AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“How about Therapévos Pack?” says Orson. Our befuddled silence makes clear our ignorance and Orson explains, “It’s Greek. It means heal.”
I catch Braxton shaking his head in the mirror. “You would,” he says, and both men chuckle.
My life might be a little crazy, but it’s good too. I’ll have to remember that when I have to kill my brother.
THREE
Orson
I hold open the computer in my lap and watch the blinking white dot representing us pass into the purple shaded splotch representing the stain of residual magic. Creating the map using satellites was easy. Creating a computer program that identifies specific individual’s magic and uses it to track those individuals was a great deal more complex, but it was also the main reason the Enforcers recruited me.
And it’s certainly coming in handy right now.
We know you’re going to the party with the Blood Mages. We don’t know how you’ll get there or what damage you’ll do along the way, purple shaded splotch magic, i.e. Simon.
Of course, when I lift my gaze to the window, all I see is a quaint little burg tucked in amongst oaks and evergreens. There’s no indication that a malevolent force recently passed through, no fumes or noxious fog left in its wake. Just a collection of brick buildings that together compose a small, sleepy town off the highway, a pit stop, a backwater, a place away from the world.
These are exactly the kind of places that evil likes.
When the world comes to visit such a place, it usually leaves scars. I pray this town retains its provincial innocence, but a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me otherwise. Simon has always left a trail of devastation behind him, and I don’t believe we’ve seen the last of his violence.
“Nothing at first glance,” says Max, winding his way through town.
Which, I guess, is a good thing. The first town Simon “visited” had the streets littered with bodies, so this is better than nothing. Still, pain isn’t always obvious.
Max glances back at me. “Orson, anything new on the map?”
“Only the same territory colored with magic, steadily fading,” I answer, realization slowly dawning on me. “He’s either moved on?—”
“Or gone quiet,” says Braxton, visibly alert. Trouble picks up on his owner’s caution, adopting the same vigilance by sitting up and training his eyes through the window.
My map isn’t perfect. It can’t tell us if Simon has left this area or is just not using his magic, hiding in wait for us. The latter idea makes me feel uneasy. In prison, there were always enemies. Some were quick to attack out in the open. But others? Others preferred to attack from the shadows. They were the ones who truly made my time in prison harder, even if my technological abilities to hack into computers and get prisoners what they wanted offered me some protection from the other supernaturals. Simon is like the second group of people, only with the magical capability to level towns. He’s a frightening opponent.
“Whether he’s here or not,” says Max, “there’s no use skipping another meal. Let’s turn in here and grab a bite.” He pulls into a local diner, tires rolling over cracked asphalt. The blacked out SUV garners a few curious looks, but nothing to suggest we’ll be unwelcome here.
We stretch beside the vehicle while Braxton gives Trouble a chance to mark his new territory and sniff all the things there are to sniff. The three of us lean back and watch as Braxton runs around with the pup, looking like a little boy as they wrestle over a toy or Braxton throws a ball for Trouble to catch. When the little guy seems happier, we crack a few windows, and Trouble goes back inside the SUV to wait and rest.
Then we file into the restaurant, whose carpet holds traces of a thousand meals, having absorbed their vapors over decades. I can smell the years lifting off the fibers, stirred by our steps as we cross to the host stand. This establishment has been here for generations. I hope it withstands several more, but an insidious dread sown by Asha’s brother keeps flooding my thoughts with grave imaginings.
Or maybe it’s the fact that I finally have something to protect again.
In either event, I tamp down my fears while the teenage hostess leads us to our table. She passes out the menus, says, “Your server will be with you shortly,” then returns to her stand and her phone, tittering at an endless feed of short video clips.
“The ubiquity of fast internet and the subsequent rapid colonization of our culture by social media is at once spectacular and wholly terrifying,” I muse.
“Says the tech whiz,” Braxton retorts, eliciting snickers from the table.
I smile and nod. “Yes, I’m aware of the mild hypocrisy of that statement. Interconnectivity is quite the double-edged sword. For example, it allows me to track the magical trail left behind by our enemy, while at the same time providing channels for potential enemies to keep tabs on me.”
“Nobody’s keeping tabs on you,” Max reassures me. “That would’ve been us.” We all laugh again.
“But the Enforcers are the good governmental agency, right?” Braxton jokes.
“A fed’s a fed’s a fed,” says Asha.
“Hey, count yourself among them,” Max tells her.
She clicks her tongue and grins. “Damn, I guess I am.”
