Chapter 1

“10:29pm” glowered at me from the cracked screen of my phone. Somehow the realization that midnight was approaching made me even more tired than before I’d checked. I shifted my weight to toss the phone back into the messenger bag slung over my shoulder. I leaned back against the wall and tried to focus on work. Patience had never been a strength of mine, but I knew better than to rush a job. Sloppy cat burglars get jail time. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that the night’s excursion was going to be my last, and afterwards I could go back to living  something that resembled a normal life. That’s probably what jinxed me.

I rose slowly from my half squat to let the blood rush back into my limbs. A sharp tingle crept down one leg. I had to put a hand out to balance against the window sill behind me. As I regained the use of my appendages, snow began to drift down around my head. It stuck to the cold metal of the third floor fire escape, and managed to slide effortlessly into the crevice between my neck and coat. I could see wet clumps collect on the honey colored hair in front of my eyes. I ground my teeth together and swiped at the offending frozen water.

“Stupid mother nature.” I murmured to myself  “I thought it didn’t snow here. Now I just need to be punched in the face and the night will be complete.”

“You really shouldn’t say stuff like that out loud.” said a small female voice. “The universe is listening.”

“This is why I told you not to read The Secret.” I replied through gritted teeth.

I heard a tiny gasp of horror and Gwyllion replied in hushed tones. “I had to, Sebastian! It was on Oprah’s book club list.”

Before any other coherent thoughts managed to cross my synapses, there was a loud clatter directly across the alley from me. In reflex, my hand reached up and grabbed the edge of a nearby shadow. It pulsed as my fingers touched it and I pulled it across my chest. For a moment, it billowed out like a curtain in the wind. Then it snapped back into place, and a deeper darkness surrounded me. My vision sharpened dramatically as the magic churned in my veins.

About thirty feet away a drunk twenty-something in a neon green cocktail dress stumbled elegantly out of a large window. She had spilled her purse and it’s detritus onto her own fire escape. She busied herself creating as much noise as possible while collecting the trinkets back into her bag. Finally, she lit a cigarette and slumped back. She had only taken two or three drags when a female voice from inside screamed “Trisha! Jello shots!” She flicked her half cigarette into the three story drop between us and scrambled back inside.

Once relative silence returned to the back streets, I let myself breathe again. I shook my hand wildly trying to ease the pins and needles from my near frozen fingers. Magic always felt icy cold and it stung like a swarm of angry bees. Gingerly, I pulled off one black glove with my teeth. For a moment, I just gaped at my hand as black odorless smoke curled up from my fingers. It twisted in the air and then absorbed into the shadows around me. I had no earthly idea how I’d managed to pull that little stunt off, and I mentally kicked myself for it. That girl had been totally oblivious before I decided to start using shadows like gymnastic ribbons. I probably could’ve danced a jig and she still wouldn’t have noticed me.

“That was totally awesome!” Gwyllion said poking her little head out from underneath my scarf.

“At least it did something useful... for once.” I muttered.

Gwyllion leapt into the air and began to dive and glide in elegant circles around my head. I reached out to grab her, but she easily dodged out of the way.

“Gwyll!” I shrieked in a stage whisper. “Get back here. Someone’s gonna see you.”

“No way.” She said far too confident for my comfort zone. “This shadow pool you made won’t let any humans see into it. Good job.”

I grumbled, but stopped trying to catch her. There was no point. She was too small and too quick. Gwyllion’s current form was that of a small black ferret with glittering red eyes and tiny thorn-like horns. This particular shape was the one I always thought of as her traveling outfit. The few times Gwyllion actually agreed to go out on jobs with me, she always chose this particular form. Mostly, I suspected  so she could be easily concealed somewhere on my person. It was rare for her to be able to move freely in the human world. The fae are touchy about stuff like secrecy.
“Uh oh, you’ve got Spock Syndrome again.” she said coming to float just in front of my face. The fact she had no wings didn’t stop Gwyllion from performing her aerial acrobatics. Similarly, her mouth never moved yet she still spoke constantly. Fae magic could be really annoying.
My hand flew up to pull down a lock of hair until it was in front of my eyes. My chin length blonde curls had turned a muddy brown. I slid the same finger over the edge of my ear and felt a soft point. I hated when the change happened. There was nothing for it though. All I could do was sigh and pull my hood over my head.

Wyldings, like Gwyllion, could use magic to ignore the laws of physics all they wanted. For lowly Faeborn, like myself, magic always came with side effects. Practically speaking, using magic meant that my human features and coloring got replaced temporarily with something that belonged in fairy tales, or possibly Comic Con.

It might not have been so bad if I’d made a conscious decision to make the shadow darker. I couldn’t control it. It was pure reflex. Somehow, the Fae part of me knew I wanted to hide and twisted reality to fit my needs. It was slightly terrifying.

I had no training in Glamoury or Spellcraft. Magic had always been this dangerous thing living somewhere under my skin that I couldn’t control. The only skill I’d ever acquired was the ability to suppress my power. Unfortunately, doing so was about as effective as deciding to hold your breath forever. The longer you try, the more difficult it gets and eventually there needs to be a release.

“I can’t deal with this right now.” I said waving frustration and Gwyllion away.

Promising myself no more distractions, I shifted back into position. Experience taught me that people tend to get nervous if they see a lanky guy loitering in dark alleyways. An awkward conversation with the police would not get me paid. I didn’t think I had to worry too much about getting spotted anymore. On New Year’s Eve, people are usually too worried about getting wasted  to watch their backs. With my magically improved vision and the deep shadow I sat in, I was feeling pretty confident. Accidental use of magic or not I wasn’t going to let the opportunity escape me.

I scanned my street level surroundings for any movement. Below me, the alley stretched in either direction. Dumpsters lined the brick walls on each side. It ended in a tall chain link fence to my left. To my right, it opened out onto an empty street illuminated by neon bar signs. I could hear the beat of a bass line occasionally interrupted by the splash of tires through slush.
The music was intermingled with the sounds of human celebration. The sheer volume of the noise pulled my attention back to the lofts in front of me.

The large brick warehouse was recently renovated into "Kingsmouth Lofts", housing the newest and hottest luxury townhomes. Each floor now contained mini-mansions sold for the kind of money that buys not just comfort, but attention as well. Six massive windows revealed the last party of the year. The celebration was in full swing, heading inexorably toward its climax at midnight. The crowd was a good hundred people strong and the grossly rich and slightly famous were mingling with the dumb and beautiful. Scanning the crowd, I spotted the hostess, Sarah Mae Glass, taking shots at a bar set in the back of the room. Next to her on a long buffet table was her iconic Cairn Terrier. It was eating everything it could reach, only pausing to breathe or glance at it’s owner to make sure she wasn’t watching.

Sarah Mae Glass was the epitome of gaudy reality show trashiness. As heiress to the Glass family fortune, Sarah Mae had been in the public eye all her life. She started out as a part time model and fashionista, then a reality tv sensation. Most recently however, she’d become the paparazzi’s favorite drunk party girl. Sarah’s party habits had her plastered, pun intended, on the front page of every gossip rag you can think of. Rumor had it Momma and Daddy were none too pleased. She found herself cut off from her trust fund until she agreed to rehab. After a very public argument with her parents, Sarah refused treatment and had been living the trashy reality TV high life ever since.

What interested me about her, was the fact that she also happened to be the owner of an original art print by none other than Pablo Picasso. It was sold to Sarah and Frederick Hamm, her MMA fighter boyfriend, at a high profile Sotheby’s auction last month. The piece was featured in newspapers and magazines everywhere for having sold for over one hundred thousand. Best estimates were only in the thirty thousands. When asked about their new purchase and their love of art “Rowdy Rick” Hamm simply responded the couple needed something to go in their master bathroom. Luckily for me, my client decided that for the hollywood couple to own such a priceless piece was a travesty. My fixer Jasper, commissioned me to recover the print from the couples unworthy clutches before they did any serious damage. Honestly I didn’t care if I was saving art history from neanderthals, although that was a nice bonus. The New Year’s job was going to be my last. Once I delivered the Picasso I’d be debt free plus I’d have a nice enough bonus to settle down for a while.

I watched as Sarah Mae flounced her way around the apartment soaking in the adoration from her assorted guests and sycophants. She’d been circling the party in this manner for the past few hours. Her bottle blonde hair and head to toe pink couture made her easy to spot, which I appreciated. Having spent time watching the apartment for the last few days, I’d managed to ascertain the location of the master bedroom and therefore the infamous art bathroom. Tonight was the only reasonable time to try for the painting. With the hundred plus guests coming and going, the couple would have no choice but to switch off their alarm system. As an added benefit their bodyguards would also be more focused on corralling drunks than securing valuables. There was just one problem. Rowdy Rick Hamm was MIA.

Sarah hadn’t returned upstairs to the bedroom or bathroom since the start of the party. Guests were also kept from the star’s private quarters by security. The only other person I needed to worry about wandering into my heist was Rick. Midnight was closing in and I knew I risked the couple retiring for the evening the more drinks they imbibed. Without a clear idea of where Rick was, I couldn’t anticipate his moves.

Sarah raised my hopes when she squealed in delight, running into the arms of a similarly gauche woman about her age. Only to dash them against a rock when I realized her beau still wasn’t there. My phone buzzed and I dragged it from the depths of my messenger bag. Several PDFs and a text document had just been sent to my phone. Inside I found the deed and tax records for Sarah Mae’s townhouse among other less interesting documents.

“Oh good, those finished.” Gwyllion said landing on my shoulder to look at the screen.

“What are these?” I asked a bit perplexed.

“The data from those search programs I’m running back at HQ.”

“Stop calling it HQ. It’s just some dump I found, not our secret base. How did you get a hold of this stuff? Please tell me you weren’t trying to be a hacker again.”

Gwyllion was truly unique among Fae. As far as I knew, most of the Wyldings lived either in the shores of Faerie near the Hedge, or at the very least in deep forests far from mortals and their technology. I first met Gwyllion in a mountain town in Arizona. When she decided to follow me back to civilization, she immediately started a love affair with computers. In the four years we’ve been partners, she’s become more tech proficient than I have in my entire life. It was useful most of the time, except when I needed back up on a job. Gwyllion likes to spend most of her time behind a computer screen these days.

“Most of this is public record.” She said in the irritated tones of a child trying to teach their parent how their computer works. “Tax and Property records are definitely public record. And speaking of records looks like boyfriend Ricky has one.” She swiped her tiny paws across the screen and pulled up a document with a really unattractive mugshot. “He has more than one warrant out for his arrest. No wonder he isn’t here. He’s on the lamb!”

I smiled for the first time in hours. “The lamb? Nevermind. Good work. This means we can finally get started. I knew I kept you around for some reason.”

“I keep you around for your big human face. Just remember you’re the sidekick, okay?”

I rolled my eyes again, but this time there was a lot more humor than irritation in the gesture. From my messenger bag I pulled a small black kit from my pocket and tucked it safely through my belt. Then slipping my messenger bag off my shoulder, I looped it around the railing to hang out of reach or eyesight of any casual passersby. The last thing I wanted was to drop it or its contents in transit. I could always come back for it later. Gwyll and I left the comfort of our shadowed fire escape and climbed upward silently. We reached the top and looked down into the alley. We were only two floors higher than our target but I gauged the Bedroom window to be close enough.

“You ready?” I asked nerves creeping into my voice.

“Absolutely!” Was Gwyllion’s only response.

Gwyll’s shapeshifting let her take on almost any animal form she could think of. Oddly enough, she also didn’t necessarily have to adhere to the laws of physics. She may not have had feathers or wings at that moment, but she could still dance through the air like an otter cutting through water. That’s because flight wasn’t just part of her faery magic, it was a part of who Gwyllion was. It didn’t matter what she looked like, she would always be able to fly. She could also share that ability.

I took a couple of steps back and tossed the long end of my scarf in front of myself. When it didn’t immediately drop back down to my side I knew Gwyll was working her magic. It floated slowly down towards me and I took off running. When I met the edge of the roof I pushed off and upward as hard as I could. I sped into the air like a bullet and spun once. Halfway between my roof and Kingsmouth Lofts my acceleration slowed.

I wasn’t flying not exactly. I was a feather drifting slowly downward. I was too large for Gwyll to pull a full on Tinkerbell. But she could slow my descent dramatically. Basically, Gwyllion could make me incredibly light for short periods of time as long as she was touching me.

I didn’t quite make the jump, but at the last moment my fingers caught the bottom of the window. I easily pulled myself up and placed my feet on the sill. As fast as I could manage, I pulled two long thin pieces of metal from the kit tucked in my belt. The apartments may have been renovated and refit with a security system, but the windows and their locks were old. Two twists later and the pane rolled upward and I slipped inside.

“You need to lose weight. That’s getting harder to do.” Gwyllion said jumping off my shoulder and speeding around the dark bedroom.    

“Which one of us constantly insists on eating Taco Bell?” I hissed into the dark.  

    Gwyllion had disappeared into the shadows of the room. My eyes took their time adjusting. Slowly furniture began to come into focus. The room itself was surprisingly uninteresting. White walls next to white furniture with white linens. It looked more like a DMV than a bedroom.

To my left sat a large four poster bed. Gossamer draperies had been artfully hung here and there along its columns. To my right,  was a massive  entertainment center and a large flat screen TV hung on the wall. Straight ahead I could see a corridor leading to both a large walk-in closet on one side and an open door leading to a rather large bathroom.

“Umm we have a problem.” Came Gwyllion’s panicked voice from the depths of the bathroom.

I sprinted over to find her hovering inside an opulent bathroom. She was scanning the walls frantically, but no Picasso materialized. I smiled and tried to reassure her.

“I didn’t think they’d actually keep it in the bathroom Gwyll. I assume that was just a way of Rick showing off his wealth and hyper masculine straight dude status.”

We searched the three rooms as fast as we could. Finally I found what I was looking for in the closet. A large black electronic safe bolted to the floor.

“Here’s our payoff. My bet’s they stuffed the print in here and forgot about it.”

Gwyllion looked at the digital lock and grinned. “I think we can get through that.”

I pulled on the handle of the safe and it swung open.

“Because it’s definitely not locked or even closed.” I said already irritated.

It was empty. Apparently the power couple didn’t have any valuables worth stealing. Or they just didn’t care. Either way I stepped back into the bedroom. I scanned walls and silently rifled through drawers, but it was becoming obvious that the print wasn’t here.

“Is it down stairs?” Gwyllion asked coming to rest on my shoulder. “You don’t think dumb and dumber-er actually decided to display it?”

I winced at the thought. If the print was displayed downstairs I could sneak down to get it, but it would be a smash and grab job. Those gigs weren’t really my style. I preferred the careful planning and artful execution method of thievery. One of the many reasons I prefered the moniker cat burglar and not petty thief.

The door to the lower level opened and music blasted into up the stairs. I took one look at Gwyllion and dove for the floor. Her power kicked in mid air and I was able to catch myself on fingertips to silently slide under the bed. I floated gently in place just long enough to make a silent landing against the carpet. The lights clicked on a moment later.

Frederick "Rowdy Rick" Hamm came sharply into focus. He stood in the doorway leaning heavily against one wall. He was wearing his full on douche bag couture. White slacks, a white jacket, and a rose colored shirt. Luckily he didn’t seem too sober. He was using the left wall as a crutch to guide himself toward the bathroom.

Once upon a time, Rowdy Rick was a moderately successful athlete and famous mixed martial artist. Rumor had it he was a lock for an MMA championship belt last year. He amassed quite a bit of cash from the endorsements he garnered. That is till he let his bad habits start getting out of hand. A few drug and assault charges later and Rowdy Rick became a bail jumperr and wanted criminal.

All of these thoughts snapped through my head in a second. Then another thought intruded. I realized if he caught me, it wasn’t the police I have to worry about. This half drunk, steroid using, master martial artist might just beat me to death before they got here. I held as still as I possibly could. I thought if I didn’t make any sudden movements to pull his attention my way I just might get out of there alive.

Rick stumbled toward the bathroom stripping off his jacket and then his shirt. The light clicked on and from my vantage point I could see Rick standing in front of the mirror. He spent a few minutes flexing and admiring himself. I considered running for the window and jumping but thought better of it. It would be best if the residents never knew I was here.  

Swaying slightly, Rick pulled something out of his pants pocket. He held a small vial sealed with a black screw on cap up to the light. For a second it shimmered like opalescent white sand. I thought it was a bottle of glitter and that Rick was putting on some sort of costume. He opened it slowly and poured some of it’s contents onto the marble sink. When he’d judged he’d gotten enough out he slipped the glass tube back into his pocket.

I watched as he cut the powder into lines with a credit card and snorted it through a fifty dollar bill. Once Rowdy Rick inhaled the last of his stash he stood abruptly. With one finger he swept the remaining motes up and into his mouth. The whole scene made me slightly queazy. Although my morals were questionable I’d never seen anyone do hard drugs up close before.

Ricky started primping in the mirror, but stopped suddenly. He seemed to twitch a little and leaned in as though seeing something he didn’t like. Slowly his face turned a deep red. He backed away from the mirror in horror and without warning, he screamed. It was a deep angry sound that liquefied my stomach. I could see Gwyllion covering her ears with her front paws.

The scream hung in my mind for a moment. Something in that roar called to the magic in my veins. Instinctively, I looked at Rick’s reflection in the mirror. For a moment, the real world blurred. In my mind’s eye, the bedroom vanished. Without warning, I was in another place at a different more savage time. My hands were buried in long grass. Ahead of me, there was a misty hill with a barren tree at it’s peak. It’s twisted branches reached up like claws toward an overcast sky. The broken bodies of woad clad warriors littered the tiny hillside and a man stood over them axes in each hand, screaming his triumph. It was Rick, clad in skins and furs. His body was painted in vibrant blue angled shapes. The sockets of his skull were empty except for these horrible, buzzing lights. They popped and snapped like electric fireflies. Rick’s horrible visage turned toward me and he charged.  

The sound of the bathroom mirror shattering brought me back. As fast as it had come, the vision left and I was dropped back into reality. For a moment I was stunned, I hadn’t had a vision in years, and it took me a moment to recover. Rick didn’t seem to have the same problem. He tore the cabinet doors from the wall and tossed them into the tub. He thrashed around in the bathroom causing as much destruction as possible. I slid as far back as the bed frame would allow. Rick seemed to be searching for something. I wasn’t sure if the vision I just had was only in my head or if Rick had seen me. Or had Rick just had the same vision?

Rick finally burst from the bathroom. He was sweating and breathing hard. His face was contorted in a snarl. He crossed the room and from his walk-in closet retrieved a large metal baseball bat. In his other hand, he held a  chunk of wooden debris from the medicine cabinet as long as my forearm. Rick looked ready to kill. That’s when I saw the first one.

A tiny shining light was buzzing its way around Rick’s head. He swatted at it at first but then ignored it as he began to test his weapons on the walls. Two more lights appeared and Rick rushed back into the bedroom. All I could see was his bare feet running from one end of the room to the other. I half hoped he’d pass out from an overdose like in the movies. The sudden crash from the window pane fractured the night. My head snapped up just in time to see a familiar white sofa chair spinning down into the alleyway

Rick ran for the stairs and back down into the party. The loud thumping bass line was abruptly replaced by the squeal of tortured electronics. I stayed under the bed for a few moments as screams and crashing noises rose up from the lower levels. Gwyllion and I looked at each other, nodded once and I ran toward the window. Furniture and glass littered the street outside. The fashionable party goers were in full panic mob mode. They were tripping over themselves to get down the fire escape. From the window, I could see dozens pouring through the back door and into the alley. A security guard in a black suit laid unmoving in the alley. His leg was twisted at a strange angle.

“Hulk smash.” Gwyllion whispered in a tone of admiration.

“Really?” I said glaring at her.

“It seems appropriate.”

I looked around for another exit, but none were forthcoming.

“We need to get out of here before the cops show up.” I said calmly.

“What in the nine hells was that stuff he took?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care. It’s time to go.”

“Not yet! We need the print.”

“The Picasso? I’m pretty sure that’s done for.”

“Exactly. If it goes missing now, the cops will assume it was destroyed in Hurricane Rick’s temper tantrum.”

“Too risky. I don’t want to be caught by a roid raging professional cage fighter. It seems like it might be bad for my health.”

“Okay, but Jasper is going to be so mad.”

“I’ll take my chances with the old man.”

I knew I could jump and Gwyllion would keep me from hurting myself too bad as I landed, but there were too many people. Even frightened and frantic, I couldn’t risk getting seen. Later if anyone told a reporter they saw a man floating through the air it could.get back to me. The first rule of the Faeborn has always been secrecy. No mortal should witness the supernatural and live to tell.

“We are gonna have to head down the way he went. Then we run for it. No magic unless it’s an emergency.”

Gwyllion nodded and I leapt quickly down the stairs. It was pitch black in the stairwell. At the bottom, the door to the main room was closed. No light leaked from underneath the door. As my foot landed on the last step, it creaked and I realized it had gone quiet. I leaned in  and cautiously pushed the door open a crack. The apartment was dark except for the large bay windows revealing the light snowfall outside. Moonlight fell across a wrecked apartment. Everything in it had been torn, crushed, smashed, or hurled across the room. The sounds of glass breaking could be heard from farther within the town house.

Either Rick, or the mass exodus, had ruined the chic townhouse. A large book case was blocking the only egress besides the fire escape. A strange warbling shriek was emanating from what was once the sound system in the dj booth. A light buzzed overhead. For a few seconds a row of track lights switched themselves back on. The light pooled down creating a flickering spotlight.

"Double damn."

Rowdy Rick stood centered in the spotlight. A swarm of the strange witchlights buzzed around his head. He was huge. His build, which was always muscular, had grown to half again his normal size. Sweat poured from him in rivulets. His shoulders were hunched, and he glared down at the crumpled form of Sarah Mae.

“That’s not normal roid rage.” Gwyllion hissed in my mind.

“Magic?” I whispered back.

“Has to be.”

Sarah’s tiny dog stood in front of his mistress and yapped at Rick in defiance. He barked twice, then growled dancing backwards until his feet touched his owners dress. Sarah was unconscious, but breathing. I could see one hell of a bruise on her left temple. I doubted she’d be alive much longer. There hiding just under her arm was a familiar black and yellow portrait in a white frame. Sarah Mae had landed on the Picasso..

A growl boiled out of Rick’s throat. The little dog refused to move any further. Instead he  leaned down low ready to snap. Rick tensed and raised one clench fist above his head. Sarah’s little protector would have never survived the killing blow headed his way. Out of nowhere a Webster’s Dictionary bounced off the back of Rick’s head and flopped to the floor. I’m not sure which of us was more surprised, him or me. It was only as Rick’s face whipped around, and those impossibly bloodshot eyes burrowed into me, that I realized I had picked the book off the ground.

Rick bellowed.

I started moving.

I dodged to the left and under a swipe from Rick. Broken glass was everywhere and I made sure to run over it hoping to slow Rick’s shoeless stampede. He either never noticed or just ignored the pain because he didn’t miss a beat. Across the wrecked living room and up a short flight of stairs I found a raised dining area. Rick’s footsteps boomed behind me. A side table thrown into the air shattered on the wall above my head. Rick charged as the debris came down and I dove under a heavy oak dining table.

A gigantic fist smashed through the table all the way to the forearm. Wood splinters rained around me and I scrambled for the other side. Ricky seemed to have gotten stuck.  He snarled and pulled at the table while I rolled to the edge of the room.  I slid under a decorative metal railing and fell gracelessly back to the first floor.

Another chair shattered behind me and the world tilted as I took some shrapnel to the head. Luckily it was a glancing blow. It was a glancing blow that hurt like a bitch, but I managed to keep my feet. Behind me I could hear Rick slamming the table repeatedly into the railing.

It bounced off, the first time. His second attempt ripped the brackets from the wall. I had to duck a large piece of table which spiraled over my head. I leaped to the side and rolled. I fell onto my ass only a few feet from Sarah Mae and the print. I clawed my way to my feet and ran towards the print. My entire focus was on the that small frame when I saw her face. It was cut and bruised and she was still unconscious. My stomach tightened.

I grabbed Gwyllion from around my neck and screamed “Emergency!”

A quick glance confirmed that Rick had taken umbrage with the railing and was tearing through it to get to me. Sarah’s eyes fluttered and I pulled her easily into my arms. With Gwyllion working her magic she weighed less than a bag of groceries. I saw a large gash on one of her legs. Blood was running down it at a startling rate.

I didn’t waste time looking behind me. I grabbed under her shoulders and turned to run. Rick stood between me and the fire escape. He threw a jagged piece of metal at me and I ducked. I spun on a heel and ran toward the front entrance. The door itself was lying on the ground. I tried running over it and nearly slipped. Catching myself just in time, I pushed off hurling myself into the bookshelf. I spun to shield Sarah Mae as much as possible. The backing of the bookshelf was cardboard and I broke though easily.

In the hallway the lights were on but sputtering. I staggered momentarily, but kept moving. Sarah was limp and looking very pale. Rick’s horrible battle cry was all the encouragement I needed to keep running. The sounds of destruction closed in as I reached the stairs.

I caught sight of Rick as I jumped down the stairs. Fear twisted my gut and somehow the locks on my power opened. I didn’t fight it. I prefered to be alive to regret it later. The light bulbs over my head burst. The hallway was darker than the apartment since it had no windows. My eyes adjusted almost instantly. I poured on the speed and put just a little more distance between us and whatever Rick.was turning into.

My legs were burning from the exertion, but I righted myself just in time to see Rick slam into the wall and lose his footing on the floor. I held onto Sarah and we half fell down the last flight. I hit the back door with my shoulder and we took a sharp right...which was the wrong way.

I readjusted mid stride and Sarah Mae tumbled out of my grip. She floated to the ground and landed soft as a feather. Her eyes fluttered again as she landed and this time they opened. She sat up gingerly and her pupils immediately shrunk to pinpoints. I turned only to meet Rick eye to eye. They were bloodshot and the strange buzzing lights skittered across his face.

He backhanded me with a fist hard across the face. My feet actually left the ground. I hit the slushed covered concrete and wheezed. I tried scrabbling to my feet but my ankle gave out. Sarah crawled toward me, but Rick reached her first. He was covered in an assortment of scratches and bruises. He looked like he’d been through a blender. Hot rage still lingered on his face. Those lights still buzzed around his head, but there were fewer now.  

“Run” I said and I leaped up and at Rick’s face. He released her, but she shook violently when she hit the ground. He batted me aside easily and bent down to grab at something from the ground.  From the trash pile he pulled a large piece of window glass. As he rose I saw his eyes in the street light. They were inhumanly red. The sclera had bled so profusely crimson streaks lined his face. He smiled a predatory grin and took one step towards me.

Abruptly two high beams flooded the alley from the headlights of a white SUV. It pulled right up to Sarah and parked. The driver door flew open and a dark shape emerged. Rick did his best gorilla roar and hurled his impromptu knife at the car. It shattered against the hood. He turned his attention on me and in two quick steps had his hand wrapped in my coat and shirt. He only got the chance to bounce my head on the concrete once before the shotgun when off.

Rick released me and my head smacked into the concrete one more time. My world blurred. Pain erupted in my head. I pressed my hands into the dirt and managed to roll onto my elbows in an attempt to belly crawl away, but Rick was already standing over me. He had a metal trash can in both hands raised about his head. He snarled a smile at me as I tried to focus on him. The sparks around his head swirled in a mad dance and he brought his club down.

I saw the blast knock Rick to the ground. He was screaming in pain this time. When he tried to get up, a woman stepped forward and shot him again. Rick hit the ground with an "oomph", gurgled twice, and laid still. His bloodshot eyes were finally closed. A beautiful blonde woman casually stepped up and checked Rick’s pulse, then she knelt beside me.

"Still with us?"

I blinked at my rescuer a couple of times. I remember thinking that shock must have been setting in because all I could spit out was, "You killed him...".

"What? No I didn’t. Those were bean bag rounds."

I blinked twice more before the information clicked into place. I knew what they were small pellet filled bags with casings instead of bullets. When fired instead of putting a hole in somebody, the bean bags just knocks them on their ass.

“I’ve never had to put three in somebody though. Usually one does the trick. What’s he on? Anybody know?"

Both Sarah and I shook our heads dumbly.

"Well I guess it doesn’t matter." The woman spun on one prada heel and stepped over to Rick. She cuffed him quickly and added a connecting pair to a nearby pipe. Then she stood hip cocked with the shotgun slung over one shoulder. With her blond hair, black suit, and crisp white shirt she looked like a manic gun totting lawyer. I remember smiling her way and giving a thumbs up just before I threw up all over Sarah Mae’s shoes. To her credit, Sarah Mae didn’t complain. She just kicked off her shoes and helped me to my feet.