Stephen Scry sat at a table in the middle of a saloon in some little town in the Nevada

desert. He looked at the glass of water in front of him. What was he doing here? He

should have just worked on trying to get his life back together instead of agreeing to

this.

He smiled at his cowardice. He didn’t have a life. The other Scry had stolen it from

him. He couldn’t even hold a job in some mundane profession. As soon as his

paperwork went to the government, someone showed up to try to kill him. They had

hounded him across the world.

He would still be on the run if he hadn’t run into an old friend. No one had believed

him about having his life stolen. A spell had been carved to keep him from just

stepping back in his place.

His friend had known what had happened with one look at his disheveled appearance.

A promise of help had been given.

Scry knew he was doing the most dangerous part on his own. His friend didn’t like

to take a hand in things except as an enabler. Actively fighting would be out of the

question unless pushed into it.

That would take a lot of pushing in Scry’s opinion.

So he sat at his table and waited. It wouldn’t be long. His friend had sent word to his

double where he could be found. He was on his way.

Scry smoothed his too long hair back. He used to like haircuts. Now his hair had

taken on the appearance of Einstein’s without the gray. He felt it starting to stick up

again as soon as he lowered his hand.

His friend came into the saloon and nodded as he passed. He puffed on a cigar as he

headed for the bar. He wouldn’t be much help unless directly pressed but he was there

in the bar offering moral support.

His presence might be enough to give Scry a chance at grabbing the upper hand if he

had to fight a duel with his double.

He hoped his friend’s friend arrived before the other Scry did. He would know for

sure if the cause was hopeless. He could leave and go somewhere else if it was.

Lights played over the front windows. His double was there. More lights pulled up.

His double had brought help like they suspected. He frowned. How many would he

be facing?

He took a deep breath. There was nothing he could do about it now. He had to deal

with what was there, not what he wished would be there.

He sipped his water and let it flow through him. The ice had melted a long time ago

and the liquid was room temperature. That didn’t matter. He needed something to

keep him focused on the task at hand. A sip of water was enough to keep him from

fleeing out the back of the saloon as fast as possible.

The other Scry walked into the saloon. He wore his dark suit well. Someone had

trimmed his hair down. He looked around the room as he marched toward the table.

He stood, looking down at the original Scry.

“So we finally meet,” he said. The voice wasn’t quite the same, but he was close

enough to fool people who didn’t know the original all that well.

I should have made more friends.

Scry waved for the other sit down across from him. They might as well talk without

resorting to violence. This parley wasn’t going to last that long. The goons stated that

much to him.

“We have gone to a lot of trouble, but yet here you are,” said the double. He sat down

after surveying the chair. “It will be a pleasure to get rid of you after all this time.”

“You’re not what I expected,” said Scry. “I thought you would come alone.”

“Why would I do that?,” asked the double. “My organization has you as a front. I

can’t allow you to escape to complicate things.”

“So you’re going to kill me and everyone in the bar?,” said Scry. He waved at the

patrons taking an interest in their conversation and the goons standing in front of the

front door to stop any escapees.

“I don’t see why not,” said the double. He smiled. His teeth were better than Scry’s.

“Everyone has to die sometime.”

“I guess that’s true,” said Scry. He picked up his glass and sipped some more water.

“But you won’t leave here alive. I promise you that.”

“You don’t have anything in your bag of tricks that can do anything worthwhile,” said

the double. “I know. I studied you before I took over.”

“I have been picking up other tricks since I have been on the run,” said Scry. He took

another sip of water. “That’s why I can make sure you die first. Your guys might get

me, but it won’t matter to you.”

“Do you really think you have a chance?,” said the Double. “It will be a pleasure to

get rid of you after all this time.”

“Put your money where your mouth is,” said Scry. He raised his hands so his palms

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pointed at his enemy. Instantly the double raised a shield to block anything that might

hurt him. He didn’t expect the table to be upended and pushed on top of him.

The goons raised weapons to shoot at anything that moved. They were in a place with

a lot of hostile looking people where people went armed as a matter of course. And

their primary target was considered dangerous.

One of the patrons turned and raised his gloved hand. A wind lifted the goon on the

left end of the line and threw him through the front window. The other goons decided

that had to be a priority target. They could kill everyone else later.

Scry smiled. His friend had come through after all. Now it was just him and his

double until the other magician was taken out of the fight.

He had always been on the weaker side as far as magicians went, but he had a narrow

focus that could be applied in a lot of ways. That’s why he decided to blast the table

from his spot behind it.

The Double blocked the table with raised arms and expended energy. The top broke

against the shield he summoned to protect himself.

“So there’s two of you?,” said the Double. “I can kill both of you just as easily as I

can kill one of you.”

He concentrated and fire erupted from his chest. It expanded into two arms that kept

growing as he fed more energy into the spell he was unleashing. The burning hands

reached for his opponents.

Scry unleashed his own spell. He knew this would happen and planned for it. He had

thought it was the only way he could get the upper hand.

Magical energy warped the air as glowing lines of force wrapped around one of the

burning arms. The lines yanked at the embedded power, pulling it from the false

Scry’s body. He fell to the floor, trying to catch his breath.

Scry dumped the burning mass into the bar’s ice maker. The machine sat behind the

bar with the lid open. Ice fell out of the side so the bartender could scoop it up and

put it in glasses for drinks. Heat and ice created a steam cloud screaming in pain as

it rushed to the ceiling. The sound faded as the hot fog vaporized on the air.

The Double tried to get back to his feet. Part of the enchantment he had agreed to bear

was gone. He looked up at the real Stephen Scry. The other man slapped the small fire

on his coat sleeve to put it out. He could still cement his identity theft if he could kill

the real man before he was pushed out in the night.

Scry raised his hands. His enemy did the same. They looked like two martial artists

readying for a brawl. Whomever got off the more powerful cut would win the day.

Then Scry’s friend of a friend would have to deal with what happened after that.

The two magicians triggered their spells and let the energy rush at each other. The

Son of Set employed a summons for a blast of sand to cut through his enemy and

anything else that got in the way. Scry slid out of the way of the blast, moving across

the floor. Both of his hands pushed on his double’s chest. The man hit the inner wall

next to the door like a speeding bullet. He collapsed to the floor and hugged his chest

as he tried to will away the pain of broken bones.

Scry took a moment to catch his breath and dive for cover as spells ripped the air

around him. He had forgotten the Double’s backup. What was he going to do about

them?

The magician flipped over another table to give himself a barricade as he readied to

face his enemies. He took a moment to check the odds. He frowned.

The Double had brought three three man squads to the saloon. He had lost track of

the nine men in the fight with the impostor. Two of the squads were down. His

friend’s friend had taken them apart in the few moments he had used to fight one

magician.

The other magician stood in the middle of a cleared space. He adjusted his dark hat

and sunglasses with a gloved hand. His coat collar was up to hide his face from view.

The coat had taken a couple of hits, but he acted like it didn’t bother him.

“How’s it going, Steve?,” asked the other magician. “That was a smooth move with

the demon extraction. He never saw it coming before you steamrolled him.”

“I’m okay,” said Scry. He didn’t move from behind his table. “How do you want to

handle the rest of this?”

“You heard the man, guys,” said the other magician. “How do you want this to go?

We can let you take off, or we can fight it out to the end. I’m going to have to warn

you. I still have a lot of pep in my step. It might be better if you walk away and come

back and get your wounded after we leave.”

Scry would have left. He didn’t feel obligated to fight it out with a stronger magician.

If he had a chance to flee, he would.

He knew the Sons of Set wouldn’t see it that way. They liked to fight, and they had

a master to serve who would look down on any cowardly behavior. It was better to

try and lose than to just walk away and try again on a winning day.

He readied his own attack. He didn’t want to get blasted after he had taken his

duplicate. He looked at the odds. They told him that his helper would have to take

every attack from the three mooks. He wasn’t on the radar.

He was fine with that.

The air took on the smell of lightning. They were going for it. He closed his eyes and

looked for the proper moment to attack where he could do the most damage.

The three minions pointed twisted wooden rods at the other magician. Fire leaped

from serpent heads carved in the ends. The streams hit a bigger blast going the other

way and ripped up the walls. Then the spell took the squad in its embrace. They hit

the window and door.

Scry wondered if they bounced when they hit the gravel lot in front of the saloon.

He stood and approached his impostor. The man groaned from the pain he was in.

Apparently he had never learned to heal himself. That was a failure of forethought.

“When you go back to your master,” said Scry. “You’ll have to use your own face.

I’m taking mine back.”

Scry raised his hands. He let the energy flow, pulling everything he wanted out of his

enemy. He felt strength flowing into him as he took back his name. The world

reverted back to the way it should be where he didn’t have to run, and no one

believed him. His clothes became cleaner and stronger as he shed his years of exile.

“I hope you like returning to your old life,” said Scry. “I’m sure going to like

returning to mine.”

Scry looked outside. The patrons from the saloon stood outside. Some of them looked

flabbergasted at the pyrotechnics thrown around. He couldn’t blame them.

“You okay, Steve?,” asked the other magician.

“Yes,” said Scry. He had been on the run for five years. It felt good to take something

back from his enemies. “Thanks for helping out. I know it’s dangerous crossing the

Sons. I appreciate what you did.”

“Amenophis and I are old enemies,” said the other magician. “I’m just repaying my

own debts. If you need any more help, just ask for Memphis. Someone will let you

know where I can be found.”

Memphis touched the brim of his hat before he started off down the road. A wind

covered him with dust and he was gone when it settled down.