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Coin in Orange
18th century, England. The fashions were a bit strange, but such was Europe at the time. I had to admit I loved the waistcoats. A few of them even came with the bonus of being embedded with magic from amateur practitioners, which is why the Keepers took it away from said practitioners. Which is why I stole it from the Keepers.
“Stop!!” A Keeper screamed, white coat billowing as he ran after me. He raised his staff, blasting off a round of ice magic. Each blast splattered against the ground, creating thick patches of black ice.
I knew this trick. It’s why I kept a low-grit sandpaper glued to the soles of my shoes. I ran right over the patches. Dag would have to think faster if he wanted to catch me.
He upped the stakes when he began firing ice at me.
Slapping a palm against an upcoming lamp post, I activated the light. The gas-fed flame flared and shattered its glass container. Super-heated glass shards rained down accompanied by a sharp burst of heat, the Keeper letting out a cry. I slapped every post I passed, stirring up a storm of red-hot glass behind me.
I glanced back to check my distance and see where he was. He was still on my tail, small bursts of steam trailing behind him thanks to a thick sheet of ice hovering at the tip of his staff and angled away. All of my glass rain was diverted away, hissing and sputtering as the wind snatched at the trailing steam.
Yanking a small bottle of rum from my jacket pocket, I popped the top and chugged a mouthful. Activating the liquid’s flammability with a little newly-learned heat magic, I spun, ran backwards, and blew rum-scented fire.
It stalled him.
He had to concentrate harder, angling his shield forward instead of up and constantly replenishing it.
My flame went out quickly, so I recharged and fired again. And again. The bottle was halfway down and already his ice was beginning to wane. I took one last swig and made it the best flame I could, heating up the bottle so the rum began boiling. When I ran out of breath a tiny bit of his shield remained, so I threw the bottle between us.
The street was bathed in steam as his ice finally evaporated.
That was my cue.
Reaching a hand out, I worked as quickly as I could. My magic zipped through the steam, snapping at all the water molecules suddenly in the air and joining them back together. Within seconds, long enough for me to hear the Keeper coughing and moving forward, a thin layer of ice formed a wall between him and I.
I took off, leaving just enough steam to conceal my wall and hoping the Keeper ran his nose into it.
I spun around a corner of the cobblestone street, dodged a couple of late-night carousers and ducked down a silent side-street, grabbing a stretch of rope from my pocket. Tying it into a firm loop, I let the end fly. It caught on the rusting iron spike of a passing gate. I activated my magic and made the rope strands tighten, as I jumped, the rope yanking me into the air.
Swinging over the very edge of a brick wall separating a house from the street, I began to let the rope braids loosen. I worked too fast. The rope unraveled on me, dumping me on the ground in a heap of light mud and loose dirt. Scrambling to hide in the shadow of the wall, I reached a finger into the shadows, removing as much light as possible. The light around me faded just in time.
Dag slowed as he entered the dimly-lit street, stalking the cobblestones as best he could. Between you and me, Keepers weren’t very light on their toes. But he wasn’t trying to sneak up on me right now, not if I knew him as well as I thought.
Dag had an odd sense of acuity regarding his surroundings. He knew his environment like a fish knew water, which is why he was the one assigned to my case. He and I trained together back in my Keeper days, and the current hide-and-seek score was an even split between us.
I all but held my breath when he stopped directly outside my gate. Of course, that’s when I realized it wasn’t acuity tipping him off; the strands of my rope still hung against the gate. I had forgotten them in my haste to hide.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself invisible. Motionless. Lifeless. He reached through the gate, gently touching the rope braids. He was making a plan of how to capture me, I knew it. I shouldn’t have gone on this half-baked heist. I shouldn’t. But the gain was just too tempting.
Maybe it was why they put the word out in the first place. A piece of ancient Keeper-tech discovered in an old Scottish castle they were transporting here. To a Sanctuary I helped make. I knew the security measures inside and out. I couldn’t not take them up on this game. It was far too tempting.
The sound of a cat wrestling a mouse to its death caught Dag’s attention. He froze for a heartbeat or two, waiting. The noise quieted, but something left him unsettled.
He shifted back a step or two. I could see him now, through the iron gate, staring into the darkness ahead. His eyebrows were furrowed, dark eyes focused ahead and staff partially raised.
The cat yowled again, the sound echoing down the street and bouncing off the bricks and houses. Something was...off about this thing. I couldn’t see it, so I had no idea, but the sound just wasn’t right.
Slowly, the yowling lowered decibel by decibel until it was a low, rumbling growl. The kind of lumbering sound that raises the hair on the back of your neck and makes your skin crawl.
Something heavy hit the cobblestone a few houses down. The shadows around me grew unnaturally. Something shifted in the darkness as the growling continued, rolling across the stones in a wave of primal fear.
I couldn’t stand it anymore. Dag wasn’t easily frightened, and neither was I. I wasn’t even facing off with this thing and I was scared. I moved just enough to peek through the gate and look down the street. I saw nothing but darkness and the glint of something sharp.
Dag muttered to himself and spun his staff in the air. A portal appeared in front of him and he dashed through it. It closed with a pop. Dag was gone.
I slid a little more around the gate, trying to look down the street where the shadows had gathered. The only thing I could make out in the dim light of the moon was a pair of yellow eyes and a pair of white blades that looked like teeth. Something padded forward, sliding through the night. Sliding towards me.
My stomach interrupted with a loud rumble.
“Gah,” I said, grabbing at my stomach. “Hunger pains.” I looked up at Miles. “Tell me there’s something to eat.”
“There’s a kitchen,” he answered distractedly, “but there’s not much in it.” He hesitated, watching me stand and brush dirt off my pants.
“Which way?” I finally asked.
He snorted. “We’re not done yet. You still have a story to tell.”
“I have to eat.”
“Once you’ve finished your story you can eat the whole damn kitchen.”
“You want me to starve while I’m spinning words, do you?”
“Fine,” he snorted. “Down the hall, left, right, left, straight, second door on the corner. There should be enough food to take the edge off.” He glanced at his screens as I shook out my legs, wobbling with each step. I’m too old to be in one position for too long.
Ye gods, I sound like an old grannie.
“Just make sure you’re back soon,” Miles called after me. “I don’t do payment plans!”