Street Magic

You've got a fucking strange idea of fun."
    The wood next to Jack's head exploded, driving splinters into Pete's arm. Another sorcerer appeared out of the shadows, the yellow clouds oozing corrosive fumes from his hands. "How many of these wankers are there?" Pete shouted. The sorcerer stopped just short of her feet and smiled in the manner of a small boy who likes to burn ants.
    "Looks like I get your skin and your talent, Winter, and the chance to get over." He grinned.
    Jack rolled on his side and stood, ducking the sorcerer's reach. He grabbed the shorter man by the back of the neck. "You'll get over something, that's sure." He rotated his grip and tossed the sorcerer off the edge of the roof. The man screamed until a sound like a breaking tree trunk cut off the cry.
    Pete peered over the edge, saw the broken doll shape and a dark stain spreading. "Think he's dead?"
    Jack lit a Parliament, drew once, and flicked the rest after the sorcerer. "About to wish he was."
    The man was conscious, groaning, when Pete and Jack climbed down to the street. "If more are coming after us," said Pete, "we're a bit exposed."
    Jack gripped the sorcerer under the arms, struggling against the stocky weight. " 'S why we're getting the fuck out of here." He attempted to pull the moaning sorcerer along the pavement. The man's leg was twisted, a lump of displaced bone under his skin, and he yelled. Jack wheezed and dropped him. "You need to get on a diet, boyo."
    Pete rolled her eyes and banded her arm across the sorcerer's chest, a lifesaving carry on dry land. The door of Mad Chen's banged open and the male sorcerer appeared, trailed by his renewed thought-forms, which seemed to have grown a few dozen more steel teeth since Pete saw them last.
    "Bollocks," she said, dragging the sorcerer along the pavement. "What the hell happens now, Jack? I don't think your little trick with the birds will be quite as scary out in the open."
    "Never fear, Pete. Our chariot awaits." Jack stepped into the street and let out a piercing whistle. "Taxi!"
    One moment the street was empty and the next a gleaming black cab, smooth lines and lantern headlights, something from the black-and-white era, sat idling at the curb, stopped in a swirl of leaves and winter wind. The rear door swung open of its own accord.
    Jack grabbed the sorcerer's legs. "Get him in."
    Pete folded the quietly sobbing man into the back of the cab and scrambled inside, sliding on butter-colored leather seats. Jack knocked on the partition and told the shadowed driver, "Sodding floor it!"
    The cab lit out with a squeal of tires, taking the corner with a lurch that threw Pete against the door, the handle thudding into her gut.
    "One thing about the Black," Jack said as they roared through empty nighttime streets. "You can always find a cab when you really need one."
    The driver turned his head slightly. "What destination, please?" His voice was smooth and bell-like, more suited to an angelic choir than a slightly threadbare cab. It gave Pete a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach.
    A gas streetlamp caught the driver's eyes, and they shone silver.
    Jack grunted softly and held his forehead. "Fae," he said through clenched teeth.
    "Driving a cab?" Pete raised an eyebrow.
    "Fae love human devices," Jack muttered. "Plays hell on the sight, let me tell you." To the driver he said, "Whitechapel, Mile End Road, number forty-six."
    "Right away, sir," purred the Fae. His teeth, silver like his eyes, were a row of needles.
    The sorcerer moaned, his eyes flicking weakly between Pete and Jack. "Where are you taking me?"
    Jack thumped him on the crown of his head. "Shut it. No questions from you."
    "What
are
we going to do with him?" Pete whispered. "Can't very well leave him on the street to be picked over."
    "Who says I can't?" Jack muttered. "Tosser tried to kill me. But no, I've got something in mind."
    After a time the cab glided to a stop in front of Jack's flat and he jumped out quickly, leaving Pete to drag the sorcerer onto the curb. She banged the man's broken leg against the running board and he screamed.
    "Sorry, mate," Pete apologized. "But you did rather bring it on yourself." She leaned back into the cab. "How much do I owe you?"
    Jack grabbed her by the collar and yanked her back out. Pete struggled furiously, and reared back to slap him. He caught her hand, fingers squeezing her wrist bones together. "Don't you know better than to make deals with the Fae?"
    "He's a bloody cab