Firewall (Magic Born) (5 page)

Chapter Five

Hayes held up his phone. “Have you seen this woman?”

The shopkeeper barely glanced at the image. “No. Cash or card?”

Hayes held the phone up for a beat longer, then sighed as he put it back in his pocket. “Cash.” He paid for the bottle of water and left. It had been two days since his first contact with Tuyet and there’d been no sign of her since.

Humid, sticky air slapped him in the face when he stepped out of the store and back into the afternoon heat. He walked to the end of the block, pushing in seeming slow motion through air thick with humidity. His jeans felt like they weighed fifty pounds and his lightweight cotton shirt clung uncomfortably to his skin, long sleeves rolled to his elbows. He’d only bothered with a suit on his first day of canvassing in Rockenbach. Not even the whole day, either. Within a few hours he’d returned to his hotel room and changed. He needed to fit in as best he could, not stand out or worse, look like some kind of law enforcement.

Daily shaving and regular haircuts had gone out the window too. Not that he minded. If looking scruffy helped him blend in, all the better. And if it also got him appreciative looks from women, who was he to complain? At least it made for one positive thing in this big fat pot of failure he’d landed in.

Hayes had been in the city for weeks. Colonel Talbot had not given him a timetable so he was treating this like a long-term op. That meant plenty of reconnaissance to learn as much about the city as possible. The colonel did contact him every three days like clockwork for an update, and every three days Hayes lied and said he was doing his best. For his first week in New Corinth, he’d hit every bar and nightclub in the wealthier parts of town, using the idea of “gathering intelligence” as an excuse to get shit-faced drunk and hoping like hell he didn’t find Tuyet.

Ultimately it was “Tina Jones” he’d found. The sight of her made his gut clench and his head swamp with memories. God damn it, it turned him on, too. They’d played the part of happily married couple very well. A little too well at times, and those were the memories that hurt the worst. He hated seeing her and being reminded of what he’d never quite had. What had never been truly his. It saddened him as much as the thought of why he was in New Corinth now and what he’d been tasked to do.

Because if he found her again, he’d have to make a decision about what to do with her.

Hayes leaned against the corner of the last building on the block and took a long look around. The streets were gradually filling up with people. There was little vehicle traffic in this part of town, as there were few people here who could afford cars. Public transit, bicycles and walking were the norm. Late on a Friday afternoon, markets were open and doing robust business—as robust as possible with the high unemployment. The empty stadium where a massive bazaar had been before the city locked up the Magic Born was a standing testament to the hole in the economy. Plenty of Normals had sold wares and made money there too. Just not the kind of Normals anyone in the city government cared about. This part of town had been thrown to the wolves just as surely as the Magic Born.

It wasn’t his first Friday afternoon in Rock. He knew what was coming. Everyone did. He opened his bottle of water and took a sip, every part of him on alert.

Families hurried to finish their shopping, strained looks on the faces of parents. It was even odds whether they worried about being able to afford what they needed or worried about getting their kids off the streets in time. At the far end of the block, one vendor began to pack up his fruit and vegetables, long wilted in the heat and humidity. On the other side of the street in front of an abandoned movie theater, a group of women began to gather.

Hayes thought of them as step one.

He checked his phone for the time, then swiped through the menu for another of his special apps. This one detected magical energy. He’d used it all over New Corinth and could make no sense of what he’d seen. It could be thought of as akin to seismographic readings, and the city was full of magic, so much that it was dangerously unstable. Friday afternoons and nights had so far always created spikes that would get an area prone to earthquakes evacuated.

But if the Magic Born were locked up tight inside the zone, what the hell was creating all that magical energy?

That question had been second only to the big one—what to do about Tuyet—in his mind since he’d discovered the phenomenon. Countless times, he’d wished he could talk to Halif. Hayes had learned more about magic, both practical and theoretical, from him than any instructor at the Ranger academy. He would have been just as fascinated too.

A police van made its way down the street, honking at pedestrians. Raised middle fingers were a common response.

The cops were step two. They wouldn’t come out in force until the protesters were well into their march, but they liked to make their presence felt. It encouraged anyone who didn’t want to get caught out in the night to hurry up and get off the streets.

The app readings rose and fell in no discernible pattern. Hayes sipped his water. A cop on foot in heavy gear eyeballed him hard. A slow walk was safer than loitering once the first of the riot cops came out, so Hayes left his vantage point. He ambled in the direction of Tuyet’s apartment, even though he had no expectation of finding her there again.

If she was smart, she’d be gone. As far from New Corinth as possible. But she’d been living in that apartment. Spartan compared to what most people called home, but he knew the signs that she’d settled in. She had an emergency bag stowed for quick getaways, sure, but she also had a few books sitting out. Tiny altars to the Enchantress of Numbers and the Madman of the Wires held places of honor on a small table. A digital poster of the abstract art she liked so much clung to the wall over the twin bed. For whatever reason, she’d made this city her home.

All but the bag had still been there when he awoke. He didn’t think she’d left town since. The idea of her being a terrorist didn’t track, no matter what she was involved with.

But orders were orders, and a chance to get back into a Ranger team wasn’t something he was going to pass up. No matter how shitty getting there made him feel. That was what he kept telling himself.

Shouts and chanting drifted up from the march several blocks behind him. The air still smelled of city funk and pollution. If he stayed ahead of the march, he might be able to avoid the tear gas this week.

His phone beeped and he glanced at the app. Instead of a series of spikes the screen showed all red.

A motorcycle roared by. His attention stayed mostly on his phone until he registered what kind of bike it was—a V10 Panther Ultrabike. Shiny black, low-slung and streamlined like a dream, the V10 was not for the casual motorcyclist. It was built purely for speed and dangerous curves. It had taken him three years to save up for one, and one infuriating woman to steal it from him.

Somebody yelled on the opposite side of the street. Hayes looked around, ready to run to or from danger, depending on what kind it turned out to be. Sunlight hit the V10 rider’s mirrorball helmet just the right way and refracted as if on water. He glanced at the app readings, finding them still covered in red. He sped up right as the motorcycle careened up onto the broken sidewalk and into an empty storefront. It shattered into countless rays of light that dissipated quickly into nothing.

How the hell did anybody get their hands on magic like that with the zone closed?

More shouts went up as the marchers reached the nearest intersection. Hayes stopped, searching the street for more magic. Adrenaline surged through his veins. He’d been working behind a damned desk for so long, he didn’t know whether to welcome the rush or fear it. Instead he said to hell with it and let himself be overtaken by the mass of protesters.

Some deep instinct he didn’t want to think about too much told him Tuyet was still in the city. For what purpose, he couldn’t imagine. But if she was still here, she’d likely be found right in the thick of things. So he let himself be carried along by the crowd and he kept watch for anything that might lead him to her.

The protesters’ shouts varied but most of them were either
open the zone
or
give us our children back
. Hand clapping, bell ringing, and other noisemaking accompanied the slogans. As they traveled from block to block, more people joined the march. An interstate served as the demarcation between neighborhoods. To the north was Riverside, a viper’s pit of drug dens that had somehow managed to keep in constant supply of nightshade even with the zone closed. Midtown lay to the west, serving as a buttress between the wealthier parts of New Corinth and Riverside, Fort Rockenbach, and the zone.

Hayes was no witch but he could read people, sense the mood and energy of a crowd. The closer they got to the interstate, the more restless the mass of people became. Tension filled the air, leaked out of every shout, every breath. The sun dipped lower toward the horizon. Hayes had watched this from a distance several Fridays now and believed the timing to be no accident.

The protesters reached the interstate just before dusk. The front line was mostly women, many carrying placards. Some carried flowers. They sang and chanted and greeted the unrelenting line of black-clad riot police with waves and cheers. Hayes pushed through the crowd to the side of the wide street, searching for a vantage point. As he walked, he stowed his phone and moved a handkerchief from his back pocket to a front pocket, keeping tight hold of the half-full water bottle. In the other front pocket was a pair of thin cotton gloves.

Streetlights hummed to life, doing little to push back the encroaching night. He found a recycle bin on its side near the mouth of an alley and climbed atop it. It only gave him a few more feet but it was enough. The line of riot cops was deep, numbering in the hundreds. Armored police vehicles were parked at the back of the line, cutting off access to the interstate. Behind them sat ambulances.

The protesters numbered at least as many as the cops, maybe more. People continued to stream into the crowd from side streets and alleys. Most already wore masks of some sort, or at least bandanas to cover the nose and mouth. They kept to the back for now, waiting their turn.

It would come soon enough.

Gradually the majority of the frontline, unmasked protesters began to melt away, slipping out via the same side streets and alleys that were still bringing in new people. The kind of people not interested in chanting slogans and waving placards.

Full dark fell on New Corinth as the first fire was lit. In the middle of the street a group of masked protesters poured oil over a tire and set it ablaze. That was the signal. After so many Fridays, everyone knew.

So far everything matched more or less with previous Fridays, with one notable exception. The magic bothered Hayes, and the familiarity of the motorcycle. That V10 hadn’t just looked like the same model of bike he’d owned. It had looked like
his
bike.

Shouts went up in the crowd, a ripple of angry, eager noise. The rock throwing would start any minute. He jumped down from the recycle bin, not wanting his head high enough to make a tempting target. The police reports weren’t subtle enough to bother distinguishing between the peaceful protesters who marched to the interstate and the hooligans who led cops through rolling street battles after dark. From what he’d gathered on the streets, the groups were indeed separate, but working in a sort of loose affiliation.

Another one of his many questions: Were these Friday night street battles that drew the attention of every cop in the city being used as a cover for something else?

He withdrew his handkerchief and soaked it with the rest of the water, then tossed the bottle into the recycle bin. The first line of riot cops started moving forward, followed by the first volley of rocks and broken concrete. Fingers moving quickly, he fashioned the cloth into a triangle and covered his mouth and nose, tying it behind his head. Then he rolled his sleeves down in a hurry and fastened the buttons. Next came the gloves. As much of his skin was covered as possible, and he looked little different from others in the crowd. That alone had kept him from bringing a gas mask in a backpack.

A rock took out the nearest streetlight, glass showering uncomfortably close. He ducked instinctively at the breaking sound, blood pounding in his ears. He stayed to the side of the street, working to see as much as possible. He didn’t know yet what he was looking for, but he’d know when he spotted it.

The crowd surged with an upswell of noise. People ran in every direction. A jet of water came from behind police lines, dousing the fire and soaking everyone close to it. They scattered quickly, leaving a wide, empty hole in the crowd. Hayes watched, expecting at least one canister to land there.

“You are ordered to disperse,” a droning voice intoned over a police loudspeaker. “By order of NCPD, you are ordered to disperse or face arrest.” The voice sounded almost bored. Just another Friday-night riot on the wrong side of town.

Hayes felt the
whump-whump
of rotor blades before he heard it. Swearing, he ran for cover, but there was none. A police drone descended through the canyon of buildings and dumped gallons of pepper spray on the crowd. Screams went up from those with uncovered skin. The small craft’s light played over the street in a chaotic strobe.

Hayes pushed through the crowd, ignoring the burning on his upper face and head. Chips of concrete flew up into the air. One caught him on the upper arm, slicing through his shirt and skin. A warm trickle of blood ran down to his elbow. He never saw the canister that had hit the ground, but the smoke billowed out quickly enough. Tear gas.

The crowd ran, and he ran with it. Feet pounding. Gut churning with a mix of adrenaline and nausea. Maybe he
had
been riding a desk for too long. This shit used to be fun. Now he just wanted a shower.

Or maybe it was just no fun without Mrs. Jones by his side.

Rocks and other debris flew through the air. Fires dotted the streets and sidewalks, small ones contained in whatever anyone could find. The smoke both helped and hurt, obscuring the vision of the police as well as of everyone else. Even the din couldn’t drown out the squawk of the loudspeaker as one of the large armored vehicles made its lumbering way through the streets.