Cold Burn of Magic(2)

I raced over to the far side of the roof. This brownstone butted up against a street, which meant that the next building over was more than a hundred feet away, much too far to make the jump. And since this was a private home, there wasn’t even a fire escape to climb down, just a rickety metal drainpipe loosely bolted onto the side of the brownstone.

But I already knew that from when I’d cased the neighborhood earlier this evening. In fact, it was the reason I’d run toward this building.

So I dipped my hands into my pockets, sorting through the items there—the necklace box, the other loot I’d swiped, my phone, several quarters, half of a dark chocolate candy bar that I’d been eating earlier while I was watching the accountant’s house. Finally, my fingers closed over two pieces of soft, supple metal, and I yanked out a pair of dull silver mesh gloves, which I pulled onto my hands.

The guards easily made the leap. Well, really, for them, it was more like a hop, given their long legs. I turned to face them. The guards grinned and slowed down when they realized I’d run out of rooftops.

One of the guards stepped forward. His green eyes glittered like a tree troll’s in the semidarkness, and his black hair was cropped so close to his head that it looked like he was wearing a shadow for a skull cap.

“Give us the necklace, and we’ll let you live,” he growled. “Otherwise . . .”

He swung his sword in a vicious arc, right at my shoulder level.

“Off with my head?” I murmured. “How cliché.”

He shrugged.

My hand dropped to my waist and the sword that was belted there. I considered sliding the weapon free of its black leather scabbard, raising it into an attack position, and charging forward, but I decided not to. No way was I going to the extra trouble of fighting three guards, not for the pittance that Mo was paying me.

“Come on,” he rumbled. “I don’t like carving up little girls, but I’ve done it before.”

I didn’t think he was being overly insulting with the little girl crack, since he looked to be at least fifty.

So I sighed and slumped my shoulders, as though I were beaten. Then I reached into my coat pocket, drew out the black velvet box, and held it up where the leader could see it. His eyes weren’t as good as mine—few people’s eyes were—but he recognized the box.

“This necklace?”

He nodded, stepped forward, and held out his hand.

I grinned and tucked the box back into my pocket. “On second thought, I think I’ll hang on to it. Later, fellas.”

I hopped onto the ledge of the roof, took hold of the drainpipe, and stepped off into the night air.

The wet metal slid through my fingers like greased lightning. It would have laid the flesh of my palms open to the bone if I hadn’t been wearing my gloves. The wind whipped through my black hair, pulling pieces of it free from my ponytail, and I let out a small, happy laugh at the sheer, thrilling rush of plummeting toward the earth. At the last moment, I gripped the drainpipe much tighter, until the screech-screech-screech of metal rang in my ears. But the motion slowed my descent and even caused a bit of smoke to waft up from my gloves.

Five seconds later, my sneakers touched the sidewalk. I let go of the drainpipe, stepped back, and looked up.

The guards were hanging over the side of the roof, staring at me with gaping mouths. One of them lurched toward the drainpipe, as if to follow me, but in his rush, he ended up ripping the top part of the metal completely away from the brownstone. The rest of the drainpipe broke free from the wall and clattered to the ground, causing a few rusty sparks to shoot through the air. Looked like he was a magick after all, one with a Talent for strength. Chagrined, that guard turned to face the leader and held out the length of pipe.

The leader slapped him upside the head with the hilt of his sword. The second guard dropped out of sight, probably knocked unconscious by the hard blow. Apparently, the leader had also had a strength Talent. The third guard eyed the sidewalk, like he was thinking about leaping over the ledge, but the roof was more than sixty feet above the pavement. There was no way he could survive that high a fall, not unless he had some sort of healing Talent. Even then, it would be a big risk to take and not worth the pain of the broken bones. The guard knew it, too, and backed away from the ledge, which was exactly what I’d been counting on.

When he realized they weren’t going to catch me, the leader screamed out his rage and brandished his sword in the air, but that was all he could do.

I gave him a mock salute, then slid my hands into my coat pockets and strolled down the sidewalk, whistling a soft, cheery tune.

Nothing that I hadn’t done before.





Despite the late hour, the cobblestone streets of Cloudburst Falls were not deserted.

Far from it.

Lights blazed in the shops, hotels, and restaurants, the golden glows banishing the worst of the shadows in the surrounding alleys, if not the things that lived in them. Mortals and magicks of all shapes, sizes, ages, and ethnicities flowed up and down the sidewalks and into the storefronts, all of which were decorated with castles, swords, and other magic-themed art. In one diner, customers ate at a counter, while winged pixies barely six inches tall flitted through the air, steaming plates of meat loaf and mashed potatoes balanced on their tiny heads.

The customers all looked like normal humans, but it was still easy to tell the magicks from the mortals. The magicks were focused on their cheeseburgers, shakes, and fries, while the mortals let their food get cold, too busy gaping at the pixies zipping all around them to nosh on their tuna melts, grilled cheeses, and club sandwiches. Rubes, most magicks derisively called the mortals, and with good reason.