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I knew that voice. I stood on my toes and stretched my neck as far as it could go, watching as Prudence Leung hopped out of a car and hurried towards us. Her hair sailed in the breeze as she ran, and I watched her fists for the telltale blue mantle of fire that meant she was about to punch shit and break it apart. Nothing there today, fortunately.
“What the hell is going on?” Herald said. Asher only watched, transfixed.
Bastion, as if he would ever let anyone forget, was among the Lorica’s most powerful Hands. Prudence was one of them, too. He was telekinetic, able to lift and tear things apart with just the force of his mind, while Prudence could wreathe her fists and her feet in mystic flame, then use her martial arts expertise to utterly crush and break things, from bricks to bones. Both, incidentally, were also fairly skilled magic users, which only complicated matters.
“I said put him down, Bastion.” Prudence stood with her hands at her hips, breathing heavily, winded from her run. “There’s got to be a logical explanation for this. We’re not sure that Dust did it.”
“Did what?” I pulled a finger under my collar, wondering when Bastion was going to finally let go of me.
“I thought we agreed to stay out of each other’s hair,” he said. “You stick to your business, and we stick to ours. That includes not breaking into my family’s mansion to steal heirlooms.” He stabbed a finger at my chest, way too close to the scar Thea left above my heart. Bad move.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” I shoved Bastion in the chest with both hands, something he clearly didn’t expect – or appreciate. His face reddened even further as he stumbled away from me. And did he say mansion? “Prudence. What’s he talking about? You’ve got your head on straight. I’m sure you can explain without acting like a complete gorilla.”
Bastion seethed.
Prudence rolled her eyes. “The two of you, settle. Someone broke into Brandt Manor. They riffled around the place. It seemed like they were looking for magical objects. According to the security gargoyles and the camera footage, it was someone who looked like you.”
“It didn’t just look like him,” Bastion growled, thrusting a finger bare inches from my face. “It was him.”
I swatted his hand away. “I’m sick and fucking tired of people accusing me of being places I wasn’t.” I laughed, though it was totally humorless, the kind of chuckle that spills out of you from disbelief and exasperation. “And Brandt Manor? Is that some kind of joke?”
Prudence shook her head. Bastion looked like he was about to burst into flames. Herald shrugged. Asher looked between us, eyes wide.
“Wait.” I said, my voice softer. “Your family has a manor?” I was curious. I mean, aren’t you?
“Not the point, Graves. Now tell me why you broke in, and tell me what you wanted. No one endangers my family like that.”
Bastion waved his hand across his face, palm outward, and slivers of shimmering energy trailed in the motion. Around us, the air gleamed, as if it had been turned into glass. Prudence groaned, and I followed suit.
This was Bastion’s favorite thing as of late. He specialized in two things. The first was using his ability to pick up and throw things as projectiles, turning something as innocent as loose pebbles into a hail of gunfire. The second – and he was good at this part, too – was erecting invisible shields, which made him both an offensive and defensive asset to the Lorica.
The problem was that he’d also learned to create much larger shields. They were domes, in fact, that cloaked their occupants from the world outside, casting a magical glamour in a large area. Bastion had gotten quite proficient in camouflaging territory in this way, allowing arcane grudges to be settled in relative privacy by disguising the blasts of energy and brilliant fire that typically marked a mage’s duel.
He wanted to fight, is what I’m saying. Bastion casting a dome was the equivalent of a frat boy pressing his face up against yours and grunting “Let’s take this outside, bruh.”
“Let’s do this,” Bastion said. Ah, close enough.
“Listen,” I said. “I’m not going to fight you because I have nothing to fight about. I didn’t break into your ridiculous mansion.”
Bastion threw his hands out, then clenched his fingers. The sound of wood warping and cracking broke the silence. Asher yelped as Herald tugged him off the park bench, and just in time. The bench flew apart, beams, bolts, all its component pieces bursting into splinters under Bastion’s power.
Typical Bastion. Shoot first, ask questions later. No, let me be more specific. Bastion’s style is to shoot something full of holes, then shoot some more. If it’s still alive, maybe ask it some questions. Then whether or not it answers: shoot it dead.
“Move back,” I heard Herald mutter to Asher, somewhere behind me. “Brandt’s power has a functional limit to its range. We move out of the way, we’ll be fine.”
“Bastion, stop,” Prudence shouted, her hands already emanating their signature blue flames. It was likely only a threat to get her partner to stand down, but I never thought I’d see the day the two would possibly, maybe butt heads.
Bastion cried out in frustration, then lowered his hands. The sharp, horrible pieces of broken bench fell to the ground in a crash of splinters and sawdust.
I huffed, brushing at my clothes. “So are you gonna pay for that bench, or were you going to put it back together?”
Sometimes – not often – I wish I could remember that shutting the fuck up was the best option.
Bastion socked me in the chin. It’s hazy now, but I vaguely recall exclaiming “Ack” in a clipped voice, because a blinding, bone-deep pain immediately began radiating from my jaw. I clutched at my face, stumbling away, my feet tangling in bits of broken park bench. Instinctively, I was already seeking out the nearest shadow.
Prudence shoved Bastion, grabbing at his jacket, but he kept advancing.
“Bastion, will you stop?” He wouldn’t, shrugging Prudence off – no small feat, considering she was basically the equal of a werewolf in a fistfight. Bastion lifted his fist and stalked straight for me.
