Magic Rises

the window, an arbalest on a stand next to him. Good-quality crossbow, solid, precise, with a steel prong, but heavy, hence the swivel mount. With a weapon like that, an archer could skewer a human at seventy-five yards. Being skewered wasn’t on my list of things to do. It would take the archer at least two seconds to grab the arbalest and spin it around to target me, but if I was close enough, he didn’t have to be precise with his targeting. Twelve yards between him and me. I had to get to him before he squeezed the trigger.
    I ran.
    Ten yards.
    The man pivoted in the chair.
    Five.
    He yanked the arbalest off its stand.
    Three.
    He swung the arbalest to face me.
    I knocked the crossbow aside with my left arm, forcing the man to my left, and swung my right in a wide arc. The inside of my forearm smashed into the back of the man’s head. A classic karate move, more powerful than a hook punch—like being hit in the base of the neck with a baseball bat. The man dropped his crossbow and staggered back. Derek leaped through the hole, coming out of the floor as if by magic, grabbed the man from behind, clamping his hand over his mouth, and forced him to the floor, folding him in half like a piece of paper. Grendel danced around us, overjoyed at the entire affair. He didn’t even try to help. My attack poodle had gotten rusty.
    I pulled a knife from my sheath, knelt by the crossbowman, and showed him the blade.
    “How many of you are there?”
    The crossbowman tried to rise, but I’d seen Derek tear a metal coffee can with his bare hands. It took the shooter less than five seconds to figure out he wasn’t going anywhere.
    Derek took his hand off the man’s mouth.
    “Eight,” he said.
    “Where is the other shooter?”
    “Across the Hole. The three-story building.”
    “How did you get Saiman?”
    “Tremblay said he had money. He knew him from way back. Saiman was at a nightclub and was driving home late. We grabbed him in the parking lot. Tremblay shot him full of horse tranquilizers and then we threw nets on him. He turned into that blue thing and beat the shit out of Miles and Zhu. Broke Zhu’s legs. But then the tranquilizers must’ve worked, because he passed out. We put him in a cage and drove him up here.”
    A simple plan, but sometimes simple plans were best. I surveyed the man. He folded fast and made no effort to resist. Either his heart wasn’t in this or he was a coward. Killing him seemed too extreme, and tying him up would mean I’d have to send someone up here to rescue his butt.
    “What’s your name?”
    “Mick,” the man said.
    “Mick, we’re going to take your crossbow, go out there, and have some words with your buddies. You’re going to stay right here in this building, because once we’re done, somebody will need to take those still breathing to the emergency room. You will be that somebody. If you make a noise or do anything to draw attention to yourself or warn your friends, Derek here will hunt you for fun.”
    Derek smiled, baring sharp white teeth. Mick flinched. I’d bet right. A coward.
    “He has your scent now and he’s guaranteed to have lots of fun you won’t like before he gets tired of playing with you. Am I clear?”
    “Crystal.”
    “Let him go.”
    Derek opened his arms. Mick got up and slowly sat in his chair. Derek picked up his crossbow and we went out of the building.
    “You suck,” I told Grendel outside. “You didn’t even help.”
    He wagged his tail.
    “Think he’s going to stay up there?” Derek murmured.
    I nodded. “He’s too scared to move and I gave him an out—if he does as he’s told, he can help his pals in the end. He can tell himself he had a moral obligation to hide and not interfere. Can you take care of the other shooter?”
    “Sure.”
    “I’ll see you later, then.”
    He trotted into the darkness, melting into the gloom as if he had been born from it. I counted to six hundred in my head to give him a nice head start and strode to the Mole Hole.
    Years ago someone had carved steps in the crater’s sides, turning it into a kind of amphitheater. I stepped over the rim and took the steps down to the bottom.
    The six people watched me with unfriendly eyes. Four men and two women. The shorter woman and three of the men had the familiar Red Guard bearing: their clothes were neat, the men were clean-shaven, the woman’s pale brown hair was pulled back. The taller woman and a guy standing next to her looked like street thugs: