Trapped

looks half as bad as it feels, I don’t want to know. We’ll have to find a place where I can replenish. «
    Turning to the apoplectic manager, I called, » Run for your life! « in Greek. » And don’t forget that guard in the corner of the store! « It was now up to him to heed or ignore my warning.
    As we moved toward the door, my skin still palpably cooking and every available pore sweating, I said, » I’m running low on magic. I can cast camouflage on us both to get out of the door safely, but I won’t try to maintain it. I need to keep healing if I want to come out of this without scarring. «
    Sirens honked obnoxiously through the streets; the manager’s backup was coming, and he’d be giving them a detailed description of us, no doubt. And the security cameras would have the whole thing on tape. The question was whether Theophilus (or Leif) had any intention of letting the police have access to either.
    Actually, that wasn’t the only question. Why were dark elves working with vampires? The dark elves were supposedly behind the Fae assassination attempt earlier, so did that mean that vampires were also in league with the Fae? And who amongst the dark elves had thought it was a good idea to disguise themselves in Midgard as a bunch of clowns?
    These mysteries would have to be solved later. I cast camouflage on us both, and the stored magic in my charm fell to near empty; I kept my pain suppression on but couldn’t afford any more magic to heal. The manager squawked when we disappeared.
    We motored through the door, flashes of movement with uncertain shapes, and turned left down Kaisareias Street, heading south by southeast, dodging around people who couldn’t see us and made no room. Some of them sensed movement—the air went shimmery for a second—and stopped in their tracks, but most were unaware that they were obstacles in a street slalom course. I was running very awkwardly; my left side didn’t want to move.
    After about a block, I turned off the camouflage to preserve what little magic I had left. We heard honking that wasn’t the annoying sirens of approaching police. It was the sort of honking you hear from horns mounted on bicycles. We also heard bells. Whistles. Kids laughing. I also heard gasps and startled cries as I passed by, a half-melted madman with a sword accompanied by a pretty girl with a staff and a gun.
    The source of the happy noises became clear at the intersection of Vizyis Street, where we almost ran right into a whole parade of clowns—evil dark elf clowns, grinning luridly under the streetlights. They were coming from a greenbelt that wound through the city; either purposefully or accidentally, they stood between the nearest source of magical power and us.
    At the same time—or close enough as to make no difference—an explosion behind us meant someone had firebombed the sporting goods store with military-grade weaponry. I bet it was Leif, and he knew very well that I had already left the building. I doubted the manager or the security guard Leif had charmed had made it out. There might have even been some other employees and customers left inside, tucked into a corner somewhere.
    Most eyes were drawn by the explosion. But some, especially those closest, couldn’t miss the burn-scarred man and the athletic woman running across the street. The man was carrying a sword, which was illegal in Greece, and the woman was carrying a firearm, which was turbo-illegal due to Europe’s profound lack of a second amendment.
    Fingers pointed at us, and I urged Granuaile to keep going.
    Some of the clowns peeled off and pursued us on elevated bicycles and unicycles and miniature scooters; some turned the other way, toward the sporting goods store and the approaching police.
    The explosion and the dissolution of the clown parade had confused onlookers and pushed some of them toward the edge of panic. These people didn’t know precisely what was going on, but they knew the clowns weren’t smiling and it wasn’t fun for the whole family anymore.
    A couple of clowns took out their black knives, and people started to scream after that—so many people think all clowns are evil anyway, and this only confirmed it. Once the screaming started, there was unbridled pandemonium.
    » Pandemonium! « I said. » That’s what’s been going on. «
    » Tell me about it, « Granuaile huffed beside me.
    » I will if we can get out of this. We have to get to that greenbelt. Circle this block