Midday, and five hours since she had left Excala station, but to her it felt as though she had been drinking for a day and vomiting for a night. The vomiting part however, was no metaphor. She stepped off the plane, wearily smiling at the flight attendant who had more than once feared for Evalyn’s life. It was especially such moments that made her wish her appearances weren’t so distinctive, lest she forever be remembered as the woman who barfed until there wasn’t even bile left.
The runway was freezing, and the air was thick and bitter. A human city, no doubt. The smell of the metropolis always arrived ahead of the sight, like an omen or a dark god’s herald. Sidos was not truly a 'human city’, but her distinct distaste for its architecture carried over. Where Sidos prized function over form, human cities like Trepedite were built as though the latter even existed. It was almost like nature, how the slums would grow with extension after extension like a living, breathing organism, sprawling around the feet of the uptown districts, which exchanged meaningful design for unapologetic displays of excess.
The runway was cold. She needed something to complain about if she was to keep warm.
Her journey through customs was tedious as usual. Despite her luggage being light, the first firearm tucked away under lock and key in her briefcase and the other under similar security slung across her shoulder always managed to add another hour to her time. Eventually, however, the customs officers always allowed her to pass, albeit with a disgruntled look, and this time was no different.
She continued out to the ground level pick up loop where shuttle busses offloaded departures and taxies competed to snap up the arrivals. It wasn’t snowing when she stepped onto the pavement, but the gutters were overflowing with small mounds of snow, cleared from the roads themselves. She shivered again, passing an eye over the ring, looking for her ride.
“Boo.”
“Piss off.”
“What?” Colte groaned as Evalyn turned around. He was smiling despite the cold, and even when there was snow stuck to his stubble, he still found energy for his lacklustre sense of humour.
“I’m in a bad mood; let me in your car and do some fire tricks to keep me warm.”
“Ah, right,” he sighed. “Planes.”
He patted her shoulder and took her briefcase, leading her to a black sedan waiting in between two taxis. It was barely any different to the cars it was parked between, save for the light-up taxi signs sitting precariously on their roofs. She guessed it was a rental car, another in a long line that spanned over the course of Colte’s entire career. He’d expressed dissatisfaction with them, lamenting how he wanted one, but such a nomadic work life made it impractical.
He loaded her luggage into the boot as she stepped into the passenger side seat, jumping when her backside registered how cold the leather seat was.
“You weren’t keeping the heater running?” she complained as he stepped into the driver’s side seat. “It’s freezing.”
“It’s an older model; the thing doesn’t have any proper ventilation,” he explained, reaching for his pipe tucked away in his overcoat. “I’ve been lighting a little fire to keep myself warm.”
“What about the smoke?”
“Well, if you can bear the windows rolled down a sliver, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
He puffed into his pipe as he clicked his seatbelt into place, a small flame springing to life just above the chamber. “When’s your check-in?”
Evalyn checked her watch. “An hour?” she replied. Colte raised his eyebrows in response.
“You think you can drop off your things and get to work straight away?”
“I’d rather not,” she admitted, taking a keychain from her trench coat’s pocket and unlocking the latch on her rifle case. “But I can’t say I was expecting not to.”
“It’s nothing big, I just need you to sit in on an interrogation,” he said as he ignited the engine, “get a feel for what we’re dealing with.”
The car spluttered to life, and Colte smoothly pulled into the loop. “Just like the old days, I do everything, and you watch.”
Evalyn glared at him, not even bothering to recall the times she’d bailed him out of sticky situations. There was a reason one of them still got scars and the other didn’t.
“Oh yeah,” he said as they turned onto the main road, the city now in clear view on the horizon. “Where’s Iris?”
“Iris,” Evalyn began smugly, “is on her own commission.”
“Already that age, huh?” Colte said, entertaining her pride. “Must have had a good teacher.”
“Aw, is that a compliment?”
“I can take it back if you don’t want it.”
Evalyn did a final once-over of her sidearm before tucking it into her overcoat. Under Colte’s recommendations, she’d left her rifle at home. Concealed carry was the safest option, considering the scene of their assignment.
Downtown, and even then at its lower levels. Skyscrapers rose like trees in a dense forest, blocking the sunlight and leaving the bottom dwellers to feed on the compost. The smog hung above them, but being free of its stench only meant she was knee-deep in the grime and soiled snow. Engine oil from broken-down cars coated the streets while pressurised gases of varying toxicity spewed out of rusted pipes and broken vents. Nothing worked in the city’s underbelly, and with its monorails suspending the wealthy above it all, the city had long since stopped caring.
“So, she’s guarding the family’s daughter, is she? Sounds easy enough,” Colte said as he drove, carefully steering while scrutinising his surroundings for danger. “You think it’ll be fine?”
“I think so,” Evalyn replied. “There isn’t much to worry about, but I can’t help it.”
“Worry is what mothers do; just means you’re doing your job,” he assured her, pulling over by the side of the street and into a snow-filled gutter. They undid their seatbelts, and Colte pointed out a building across the street.
“I looked over some Police records they lent me. Twenty sixth floor of that building is home to the strong-arming detail of a pretty big syndicate. One of many, apparently, that probably weren’t too keen on the Mallorine family forcing their way into the local industry.”
“What kind of syndicate?” she asked.
“Legitimate. Well, their other branch, at least. It’s how business runs in places like this, especially once you start playing with bigger sums. Using magic is a great way to shift suspicion off human shoulders, and it’s worked on the police as far as I’m concerned.”
“Look at you go, detective,” Evalyn jived. “Might almost be as good as me one day.”
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“One can only hope,” Colte sighed, rolling his eyes as he stepped out of the car.
Her boots crunched through the dirty snow as she zeroed in on the building entrance. The greyscale between soot-black buildings and fresh snow made things harder to make out, which unnerved her, considering her environment. Relatively tight, elevated, and hundreds of windows to get shot from. The place wasn’t ideal if things turned hairy.
“What’s the verdict on magic?” Evalyn asked. “How much are we allowed to use?”
“Up to our discretion,” Colte answered. “It’s not like there’s any Spirits to notice something’s wrong, and it’s easy enough to convince a passerby that they didn’t see what they saw.”
In other words, free reign with a long list of caveats. It was about as good as she could hope for.
A building typical of this part of town, which was to say it was tens of storeys tall and housed at least a few hundred people, if not pushing a thousand. It resembled an ant nest more than anything human, but one with no hive mind quality—decentralised and unpredictable from bottom floor to top.
They entered the lobby, Evalyn expecting it to be largely vacant. But that wasn’t the case at all, seeing as the snow had forced the populous off the street to make their own fun indoors. It sounded and smelled like a local pub; people sitting around makeshift tables of cardboard boxes playing cards, children bobbing and weaving through in a game of tag. The place was alive despite the space’s original purpose, and the sheer number of people under lamp light was staggering.
They cut through, Evalyn following Colte’s lead as they headed for the four elevators at the far end of the building. All automatic, thankfully. The last thing they needed was a lift operator to remember their faces.
They got on, and she closed the grille while Colte mashed the twenty-sixth button. The elevator cables groaned as the motors squeaked through the rust, grime and cold.
“Mask up,” Colte said as he puffed into his pipe, creating a plume of smoke. The black cloud wrapped around his head, retaining its shape but blackening out any distinctive features like a black marker on a classified document. She was standing at the wrong angle, but she knew there to be two flames where his eyes were. Where her armour spoke to something divine, his was hell itself. Very fitting.
She felt the warmth well from her chest, expelling the winter cold from her fingertips as they were encased in golden armour. She heard the cable motor squeak again under the added weight, and she willed the plates flimsier for the time being.
“What do you want for lunch?” Colte asked, voice muffled.
“Sorry?”
“You haven’t eaten anything.”
“I’m not really thinking about that right now,” she hissed. “Pies. Why not?”
“Pies? Really?” Colte asked, happily surprised.
“Yeah…just because you bought me them every time we worked together doesn’t mean I didn’t like it.”
She could tell he was smiling under the smoke mask, and it made her just slightly regret the gesture. He nudged her as they passed the twentieth floor, and she figured that she’d let it slide. Old habits died hard, but the man was getting old. They were peers now, even if he would always be her tactless mentor.
The lift bell weakly chimed as they arrived, and before Evalyn could even step foot on the floor, Colte got to work.
He threw his hands forward, directing a gust of smoke that enveloped the entire floor, reducing her visibility to a small bubble of clear air around them both. Screams and panic began to echo from various rooms throughout the floor, some close and others distant.
“Hm…,” Colte said, ruminating. “Most people are armed…but those seven men with a submachine gun each don’t exactly look like a renting family.”
He retracted the smoke from the halls, allowing it only to linger in a single apartment block two doors down.
“Quick,” he said, “before people start running into the hallway.”
They made for the door briskly, Evalyn taking the lead and pressing her finger against the lock. She’d gotten better at it after meeting Iris, a natural-born thief if not the greatest teacher. Either way, Evalyn had learned something, and thanks to that she opened it before the first signs of panic spilt from the rooms into the hall.
Inside was once again filled with smoke. Several pairs of loud footsteps filled the apartment, and they all seemed to hear her lock the door.
“Who’s there!” one called.
“That one’s right over there,” Colte muttered, pointing in a direction through the smoke. Evalyn formed a tendril that spread out to find the suspect, binding him on contact and gagging him.
“That one’s going to shoot us,” he informed her. She erected a barricade just as bullets started flying their way, leaving trails in the smoke Evalyn could easily use to pinpoint the man and snag him.
One after another, Colte nonchalantly singled out suspect after suspect and Evalyn bagged them one by one. Evalyn knew the gunfire wouldn’t exactly go unnoticed, so she prayed the locked door would be enough to deter any neighbourhood heroes or local law enforcement. She hoped downtown got less attention from the boys in blue, as much as that was a horrible thing to wish for.
The smoke cleared leaving them with a barebones apartment room; even the walls were missing their plaster. Seven men lay bound and squirming, their weapons on the floor.
“Big toys,” Colte muttered. “I’m going to pick out the youngest, then you line the rest up against the far wall. All right?”
“Sure,” Evalyn said, already reading the pattern the next few minutes would take. She didn’t have much of a stomach for interrogation, let alone torture, and Colte keeping her from partaking in it was probably the biggest reason.
“This one,” he said, pointing to one of the men, although the boy was more of an accurate word. He looked barely eighteen.
Evalyn moved the other seven to the far wall, keeping her tendrils tight around their limbs and over their mouths as Colte approached his victim. He grabbed two chairs on his way from around a wooden table cluttered with empty beer bottles, sitting down on one and placing the other opposite him. Evalyn took the cue and placed the subject on the empty chair.
“Now,” Colte began. “I’m going to ask the nice lady over there to untie and ungag you. If you scream, one of your buddies gets their neck snapped, if you go for the gun, two do, and we’ll continue for as long as we have to, or as long as we’re able to. Understand?”
The boy, eyes wide with terror, made no movement.
“Blink once for yes and twice for no. That woman over there has done a lot more than snuff a few people, I’d prefer you don’t try either of us.”
It took a few more tense seconds, but the blink came.
“Good,” Colte said, and Evalyn undid the binds. As promised, the boy didn’t scream. In fact, he didn’t move, as if he hadn’t been untied at all. His lips trembled in place, on the verge of breaking his agreement.
“What’s your name?”
“F-f-f….”
“F…f what?”
“F-fred….”
“Fred. Nice to meet you. Unfortunately, I can’t state my name, but I can state why I’ve had to unfortunately…intrude on you this afternoon. See…,” he said, pulling his chair uncomfortably close to Fred’s. “There’s been these incidents involving domes. Sigil magic, very serious, a lot of missing people. You’ve heard about this, haven’t you?”
Fred nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off the two small flames.
“Well. I, and the relevant authorities who’ve been keeping track of your cell, suspect your employers of having a vested interest in seeing the expulsion of the Mallorine family from the local market. Are you following?”
Fred nodded.
“Good. Now, I want to know if you, or anyone you know, had anything to do with these attacks. Heavy-handed tactics are something your employers are known for, and so I am just looking for the truth.”
Fred stayed frozen, mouth still trembling as the staring competition with Colte's unflinching eyes dragged on for painfully long second after painfully long second. Finally, he shook his head.
“No.”
“…no? No what?” Colte asked, shrugging his shoulders.
“I’m not telling pigs,” Fred said, standing his ground on tremoring knees, but it inspired no intimidation in Colte, only disappointment.
“Fred, do I look like a pig?” Colte asked from his laid-back posture, but he got no response. “Because I’m a lot closer to you than I am to a police officer. Let me put it this way. You, you know, and I’m sorry to assume, probably vest your entire life, all your aspirations as…whatever your job title is, in this small world of yours. From here to let’s say a thirty-block radius around us, which in Trepedite isn’t all too big. Your enemy, the antagonist of your life are the police, the people who stop you from carrying out hit jobs for a local group who want to maximise their profits.
“I am muscle for hire, just like you. It’s just that the world I operate in is the world, and the people I take jobs from have enough power to condemn millions of souls to a fate they never asked for. I avert wars, sometimes I start them, and the money I move could buy your employers a hundred times over. Now the fact that I’m even sitting here, in this room, addressing you must mean that…something is horribly wrong. Either I’ve made a mistake, or you and your battle brothers have grossly overstepped your calling. I don’t think it’s the former.”
Colte put a hand on Fred’s shoulder as they came utterly face to face. “I’m your only hope out of this mess and all you have to help yourself is tell me what you know, or who you think will know. Understand?”
Fred, through his state of petrification, managed to maintain a foolish vow of silence.
“All right,” Colte said. “This is your fault.”
With the puff of his pipe, Evalyn’s binds burst into flames around the six other men, and muffled screaming erupted through the apartment. Utter agony as the heat lapped at their skin, searing it like the steel bars on a grill. Fred’s expression spelt mortification as the screams only got louder and louder.
“This will keep on going as long as you don’t talk,” Colte stated.
“I don’t know!” Fred pleaded as his body reflectively tried to run towards his comrades, but his fear kept him in place. “What the—”
“I’m sorry for not introducing myself earlier,” Colte continued. “They call me the Ash Man. I don’t believe I need to spell out why.”