and each one was weighed down with spare magazines. That load was nothing compared to the Iron Guard though. He’d lost track of how many weapons Toru had thrown on, including that absurd spiked club riding on his back. He just hoped the Brute wasn’t overestimating how much stamina he would have once the nullifiers blocked his Power.

The island was closer now. Toru lifted the oars from the water and they all listened. Crickets and frogs, and the water lapping against a felled tree, but nothing that suggested they were drifting into an ambush.

It was cold, and even the brief ride in the rowboat had coated them with a fine mist that left their clothing damp. Moving through the forest, even if it was walking into a fight, would be a welcome relief, because at least it would generate some heat. The bottom of their boat thumped against something unseen, and the noise made Sullivan flinch. The frogs fell silent. They drifted for a moment, waiting . . . Then the frogs began croaking again.

Toru stowed the oars and rolled silently over the side. He entered the water without hardly making a splash. It was shallow here, barely coming up to Toru’s waist. Sullivan tossed the Iron Guard a rope and he pulled them forward until the boat was stuck in the mud. Toru tied the rope to a tree while the other three climbed out.

Diamond’s boat kept drifting to the east. They’d agreed to make landfall at two separate points and then converge as they got closer to the compound. Lance’s surprise had simply swum across the river before them and would be waiting somewhere ahead.

Dan and Ian weren’t nearly as quiet as he’d hoped. There was just something about moving in the woods that could only be learned through practice. Dan’s real value was if the nullifier’s could get knocked out. At that point he could probably just ask real nice and the OCI would surrender and hand over all of their evidence. Until then, he was clumsy and loud. Maybe I should have brought Hammer. He kept his voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “You two . . . Stay back and get your Summoned ready.” They’d discussed it earlier, anything Ian was capable of bringing in that would be much use in a fight sure wouldn’t be very stealthy. “Then stay a hundred feet behind us. Toru, you’re with me.”

Walking in a crouch, Sullivan made his way forward. The woods were thick, but he took his time to keep from making too much noise. The ground was nice and soft, which meant that his boots gained clinging mud with every step, but at least he didn’t have to worry about dry leaves and branches cracking. Stalking through no-man’s land had been a thousand times worse, because you had to do that on your belly, crawling over the dead bodies and the barbed wire, and a carelessly raised head would get you popped by a German rifleman. For Sullivan, this felt more like the deer hunting he’d done as a kid, than the deadly stalking he’d learned in France.

Walking into the nullifer’s range like walking into a wall. The Power just stopped. The spells he’d carved on his body felt lifeless and dull. Suddenly everything felt heavy.

Toru moved to the side, silent as one of Ian’s spirits. He’d brought that big Jap machinegun, but even without his Brute strength, it didn’t seem to be bothering him any. They had just shy of half a mile to travel. They made good time, trying to stay far enough ahead of the louder two. Sullivan was so used to subconsciously manipulating gravity that he’d forgotten just how weighty a BAR and two hundred rounds of ammunition was. Despite the cold, he began to sweat beneath his coat.

Five minutes in, Toru froze. The lack of movement in his peripheral vision was enough to make Sullivan unconsciously take a knee. The Iron Guard had sensed something. Sullivan’s nose caught it a second later. Cigarette smoke.

There was a noise up ahead and Sullivan pulled tight against a tree. There was a game path, and two shapes were making their way down it. The men were talking quietly, nervous. The long things in their hands could only be rifles. He looked to where Toru had been, but the Iron Guard was already gone, crawling forward, his machinegun left leaning against a log. Sullivan slung his BAR, drew his trench knife, and followed.

It was almost too easy. Just like old times, like silencing the German city boys who didn’t know how to listen to the night. The guards never even saw them coming. Toru took the left side of the game trail and Sullivan took the right. Palms covered mouths as heads were jerked back. Boot to the back of their knee, the blade goes in under the ear, then ride them down, nice and quiet. You only had to keep them still for a few seconds that way. The smart ones would at least try to pull a trigger to warn their friends, but Sullivan had found that most folks couldn’t think that far ahead with six inches of steel in their neck.

Sullivan dragged the corpse back into the bushes and wiped his blade on the guard’s shirt before putting it back in the sheath. His hands weren’t even shaking. There was only the emotional blankness hard earned in the trenches of France. The earlier reservations about taking these men’s lives had been dismissed after Lance’s discovery of the extermination order. If human life was that cheap to them, then Sullivan figured this was all they deserved.

He joined Toru on the edge of the trail. The Iron Guard gestured to the south and held up two fingers. More guards. They had to hurry. Dan and Ian were blundering along behind, and were sure to get spotted. Sullivan put his hand down to begin crawling, but froze. His palm had come to rest in something that felt suspiciously like an animal track. A huge animal track.

Damn, Lance. Did you get something big enough this time?

He signaled for Toru to intercept Dan and Ian. Toru moved off, and Sullivan waited. A moment later the second half of the patrol came into view. They’d left far too much room between themselves to be effective. Sullivan disapproved of their lack of professionalism.

These two were warier than the first, but it didn’t matter. There was a flash of shadow, a thump, and the guard bringing up the rear simply disappeared from view. The lead man turned, confused, as the shape in the bushes rose soundlessly, bounded back across the trail, leapt, and took down the other. This time Sullivan could hear the snap of bone as they disappeared.

The bushes shook as the predator made its way toward him. Every instinct in Sullivan’s body told him to either run for his life or start shooting, but he held perfectly still. He couldn’t actually see the animal until it was almost on top of him. You wouldn’t think that orange and white stripes would be effective camouflage, but it really was. The tiger came out of the brush and strolled down the trail toward him.

“Hey, Jake. We’re clear from here to the wall. Couple guards on top of it and more in a tower behind the perimeter. Bad news though. I can smell a lot more men inside than when we were here earlier. I’d say at least double, maybe more.”

He swallowed hard. Up close, the tiger was even more terrifying than he’d imagined. Sullivan prided himself on being a tough guy, afraid of nothing, but this was a little too close for comfort. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Aww, this little thing.” The tiger made a show of turning its head and looking at itself. “Now this is more like it.”

“Is it safe?”

“Safe as a six hundred pound Siberian tiger can be. The National Zoo is gonna be right angry when they find her missing.”

“You have to put it back.”

“Aww, come on. Can’t I keep her? Heh . . . Just kidding. You know how much this thing would cost to feed? Look, I got to concentrate. I’m trying to get word to Heinrich, trying to break the generator with another rat, and keeping this girl from eating you. I’m going to park her here and put her to sleep, so I can’t talk for a minute.”

Sullivan watched the tiger as it seemed to study him back. “Anything I can help with?”

“Just don’t try to pet the big kitty, Sullivan. I don’t think I could handle that.”

I think I’ve got it!

Francis was giddy with excitement, or maybe it was just the exhaustion talking, since he’d been working on Fuller’s design nonstop for an unknown number of hours. It was hard to tell time in a prison cell with no windows or clocks. The design finally looked, and more importantly, felt right.

So now what?

It just kind of sat there, a gigantic conglomeration of squiggles, shapes, and lines drawn in the dust, utterly lifeless.

Since he had proved incompetent at lock picking, the wire that Lance’s rat had snuck to him had been used as a drawing implement instead. Between the finer lines, and dozens of agonizing attempts, the spell was finally done, it seemed to be correct, but it wasn’t doing anything. It had to work just like any other spell. He had to concentrate on it, had to make it connect to his own Power. Until then, it was just a drawing in the dust. But how was he supposed to touch it with magic with the nullifier messing him up? He concentrated on the design, like he normally would, but felt nothing at all. “Damn it all to hell!”

“Huh?” The chains rattled. “What?” Heinrich sounded like he’d been sleeping.

“Nothing . . .” Francis couldn’t even tell his friend why he was frustrated because the stupid guards were probably listening. “How’re you doing?”

“I am doing rather well, believe it or not,” Heinrich answered. “I am looking forward to getting this over with.” Which probably meant that he’d had more luck picking his locks than Francis had. It didn’t seem fair at all. You wouldn’t think that a Fade would have ever bothered to learn a skill like lock picking when he could just walk through walls, but Heinrich was just so damned crafty that he’d probably learned how for fun. As a very talented Mover, all Francis had to do to open a lock was think about bouncing tumblers until something clicked. It turned out to be a whole lot harder with one hand and a piece of wire. “How are you, Francis?”

“Not as good as you apparently.”

“I see. Well, I think we are going to have a busy day tomorrow. Try to get some rest then.”

Easy for Heinrich to say. He’d learned how to sleep while dangling from ledges and rain gutters to keep from being eaten by zombies. Francis much preferred a nice, civilized bed. His idea of roughing it was a three star hotel.

There was another noise from inside the wall, skittering right behind his head, and it made Francis jump. “Don’t say anything,” Lance ‘s voice whispered from a space far too small for a human to fit. “This is it. We’re right outside. If you can make that spell work, Francis. Now’s the time. Nod your head if you got that.” He did. “Good. Gotta run.” There was a rattle of a pipe and Lance was gone as quickly as he’d appeared.

Desperate, Francis turned his attention back to the spell. Time was up. He had to make this damned thing work or else.

The rat scurried up the conduit, forced its head through a tiny crack in the wall, and then pulled its body through behind. Lance knew that anything its skull could fit through, the body could be forced to follow. All of God’s creatures, even the utterly disgusting ones, were amazing. He was tracking the gasoline stink of the engine. The generator was close. He could feel the vibration through his feet. More twists and turns took him through walls and behind panels.

The generator room was illuminated by a single light. There was no smell of danger, though the corners were cloaked in shadows. The rodent tumbled through the last hole, dropped several feet to hit the hard floor, and immediately scampered toward the engine. Pick some wires. Chew till something breaks. Get the hell out of here.

The rat didn’t even hear the tiny demon until it was too late. A black claw pierced the rat’s body and pinned it to the floor.

Crow’s modest apartment overlooked the Potomac. Though he couldn’t even see Mason Island from here, he’d parked his chair right next to the window anyway. A smile creased his face as his distant minor Summoned destroyed the intruder in the generator room. He’d figured they’d try to kill the main Dymaxion somehow.

He released the demon from his control and let it fade from reality. By the time the demon had drifted into smoke, Crow was entirely back in his own body. The little ones didn’t take much consciousness to control, so within seconds he was in full possession of his limited human faculties and could again feel all the weakness and fragility of the body he’d been born with. Since he’d received the Doctor’s spell, he’d been spending less and less time in that body every day, just returning to it often enough to keep it fed and cleaned. Returning to his real body always seemed like such a waste.

The telephone was waiting on the stand next to him. The line had already been prepared directly to OCI headquarters and all he had to do was push a button to be patched through. Someone picked up on the other end immediately. “This is Crow. Intruders are on the island. Lock it down. Prep Stuyvesant and Koenig for transport. I’ll be there in a minute.” He returned the headset to the cradle.

This was a special occasion. It was almost like picking which tie to wear before that special date with a sweet young thing you really wanted to impress. He was eager to kill these Grimnoir, so only one of his finest demons would do. The one that he’d used in Oklahoma was the strongest he’d ever attempted to control, and that had turned out dicey. He’d lost control and embarrassed the OCI last time. Since the boss was going to be at the scene, he’d better play it low key and Summon something a little tamer.

But Crow hesitated. Something was eating at the back of his mind. Screw Doc Carr. I know what I’m doing. He’d Summon the same demon that he’d used in Oklahoma. If the Traveler girl was going to be there, the ram-horned demon deserved another shot at her. Its spirit had been out here sulking since it had been defeated last time. It was only fair.

The ram-horned demon wasn’t the greatest that Crow had ever found, just the greatest that he’d ever attempted to bring over to the real world. He’d sensed a few others out there, floating in the between place that only Finders and Summoners could reach. Those were bigger, older, even stronger, just waiting to be given form. Their spirits dwarfed all the others, so epic that he hadn’t even been able to recognize them as actual entities before the Doctor had magnified his Power. These things had been the top of the food chain on the dead world that the Summoned originally hailed from. It was really tempting to try one of those on for size. To be able to have a body like that . . .

Better safe than sorry. Ram-horn will do for now. I’ll work up to one of those big boys eventually. Crow reached deep inside, fired up his Power, and called for his servant.

The tiger’s sudden roar caused Sullivan to fall over on his backside into the mud. The gigantic feline took a step toward him. Surprised, he jerked the BAR up and got ready to shred the cat.

“Lance! What’re you doing?” Sullivan hissed.

“Got speared by a demon.” The tiger rapidly shook its head as if it were distracted by pain. “They know we’re here.” The tiger leapt away and disappeared into the trees.

Sullivan got out of the mud and hurried for the compound. Active or not, it was now or never. The shape of the wall appeared ahead through the trees. The only gate was on the south side facing the bridge. There was no entrance here on the north side, so they’d planned on making their own. Hoover’s intel said that it was twelve feet tall, made of bricks, with a single tower overlooking it, and there was an open space of about fifty feet where the trees had been cut away for visibility. All of that was good useful information.

However, the intel hadn’t specified that there was a walkway on the other side, so that men could peer over the top to shoot at them.

He’d almost reached the clearing when brilliant floodlights switched on, bathing the trees in light. “Everybody down!” Sullivan shouted as he slid behind a fallen log. He shouldered the BAR and the front sight appeared as a gigantic black triangle before the light. The Maxim silencer absorbed most of the noise, and he was rewarded with shattering glass and darkness. He swept over and took out another one of the floodlights before someone on the wall returned fire. Sullivan calmly got as low as he could as machinegun fire ripped the log to splinters above his head.

Toru dove into the bushes off to the side and crawled behind a mound of solid dirt. He leaned out and worked his machinegun across the top of the wall. Somewhere inside the OCI compound a man cried out in pain and another light went out. A Thompson roared far to the left as Diamond’s men joined the attack. Within seconds, seven automatic weapons were peppering the fortifications and smashing brick into dust.

“Ian!” Sullivan bellowed at the top of his lungs. The plan hadn’t changed, they just had to do it while getting shot at was all. “Make us a door!” Then he went over the log and emptied the rest of his magazine into the watchtower. “Toru, hit that tower.”

Between the two of them, the wooden structure was absolutely riddled with bullets. The guard’s shadows jerked and twitched. A red mist hung in front of the watchtower’s spotlight for an instant before it too was broken. Gun empty, Sullivan ducked back down. He barely had time to see a body sag against the railing, flip over the edge, and tumble from sight. The tower was out of the picture.

Deprived of targets, the fire from Diamond’s side tapered off. Toru pulled back behind cover to reload. The Iron Guard’s teeth were visible in the dark as he smiled. “It seems they did not expect that level of response.”

“Too easy.”

“Agreed. Expect trouble.”

He raised his voice. “Anyone hit?” Sullivan counted the shouts back. Nobody was down. If there were more OCI on the wall, they were staying concealed. “Hurry it up, Ian.”

“On the way.”

A pale glow appeared in the forest back the way they’d come from. The soft ground began to rumble with ponderous footsteps as the glow grew brighter and brighter. Ian’s Summoned was coming. “Cover that monster!” Sullivan’s command was echoed a moment later as Diamond repeated the order to his men.

BAR reloaded, Sullivan watched the wall, but no targets appeared. A dark spot that could only be an arm dangled limp over the side, but other than that there was no sign of the OCI. The rhythmic rumble increased as the Summoned neared. It crashed haphazardly through the brush, breaking smaller trees and pushing medium sized ones over. The Summoned was only a few yards away when it passed by, the color of the full moon, vast, four eyes glowing red. It looked clumsy, with a great big body, oversized arms, and stubby little legs driving it relentlessly forward, but it was gaining speed as it charged the wall.

Someone in the OCI realized what was coming and shouts could be heard on the other side. Shadows appeared as a few guards risked peeks over the wall. The Grimnoir immediately began shooting at anything that moved. A few of the OCI got shots off before they were driven out of sight. Bullets puckered through the Summoned’s doughy flesh, hissing smoke, but it wasn’t nearly enough to slow the mighty beast.

The Summoned lowered its formless head, ducked a shoulder, and hit the wall with a terrible crash. The bricks cracked, split, and the whole wall shuddered. Men cried out as they were flung from the walkway. The Summoned kept on pushing, stubby legs throwing up plumes of dirt, and the wall began to fall apart. The pale glow momentarily disappeared in a cloud of red dust as stones crashed and broke.

The Grimnoir began to cheer.

When the dust cleared, the Summoned was standing before a huge gash in the wall.

They had their entrance. “Follow me.” Sullivan shouted as he vaulted over the log.

“Halt,” the Iron Guard ordered. “Incoming.”

Sullivan froze at the sound of leathery wings. Something passed overhead and blocked the stars, then the wings folded in and a bolt of black fell from the sky, whistling through the air. It hit the ground next to Ian’s Summoned in an explosion of soft earth. Sullivan covered his eyes as he was pelted with dirt and bits of brick.

Something massive shot from the hole toward Ian’s creature. The pale Summoned spun toward the new arrival, only to have four awful lacerations rip through its chest in an explosion of ink. It crashed backwards, tearing down an even wider chunk of wall, and was quickly covered in tumbling bricks.

Lowering the gigantic claw that it had used to effortlessly tear through the Summoned, the new demon slowly turned to face them. It was humanoid, mostly, blacker than the night and nearly as tall as what was left of the crumbling compound wall. A bank of four red eyes watched them from under a heavy brow of bone. Ram’s horns curled around each side of the misshapen skull.

It was the most impressive demon Sullivan had ever seen. Bigger than the one that had killed General Roosevelt in the war, bigger than the Bull King from Mar Pacifica, and that one had soaked up a burst from a .50 like it was nothing. Sure, bullets would kill a greater Summoned eventually, but without magic, they wouldn’t have a chance in hell of beating this thing without taking heavy causalities.

The demon grinned with a mouth full needles. “Heavy Jake Sullivan, I presume . . .” The horns dipped in recognition.

“Yep.” Sullivan said flatly. This had to be Crow. There was no use talking to this asshole. “And you must be—Open fire!”

Francis could barely hear the gunfire through the thick walls of his prison cell. He was focusing so hard on the spell that he’d drawn that it was making his eyes hurt, but he still couldn’t access his Power.

There was a clank and a clatter in the hall. They were unlocking his door.

Come on. Come on. Come on.

He could hear them now. “—and Griffin take the rich guy first. He’s soft. The rest of us grab the German. That bastard’s a handful.”

The heavy door creaked open.

Francis swore at the design and cursed Buckminster Fuller to hell. Why won’t you work? Damn it! The OCI men came quickly into the room, but Francis was too busy to look at them. It was all there, bits and pieces, shapes and lines. Why did the Power have to be so damn complicated?

Rough hands grabbed hold of him. “Come quiet, Stuyvesant, or we’ll have to bust you up.” A key was inserted into one shackle and the lock clicked open. Pain flooded through his cramped arm, but Francis was still trying to figure out what he’d done wrong. The other wrist was freed and he was hauled to his feet.

From this angle the spell looked a little different. Obviously, he’d been stuck looking at it the same way the entire time, plus. From standing, Francis could see what he’d done wrong. Two of the lines hadn’t met completely!

“Come on—” The goon choked on the words as Francis slammed his elbow back hard. The other men standing in the doorway were taken by surprise. Francis shook free long enough to slug the second one in the mouth before he was tackled and dog piled to the ground.

Don’t mess it up. Please, don’t mess it up. Despite the weight on top of him, Francis struggled forward, got one hand free, stretched, and tried to complete the intersection. Then somebody had his legs and he was pulled across the floor on his face. Did I get it? He couldn’t see anymore, as he was now completely surrounded by OCI thugs. His hands were yanked behind his back and tied with cord. “Get off me, you rat bastards!”

Somebody punched him in the mouth. Someone else kicked hard in the stomach.

“Watch it, idiot. Can’t have him too beat up.”

“Thought you said he was soft,” gasped one man.

“Get them, Francis!” Heinrich shouted through the wall.

“Shut up, kraut! Get him out of here. We’ll deal with that damned German.”

The last thing Francis heard was Heinrich shouting, “Come and try me, Scheiskopf!” before he was dragged into the hall with one man clamped onto each elbow. Four other OCI men followed them out into the hall, but they turned and went toward Heinrich’s door. Despite his thrashing both of the guards were far bigger and stronger than he was and they merely pulled Francis along like an unruly child.

As they started up the stairs, Francis managed to crane his neck enough for one last look. The others were focused on Heinrich’s door, and they didn’t notice the shift in the shadows as some new source of light flickered through the open door of Francis’cell.

Francis experienced a momentary flash of excitement.

But nothing happened.

Then the OCI thugs pulled him up the stairs and his hopes were dashed.

Heinrich was ready as he could be. The unlocked shackles were resting on his freed wrists. Outnumbered and against an enemy prepared for a scrap, he would be at a disadvantage, but they would not be expecting him to have freed himself. The nails that Lance had slipped him were squeezed in one fist, just their points sticking past his knuckles. An advantage, any advantage, could be utilized to great effect, and surprise was one of Heinrich’s favorites.

When he’d struggled against the OCI before, he’d discovered that they were a hardy lot, but it didn’t matter how tough you were with your eye gouged out or your throat crushed in the first few seconds of an engagement. He reasoned that he could take one, maybe two of them quickly, then it would be a struggle to defeat the remainder.

The room was only ten by ten, slightly more spacious than fighting inside an elevator car. There would be little room for maneuver, another advantage to the numerically superior side. There was a single light source in the room. If he could put it out, the darkness could add to the confusion. It was a useful possibility.

However, even if he made it past these, there would be many more, and he was unarmed, had no Power, and did not know the layout of the facility at all. He would more than likely be gunned down, but it would be worth it if he could cause a distraction to aid his fellow knights.

Most men would have been frightened, but not Heinrich Koenig. It was about time he’d finally be able to have some excitement around here. Being a prisoner had proven to be terribly monotonous. Worst case scenario, the OCI would damage his body to the extent that they would no longer be able to utilize his corpse in their secret scheme. Sometimes, spite alone was worth dying for.

He could hear the men unlatching the door, but there was something faint in the background . . . What is that noise? It was like . . . wind? But it was coming through the chain hole leading to the cell that Francis had occupied. Interesting. There had never been a breeze any other time that door had been opened. Though it wasn’t quite right, as there was something other than simply the whistling of wind . . . It was almost a suction noise.

But there was no more time to ponder on the sound. The door opened.

“Time to go,” said the leader. Heinrich recognized him from the split lip. He had been one of the guards Heinrich had fought on his last escape attempt. The leader and two other burly types entered the cell while a fourth stayed in the hall. That one had a small orange box in hand, and stroked it as nervously as an old nun with a rosary. Of course, there was a large nullification field over the entire prison, but they would have to be bringing along some smaller ones to keep him and Francis under control while they were transported. “Let’s get you to the scene of your crime. It’s gonna be a bloody night.”

“You disgust me. You filth would murder your own people to advance your cause?”

“Literally, our own people,” said the man on Heinrich’s right. “Buddy, you got no idea.”

Heinrich didn’t know what he was talking about. Who was the target?

“Shut up, Deych. The Coordinator’s plans are solid. Sometimes you’ve got to break some eggs.” The chief OCI man was a thick-necked, dark-haired, slab of meat, with a nose that looked like it had been broken a few times. “Grab him.”

“Alright, Sharps. Never mind I said anything.” Deych took one of Heinrich’s arms. The second pulled a ring of keys from his coat and reached for the shackles.

“What’s that noise?” asked Sharps, hearing the whistling wind for the first time. He put one hand to a cauliflowered ear. “You boys hear that?”

“Yeah—” but the man didn’t get to finish, since Heinrich punched him in the throat with two rusty nails. He kicked Deych in the knee, and as he lurched away, the open shackles fell to the floor. Heinrich scrambled to his feet.

“What the fuck?” Sharps took in his men, one hopping on one leg and the other clutching his bleeding throat. “How’d you get loose?”

Heinrich charged, but Sharps surprised him. The OCI man was remarkably quick on his feet. He sidestepped and threw a hook into Heinrich’s ribs. The blow was fearsome, and Sharps followed that up with a nasty punch to the side of his head. Heinrich tried to hit back, but Sharps simply blocked the shot and put one of his fists into Heinrich’s eye. Heinrich realized as he crashed into the far wall that he’d drastically underestimated the fighting skills of this particular OCI agent.

The man in the hallway drew a pistol.

“Stay out of this. The German is mine,” Sharps ordered. “Well, shit . . . Look at that. I messed up his face. Look what you made me do?”

“He can’t look too roughed up,” Deych said. “Coordinator will be pissed.”

“Coordinator didn’t think he’d have already escaped either. I’ll try not to mess up that pretty face, otherwise Stuyvesant will have to do. Stand back boys, and Greg, see if you can’t get Tom’s neck to stop bleeding all over.”

Blood was running down Heinrich’s face. He’d cut his scalp against the rough wall. Hopefully it made him look more injured than he really was.

Sharps cracked his knuckles. “You’re a clever Jerry, but you picked the wrong man to tussle with. Nick Sharps. Heard the name?”

Heinrich pulled himself up. His ribs were on fire. The big man was only a few feet away. “Can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Heavyweight contender few years back, until some tiny little Active punk near killed me in an exhibition bout. You know what that does to a man’s fighting career? It’s like losing to a kangaroo. Embarrassing regular folks just ‘cause you can. Your kind ain’t shit without fancy magic tricks to back you up.” Sharps lifted his scarred fists. “You got no idea how much I’m gonna enjoy this. Let’s see how good you Actives are in a fair fight.”

Heinrich had lost the nails. Which was rather unfortunate, since Heinrich was of average size while his opponent was nearly the size of Jake Sullivan, but Heinrich had grown up fighting zombies, and thus had no concept of the words fair fight. Heinrich mirrored Sharps’ boxing stance, though he had no intent of duking it out with this monster.

Sharps stepped up to swing, but Heinrich immediately dove at his legs, wrapped his arms tight around the bigger man’s ankles and drove all of his weight against the knees. The OCI man bellowed as they crashed into the dust. Heinrich rose enough to punch him in the crotch a few times, then rolled away, managed to get up first, and kicked Sharps’ in the back of the neck.

“Lumbering oaf!” Heinrich shouted as Sharps tried to get up. He stabbed one thumb into Sharps’ eye and used his other hand to try to rip his ear off. “I’ll show you how we do it in Berlin!”

“Get him off!” the OCI man cried.

So much for fair. The other two rushed him. One was still bleeding badly from the neck punctures, so Heinrich concentrated on him first, and managed to strike him repeatedly on the face before Deych caught a handful of Heinrich’s shirt. So Heinrich bit a chunk out of Deych’s forearm. Then Sharps got up and joined in. It was a blur of motion as the three of them crashed and blundered about the tiny cell. The Fade was dwarfed by his opponents, but he fought like a cornered animal. Something hit the light and sent it swinging. Wild shadows added to the confusion.

They had not been expecting this level of savagery. Heinrich mentally congratulated himself for that as he jerked a knee into someone’s face, but then a flailing fist smashed his nose flat. He managed to hook his finger into a snarling mouth and fish-hooked Sharps until the man’s face split open. There was an incoherent cry of pain, and that just spurred Heinrich on. Each one of these men was larger than him, and all of them were tough, but he never quit moving, striking, punching, and kicking. He’d been hoping that one of them had been stupid enough to bring a gun into reach, but they’d not given him that opportunity.

Thirty seconds later, Heinrich was in one corner, back to the wall, bruised knuckles raised before him. His shirt was hanging in tatters, one eye was swollen shut, and he could taste blood and feel the grit of broken teeth. Heinrich was not sure if the noise he was hearing was from all the severe blows to his head or if the whistling noise had actually turned into an obvious howl.

The OCI men were standing at the far end, bleeding and shaking. The room was so small that one step would put them back into striking range. The OCI with the new neck piercings leaned against the wall, then took a slow dazed seat on the floor. He was done.

“So much for not damaging the merchandise. Kid’s a scrapper. Forget this . . .” Sharps gasped. He may have maintained some of his striking abilities, but he no longer had a fighter’s wind. “Shoot him, Clark.”

The man in the hall coldly lifted his gun, pointed it at Heinrich’s face, and exploded.

The concussion smashed Heinrich against the wall.

It took him a moment to blink himself back to coherence. What was that? The hall was painted with blood. The gunman, now flat on his back, raised one arm that now ended in a stump and began to scream.

The explosive hadn’t been very large, so it must have been on the OCI man’s person . . . There wasn’t time to think it through. His opponents had been knocked down as well, but Sharps was already getting back up. Then Heinrich noticed that the light bulb had been knocked out, but somehow he could still see, though the illumination was very odd. The white of Sharp’s shirt glowed bright, as did his teeth and eyes, but everything else was lit by some sort of black light that was coming from . . .

“Scheiss!” A small bit of crackling black light had appeared in the bottom of the wall that separated them from Francis’ cell. Dust motes were swirling around the strange spot as if it was some sort of vortex. Inside the strange light was nothing, and the nothing was growing. The circle inched forward, and as it did so, the bricks around it crumbled into dust and disappeared into the vortex.

Heinrich had no idea what that was, but the way it was devouring the bricks made him very uncomfortable. It was time to go. He leapt for the exit.

Again, Sharps was too quick. He caught Heinrich and threw him violently back. Heinrich bounced off the far wall and slid to the floor.

“Fool. Look at that!” Heinrich pointed desperately at the slowly growing . . . whatever it was. “Run!”

“Stinkin’ Fade.” Sharps had his fists up again. “No more of your tricks.”

“What is that?” Deych too, had seen the anomaly. “We gotta get out of here.” The blackness had now taken up the bottom half of the wall and a few feet of the floor.

“Not now, Greg. Not ‘till he’s dead,” Sharps growled as Heinrich pushed himself back up. The OCI man had wised up this time, and his approach was methodical. When Heinrich rushed him the gigantic fists fell like rain. Heinrich managed to latch onto Sharps’ coat, but the big man just kept punching him in the side. Heinrich’s knees buckled, but before he could fall, Sharps cocked back one arm and smashed a mighty overhand right into Heinrich’s skull. The hard floor rushed up to meet him.

“Sharps! We’ve got to go!” Deych shouted again, the fear obvious.

The OCI man that he’d struck in the neck had passed out from blood loss and was slumped on the floor. As the edge of the darkness touched one of his outstretched hands, he was simply pulled into the vortex without a sound, almost as if something had taken hold and dragged him inside. Within a second, his feet disappeared into the black light and he was gone. Deych swore and ran for it. Heinrich tried to crawl for the door, but Sharps kicked him in the side hard enough to lift him off the ground.

The howl turned into a scream as their air was consumed by the void. Heinrich could hardly see the devouring blob through his swollen eyes, but now he could feel it. The void was fueled by magic, and the OCI’s nullifiers were pushing against it. Only this thing was so powerful that it laughed at the dampening effect and pushed back. This time the explosion came from above, and it was far stronger. The entire building shook to its foundation. Boards broke and dust rained from the ceiling. It was like being at the receiving end of an artillery bombardment.

It all came flooding back. For the first time in days, Heinrich could feel his Power burning hot, and despite his injuries, he felt very good. He had never been deprived of his magic before, and very much hoped that he would never have to do without it again. Oh, how I have missed you.

“What was that?” Sharps shouted, confused. Then he noticed the spreading nothingness and froze.

Filled with magic and anger, Heinrich stood up and spit out a wad of blood, “Now it is my turn.”

Sharps turned, surprised to see Heinrich still moving. He swung, but lurched as his fist flew cleanly through his target as if Heinrich was made of smoke. He struck again, but it was like attacking the shadows. Sharps eyes grew wide. “Oh shit.”

Heinrich was a Fade, and as such, could make his body insubstantial enough to pass through solid objects for a brief time. He could also take someone else with him. He made himself solid again, reached out, grabbed Sharps by the throat, then Faded them both. Sharps thrashed as they began to sink into the floor. Heinrich let go, and then altered himself just enough to step out of the ground before becoming solid again.

Sharps screamed as the molecules of his feet and ankles fused with the earth.

It was a terrible way to go, with all of those severed nerve endings screaming, trapped, while some horrific darkness came to eat you, but Heinrich wasn’t feeling particularly charitable. “Good day, sir,” and then he hobbled out the door.

Deych had barely made it into the hall before the explosion had gone off overhead. It appeared that a large chunk of the ceiling had fallen and struck him down. He was stunned, but alive. Heinrich grabbed Deych by the collar and dragged him away. Sharps kept on screaming incoherently, jerking his frozen legs, and wind-milling his arms helplessly.

Heinrich got Deych ten feet down the hall, then slapped him until he began to stir. Deych had been hit pretty hard by the debris and it took a moment for his eyes lids to flutter awake.

Talking was very painful and Heinrich wondered if they’d managed to crack his jaw. “The attack you are framing us for. Where is it?” Deych looked back at the darkness. It had consumed most of the cell and its edge was spilling into the hall behind them. It was growing faster now. Sharps screams grew more desperate. “Where? Or I feed you to it!”

“There’s a gathering on the mall. Anti-magic people are camped out there for a big protest,” Deych stammered, unable to take his eyes off the darkness. “There’s a truck bomb on the other side of the river. We’re going to blow them up.”

Heinrich’s face hurt too much to smile. It made a sick sort of sense. If the Grimnoir were truly as evil as Bradford Carr was portraying them as, then obviously they would strike directly at their political foes in the most craven and cowardly way possible. The backlash against Actives would be terrible.

“I told you! Let me go! Let me go!”

Heinrich stood up and took another look at the vortex. Now that it was free of the cell he could see that it was uniformly round, with a center that must have begun in the other cell, and it was getting bigger by the second. Francis must have created some sort of spell to destroy the nullifiers, but he wondered if creating a black hole had been part of the plan. It would be interesting to see when it would stop growing . . .

Sharps’ screams stopped abruptly as the nothingness reached him. Maybe a better question would be if it would stop growing.

“Flee, you fool,” Heinrich spat at Deych.