The passenger door opened, and a bearded face ducked into the dark grey Infiniti. “I checked in with the Boss. He left the rest up to us,” Lance said. Leaned back in the driver’s seat with his black hat pulled low over his face, Max’s attention was elsewhere. “You fall asleep?”
"The kid’s in some trouble. We need to move quickly." Max tipped the hat up and glanced over. “You’re watching the next block of Duke Street?”
His partner nodded. “I’ve got one at either end, and a third on the roof straight across. No one’ll get out the front. The back is a shared yard though, with several exits. Or lights. It’s dark as hell.”
“I’ve seen enough,” Max said, getting out of the car. “Let’s head to the back. You keep watch, I'll head in.”
Max checked his phone, then fitted an earpiece over his left ear. Lance pulled out a small rectangle of paper, as long as his hand but less than half as wide, and spoke a few quiet words. The two men trotted up the street without making a sound. Lance hung back at the brick wall surrounding the shared backyard, but Max vaulted smoothly over it, then crouched to watch for movement outside. He tipped his hat low again to check inside the house a last time, the familiar tingle starting in his eyes just as the images hit.
The boy apparently failed his negotiations. Or could they have detected us? No, no way. The young woman - ancient warlock, Max corrected himself - leapt forward to grapple with Alex; someone else watched from the shadows. Downstairs, the circle of warlocks still trapped in their elder bodies was beginning to stir. Though none spoke, suddenly all eyes snapped open and fixed on the back door to the parlor. Max began to move, shifting his perspective to see the way in front of him. The door they stared at led to the dining room, and then to the kitchen in the back of the house. It had been closed. It swung open now at his touch, the room he stood in so black he could barely make out his own silhouette.
Two small, pale blue lights appeared in that black portal. They wavered like candle flame, faint even in the darkness of the unlit room beyond. He returned his enhanced sight to his own perspective and ran a quick mental simulation of the battle, calculating movements and trajectories from his reconnaissance.
Hoarse cries of alarm rose from the throats of five ancient bodies. All stood and the guttural croaking of dead languages came from several. The one closest to the open door drew a small silver dagger and slashed an intricate pattern in the air with precision that belied his great age. A gust of wind swiftly began to whip through the room, dousing candles, driving at the open door.
Max stepped through it, unperturbed as the wind whipped back his black coat and swept off his hat. He raised the weapon in his right hand, pointing at the elderly man before him. A flash blinded the old men in that dim room, and a crash like thunder deafened them.
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The warlock dropped the small blade as the back of his skull burst. The wind died, and for brief moment nothing moved at all.
Max smoothly turned to aim his pistol at the next warlock. Such pandemonium as centuries-aged men are able to conduct ensued around him, punctuated by another gunshot. Another ancient body fell to the carpet.
The robed doorman took a step towards him, but was stopped by the clutching hand of one of the ancients. The doorman scooped up the hysterical warlock, and trotted towards the front exit, ignoring Max. Some kind of thrall, I’d guess, thought Max. He wasn’t suitable as a host so they turned him into a slave. The two made it through the door and down the steps before Max heard a distant, sharp hiss outside. The taller man never heard it, but fell dead instantly. The ancient scrambled a few paces on hands and knees, before another loud fssst tore through his chest.
Lance’s voice buzzed in Max's earpiece. “Two out front. I got them.”
Max did not respond, reacting to movement from his right. He swept his hand around to fire, but the old man surged forward with surprising agility and latched onto his arm. Ancient fingers with sharpened nails scrabbled for flesh to tear but slipped off the sleeve of Max's coat. Grasping both black-clad wrists in those desiccated claws, the warlock gasped several indescribable words and exerted bone-crushing pressure. Max strained his arms, but he couldn’t move against the unnatural strength. Grimacing, he stepped closer and slammed his forehead down into the warlock’s face.
The ancient bone pulped under the headbutt. The warlock fell backwards and let out a piteous cry, clutching his ruined face with one hand and raising the other in supplication. After flexing his pained wrists, Max leveled the gun and fired in a swift motion.
His eyes flared again, and he ducked the still-lit oil lamp that came flying at his head from the left, knocking it away with his forearm. The glass shattered and the metal was hot enough to sear flesh, but all slid away from the black material of his coat. He turned to the last warlock, who was leaping towards him with a shimmering force gathered in his hand.
Max stepped forward and dropped to one knee, sweeping his left arm up to drive the aged warlock’s hand towards the ceiling. His right hand pointed the pistol up into the warlock’s abdomen, and he squeezed the trigger twice. The concussion of magic erupted harmlessly over his left shoulder and he continued the sweep of his left arm to shove the falling body away. Standing, he fired another shot into the thrashing warlock, who fell still.
Max didn’t move for a moment, and the blue glow flickered briefly in his eyes. He saw the two corpses outside, and three figures struggling upstairs. “Now there’s a party I want to crash,” he said softly to himself.
He concentrated, and a feeling of warmth and pressure formed in his chest, then spread through his veins. A deep breath, and in two steps he was at the foot of the stairs. Two more took him up the full flight, and in one last step he was before the door to the bedroom down the hall. Each step splintered the wooden floors, his vision a blur as he moved with speed too fast for human sight to clearly track. Two more... or maybe three.