time they’d met. He checked it. Fully loaded. “How the blazes do you sneak up on anybody in that metal coat?”
“Give me my key,” Striker wheezed.
The last thing Nick wanted was a prisoner, and the key was no use to him. Exasperated, he fished in his pocket and found the chain he had ripped from the man’s neck. He tossed it to him. Striker caught it midair, his face brightening a moment before resuming his usual scowl.
Nick raised the revolver in two hands, wanting to be rid of the fool now. “I’m here to stop a man before he hurts someone I love. Be useful or be gone.”
“And I’ve been hunting the doctor for two solid days but found you. Seems my time hasn’t been a waste after all.” With a swift movement, Striker pulled a second gun from beneath his coat and hit a switch on its side. It came to life with a whirr. It was sleeker than the one he’d had before, and to Nick’s eyes, seemed even more deadly. Blue lightning arced in a glass dome at the top, giving off a faint crackle.
“You ever killed a man before?” the streetkeeper asked.
“Once,” Nick said through clenched teeth, refusing to show fear.
Striker smiled, and in that blue-white light from the gun, it was a ghastly leer. The nose of the hellish weapon didn’t waver. “You get better at it with practice. I would know.”
A sinking feeling took Nick, that same sensation as when a trick went wrong and he knew that a fall was coming. Twenty feet of air and fragile human bones, his stomach somewhere up around his ears.
There was a moment of regret. So much he’d never done in his short life.
He’d barely finished the thought when his eye caught a gleam from the street. He flicked his gaze up and saw Dr. Magnus there, the streetlight glancing off the silver head of his walking stick.
Nick’s eyes met Striker’s, and he saw his own doubt. Maybe they wouldn’t be killing each other after all.
“I see you two have met,” Magnus said with an amused air. “You’ve been dogging my steps, Mr. Striker. I take it that the Gold King is displeased with me.”
Striker’s face hardened. “I’m not the one he sends if he’s asking you to tea.” He raised the strange weapon, but before he could fire, the doctor raised his stick.
Reflex made Nick duck. He grabbed Striker’s arm, pulling him to the ground at the same moment. Then the front of the house exploded. Shards of wood and brick sprayed into the air. Glass crashed and frame splintered. Pale fire licked down the door, pouring over the steps like something liquid before it was slurped back into the darkness and extinguished.
The flame missed Nick’s boot by inches. His ankle smarted from the heat.
“Holy fardlin’ hell,” Striker cursed, rolling into a crouch and pointing toward the street. “What was that?”
“I think he plans to defend himself,” Nick muttered, scrabbling to take cover behind the porch pillar. Magnus’s shot had badly damaged the front of his house, but hadn’t breached the door. Nick had the sinking feeling that Magnus had been holding back in hopes of saving his property.
And the doctor was walking toward them now, a thick, dark cloud gathering around him. No light glanced off the buttons of his coat or the silver of his walking stick. Everything around him was stark blackness.
Striker snorted. “Any ideas?”
Nick’s mind scrabbled for something he could use. “He’s smart. He knew he was going to be followed. He waited until we showed ourselves. He’s probably dealt with people trying to kill him before.”
“Like that matters now,” Striker said with contempt. “Any
Nick was dimly aware of noise and lights up and down the street. Neighbors. They didn’t have time to get fancy. “Blow his head off.”
“Heh.” Striker discharged the weapon in Magnus’s direction. It made a kind of
“What in all the dark hells is that thing?” Nick asked.
Striker gave an evil smile. “Aether disruptor.”
“What is—” He didn’t have time to finish the question. “Watch out!”
While Striker’s shot had smashed the tree, the force of the explosion bounced the energy back on itself. When the rebound careened into Magnus’s black nimbus, the sound was like the rip of a tearing bed sheet. Nick saw the doctor stumble forward, obviously taken unawares. The next instant, the dark cloud around Magnus sparked pale blue, washing him in a ghastly light as he staggered forward.
Nick was hard-pressed to understand what happened next. Magnus thrust out his hands, as if warding off a blow. Squiggling snakes of energy crawled over the nimbus around him, seeming to suck up the shadows Magnus had gathered. The arcing energy wadded into a bright knot of lightning, shooting arrows of electricity into the night sky.
“Bugger,” Striker muttered under his breath. “Bet I’ve made him mad now.”
Magnus wheeled, the pale blue light making a terrible mask of his face. Nick’s stomach turned to ice as the doctor clutched at the swirling, crackling energy Striker’s gun had set loose, and seemed to thrust the sparks into the air.
The door behind Nick flew to pieces with a resounding crack. A foot lower, and it would have been Striker spraying into the air.
“Get off the porch!” Nick cried, dodging out from behind the pillar with the sole intention of leaping out of the way.
Another blast came their way, landing in front of them this time. The force threw Nick backward into the house, mud hitting his face and blinding him. He was dimly aware of sailing clear through the doors into the big room with the worktable and all the books. He landed hard, facedown and skidding across the carpet, coming to rest just in front of Magnus’s peacock chair.
Everything hurt. Deaf, dizzy, he made a vague swimming motion, figuring out where the floor was. The gun was still in a death-grip in his right hand. He supposed that was good. Somehow, he pushed himself up and got his knees under him. His back hurt horribly. When he tried to straighten, he found the left side of his jacket was soaked in warm, sticky blood.
Nick searched for an emotion, but didn’t find any. Raising his left arm was hard, but he managed to peel back his jacket. A huge gash had opened up from his armpit diagonally to his hip. If he had to guess, he’d say that something sharp had caught him in the blast, slicing him cleanly as a kitchen knife. The wound was seeping rivulets of blood.
Then he started to feel hot and sick and a surge of terror kicked his heart into high gear. He stumbled to his feet, weaving slightly and grabbing a cloth from one of the side tables and pressing it against the wound. Then he grabbed another cloth, then papers, stuffing whatever he could under his jacket and buttoning it closed. Hurt or not, he still had to rid the world of Dr. Magnus.
He had no idea what was going on in the street. He staggered forward, alternating between an urge to hide and the need to storm out the ruined doorway and back into the street, revolver blazing. He compromised by listing against what was left of the front doorway and peering into the darkness. The street was all but invisible, drowning in a fog of darkness. Somehow, the doctor’s influence was keeping people away, blocking what was happening from sight. Good. He didn’t want to shoot someone by accident.
And then suddenly Magnus stood right there, halfway down the front walk.
“You’ve become something of a nuisance, Nick with no name,” he said.
Nick ducked, covering his eyes from the flashes, his breath hissing in because it hurt to move. But even through his hands he could see the the air around Magnus catch fire, the bright illumination showing blood-red between his fingers. Whatever Striker’s gun did, it reacted to magic like a spark to gunpowder.
The doctor’s roar of pain escalated into a scream. Nick dropped to one knee, blinking white blotches from his vision. The scream faded to a whimper, and then to silence.
