Industrial Magic

The Local Wildlife



ATTITUDE IS EVERYTHING. THEREFORE, WHEN FACED WITH four—oh, wait, there’s another—five inner-city gang members, the worst thing you can do is turn tail and run. And why should you? Well, the presence of lethal weaponry might answer that question, but that’s not how I see it. These are kids, right? People, just like everyone else. As such, they could be reasoned with, so long as one took the right stance. Firm, but polite. Assertive, but respectful. I had every right to be here, and furthermore, I had good cause. A cause that they might be able to assist.

“Hello,” I said, standing tall and looking up to meet the eyes of the one I assumed was the leader. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m looking for a teenage boy who went missing around here. Have you seen him?”

For a moment, they just stared at me.

“Yeah?” one in the back said finally. “Well, we’re looking for some money. Have you seen any? Maybe in your purse?”

A round of snickers. I turned to the speaker.

“As you’ve probably noticed, I’m not carrying a purse. I—”

“No purse?” He turned to his friends. “I think she is hiding it, under her shirt. Two big purses.” He made the universal male gesture for large breasts.

I waited through the inevitable guffaws and resisted the urge to tell them that, as boob jokes went, this was one of the lamer ones I’d heard.

“He’s sixteen,” I said. “Tall. Dark hair. White. Someone was chasing him. He may be hurt.”

“If we saw him, he would be hurt. No one comes here and just walks out again.” He met my gaze. “No one.”

“Ah,” a voice said behind us. “Well, perhaps this evening you gentlemen could make an exception.” Lucas took my arm. “We apologize for the misunderstanding. Please excuse us.”

The thug behind me stepped up to Lucas and flicked open a switchblade, keeping the knife down at his side, a covert threat.

“Nice suit, pocho,” he said, then dropped his gaze over my skirt and blouse. “Where did you two come from? The f*cking mission?”

“Out of town, actually,” Lucas said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us—”

“When we’re done,” the knife-thug said. “And we aren’t done.”

He smirked at me and reached out his free hand toward my breast. I started murmuring a binding spell, but before I could cast it, Lucas lifted his hand and blocked the youth’s.

“Please don’t do that,” Lucas said.

“Yeah, and who’s gonna stop me?”

“I am,” a voice rumbled.

Everyone looked up—way up—to see Troy. He plucked the knife from the thug’s hand.

“The mission bodyguard,” I said. “Sorry, guys, but we have work to do. Thanks for your cooperation, and don’t stay out too late. It’s a school night.”

A chorus of muttered Spanish, none of it complimentary I’m sure, followed us from the alley, but the kids stayed in their doorway.

When we were out of earshot, Lucas glanced over at Troy.

“You realize, of course, that you robbed me of a rare opportunity to display my martial prowess, and win untold weeks of feminine appreciation.”

“Sorry ’bout that.”

I grinned and squeezed Lucas’s arm. “Don’t worry. I know you were mere milliseconds from blasting them with an energy-bolt spell.”

“Absolutely.” He glanced over his shoulder at Troy. “You’ll have to forgive Paige’s overenthusiastic attempt to befriend the local wildlife. Not many of their type where she comes from.”

“Hey, we have gangs in Boston.”

“Ah, yes. I believe they’re particularly bad down by the wharf, where they’re liable to descend upon the unwary, surround him with their yachts, and shout well-chosen and elegantly elocuted epithets.”

Troy laughed.

Lucas continued, “When dealing with gang members, Paige, it’s best to treat them as you would a rabid dog. Whenever possible, avoid their territory. If you inadvertently run into one, avoid eye contact, back away slowly…then blast them with a good energy bolt.”

“Got it.”

“Shall we continue—”

Lucas’s cell phone beeped. He answered it. Fifteen seconds later, he hung up.

“They found him?” Troy said.

Lucas shook his head. “Just checking in to see if we had.”

“Like we wouldn’t call if we did.” Troy gazed around the field. “Aw, f*ck this. He’s not here. You know what? I think you’re right. I think he’s lying low at a buddy’s house. Griffin knows all about the other attacks. That’s why he gave Jacob the cell phone, and told him to report anything unusual. Jacob probably spotted one of the neighborhood bad boys, panicked, and phoned it in. Then he felt stupid and took off.”

We looked at one another.

“So,” I said. “Do you guys want to take the north end again and I’ll cover the south?”

They nodded. We were just about to split up when Lucas’s phone buzzed. Another brief conversation.

“Griffin showed up in the second sector,” Lucas said.

Troy winced. “Oh, shit.”

“Precisely. He’s making things difficult for the searchers. Unintentionally, of course, but he’s quite distraught. They’re understandably concerned, considering his abilities.”

“What kind of half-demon is he?” I asked.

“A Ferratus,” Lucas said.

Not one of the more common half-demons. So rare, in fact, that I had to translate the name from Latin before I remembered it. Ferratus. Iron-plated. A one-trick half-demon, but that one trick was a doozy. When a Ferratus half-demon invoked his power, his skin became as hard as iron. No wonder Benicio had snapped up Griffin from the St. Clouds. He was the perfect bodyguard…and the last guy you’d want going on a rampage.

“Dennis has asked me to intercede,” Lucas said. “They’re only a block over. I suggest we walk, and cover the intervening area along the way.”

“I could stay here and—” I began.

“No,” both men chorused.

I followed them into the alley.



As we walked, I drifted behind Lucas and Troy. So long as we were moving, I might as well cast my sensing spell and see whether I picked up anything. No reason to let them know what I was doing—that would only increase the pressure to provide results. Since they were both examining every nook and cranny on the way, they assumed I was doing the same and didn’t notice as I fell farther behind.

I found two more alley cats. My alternate career with Animal Control was looking bright. On the positive side, as soon as I sensed kitty number three, I knew it was feline, which meant I was learning to distinguish between presence strengths.

I’d just finished finding my fourth stray cat when a distant voice hailed us. I peered down the alley to see several men approaching Troy and Lucas. The second search party. I quickened my pace. I’d gone about ten feet when I sensed another presence. Stronger than a cat, but…I stopped walking and concentrated. No, too weak to be human. I took another step. My feet felt lead-weighted, as a niggling uncertainty plucked at my brain. Too strong to be a cat, too weak to be human. So what was it?

Ahead, the men stood in a huddle, voices carrying to me only as waves of sound. Lucas saw me, but didn’t wave me over. Tacit permission to continue searching. So no harm in checking out that presence. I traced it to an adjoining alleyway. I turned to show Lucas where I was going, but he’d left the group. Gone to find and calm Griffin, no doubt. I’d zip down the alley and be back before he noticed I was gone.

I tracked the presence along the connecting alley to a doorway. The door had been propped open by a wadded-up piece of cardboard. Wet cardboard, bracing a door that opened inward. I checked the door itself for signs of dampness, but it was dry. A windless night and a drizzling rain wouldn’t explain the sodden cardboard, meaning it had been brought in from the alley within the last hour or so.

I hesitated outside the door, readied a fireball, then shifted my light to the entrance, where it would illuminate the room within. I eased around the doorway. The room was empty, save for a pile of rags in the corner. The presence I was sensing came from that corner, somewhere under those rags. As I pulled the light-ball closer, I saw that the heap wasn’t rags, but a moth-eaten filthy blanket. Protruding from under it was a high-top sneaker emblazoned with the ubiquitous Nike swoosh.

I ran across the room, dropped to my knees, and yanked away the blanket. Underneath was a man, curled in fetal position. I touched his bare arm. Cool. Dead. The presence had weakened even more since I’d first detected it. Dissipating as the last traces of body heat faded. A pang of sadness ran through me, chased by a guilty surge of relief that this wasn’t the boy I was seeking.

I moved back. As I did, my shadow fell from the man’s face, and I realized it wasn’t a man at all. The size had fooled me, but now, seeing the soft features and frightened eyes, I knew I was looking at Griffin’s son.

My hands flew to his neck, feeling for signs of life, but I knew I’d find none. I rolled him onto his back to check for a heartbeat. As his arms fell from his chest, I inhaled, seeing the bloody patchwork of his T-shirt, crisscrossed with stab wounds.

“Paige!” Lucas called from somewhere outside.

“In—” My voice came out as a squeak. I swallowed and tried again. “In here.”

I got to my feet, then caught sight of Jacob’s bloodied shirt and bent to pull up the blanket. His wide eyes stared at me. People used to believe you could see the last moment of a man’s life imprinted in his eyes. I looked into Jacob’s eyes and I did indeed see that last moment. I saw bottomless, impotent terror. I bit my lip and forced myself to tug the blanket up.

A noise at the door. A large shadow filled the door frame.

“Troy,” I said. “Good. Keep everyone else back until I’ve had a chance to tell Lucas—”

The man crossed the room in a few long strides. Even before I saw his face, I knew it wasn’t Troy.

“Griffin,” I said, jumping back to block Jacob’s body. “I—”

He grabbed me by the shoulder and threw me out of the way. I hit the floor. For a moment, I lay there, dazed. That moment was just long enough for Griffin to kneel beside his son and pull back the blanket.

A howl split the air. A curse, a scream, another howl. The slam of fist against brick. Another. Then another. I looked up to see a fog of brick and mortar dust and, through it, Griffin beating the wall, each blow punctuated with an unearthly howl.

“Griffin!” I shouted.

He was past hearing me. I cast a binding spell, too quickly, and it failed. From outside came the sound of voices and running feet, then Griffin’s enraged grief drowned them out. A hail of broken brick pelted down, mingled with slivers of wood and stone. A falling shingle glanced off my shoulder as the building quaked under the force of Griffin’s blows.

In a few minutes, something would give—the roof, a wall, something. Through the dust, I could see the open doorway, beckoning me to safety. Instead, I closed my eyes, concentrated, and cast the binding spell again. Halfway through the incantation, a chunk of brick hit my arm, and I stumbled backward. More brick rained down, larger pieces now, big enough to hurt. I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes, and cast again.

The pounding stopped. I held the spell for a few seconds before I dared to open my eyes. When I did, I saw Griffin, his fist stopped in midair. He grunted, then snarled, trying to break free, but I put everything I had into holding him still. Our gazes met. His eyes darkened with rage and hate.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Lucas and the others swung through the doorway.