Technomancer (Unspeakable Things: Book One)

Draith. You’re under arrest.”
    I backed away from the thing, which still pursued me in relentless slow motion. I tried not to stumble in the ashes and debris. I didn’t want to turn my back on it, suspecting it might leap upon me in that moment. When I crossed onto the scorched yard, I turned toward the cop.
    The cop had stepped closer while I retreated from the thing in the ashes. He pressed his car remote and the headlights flashed. I caught a glimpse of him then. He was a little taller than I was, with an athletic build, and I guessed him to be about forty. He wore a gray blazer over a yellow dress shirt. His gray slacks were as nondescript as the rest of his clothing, intended to make him blend into any crowd. His face had strong features, with a thick brow ridge and a large chin. His eyes and hair were dark.
    “Come on,” he said, waving me toward his car. “Get in. I’m taking you downtown.”
    “Let’s see your badge first,” I said. I took out my sunglasses and slipped them on. I figured I might need them. Then I reached into my pocket and touched my gun. That was a mistake.
    “Here’s my badge,” he said, flashing a shield in his wallet. “Detective Jay McKesson, Las Vegas Metro. And here’s my gun.”
    McKesson hit me in the face with his pistol. I went down to one knee. I’d been suckered, and a burst of anger boiled up inside me.
    “I should leave you here,” the man said, standing over me. “That thing will come close eventually and burn you. One more freaky death for one more freak.”
    “What was that for?” I asked, rubbing my cheekbone. It didn’t feel cracked, but it did feel numb.
    “Making me wait. And because you’re armed and dangerous. Everyone says so. Just like that thing you summoned up to burn down your own house for the insurance money. You’re not going to collect, you know. Not on my watch.”
    While he talked, I put my sunglasses back on and climbed slowly back up to my feet. I was surprised the sunglasses didn’t seem damaged.
    “Turn around and put your hands behind your back,” he said.
    McKesson kept his gun on me. He clicked on the cuffs, then spun me around to face him. “Not so tough in bracelets, are you, Draith? They never are.”
    I didn’t answer. He holstered his gun and gave me a tight smile.
    “Shades? You’re wearing shades at night? Are you trying to be cool?”
    I still didn’t answer. Inside I was boiling, but I bided my time.
    The creature made a sound then. This was something new. We both glanced toward it. The slug had crossed the border of what had once been the concrete slab foundation of my house. It had squirmed its way into the flowerbeds and then out onto the open lawn. At that point it had made a squeaking, bubbling hiss, a sound that was both unpleasantand alien. Like hot coals dropped into a bucket of water, the hissing continued as it approached us with painful slowness. I thought perhaps the grasses it crawled over stung it. The greenery twisted and blackened at the creature’s approach and it left behind a trail of scorched earth.
    When McKesson turned his attention back to me, he realized I’d freed myself. It had been easy. I just twisted my wrists and the cuffs fell apart. I was sure he was willing to go for me, but then he felt my .32 automatic under his chin and froze at the cold touch.
    “Surprise,” I said.
    McKesson eyed the cuffs that dangled from my wrists. The right bracelet hung open. With the sunglasses on, there had only been a rippling sensation of resistance that quickly gave way. It was as if the lock had turned to rubber. I’d hoped it would work that way, and it had.
    “You don’t want to do this, Draith,” he said quietly.
    “Do you always arrest people by pistol-whipping them?”
    “Only murdering scum like you.”
    I stared at him for a second. This was the first I’d heard I was a murderer. The scary part was, for all I knew he was right. I decided to bluff it through.
    “Am I a suspect, then? In what murder?”
    “You’re a perp in one case and a suspect in a dozen more,” he said. His eyes strayed toward the thing that still approached us with agonizing slowness. A crawling slug of hot, molten stone.
    I pressed the short barrel of my .32 automatic into the flesh of his throat and took his gun out of his hand. I turned him around, but kept the two of us face-to-face. The stone slug was now behind him, still crawling across my lawn, leaving a blackened trail as it came. McKesson’s