“Yeah, but—” I broke off, ducking low as something soared overhead, barely missing us.
Fin cursed, James just stood there, and I stared upward at the creature hovering near the ruined rafters. It was a phantom version of the eagle boy, I realized. And just as he’d been when, at a guess, he was injured in the fight and spilled a little blood. Which meant partially transformed, with a human body but huge, feathered wings.
They were currently shedding sparks that flew off through the air, or pattered down onto the floor, lighting up the old boards and turning the warehouse’s collection of “ghetto diamonds”—broken bottles and scattered glass—into what looked like the real thing. In the golden glow of the spell, he looked like a medieval depiction of an angel, a spectral otherworldly figure floating midair, and making the lofty warehouse appear momentarily cathedral-like.
“Like a Botticelli come to life, isn’t it?” James commented, looking upward. “Or a Fra Filippo Lippi.”
He wasn’t wrong.
But a nearby mage didn’t seem to agree. He was standing there with a frown on his face, watching the great golden wings beat the air. Maybe because the Corps now knew that the boy had been here, but didn’t know which side he was on.
I guess even magic has its limitations.
“He was one of the prisoners,” I said. “I saw him on the feed.”
That didn’t get an acknowledgment, but the mage noted something on his pad.
“I want that tape,” James told Fin, who nodded, his eyes still on the spectacle above us.
Guess he hadn’t seen that trick before, either.
Neither had I, because I’d never gotten this far into a Circle crime scene. I guess rank did have a few privileges, I thought, as another mage called out to James. He went striding off, his coat billowing up dramatically behind him.
“Think they put a spell on it, to make it do that?” Fin muttered.
I just shook my head, too busy gazing around at all the other activity to come up with a rejoinder. The warehouse was like a working anthill. Just in the area around us, a woman—clairvoyant, at a guess—was holding a guy’s wallet and looking pained; a white-coated medic was directing a line of levitating stretchers toward a heap of bodies; and a war mage was building a tiny, perfect replica of the warehouse out of light.
It was an exact copy, including even a clueless-looking little Fin and me, standing in the midst of all the activity, getting in everybody’s way. At least, that’s what I felt like: someone out of her element who wasn’t helping, and who couldn’t have, even if she’d wanted to. Because none of this was remotely in my skill set.
But then I noticed something that was.
Over by the door, dim and quiet and unnoticed, were the selkies I’d seen on the feed at Fin’s. They were still in seal form, and still piled up together; I didn’t know why. They had plenty of room to spread out now.
I also didn’t know why they hadn’t just left with the others. The open door, hanging half off its track, was only a little way behind them. And beyond that, across a few yards of dock, was the ocean, littered with light on the surface, but deep and dark and mysterious below. It would certainly give them an advantage over any pursuing mages.
But they hadn’t moved.
Maybe too weak? It made me wonder why the smugglers didn’t take better care of their cargo. Why go to all the trouble to bring in fey, and then not feed them? And for that matter, why bring in selkies at all? What the hell were they supposed to do? Kill with cuteness?
“I bet they ain’t even talked to them,” Fin muttered. “That’s why we have all these problems. Nobody talks to each other. They don’t know nothing about the other guy. They just assume he’s bad ’cause he’s different. And if they meet one who ain’t, well, he’s gotta be the exception, right? When we’re just people—”
He broke off, scowling.
“Can you talk to them?” I asked.
He frowned some more. “Maybe. Depends where they’re from. Faerie’s like Earth; we got a lot of languages.”
“But you could try. It looks like they’ve been here a while. They might know—”
“Gah!” Fin cut me off, suddenly running in front of me and waving his arms. “What the hell? Did you see it? It almost took my head off!”
I looked around, but didn’t see anything. Except for glowing holograms and startled-looking war mages. Until something that was definitely not a hologram came zooming right at my face.
Chapter Thirty-five
I ducked, spun, and pulled a knife. And slashed at something that looked like a cannonball, what little I could see of it, because it was zooming around like a crazed drone. Until one of my strikes connected, sending it careening off into space—
Where it was promptly turned into a fireball by a nearby mage.
“What the hell?” Fin squeaked.
“Not again,” James said in disgust, as a few bits of charred metal and a clouded lens clattered to the floor.
Several war mages went striding out the door, looking pissed.
“Check the roof!” James called after them. “That’s where they were last time!”
I walked over to where he was glaring at the remains. The best I could tell, considering the state of the thing, it had looked like a smallish black soccer ball, with lenses fitted around the sides. One of which appeared to still be operational. Because it focused on James like a curious cyclops, whirring to get him in focus.
And blinked a few times, recording successively larger pics of the boot he brought down on top of it.
“The damned press,” James said, before I could ask, while further stomping the thing into the dust. “They’ve got their panties in a twist, thinking we’re concealing some great underworld war. When, from what you tell me, it’s just an escaped slave on a spree.” He looked at me again. “Unless there’s anything else I should know?”
“Not about him.”
I hesitated, suddenly wondering if this was a good idea. The Circle’s attitude toward illegals was well-known, but so was their network and resources, and they’d been battling the smugglers far longer than the Senate. They could be a real help—if they wanted to.
“But about something else?” James asked pointedly.
“A kid—a troll kid—was at the fights three nights ago,” I told him. “You know, the same ones where your current problem cropped up?”
He nodded. “Ugly scene. Slavers were killing the slaves, to shut them up. We rescued some, but others . . .” He shook his head.
“Well, the kid was one you missed.”
“Dory—”
“Relax. He died of his wounds. He’s not one you’ll have to find a portal for.”
James scowled, but he didn’t deny it. We all knew what happened. “What about him?”
“He said something, right before he died. Three words: ‘fish,’ ‘tracks,’ ‘door,’” I enunciated carefully. “Tell you anything?”
“No. You?”
I shook my head. “But there’s a chance that, on his deathbed, the kid wanted to give a clue about where he was brought in, or where other slaves were being held. But he was fresh out of Faerie, and didn’t know any Earth languages.”
“So he went with things he saw.”
I nodded. “That’s the idea. But he was dying, and probably fuzzy brained, and he was a kid. They pick up on different things than an adult. But if we can figure it out, it may tell us who is still bringing people in—and where.”
James scowled some more; it seemed to be the war mage resting face, but it looked weird on his usually pleasant features.
“May tell you,” he corrected. “If the Senate wants to go ballistic on some slavers, that’s their business. But it’s not a priority for us.”
I stared at him. “Not a priority—”
“The guys upstairs consider it to be a problem that’s solving itself. So why waste manpower on it?”