Boy Sorceress Pt. 03

I chuckled in disbelief. He had gone back to his apartment to put some clothes on and that was why I was still alive. He could have dashed out after me and ripped me to shreds.

Unable to see me, he pulled a phone out of his pocket. I went to mirror his move, but found my own phone still clutched in my hand. I had to make a conscious effort to lessen my grip on it. My fingers were white and they throbbed when I finally unclenched. I tapped the screen with the fingers of my other hand and engaged some of the software I had downloaded on it.

He put his phone to his ear and my phone identified the nearest cellphone towers. There were ten calls being connected in the same few seconds as his and I saved each of the numbers involved on my own phone. I was going to get closer to him, figure out his own number and thus identify whom he was calling. It had to be another of The Thirteen. Three of the calls ended up getting busy signals. I looked up and saw him speaking. His call went through. Maybe I didn't have to get closer. I eliminated those three calls from the list.

I engaged another program on my phone and waited for it to discreetly conference me in on each of the calls that were being established. I went through three of them in the next minute and discarded each. Two of them had teenaged girls talking gossip and the third had the voices of an elderly couple. I watched Sturbridge pace nervously back and forth in front of his building. The forth call I had my phone patch me into returned only silence.

I took the phone off my ear and stared at it in confusion. My jaw dropped when I saw my brand new phone open a blank conversation, all on its own. Then the screen went black. A shitload of white text shot past in a flash and then the screen was back to normal, my custom scripts running like nothing had ever happened. I blinked.

At least one of The Thirteen is very good with computers.

When Mentor had told me that, I honestly had an image of Mentor being an old dude who thought a superhacker was anyone that knew how to find the on switch. My phone was pwned so discreetly and quickly that I had trouble fathoming it. If a military cryptography unit recruited the engineers that designed my particular phone, they wouldn't be able to pull it off like that. One of The Thirteen must have taken some sort of computer empathy power, or something. As ludicrous as it sounded, that was the most likely explanation.

I swallowed hard and removed the battery from my phone. I put it in one coat pocket, the device in the other. They joined the ones that were already there and I sighed in frustration. A smartphone isn't supposed to be a single use device. And I had to buy a new SIM card with the second one.

Some people squeezed past me on their way out of the cafe and I looked over at Sturbridge. He was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk in front of his building. He seemed agitated as he spoke into his phone and shook his finger at the air in front of him. He flipped his phone closed in anger and stuffed it into a pocket. He turned around and marched in my direction, but he passed the cafe without so much as glancing over at it.

He seemed angry. Disappointed. I squinted in confusion. Did he look afraid?

I shook my head. Obviously, this was a trap. Sturbridge was bait, acting scared to provoke me into taking another run at him. The rest of The Thirteen were lying in wait somewhere, or shadowing him from a safe distance. As soon as I revealed myself, they'd pounce. One of The Thirteen had probably been driving the Ferrari. Even if they had floored it after dropping him off, they could be back here in minutes. I had to stay hidden. This was a trap.

But why did he look like he was afraid for his life? Why did he act like his allies had just told him he was on his own? I reminded myself of just how good I was at reading people. The very fact that he seemed genuinely scared to me, should be proof positive of this being a trap.

I couldn't use any electronics to track him. Hell, I was all but certain that trying to tap into the phones of any of The Thirteen would come out the same. The only way I could gather desperately needed information about them was to follow them in person. I looked after Sturbridge. Any moment now, my best connection to The Thirteen was going to vanish into the distance.

I slowly moved to the back of the cafe and took a seat. I ordered a croissant and a cup of tea. I sighed and slumped in my seat. I was not going to be avenging my parents' murder any time soon.

The image of my parents, tied up and begging for their lives, kept haunting me. I couldn't banish it, no matter how hard I tried. I wiped away tears when I realized that I would not be able to attend their funeral. The FBI and The Thirteen were likely to wait for me there.

I wondered again if I could sneak into the morgue. I wanted to say my goodbyes. I needed to see what had been done to them. I needed to tell my parents that I was sorry. The image of John Barton and the Doc cutting my parents open played across my eyelids. I had to softly chant to myself that they had been taken off the case to get it to go away.

I was stirred from my dark reverie by a patron calling out, "Hey! Turn up the TV! It's about the Ravager!"

I winced at my media moniker and looked up. I froze as my guts danced inside of me. Ashley was on the screen. She was wearing a huge pair of sunglasses, but those weren't fooling anyone. There was a whole posse of reporters crowding her and sticking microphones in her face. She muddled through them, slowly making her way to wherever she was going.

How could I have forgotten about her? Of course the media would hound her, she was my only ex-girlfriend. And she was the shape I was wearing. The Thirteen and the FBI might have missed the little video I had made of "her" and stored in the porn folder of my laptop. But, even if they had missed it, they were surely not going to miss her face plastered all over the news.

Ashley was in danger. The Thirteen were going to kill her, thinking she was me. The only thing that gave me any hope was the fact that the screen had a bold caption which read, "Live from Yale University." Would The Thirteen take that into consideration and deduce that there were two blondes, one of which had nothing to do with anything? Or would they just assume she also had magic and go after her, guns blazing?

The image of my parents popped up in my mind's eye. They were bound and gagged, just like the thirteen victims in the clearing had been, and then they were butchered in the same way. The same fate would await Ashley, I was sure of it.

I grit my teeth. I'd sooner die than get another person killed.

I noticed one of the patrons was looking alternately at me and the screen. I glared at him. "The fuck you lookin' at, asshat?!" He flinched and lowered his face to his table.

I stood up and walked to the door. My mind was abuzz with scenarios. The Thirteen were going to take off for New Haven at any moment. They could fly there without a problem. I couldn't. Not without finding out what happened when I ran out of Kevin fat to power my flight. I realized with dread that I couldn't get to Ashley first. I could only call her to try and warn her about it, but would she believe me? She'd probably hang up if I called her as myself. I had no idea how she'd react if she heard her own voice on the phone, talking to her about dangerous magicians.

I squinted as I tried to figure out their first move. They couldn't use their magic while she was surrounded by reporters and nosy students. They might refrain from using mundane means of murder, too, but I didn't think that likely. They slit people's throats like it was going out of style. I couldn't imagine them hesitating to shoot up a college campus.

I wasn't going to have more blood on my hands. If I couldn't beat them to New Haven, I had to stop them from going there in the first place. At least delay them until I could think of something.

My feet moved of their own accord. I stepped outside and looked around. Seeing no one else I recognized from the clearing, I walked in the direction Sturbridge had gone. Before long, I found myself coming up on Springfield's main square. There were people milling all around. I quickly spotted Sturbridge. He was pacing back and forth between the fountains in the center of the square.

I hid behind a column of one of the buildings. It was the Springfield library, I think. There were dozens of people seated on the marble benches lining the central area with the fountains and decorative flower beds. Dozens more were walking to and from the municipal buildings that lined the square. Traffic around the square was slow, since drivers had to be on the lookout for pedestrians and the police headquarters were right there. A big bunch of people exited the museum on the opposite side of the square from me, led by a person with a closed, yellow umbrella.

I gaped in disbelief. Sturbridge had very nearly ripped my head off my shoulders and here he was, hiding in a crowd, looking like he was afraid of me and my magic. I was suddenly full of hatred. Where had this fear been last night? Why hadn't it stopped him from killing my parents? Why hadn't it motivated him to say something to stop the rest of The Thirteen from killing them?

My fists clenched as I shook with anger. I wanted to kill him. My hand ran into my pocket and clasped the butt of the gun. I could just walk up to him and blow his head off while the tour group faced his way. His powers would be dispelled and he would be dead.

A strange calm swept over me as I imagined taking a small measure of revenge against The Thirteen and reducing them into The Dozen. In this crowd, I would be safe from any magical counterattacks. His friends couldn't stop me in time.

To my right were the Springfield police headquarters. Several uniformed officers were walking in and out. As much as I wanted revenge, I couldn't risk getting arrested. The Thirteen were adept at manipulating law enforcement. They made the FBI think of me as the bad guy. It stood to reason that they could easily arrange for me to have an "accident" in jail, in full view of more than thirteen witnesses.

I slipped back behind the corner and faced the wall, obscuring what my hands were doing. I pulled the gun out of my pocket. I popped the drum open and willed two rounds of ammunition to slide out of it. I willed the bullets to detach themselves from the casings and they slid apart. I looked around for eyewitnesses, saw no one looking my way, and willed the bullets to float high up in the air above me. The bullets went up and I smiled grimly. No one noticed them, they were too tiny against the big sky. I took no feedback. I had the casings float up atop the building. I hid the revolver in my pocket again.

With the bullets floating high in the air behind me, I made my way across the square towards Sturbridge. He paced back and forth in front of a fountain with his arms crossed over his chest. My heart began pounding more and more the closer I came to my target. I drew deep breaths to try and keep calm. I stopped some twenty yards away from him. My hands trembled in my pockets. I looked around. There were dozens of witnesses sitting nearby. There was a group of several cops walking this way from my right. The tour group was passing us, just ten yards to my left.

I stood in place, focused on keeping my concentration on the bullets and the casings. I kept imagining myself doing the deed, without actually pumping my will into the images in my head. I felt queasy.

Sturbridge stopped, raised his head and sniffed at the air. My first impulse was to get out of there, but my legs didn't work. I noticed that he had a bluetooth earpiece on when he spoke into it. He started turning his head and looking around. All my plans and intentions faded. I just wanted this to not be happening. I flinched when he saw me. His eyes narrowed with calculated purpose. His lips curled into a grin. His hand snuck into his jacket pocket.

They're not above using mundane means of murder.

I willed one of the bullets to fly through his skull at supersonic speed at the same time as I willed one of the casings atop the library to detonate. Sturbridge's head exploded into a burst of pink mist and flying skull fragments.

I was stupefied by the sight.

The sound of a boom was heard. I barely noticed the pandemonium that broke out across the square. The people around me jumped up and screamed in horror. Some were frozen in place. Others dashed for cover, realizing that someone had shot at Sturbridge.

I couldn't take my eyes off him. Almost a quarter of his head was missing. His eyes were vacant. His face expressionless. His body remained standing, hand in pocket, and the two of us were like a pair of statues.

The cops ran to him with guns drawn. One of them tackled him to the ground and drew him behind a bench. Another was screaming into the radio on his shoulder. The rest had their guns drawn and were scanning the square and the surrounding rooftops for the shooter.

One of them yelled at me, "Ma'am, get down!"

A very fat man was running away from there. When he passed me, he grunted and fell down. The soft pop of a firecracker echoed over the square.

One of the cops yelled out, "City Hall rooftop!" Five uniformed police officers began shooting their guns to my left.

My eyes were glued to a pair of brown loafers that were sticking out from behind a marble bench. They were on Sturbridge's motionless feet. I had done it. I had killed him with my magic in front of a square full of unsuspecting people and their presence stopped him from transforming and healing the wound. He was dead. I was successful in striking out against The Thirteen.

Then why did I feel like I was about to hurl?

I felt no relief, no satisfaction or joy at his death. My revenge felt hollow at best.

"Take cover," one of the cops screamed at me.

A cobblestone exploded to my right. I flinched and looked around. Most of the people that had been on the square were crouching behind cover, or running away. I was the only one that was standing still. I looked up to where the cops were shooting. I could see a glint of light above a metal pipe that was pointed in my direction. The masonry around it was going up in little puffs of smoke, in perfect time with the cops' shots. It finally occurred to me that a sniper was trying to shoot me. The man that had fallen next to me was clutching his bloody shoulder. A cop was pulling him behind the cover of a bench.

When the cops screamed at me for the third time, I turned and ran. I was idly aware of the fact that my second bullet and casing were atop the library, but I had no time to go looking for them. The Thirteen had really put together a trap for me and I had stupidly walked right into it. I couldn't attribute my survival to anything more than blind luck.

I ran from the square, blinking away tears. I couldn't believe that I was crying. Was it from the near miss? Was it from getting that other man shot in the shoulder? Or was it from committing murder? Yes, killing that fuck didn't make me happy, but I nearly punched myself in the face at the thought that I was crying for him. "He had it coming," I growled through gritted teeth and stuffed nose.

I was sick from the sight of Sturbridge's corpse and the noise of the exploding cobblestone. I was tired from running. I was sick and tired from not having wheels of my own. I looked behind me with every other step, fearing the Ferrari popping up around a corner and doing a drive-by shooting.

I ran blindly through the Streets of Springfield and no one came after me. Maybe The Thirteen hadn't been able to gather so fast. Maybe Sturbridge only had one of them covering him and they couldn't come after me, pinned down by police fire. After a while, I was certain that no one was chasing me. When I remembered The Thirteen would try to track me by scent again, I started looking for a cab to drive me someplace new.

I saw a guy in a fancy suit park an SUV in a handicapped spot. He turned the engine off, locked the car and walked into the office building. I checked. The car had no handicapped sticker on it. Screw it, I was a murderer now and I had already taken Kurt's Hyundai, might as well steal some asshat's car. It's not like the universe would ever punish him otherwise. I used my power to unlock the SUV and start the engine.

I pulled out and drove on the streets of Springfield with no aim or intention. I needed to sort things out in my head. I racked my brain trying to figure out what to do. I had to go and protect Ashley, but I still didn't know if I would beat The Thirteen to her. Maybe they were already in the air. That seemed likely, as it was probably the reason they hadn't put together a proper trap for me. But, had they even known about her before half an hour ago, when she showed up on the news? If they were in the air, would they receive word that the magician blonde had killed their overgrown cat? Would that turn them back around?

I shook my head and let go of all the questions. I had no way of deducing answers to them and, yet, I needed to act. Right now. I could only see two courses of action before me. I could race to New Haven and act like Ashley's bodyguard from now on, hoping The Thirteen would come after her and I'd be able to stop them. The alternative was that I stayed here and tried to follow them to find this book and stop them from sacrificing more people. That would mean Ashley dying for sure. I just knew it would.

Go to New Haven, or stay here? Leave the trail of The Thirteen to stake out Ashley's place, or stay on them and hope Ashley doesn't get brutally murdered? The dilemma bounced around my head like a pinball.

The more I thought about it, the closer I came to realizing I couldn't possibly protect Ashley. Not against a dozen supernatural assassins. Even if I was dealing with ordinary mercenaries, how could I keep Ashley safe? I couldn't follow her closely as Kevin, The Most Wanted Man In America. I couldn't follow her around as her own clone, either. The best I could do as her bodyguard was to keep my distance and witness her death shortly after they made their move.

My only real course of action, as much as I hated to admit it, was to stay here and investigate The Thirteen. I needed to try and find this book Mentor had mentioned.

I hated myself for leaving Ashley to the gruesome fate The Thirteen doubtlessly had in store for her. I hated myself for my part in bringing all this down on her innocent head. Until I realized that Ashley's fate didn't have to fall on my head, personally. I could call in a death threat and put the idiot Feds on her. It was the best I could possibly do for her.

I looked around and spotted a bar. I pulled into the closest spot I found and ran in. The bar looked normal and the score of patrons in it barely even noticed my entrance. I walked towards the restrooms. The barkeep looked at me questioningly. I thought I could really use a beer to deal with the jitters. "I'll have a draught of Bud, please!" The barkeep nodded and I went into the ladies' room.

I checked the stalls. I was alone. I went into the last stall and locked the door. I stripped naked before crushing the flower in my brain. My perspective shifted as I gained a foot in height and much more in girth. I looked down. My gut was still big. I'd have to weigh myself soon. I like having exact numbers when I'm dealing with important things.

I took my first smartphone out of my pocket. It was the one with the SIM card that bore my original phone number. I replaced its battery and the strange script was uploaded onto it almost immediately. Shit, they were listening in on this call. I better make it quick and scary. I dialed 911.