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Disappearing Act
I traveled along the cement wall, making my way to the other side of the island. After passing by a busy café and an active media center, I snuck back onto the main road and slipped behind my invisible cape. A quick step through the open-air market, between a sleeping bar and one of the island’s only hotels, and I managed to spot my target area in the human rubble left on the abandoned side of the island.
I passed under the smoky skywalk and creeped among the discarded remains of old buildings. This half of the island had been left alone to really help sell the idea of this being an abandoned island. Humans weren’t completely absent from the place no matter what, as there were frequent visitors from the mainland, so the Keepers thought it would be easier to leave some things genuine.
I spied the entrance to sting’s bunker hidden under a weak veil under a broken archway. The entrance jutted from the ground like a pair of rusted scissors. Two mechanical guards slouched near the opening, gears and wires shredded and exposed in a failed attempt to make them blend in with their surroundings. Whoever Sting had hired to disguise his things sucked at Glamour. Big time.
I was trying to decide the best way to break into the bunker when my cell phone began to buzz. Warren Zevon's Werewolves of London began blaring as I struggled to pull the device from its holster, cursing myself for not turning the ringer off before starting out. I looked up to see the veil around the mechanical guards dropping, the gears popping into place and spinning as the pair straightened up and began looking around.
Crap.
"What?" I hissed. Eye sockets turned towards me, angry magical fire throwing menacing shadows against the metallic face. Each of the guards shuddered, the plates on their arms jerking back to reveal sharp blades as they moved forward and scanned the area.
"How long does it take to research a damn sword?" a very familiar voice snapped.
“Apparently longer than you thought,” I answered, dodging the swing of a metallic blade. Wonderful; Sting had fitted his guards with extendable arm blades. Someone was an unashamed fan of the movies. "How did you manage to find my number, Oly?"
I leapt over the swipe of a massive arm, using the momentum to slam both feet against its metallic chest and propel myself out of reach. The guard stumbled backwards, one huge foot thudding against the ground to regain balance.
I got an earful of annoyed snort from the phone. “The you on the ship gave me your number. And don't call me Oly," she growled.
"Have it your way, Oly." Bending backwards managed to save me from being decapitated, but I nearly lost my cell in the process. The swing went wide, the blade biting into the ground. The gears whined tragically as the guard repeatedly failed to free its arm.
Another growl from the phone. Olyvia hated my nickname for her, which is why I used it so often.
"What's your problem, again?" I asked, running up the giant’s arm to its shoulders.
"Where are you?"
I squashed the phone between shoulder and face, freeing both hands. Rubbing them swiftly together to generate magic, I spread them wide and slammed them against the copper skull. “Right here; where are you?”
“Don’t be stupid,” she snapped. “We need Layla’s sword back sooner than I thought.”
"I'll get it back to you, don't worry." Taking a deep breath, I sent a burst of magic through the guard, rerouting the magic keeping it activated. The giant sputtered and whined, gears coming to a screeching halt. "I've got one or two things to finish and I’ll be on my way."
I leapt up as the other guard swung for me, missing me by a hair. Metal smashed into metal as the giant struck its companion, smashing through the head and sending it flying. I landed on the outstretched arm of the remaining guard, sprinting for its shoulders.
"Am I interrupting something?" Olyvia asked, finally catching on.
"Not really." Darting up to its metallic head for a repeat performance, the guard tried to throw me with a sudden jolt of its shoulder plates. I nearly fell, but a quick slap to my shoes activated some velcro in the heels and toes, gluing me to the plates. I slapped a hand on its head and geared myself up for a second burst. "Just working on a project."
"A project related to Layla’s sword, I hope," she snorted.
Hopping off, I landed on the ground before the giant’s limp body crashed to the ground. "Of course. You don't really think I'd skip out on you, do you?"
"I know you too well to trust you with an answer," she responded as I walked up to the vault’s doors. I pressed a hand up against the cold metal, analyzing it for a moment and ignoring the fluctuating veil. I dug a small keypad out of my pocket with a small smile. Sting was either getting sloppy or he simply didn’t think I’d get after this vault.
"Why’d you let me run off with the sword if you don’t trust me?" I said, pressing the keypad up against the metallic door and typing in my code. Disconnected keypads aren't good for much, but when applied to doors like this and activated, I can enter any code I want and it will be accepted. With a bit of a screech and a whine, the doors opened. I retrieved my keypad and slipped inside.
"Because you know me well enough to know what I'll do to you if you run off," she answered.
I smiled, sneaking through the dark hallways. The floor sloped downward, dust settling into the cracks along the concrete walls. I forced myself past several interesting-looking doors, remembering that I had to stay focused. The room I was searching for was likely down a bit, buried in the bunker. It would have been stupid of Sting to hide something as valuable as an enchanted bow near the entrance.
"Yeah," I whispered, "no doubt of what you'd try."
"You do remember what happened back in Egypt, right?"
"You mean when you had to get out of dodge because the government came after you? Yeah, I remember it well."
"I mean when I tracked you down because I got the report of some idiot trying to steal from an excavation site."
"I do miss that double bevel chisel." Pulling out a piece of camouflaged cloth with one hand, I paused and activated the sheet. Something drifted by, a light giggle bouncing off the walls accompanied by a diffused glow. Layla’s sword gave off a soft blue light from my pocket and I sucked in a breath, worried Grace would attract the attention of the ghost. After a moment of hesitation, the light winked out and the laughter stopped.
“...you're in the middle of a heist, aren't you?" Olyvia's voice interrupted my focus, drawing my attention back to reality.
"Maybe," I whispered, letting out my stressed breath and pulling the cloak down and stuffing it back into my pocket. “Maybe I’m in a hospital ward visiting an old friend.”
She snorted. "You're definitely on a heist."
"Well, you are the expert on all my behaviors," I said with a light laugh, skipping down some shallow steps. "Which means you should have seen it coming when I framed you in Russia."
"That was a shell game and you know it," she snapped.
"You still should have seen it coming, and you know it." Another short laugh escaped as I reached the bottom of the steps. "Shell games were my trademark."
"Your trademark was stealing random crap from high-profile figures. That's how I found you in Australia."
"Oooh, fine then. You get points for even remembering Australia." I was fairly sure she lost some memory after I dropped her in the Pacific.
"I tend to remember guys that lock me in chains and kick me into the ocean."
"You were trying to kill me," I responded with mock-offense in my voice. An impish smile crossed my face as I came face to face with my target room. Removing a skeleton key from my pocket, I activated it before sticking into the lock and giving it a twist. The door swung open and I slipped into the darkness. "Can you blame a guy for defending himself?"
"Self-defense isn't in your nature," she snorted.
"Forgiveness isn't in yours." Aside from a couple of piles with older, rusting weapons, this room was fairly empty. There were no pedestals, no sterile, pristine glass cases. Only knee-high piles of rust with the occasional sharp edge. I played around with the idea of snagging a few extras, but no. I was here for the specific task of rifling through Sting’s crap and coming away with a magical, alien sword.
An oil-stained glimmer shone out from a dull, rusty pile near the back of the room. Pawing through the discarded weapons, I finally pulled out a well-maintained bow shining brightly in the darkness. The wood curved delicately, the light of the stone grip the source of the oil-stained glow.
This was it. I had found my quarry. Elven make, delicately carved with wood strong enough to withstand solid punishment. It was currently unstrung, no arrows paired with it and none matching its style in sight. It was simply tossed here on its own. No matter; I had it now. The bismuth bow that would help satisfy my curiosity and...and...why else was I after this thing?
"Find what you're looking for?" Olyvia broke my reverie, reminding me of the other reason I was out here. To help Layla. I suppose I couldn’t deny it; the wolf knew me. Somehow, she knew I'd found something fun and valuable.
"I think so." Gently slipping the bow into my coat's pocket, I began to make my way out of the bunker.
Three down.