Original writing
I wrote this when I was a teenager, I must've been in sixth form college. So I was seventeen, eighteen? It's very messy, lots of characters to keep track of, and I don't really know why I want to post it except in the hope that I can get back into this world . . . my teenage self wrote such cheerful messes, I want to click back into her mindframe.
So, an untitled short story about mages on Earth and a government group who actually rather remind me of a more ineffectual Torchwood now ;) Just shy of 10,000 words, stops very suddenly, I can only assume I meant to use these characters again . . . I don't expect much feedback, I don't really intend to rewrite this better or anything, just for fun ^^
The stars glittered overhead, high and sharp, focused as frost. It was the day before Hallowe'en - All Hallow's Eve Eve, Rosencrantz observed with a half-smile - and half term, so the college buildings were still and cold and empty.
Almost empty. There was Rosencrantz, after all, sitting on the roof and hugging his knees, robes and cloak bundled around himself, gazing up at the moon with his breath puffing out silver - and the other Apple Island Players were somewhere inside, where it was sane and warm. If he knew them - and he did know them, they'd been stuck together for years now - Nat and Andro would be avoiding rehearsing, if they possibly could, Texas would be singing to empty classrooms and smiling at the echoes, Whin would have found the library - of course Whin would have found the library - Fairway would be teaching Mew to do handstands or swear in five languages or pick locks or something else essential for a well-rounded childhood, and Linnel -
"Hey, Rosencrantz!"
He looked down, at Linnel, who grinned up at him, all freckles and cheerful concern. "How'd you get up there, Rose?"
He put his arms out, saying in a serious voice, "With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out - and what can love do, that dares love attempt? And don't call me Rose."
"You missed out the kinsmen line," she said, scrambling out of the window and hauling herself up on the guttering. "If they do see thee, they will murther thee, anyway."
"Who?" he snorted. "The Inquisition? Or maybe Whin," He grinned, then paused at the look on her face. "Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye than twenty of their swords . . ."
Linnel sat down next to him, scooping her cape over her knees. "Don't go on about the damned Inquisiton. You know I hate them, Rose -encrantz. I don't -" More quietly, now - "d'you think - Seera's still okay?"
"Probably best not to think about it," he muttered, and shuffled deeper into his baggy robes. "Good gods, it's cold."
"Then get inside, you freak."
"You're out too."
"Only looking for you."
He sighed, a long gust of fed-up mist. "Fine. In we go."
"How do we get down from here? And don't you start that 'love's light wings' junk."
"Dunno. Never thought about getting down. Uh . . . look, hold my cloak and I'll go first . . ."
"So what, you hang yourself if you slip?"
"No, you hang me if I slip . . . look, I promise not to slip, okay?"
Still squabbling, the two mages stumbled their way back in through the window and slammed it down just as a silver car, its lights off and engine purring like a well-behaved tiger, slid into the college drive.
One of the back doors opened. "You two drive around," a man said, climbing out even at the protest of one of those still in the car. "Keep out of sight, can't be suspicious. Come after me as quickly as possible, right?"
"Clark-"
He slammed the door and walked up to the college building. Inside the car, the woman sitting in the front seat slammed her hand on the glove compartment in frustration.
"He never pays any attention! I've seen - I've seen mages better at teamwork -"
"No need to get worked up, Jess-"
"While we're on the job, Mr Weston, you will refer to me as-"
"Lewis. Yes." The driver sighed and pulled in down the drive, around the side of the college.
*
The Inquisition didn't call themselves that - that was the mages' name for them, said with either a sneer or a shudder, depending on how much dealing with the Inquisition the mage in question had actually had. To themselves, the Inquisition were the MPI - the Ministry of Paranormal Investigations.
Mages were about as paranormal as it was possible to be.
The man called Clark had been working with them for a while. He didn't know quite what went on yet, not deeply in the milling layers of the organisation. He just brought mages in, that was his job - he didn't wonder what was done with them. They were a pest, he could see that, they were supposed to be a sort of parasite on Earth. His, Lewis and Weston's official agenda was to bring mages back to headquarters, where - he assumed - they would be removed back to their own realms. By the way they struggled, the mages either didn't know that or didn't believe it.
To be absolutely honest, he didn't mind the mages. They tidied up after themselves, mostly. They were curious - like magpies, they went after anything shiny. And they argued so much amongst themselves they could never get around to becoming a serious threat to humans. But then, it was a job. It paid the rent. It kept him in coffee.
The front door was open. That was one problem with them - the mages didn't seem to understand the concept of locking doors, or of private buildings at all. When mages entered a building (and god knew how they did it, locks just seemed to fall apart when they wanted them to) they just left it unlocked for anyone to wander in after them.
Clark checked the safety on his gun and slipped into the darkened college.
*
Fairway blew the candy-pink bubble a little larger, a little larger, now so big she couldn't look around it - perfect for Mew to pop it, and turn away with his arms folded.
"Nyaargh! Gum in hair, gum in hair-"
"Shouldn't've blown it so big," Texas said, spinning on one foot to roar at the echoing classroom, "-and pain is all around, like a bridge over troubled - water - I will lay me down, like a-"
"Jesus, Texas."
"D'you think we ought to rehearse a little?" Fairway said, peeling more bubblegum from her multi-plaited black hair. "Y'know, while we're in the warm and dry . . ."
"When you're down and out . . . when you're on the streets . . . yeah, maybe. When evening falls- so hard, I will comfort you . . . Where'd the boys go? And Whin'n'Linnel, now I think about it. Ohh, I'll take your part - ohh, when darkness comes - and pain is allll ar-ound, like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down - like a-aa bridge over troubled wat-er, I will lay me dooooownn . . ."
"Feel free to give over anytime you like, like." Mew muttered.
"Whin'll've found the library. I don't know where the boys went, last time I saw them -"
Fairway paused, bright-brown eyes curious and intent as a sparrow's, and leapt on Texas before she could open her mouth. Texas went down with a shriek, her hat rolling off across the floor, as Fairway clapped a hand over her mouth and hissed "D'you hear that?"
"Whf?"
"That most ancient and soul-stirring of battle-chants," Fairway said, as Mew stood up nervously, sliding his legs off the desk. They listened intently, at the shimmering silence of the air.
From down the corridor came the faint edge of thousand of people at the other side of the country chanting, "The referee's a wanker, the referee's a-"
"The sods got hold of a telly and never told us," Mew said indignantly.
"Language, Bartolomew."
"That is how I'm communicatin' with you. Really bloody astute."
"Shut up, there's a good boy." Texas said, shoving Fairway off herself. "You go get Nat and Alessandro then, I'll pick a play."
"I'm going to regret this, but fine." Fairway dusted her hands off and strolled out of the room, clasping her hands behind her back and humming Three Lions as she went. Fairway was a quasimage - born human, though she had developed mage abilities - and was actually called Winifred, a name which had reduced the mages to helpless laughter. She'd taken the name of her old street instead, when she'd joined the Apple Island Players, and helped them with the parts of plays they didn't understand.
"Well, Mew my lad," Texas said, standing up and dusting her robes off, slapping her hat back on her head. "Time to pick a piece of art for us to pick to pieces. What'll it be?"
"Seein' as there's only seven of us, gods know." he said with a scowl, and sat down on the desk again. "Dunno how I got stuck with you weirdoes."
"You probably shouldn't've got yourself zephyred then. You're a wanderluster, my dear, and you haven't even hit adolescence yet. If I were you, I'd be a little more grateful for having some friendly faces to get you back to a gateway." Texas struck a heroic sort of pose and said, "We shall do some Shakespeare. It always goes down well."
Mew sighed but said nothing. Texas seemed to be contemplating the ceiling, before she nodded and said, "We ain't done Romes and Jules for ages. Sounds like a plan?"
"We 'an't done anything' in ages, we 'an't 'ad an audience since August."
"Can't be helped. Unlike your missing Hs. You could try to hit a least one a sentence, Mew. But I know things are getting desperate with all these zephyrs . . . d'you know, I don't want to leave this realm. It's bloody beautiful, in its own weird way. I just . . . thought we'd have fun here. We aren't hurting anybody. So why -?"
"Zephyrs an' Inquistors an' Hadrians an' worse," Mew said mildly, kicking his legs as he looked across at Texas. "You onny want to do Romeo an' Juliet 'cause you're always Mercutio, anyway."
"Well, yeah."
Texas didn't look, maybe, perfect for the role. She could have played Juliet, if she'd lose the cowboy hat and could somehow take a foot off her height; tall - impressive, they said, she seemed to go up forever - with a cascade of bright-blonde curly hair and innocent sky-blue eyes. Texas got to pick her parts, because she was the best actor they had. They all knew it. So did she. It was a mercy she wasn't any more arrogant than she was.
It wasn't just that she somehow could lose a foot if she wanted to, by hunching herself like this and tucking in her shoulders like this. She could sing in a voice of milk chocolate, their female lead vocalist - Nat was usually the male, since his voice was chocolate too but had an edge of chopped nuts or nougat, something slightly rough and growling. Texas' main power was her voice. Apart from the singing, her accent could change from moment to moment, from her favourite - her namesake - which fitted the hat and the boots she wore under her sand-coloured robes, to Newcastle, to New York, to New Zealand; she was a one-woman radio show.
So Texas called the shots. If only she'd had the right mind frame for it, she could have called herself a leader and made herself one. Most mages, however, have neither the ability nor the inclination for the job.
"Bagsie not Tybalt agen."
"But you're brilliant as Tybalt," Texas said, spreading her arms and beaming. "Didn't you hear the audience last time?"
"They was pissing themselves."
"Less of the lip. It was a stylish and modern reinterpretation of Shakespeare."
"You had a bloody eleven-year-old Tybalt!"
"Yeah. Their faces were a right picture, weren't they?" Texas snickered, and then sobered suddenly. Of course, Mew wouldn't have had to play a part so ridiculously unright for him, if Seera was still with them.
*
In the library, lit by a couple of candles glowing like fireflies, Whin turned the page of a book and continued with her swift scribbling. She was already in one of her play-trances, gone to the world, candlelight sparkling in her dark eyes. She didn't have long to transcribe. It didn't occur to the mages that this was stealing - taking the book was stealing, ideas and words were the worlds' property. No mage would ever dream of stealing.
Occasionally they had to move the definition around to keep to this ideal, but they always said that language evolves, doesn't it . . . ?
*
"Come on, come on -" Nat said, rubbing his hands together - long, piano-fingers interlacing nervously as he stared at the screen. "Come on, my son -"
"Who're we rooting for?" Alessandro said, tossing an apple core in the bin.
"Sod knows. Whoever plays best. Go on! Gods, will you look at that? That was bloody well saved."
The door slammed open and they almost leapt out of their boots, Andro letting out a squeal, but the lightswitch flicked on to reveal Fairway, half-scowling.
"You were holding out a TV on us?" she said, and then glanced at the footballers onscreen. "Who's playing?"
"Arsenal - Man U. Arsenal're one up."
"Come on Arsenal," she said, shuffling Nat aside to sit on the table next to him. Alessandro pulled a face at her back and got up to flick the light off again.
*
The dark silver car of the Inquisition rolled to a gentle halt in the carpark at the back of the college. Lewis leaned out of the window and said, "Definitely mages."
There was some strange, arcane structure taking up two parking spaces. It looked like a traditional wooden caravan, but with extra bits nailed on until it was a mess of planks, all painted blue and covered with stars in pale cream and clear white, and a bright rainbow. Sticking out the front in an adapted harness was -
"Is that a car?" Weston said. "They've left the radio on, anyway."
They got out of the car and walked up to the car-caravan. The radio, or else a cassette, was playing in the car, which was still lit up inside - a Mini, a dented old thing, chipped red with racing stripes and the remains of a Union Jack on the roof.
"Probably stolen," Lewis murmured. "It's lousy with magic."
"It's Everlasting Love," Weston said, cocking an ear at the car. "I like this song."
"For god's sake, can we focus on the job?" Lewis snapped, pulling up the bonnet of the Mini. Her mouth dropped open. The engine - wiring stuck out into strange copper shapes, and here and there was the neon-blue glow of a Lazarus stone, powering the car with magic. No wonder it glowed like the heart of a golden firework-storm through her demimage Sight.
"What's-?" Weston leaned into have a look.
"Do you bloody well mind?"
The bonnet snapped shut so quickly he nearly lost his fingers, and then the headlights were on and the engine was roaring, the Mini's windscreen wipers flashing back and forth furiously.
"It's - alive?" Weston yelped.
"It's magic! I said it was!" Lewis yelped, backing away quickly as the Mini's engine revved like a wolf growling.
"You bet I'm magic!" a voice said from somewhere inside the possessed car. "And what d'you think you're playing at? That's my engine you were looking at, you perverts!"
"Oh god, what did they do to it?"
"It! It!" the Mini moaned. "As if I don't have any feelings!"
"They've made it - crazy, or something, try and shoot out the tyres quickly-"
"Oh, now you've really done it!" the Mini yelped, squirting a blast of windscreen wash into Weston's face so he dropped his gun with a yelp. "That's just plain - bloody humans!"
Its tyres screeched on the grit and Lewis choked, grabbing Weston's arm and fleeing for the entrance to the college, scramble-bolting across the gravelled carpark. The Mini's doors slammed out at either side, freeing it from the harness with a crash, and then it was racing after them with doors flapping madly. Into the night spilled the song from its cassette player.
"Open up your eyes, then you'll realise, here I stand with my everlast-ing love-"
"Run!" Lewis shrieked, dragging Weston towards the doors as he frantically tried to wipe soapy water from his eyes.
"What's happening? What's happening?"
"Just run!"
"Need you by my side, girl to be my bride, you'll never be denied everlast-ing love . . ."
Lewis kicked the door open, terror giving her strength, and threw Weston in, rolling on top of him. The insane car bounced off the door behind them, too large to fit in, and fell back with a further dent in its snout-like bonnet, doors bouncing awkwardly, windscreen wipers moving gingerly as if testing a bruise.
"You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off," it said. "Heh."
*
Linnel, sitting on the top of a flight of stairs, put her head on one side. "Did you hear that?"
"Yeah. Sounds like Wes doing his nut again."
"D'you think something's happened to him?"
"Wes? He throws fits over squirrels, Lin. It'll be - a leaf blew onto his bonnet or something."
Rosencrantz hummed softly, then murmured under his breath, "What exactly are we doing here? We can't play, not when humans aren't meant to know about us. We're being chased by everything under the sun, we can't even stop for five minutes to get our bearings before the bloody Inquisition're breathing down our necks again-"
"So leave."
He paused, and looked across at Linnel, who stared back at him with a strangely dark expression on her freckled face.
"What?" he said eventually.
"Leave. If you don't like it. You could take the mage-paths down to 'henge, you could be on Avalon in two days. Why don't you?"
He struggled to say anything for a moment, and eventually stuttered, "Because - because you guys are here."
"There you go," she said softly. "We're a coven, Rosencrantz, we stick together."
"Couldn't we all stick together and go home?"
"Home," she said softly, looking down at her hands folded on her lap and smiling. "Where were you born?"
"I was - I was born - here . . ."
Linnel closed her eyes and smiled. "Your grandmother founded the Apple Island Players on Earth for mages to perform at carnivals and festivals and anywhere where we wouldn't be noticed too much. For mages to perform for humans, Rosencrantz, for mages to perform for the humans who wrote the plays! The descendants of Shakespeare and Wilde! And your family named you in the best fashion of the theatre and now you want to turn away from all that heritage?"
"Why the hell do I have to be an actor just because of my stupid name?"
She leaned forward, put a hand over his, smiling sweetly. "Deny thy father and refuse thy name . . . 'tis but thy name that is - thy - enemy; thou art thyself. What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet. So Rosencrantz would were he not Rosencrantz call'd. If you were Fred you'd be an actor, Rosencrantz. Look at you! You're the best Cassio we've got! You play Macbeth like a king! And you're the finest Rosencrantz on any of the realms."
He wrenched his hand away, and clamped them over his ears. "Just once - just once - I don't want to be stupid Rosencrantz . . . Just once I want to be Hamlet . . ."
"If I promise to arrange it," Linnel murmured, "will you stay with us at least until we get Mew to a gateway?"
He paused, looked up at her, and gave a small sigh.
"I can't leave. Linnel . . . I'm sorry I said - I won't leave, anyway. Ever. You are . . . I mean, everyone annoys the hell out of me and we bitch and bicker and we never stop trying to drive each other crazy, but . . ."
"We're a coven," she said, and smiled. Rosencrantz looked down again, and that was when he saw Clark at the foot of the stars, holding something that gleamed black like a bullet.
"Keep your hands where I can see them. If you so much as twitch I swear you'll never regret anything again."
*
"Fly, little wing . . ." Texas murmured.
Mew sighed and hit her with the wobbling cardboard sword. "Are we gonna practise this or what?"
The taller mage flicked her gaze down at him and roared, "Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?"
Tybalt dropped his sword, and stared at her quivering with terror. "What - what - what's the line?"
Texas jumped around so she was facing where she had stood a second ago and said in a high, hissing voice, "What wouldst thou have with me?"
She leapt back, and gave a crazy grin, body swaying like a hyperactive lioness. "Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives . . . that I mean to make bold withal, and as you shall use me hereafter dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine - be about your ears ere it be out!"
Texas began enthusiastically air-fencing, leaping around like a kangaroo again to roar as Tybalt, "I am for you!" and then to the side, suddenly frantically trying to calm two invisible fighters, "Good Mercu- Mercutio! Put thy rapier up!"
Mew picked up and leaned on his sword, watching with a little grin as the mage leapt around, slashing left and right with a silver-foiled blade and bellowing at her invisible opponent, "Come, sir, your passado!"
The sound of a gunshot made Mew trip over in shock and Texas, in mid-leap, stumbled and rolled over her side, up again in a flash, quivering rigid, thrusting the younger mage behind her protectively. He staggered and nearly fell over; Texas didn't know her strength. "Holy hells," she whispered. "Mew, stay here! I'll find the others!"
As she bolted through the door, she held a hand out and phased it through the lightswitch, concentrating on the spark and flare of magic so it exploded, cutting out all the light on the floor, and her footsteps sounded even louder in the blackness of the corridor.
Mew scowled. "Stay here? Just 'cause I'm a kid? Balls to that!"
He charged forward in the darkness, pitched over a costume box and fell over with a crown digging into his side and a cloak over his head.
"Mebbe I will just wait here," he muttered. "Just 'til they get some light back on, like."
*
Rosencrantz tried to back away from Clark, upstairs, one arm thrown out to press Linnel out of the way - but she brushed past him in an instant and faced Clark with her fists clenched at her sides, her voice tight as she said, "Where's Seera? What did you do with her?"
Clark kept the gun trained on Linnel, but she wasn't looking at it; she was staring him right in the eye. Mages had an unnerving habit of that, he'd noticed. He licked his lips and said, "Stay right there, miss. My back-up'll be here any second, you don't want to cause an upset, do y-"
"What did you do to Seera?" Linnel screamed at Clark, and Rosencrantz tried to grab her arm, afraid every second of the flash-bang of that horrible, dark metal machine in the Inquisitor's hands. Rosencrantz looked down at his empty hand. He hadn't caught Linnel's arm . . . she was phasing . . .
"Listen," Clark said, as calmly as he could, as if he was speaking to a hysterical seven year old. "I don't know who you mean, but if you come with us I'm sure I could find someone who-"
Magic sparked off Linnel, electric with fury. "Come with you!" she spat. "You! Stupid, stupid, stupid-!"
"Lin, leave it-" Rosencrantz hissed.
"You two stay still or I swear I'll shoot!" Clark yelled at them, which usually worked, except the mad female mage took a step at him and raised a hand from which white-gold light exploded, and he shot, and the sound of the gun echoed through the whole building.
*
Alessandro and Fairway were more upset about the television cutting out than the sudden, sharp gunshot, but Nat was up in a flash and stunned with shock. "The Inquisition!" he yelped, as the other two shrieked at the suddenly blank television.
"No!" Fairway grabbed Alessandro by his robes and shook him backwards and forwards, practically sobbing. "Beckham had the ball! This can't be happening! I haven't seen a match in a year, Arsenal were one up and Beckham had the ball-!"
"Hope everyone's okay," Nat murmured, peering out into the corridor. "You two wait here, I'll see if I can-"
Footsteps . . .
All three fell silent, and sat tense as wire in the darkness of the empty classroom. A shape went past the window, tall and dark; through their Sight, magic fluttered gold and worried around it.
"Texas," Nat hissed, and then phased his head and shoulders through the door and said, "Texas?"
"Hah!"
She had whipped around, eyes wide and mad, and the silver blade of a sword pricked Nat's throat. For a second he looked terrified, and then she giggled and said, "You look like you just pissed yourself, mate."
"Texas," he croaked, pushing the cardboard sword away with one hand and placing the other protectively around his neck, "did you hear that?"
"Yeah." She sobered suddenly. "What're we gonna do?"
"Find where it was, first, and then make sure . . . no-one's hurt . . ."
*
Rosencrantz hit the stairs first and slid down a little as Linnel landed on top of him and slapped him with the flat of her fist, sobbing, "Rosencrantz, you bastard! I was -"
"Let's get the hell out of here," he said, trying to wrench her up. He had phased through the stairs above so they were on the next turn of the staircase, but it wouldn't take long before the Inquisitor-
Four sharp pangs, kicking up sparks where they hit the metal edge of a step. Rosencrantz threw his arms over his head and Linnel sent a spiteful zip of magic up at the Inquisitor, then dived on Rosencrantz and bowled them both downstairs. No time for dodging, thinking, serious magic; just get away, anywhere -
Rosencrantz' ribs bruised, and he heard Linnel's stifled yelp before they hit the floor and rolled up, snatching each other's hands to slip-slide-race down the corridor. Her lip was bloody, his breathing came hard against his chest. Another bullet shattered a window by their heads and they leapt through, phasing, into the sharpness of the night air. A blast of cold air and they were racing between a couple of bushes, running through a brick wall as if it wasn't there and inside again, scrambling to search for more stairs.
"The others-"
"-I know-"
Linnel stumbled in her robes and skimmed her gloved palms across the thin carpet of the reception, hearing Rosencrantz curse in shock and looking up at a pair of human shoes. Two pairs. More Inquisitors.
*
Texas and Nat went left, Fairway and Alessandro went right. To signal each other, they were to scream blue murder and make as much of a magical racket as possible. This was a plan. They still managed to find inventive ways to mess it up.
"Are we lost?" Fairway said.
"Help if the bloody lights were on . . ." Alessandro murmured, glancing out of a window at the darkened carpark. "Hey . . . Wes is out there . . ."
Fairway looked down, leaning on the windowsill, and then fumbled to open the window. Locked. She was about to curse when she remembered she was a mage - it was still so easy to slip back into mundane thinking - and she leaned out through the window, phasing cleanly through the flat of glass as if she was a ghost.
"Wes?"
It was very hard to call softly, but Wes' headlights glowed for a second in recognition and his engine revved slightly. "Yo," the car said.
"What's up?"
"Pair of damned Inquisitors. I got one of 'em," His doors were still flapping cheerfully, and his wipers flicked every now and then as if he was thinking. "Dead hit, right between the eyes."
"Oh god, Wes. Tell me you didn't - you didn't -"
He cocked a wiper curiously.
"You didn't - kill one -"
The car made a snorting noise, dragonlike with his engine behind it. "Where's the skill in that? They're big enough, aren't they? Nah, I got him - dead on - zip." Another short, sharp spray of soapy water. Fairway put a hand against her forehead, brushing her tangled plaits back. She was beginning to get a headache.
"So what happened then?"
"Chased 'em off. But they went inside - actually, you might want to be careful, now I think about it . . ."
"Like you ever think," she muttered as she pulled back inside and looked at Alessandro. "Wes chased two Inquisitors in here . . . Andro, we have to get everyone together and get everyone out."
"Yeah, but where is everybody?"
"Hm."
*
Mew walked around the dark room, tripping over things now and then, waving his sword in a distracted way.
"Two households both alike in dignity, in fair Verona where we lay our scene, like-"
He looked up nervously, hearing more gunshots.
"From - from ancient - grudge, break to new - oh Christ I'm scared -"
He started to bite his fingernails, since Linnel wasn't there to stop him.
"They'll be back, she'll be back, c'mon, Texas . . ."
It was horrible, horrible, being stuck here in the dark and not knowing, not knowing -
("What did happen to Seera?"
Fairway gritted her teeth. "If we knew, we'd get her back, safe and sound. The Inquisition have her and so help me, I'm going to find out what those bastards did to her . . .")
Mew wasn't really sure what a gun was - something like an aggressive firework, he thought - but he knew they could kill, they had killed, and everyone else was out there and there'd been half a dozen shots already. What if -
("Why can't we bring her back?"
"Angel," Linnel said softly, kissing the top of his head, through his hair. "We don't know where she is, but as soon as we do, we'll get her, don't you worry. Now go to sleep, Mew.")
"I'm scared," he said to the darkness, but it came out as a whimper. He swished the cardboard sword through the air, tried to whistle, but it sounded empty and bleak and he sat down, putting his arms around his knees.
("Why are the Inquistion after us?"
"Because they're narky sods." Texas tipped her hat back thoughtfully. "Dunno hon, sorry. Wish I did . . .")
("What was Seera like?"
"Oh, nice." Alessandro rubbed his nose, gave a nervous sort of grin. "Best not - well, you might meet her soon, after all . . .")
("But how did they get her? Nat?"
"Mew, just, just leave it, it's not . . . just be careful around them, alright?")
("I think - Seera - is she dead?"
Rosencrantz was very quiet for a moment. "We don't know," he said softly. ". . . probably. There's nothing . . . we can do. We could try but . . . no-one wants to see anyone else get hurt or killed. Just stay away from them if you can, Mew, they're dangerous, they're twisted . . .")
Mew looked up but all he could see were shadows and he didn't know what they were shadows of.
He stuffed his face against his knees, screwing his eyes up tightly. They were going to come back, they were going to be safe, they'd bloody better be . . .
*
Rosencrantz took a step backwards but Linnel raised a hand and sparks sprayed out. The female Inquisitor's gun went off three times - Linnel screamed - Rosencrantz threw his arms out and a shield with them, solid magic in a sphere around them, blasting the Inquistors back. Rosencrantz dropped to his knees by Linnel and whispered, "Gods, gods, Lin, don't be dead-"
Linnel scrambled backwards, trying to thrust herself away from a black mark in the carpet. "That was nearly my head," she said in a trembling voice. "My head, that was nearly, my head-"
"Okay, okay-"
Rosencrantz blinked as something rapped off his shield. One of the Inquisitor's guns. "Drop this shield this minute," she growled, "and we'll take you in without any trouble. Now."
"Die," Rosencrantz spat, and helped Linnel to her feet. She was still shaking. "Lin, we've got to-"
"You have five seconds," the female Inquisitor said. "Five."
She raised her gun, placed the muzzle against the shield, which crawled with golden sparks for a second. "Four."
"Lewis, shouldn't we ask them how many other-"
"They'll tell us," Lewis said. "Three."
"Fucking bitch," Rosencrantz muttered, but Linnel just stared at her with dark, dangerous eyes and said nothing.
"Two. This is your last chance, mages."
"Fucking traitor, you're a bloody demi, what the hell are you-"
"One-"
"Rose, drop the shield," Linnel whispered.
"Not bloody likel-"
The bullet exploded against the shield; with the sound of the gun and the sound of the impact - hot metal burst like a raindrop - the entire corridor rang and Weston put his hands over his ears, while Lewis was sent staggering, dropping her gun with a screech of bruised bones. Linnel screamed; Rosencrantz dropped like a doll and she caught him around the chest, holding him off the ground, staggering under his weight. His shield had vanished, the impact too close. He tried to say something but his eyes were closed and his words slurred into each other.
"Bitch," Linnel spat at Lewis. "And you're no better you - you bastard, son of bastards, son of bitches and bastards and both of you take one fucking step and I'll burst you into blood-"
She was clutching Rosencrantz away from them, teeth bared in a snarl, motherly peaceable Linnel with her wild red hair hanging in her face and fury in her eyes. "I'll kill you." She snarled, wolf-wild, "I'll kill you, what the hell did you do to Seera?"
There was a triumphant trumpet like the cavalry had arrived and Texas and Nat burst out of the doors at the far end of the corridor; Nat sent a burst of compact magic at Lewis, knocking her off her feet, and Texas leapt at Weston swinging her sword and roaring, "Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you - Jesus Christ!"
A bullet ricocheted off her shield and she was too startled to stop; she hit Weston full on, the impact of two bodies thumping the breath from them both. Weston hit the floor first and Texas on top of him, with a high yelp of pain, and then and whirl of silver foil and she held the sword at his throat, kneeling over him, teeth bared.
"Ahah," she said, a little breathless. "Now who has the upper hand? Gods, Nat, I'm gonna have a bruise like a melon on my side-"
"Shut up, for gods' sakes," Nat hissed. He had one hand aimed at Lewis, who was glaring up at him, her gun out of reach on the carpet. "Lin, are you okay? What the hell happened to Rosencrantz, is he-"
"That bitch shot right against his shield," Linnel said, supporting the length of Rosencrantz's body against her own, his arms around her shoulders. He mumbled into her hair and she hugged him closer, his trailing feet clumsy between her legs. "We've got to get out of here, there's another one of these bastards in the building- where's Whin?"
*
Whin's fingertips were splattered with ink and there was a streak across her forehead where she'd wiped her wispy brown hair from her face. She rubbed her nose - more ink - and began scribbling again quickly, transcribing words from book to paper.
Behind her the door swung open gently and light streaked the carpet for a second, then cut off. There was a long silence Whin didn't notice as anything different from the rest of the silence, still writing frantically. Whatever Whin did she did absolutely, entirely focused, which made her a strong healer and a quick writer and a sitting duck.
A shape moved through the shadows, quietly, straight towards her. Whin's candle guttered but she didn't even notice, fumbling for more ink and slopping it as she kept writing, faster-
A hand clamped on her shoulder and another around her mouth. Whin gave a muffled scream into the glove until Fairway hissed by her ear, "It's me, Christ, keep quiet-"
Whin looked around with mad eyes, terrified, ringed in white. She stared at Fairway for a long time before she relaxed, and when Fairway let go of her mouth she brushed her hair back and whispered, "What's happening, Fairway? Are we moving?"
"Very, very quickly." Fairway murmured. "Inquisition're onto us, pack up your stuff and-"
A scream from outside and the sharp bang of a gun; Fairway raced back for the door as Andro fell through, phasing, a hand around his arm and blood seeping through his gloves, spattered up his sleeve. Fairway's hands pressed over her mouth and she looked up at Clark, pale as he kicked the door open; Fairway grabbed the whimpering Andro and dragged him away, staring up at Clark, hating him and scared almost out of her mind.
"I didn't want to do that," Clark said quietly. "Hands where I can see them, we can go in quietly, just tell me how many more of you there are-"
"Piss off," Fairway said faintly. She'd caught Andro's wrist and now he was squeezing her hand, so tightly she could barely feel the blood in her fingers, and she squeezed back and pressed him close. Nat would go out of his mind if he saw Andro hurt like this, she knew, and Andro wanted Nat but he wasn't here . . .
"No-one else has to get hurt, we can get medical attention for your friend-"
"Fairway, would you stand up, please?"
It was Whin, walking up to them, her bag over her shoulder, manuscript and ink packed away. She was carrying her candle, a very small figure lit in jumping light. "Please. It's okay." the healer said.
"If I stand up he'll shoot me!"
"I will," Clark muttered. "But I won't like it, alright? Just everybody stay calm and this can be-"
"Winifred Roberts is a British citizen and can stand up wherever she likes." Whin said in a calm voice. "If anyone shoots her there will be trouble, there will be hospital reports and lawyers and court cases and you will go to prison for a very long time." She was smiling in a very strange way, and added, "You bastard." with no emotion in her voice at all.
Clark stared at Whin and then at Fairway, who clutched Andro tighter as he gave a sharp choked curse. "You're a human?" Clark said, gun still aimed on them but uncertainly now.
Fairway licked her lips. "Yeah. My parents are, anyway. And I have a British passport. I have an national insurance number. I have rights. You shoot me or my friends and I'll-"
"You can't - you're with these - you're not-"
"They're my coven."
Clark lowered his gun. He couldn't believe this. This girl looked barely seventeen. "Your parents. Won't your parents be worried? And these - mages - don't they worry you? I mean, don't they- they -"
"They're still people, you moron, just because they can do magic doesn't make anyone-"
"They're criminal invaders, for god's sake, you're standing in a college - council property, government property -they've broken into-"
"They're not hurting anyone!" Fairway screamed at him. "Whin, please come help Andro - you lift that gun I'll call the police, you bastard, I still have my mobile. They're not hurting anyone. We always put things back how we find them. What the hell do you have against us? Them? Us?"
Clark stared at her. "They're mages. They're not - they shouldn't be here."
"So you hate them for being here. So Britain should just be for the British, right?"
"That's not what I meant. We don't know what these - what you're - what mages are capable of. How can we know if it's safe for them to be-?"
He was losing certainty even as he spoke. Fairway tried to move aside to let Whin at Andro's arm but he was gripping her hand too tightly. "This is about mages coming here." she said. "The bottom of this is racism, you fucking neo-Nazi."
Clark opened his mouth, shut it, went even paler. To be accused of racism by a mage would just be a mage, fair enough, they yelled all sorts of things. But to have - it was the worst thing. A young black girl was accusing him of racism. Did it make him even more racist because he felt that made it worse? Doubt made his hands feel numb on the gun. But - but -
"Can't phase down," Whin murmured by Fairway's ear, hands full of bandages. "Can't risk hurting Andro more."
"There is something we can do," Fairway murmured, and narrowed her eyes.
She hadn't been doing magic for very long, and it was hard to get a grip, but she concentrated on the slippery metal of the gun and pulled at its atoms with magic-
And it slid out of Clark's grasp - it slid through his fingers and he yelped - and then through the floor. Fairway cut off her hold abruptly, blinking hard and dazed, leaving the gun embedded in the ceiling of the room below.
"Right."
Fairway and Whin stood up, supporting Andro as he hugged his newly-bandaged arm and breathed slow and loud. "We're leaving now. If you've hurt any more of our friends we'll phase your feet into the floor and leave them there." Fairway said. "Now get out of our way."
Clark just stood there, staring at them. Whin raised a hand and let a shield brush Clark against the wall, holding him there gently but firmly - he struggled briefly, the entire situation turned on his head - and the three mages made their way through the door. The glass panels were spattered with blood that had run down, leaving red streaks that made Andro groan. They began to make their way downstairs.
*
Lewis made a grab for her gun. Nat's cry of shock and burst of magic came too late; she rolled aside and fired into him twice. Both bounced off his shield and he doubled over, breath thumped out of his lungs, as Texas looked up and was kicked off by Weston. He pinned both her hands to the floor, pressed over her, and yelled at Lewis, "She could have cut my head off!"
"Weston, you moron, it's a cardboard sword. All you mages - against the wall, hands flat against the-"
Texas brought her knee up between Weston's legs and his entire body clenched. She caught his wrists and wrenched him up with her, swinging him in front of her. "You wanna shoot," she said to Lewis, behind Weston's head, "Go ahead and bloody well shoot."
"I don't have to shoot you," Lewis said quietly. "These three-"
Nat bulled into her and she fell back with a shriek; her gun went off again, into the ceiling - Nat rolled over her and to his feet and Linnel dragged Rosencrantz along - he was beginning to wake up. Nat sent a burst of magic into Lewis' hand and she screamed high and hard; raw magic left burns like acid-hailstone and salt had sprayed her skin, and the gun was sent skittering along the floor. Texas spun Weston around and into Lewis before racing after her friends, pausing only to snatch up her sword again and swing it as she went, singing loudly, "you're not singin', you're not singin', you're not singin' any more-"
*
"Lewis? Weston?" Clark hissed into a black plastic device that Fairway would have recognised but the other mages would simply have stared at. "Can you hear me? I mean, read me? Christ. Look, there's three mages up here and I saw two downstairs, only one of them's a human girl so don't shoot anyone for god's sake-"
*
"We should leave Rosencrantz in Wes," Nat said, as Linnel and Texas reattached the Mini to his harness on the caravan. "He can look after him."
"No - no way-" Rosencrantz sprawled on the back seat, hands clutching his stomach. He felt bruised inside, the impact of the bullet felt like it had crushed his organs. He knew it would pass but gods it hurt like hell. "The others are still in there, Whin an' Fairway and - and - Andro and Mew -"
"And you're not good for anything like this," Linnel said through the window. "Wes, tell him."
"You're not." the Mini said. "You look like hell."
"How can you even tell? Look, Wes, let me go-"
The locks on the doors clicked down. "No can do, mate. You rest up here."
"You're letting Nat go! He got two bullets!"
"Yeah, but not a millimetre away from my shield, mate." Nat said, leaning in through a window. "Someone has to wait here in case the others come back anyway, right? Good luck."
"We're not splitting up once we get in there," Texas said. "We can't, right? And we have to find Mew first, can't leave him on his own much longer-"
"I hate you all." Rosencrantz muttered.
"We know you do, Rose." Linnel said, and leaned through the other window to kiss him, awkwardly between his hair and his cheek. "All secure, we can make a getaway as soon as we're all here-"
"Don't call me Rose."
"Good luck."
*
This room was strange.
On the outside wall was a brown-black burn where electricity and magic had sparked and popped together, where the lightswitch - melted brown-edged plastic now - had been phased through. Clark left the door open, staring into the darkness, trying to concentrate on the sounds. He'd heard something.
It was too dark to see a thing. He took a step forwards and stood on something soft, some item of clothing, and scrambled back - there was no movement within the room, so he crouched down slowly and reached out for the clothing. He flinched on touching it and pressed down. It was empty. He felt around a little, hand patting across the floor. A box, a chest - clothes spilled out of it, a brass crown he bruised the edge of his hand off, a cardboard sword. Props. A school play?
There was a dragging noise and a small intake of breath deeper in the room. Clark looked up, stood up.
"Is someone there?"
Silence, and then the slightest shuffling noise.
"Come out and show yourself. Where are you?"
He took a few steps forwards and his elbow hit the edge of a desk; he cursed rubbed it - funny bone his arse - and felt out. Behind this desk was another desk, to either side of this desk was another desk, behind them were desks - every desk in the room had been dragged to this corner.
"A fort. A fort? Okay." He gave an uneasy laugh. "You built a fort. How old are you?"
Something shuffled again, under the tables - under the table in the furthest corner. An unbroken male voice whimpered, in a Liverpudlian accent, "Piss off."
"Okay. Okay."
A kid. A mage kid or - what?
"My name's Clark."
"You piss off. You piss off!" The voice was more frantic now, and there was a scrabble under the table. "You lot killed Seera! You piss off! I aren't gonna die - I don't wanna die-"
"You're not going to die. No-one's going to hurt you-"
"You killed Seera! You're gonna kill me! Have you killed the others? Even Texas? I want Texas - I want Linnel - don't hurt her, she's nice- I want Linnel -"
Clark thought about the girl on the stairs, the one the other mage had called Linnel: "What did you do to Seera?" screamed at him like she wanted to tear his windpipe out.
"Who's Seera?" Clark said.
"She was one of them - the players - I never met her, but Linnel says she was nice an' you bastards killed her - they all pretend she's still okay, like, but they know - everyone knows - I don't wanna die -"
"You're not gonna die. Going to die." Clark rubbed his head. This kid's accent was rubbing off on him. "What's your name, kid?"
Another shuffle of robes. "Mew. Bartholomew, like. You aren't gonna kill me?"
"No. Promise. Where-"
There was a click beside him. Clark looked around, at Lewis, who was aiming into the heart of the tables. Clark put a hand over her gun, pushed it down, but she shook him off and raised her hands again. "Lewis, leave it." he muttered. "It's just a kid, he's not going to hurt anybody."
"Where is he?" Lewis murmured. "Under the tables?"
Clark's glance flickered over the tables, back to Lewis. "I don't want to take a kid in. Not on his own. He should be with his - his -"
"They're not his family," Lewis said quietly. "They don't understand family, they're savages, for Christ's sake - they're his coven. And they're no bloody role models for a child, Clark, you've seen them-"
"Don't you talk about them like that!" Mew yelled from under the tables. "They're worth twenny of you, you bloody arseholes!"
"See?" Lewis said through gritted teeth. "Start moving these tables aside."
"Lewis-"
"Clark, move the tables and that's an order. Showing sympathy for these people isn't going to make anyone's job any easier."
*
Whin, Fairway and Andro ran into Nat, Texas and Linnel with mutual screams and bursts of magic flying everywhere, on the stairway. By the time they'd worked out it was each other they were fighting - it was obvious enough, with the magic and the cursing and Texas whacking Fairway over the head with a cardboard sword - Weston was running down the corridor towards them. As he ran his feet began to stumble, sleepy, and when he reached them he plunged headfirst into them, dropping unconscious between Texas and Linnel.
Whin, the healer, lowered her hand and said, "Who needs guns?"
*
"This pissing well sucks."
Wes hummed to himself, Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay. Rosencrantz shuffled on the back seat, sick and hurting inside. He couldn't believe that bitch had fired right into his shield. She was a demi, she knew what it would have done -
"Hey-ho," Wes said suddenly. "Company."
It was Whin and Nat, Andro between them, making their way across the carpark. Wes turned his headlights on and one of his doors popped open, letting Whin and Nat push Andro onto the back seat beside Rosencrantz, who shuffled up. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of clotting blood and said, "What happened to you?"
"Got shot," Andro muttered. "What happened to you?"
"Bastards locked me in here."
"The Inquisition?"
"Bloody Lin and Texas."
Nat got in, kneeling on the back seat by Andro, one hand on his shoulder and his eyes frightened. "Does it still hurt?"
"'Course it does," Andro muttered, flopping his head onto Nat's hand. "Idiot." Nat stroked his cheek quickly and his smile twitched brokenly.
Whin climbed into the driver's seat and said, "Wes, we ought to go around for the others - in case they need to be out quickly - we're meeting them at the front. Okay?"
"Sure."
The gear lever shifted, pedals moved up and down without a foot, and Wes' steering wheel span rapidly as the accelerator floored itself. Whin barely even had time to buckle her seatbelt before the car crashed forwards, the caravan bouncing behind it, and spun almost on two wheels around the college.
*
"I promised that kid that he wouldn't get hurt."
"He doesn't have to get hurt, if he's sensible."
"Lewis, I don't want you taking this kid in."
Lewis paused, looked at Clark. "What?"
"You just - shouldn't. He's just a kid. The older mages are a danger, fair enough, I've seen them fight back. But he's just-"
"I could bloody well take you two!" the 'kid' yelled from under the tables, voice wobbling. "You come closer, I'll blast your bloody knees out!"
"Clark, childhood is a social construct, and for mages it does not exist. That is a mage, not a child. Now help me move these tables."
Clark's hands clenched. "You'd be a right case for Freud," he muttered. "Your dad's a mage and you spend all your time bringing them in to have who-knows-what done to them-"
"Clark," Lewis said through clenched teeth, "I am choosing to believe that you hit your head in trying to apprehend some mages, because you sound like you're defending them. And you can shut the hell up about my personal life while we're working or anywhere else for that matter, or-"
"You're a demi?" the voice under the table said. "My mate Fairway's a quasi, or at least she is if you lot 'an't killed her-"
"No, she's definitely fine." Clark muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "Lewis, let's just leave this, it was a crappy night and we didn't bring anybody in, they got away, let's just leave it -"
"I'm bringing in one mage, Clark, if the rest of them had to escape -"
"Dead or alive?" Clark muttered. "Or doesn't it matter?"
"Of course I'd rather bring them in alive-"
"Drop the gun and step away from the prop box," Texas said from the doorway, one arm raised like a gun. The humans jumped. Linnel pushed past Texas and called, "Mew! Mew, are you in here? Are you hurt?"
"Lin! I'm under the tables!"
"Take one step-" Lewis growled, aiming back at the tables. "I don't know if I'll hit your brat or not, but whether you risk it or not's up to you-"
Clark took a step backwards, stumbled on the heavy brass crown he'd hit his hand on earlier.
"You scummy, shitty little-" Linnel growled.
"Mew's just a kid," Fairway said. "You can't-"
"If you hurt Mew," Texas said in her lazy drawl of a voice, "I'll spray your brains across the wall."
"Texas, you get her - she said 'orrible things about us, she's a right cow-"
"Mew, be a dear, shut up. This is a very delicate hostage situation."
"I'm glad you realise that," Lewis snarled, "because-"
The crown made a surprisingly loud clanging noise and one of the glass jewels dropped off when Clark brought it down on Lewis' head. He dropped the band of brass, cursing and stuffing his ringing fingers under his armpits.
"Jesus. Je-sus."
Texas lowered her arm, gave a low whistle. "Brilliant." She started to laugh. "Brilliant."
Linnel gave Clark a distrusting stare as he lowered Lewis' body to the floor and checked her pulse. "Why shouldn't we just blast you anyway?" she said quietly, as Clark put Lewis down properly and stood up, wiping his hands off on each other.
"You'd better, probably. It'll look weird when she wakes up if I'm still standing."
Linnel glanced at Fairway, who shrugged - Texas was still laughing - and began pulling tables aside. "Mew? It's okay now Mew, you can come out-"
"I could've blasted their knees out."
"I know you could, sweetheart. C'mon. There."
She helped pull him the last few feet and knelt there, arms around him, glaring up at Clark. He stared down at her, swallowed. Finally he said, "Who's Seera?"
Linnel's arms tightened around Mew and she put a hand on his head. Her mouth was hidden from view behind Mew's head but her eyes narrowed, and it wasn't an expression Clark could read at all. "One of us. One of the Apple Island Players. Only you bastards got hold of her and no-one's seen her since. What did you do to her?"
"I don't . . . know . . . I don't know what happens to mages, I just bring them in . . . you're actors? All of you?"
"Nah, mate. Players. There's a difference -" Texas leaned on her cardboard sword, which bent under her and nearly tipped her to the ground; she burst out laughing again and Fairway gave a frustrated snort.
"We do poetry and skits and all kinds of junk. That's not important. Seera is."
Texas stopped laughing immediately. Clark looked around at Linnel again. Her eyes had so much accusation, so much sheer hatred in them that his stomach fell every time he met them. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I don't know what happens to mages after we . . ."
Fairway began stuffing costumes back into the prop chest, dropping the brass crown in on top. "I'll need your help with this, Texas." she said in a whisper, her lips dry. "Lin, are you bringing Mew . . . ?"
Linnel stood up, keeping a tight hold of Mew's hand. "You find out what happens to the mages you beat up and kidnap." she said. "And I hope, I really, really do, that it's something your conscience can cope with, you evil little prick. Come on, Mew."
She walked out, Mew beside her, glancing back curiously at the Inquisitor standing blankly in the midst of the mages. Their footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Texas and Fairway steadied the chest between them and Texas touched her hat. "Do the right thing, mate. Find out what happens. Tell us, if you can. We . . . Seera was one of us. And we don't know if she's dead or alive or worse. All that family means to you, coven means to us, and one of our coven members - we don't know - we don't know. None of us deserves that. No-one does."
"Wait-"
They glanced around again, halfway through the door. "If she wakes up - and I'm still conscious and unhurt-"
Fairway glanced at Lewis and said, "You still want to work for them?"
"I can't find out what they're doing if I'm fired."
The two mages glanced at each other and Texas shrugged. Fairway put down her end of the trunk and walked over to Clark, put her hands on either side of his head. She saw the terror, bottomless terror in his eyes, because he knew what she could do. She could just squeeze and pop his brains across the ceiling. Instead she licked her lips and muttered, "I should just boil your brain for shooting Andro, you bastard."
Instead, still glaring into his eyes, she let him drop to sleep, and caught him before he hit the floor, and laid him out.
Texas glanced at her as she picked up the chest again. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Fine. Sure. Let's get out of here, Texas."
So, an untitled short story about mages on Earth and a government group who actually rather remind me of a more ineffectual Torchwood now ;) Just shy of 10,000 words, stops very suddenly, I can only assume I meant to use these characters again . . . I don't expect much feedback, I don't really intend to rewrite this better or anything, just for fun ^^
The stars glittered overhead, high and sharp, focused as frost. It was the day before Hallowe'en - All Hallow's Eve Eve, Rosencrantz observed with a half-smile - and half term, so the college buildings were still and cold and empty.
Almost empty. There was Rosencrantz, after all, sitting on the roof and hugging his knees, robes and cloak bundled around himself, gazing up at the moon with his breath puffing out silver - and the other Apple Island Players were somewhere inside, where it was sane and warm. If he knew them - and he did know them, they'd been stuck together for years now - Nat and Andro would be avoiding rehearsing, if they possibly could, Texas would be singing to empty classrooms and smiling at the echoes, Whin would have found the library - of course Whin would have found the library - Fairway would be teaching Mew to do handstands or swear in five languages or pick locks or something else essential for a well-rounded childhood, and Linnel -
"Hey, Rosencrantz!"
He looked down, at Linnel, who grinned up at him, all freckles and cheerful concern. "How'd you get up there, Rose?"
He put his arms out, saying in a serious voice, "With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out - and what can love do, that dares love attempt? And don't call me Rose."
"You missed out the kinsmen line," she said, scrambling out of the window and hauling herself up on the guttering. "If they do see thee, they will murther thee, anyway."
"Who?" he snorted. "The Inquisition? Or maybe Whin," He grinned, then paused at the look on her face. "Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye than twenty of their swords . . ."
Linnel sat down next to him, scooping her cape over her knees. "Don't go on about the damned Inquisiton. You know I hate them, Rose -encrantz. I don't -" More quietly, now - "d'you think - Seera's still okay?"
"Probably best not to think about it," he muttered, and shuffled deeper into his baggy robes. "Good gods, it's cold."
"Then get inside, you freak."
"You're out too."
"Only looking for you."
He sighed, a long gust of fed-up mist. "Fine. In we go."
"How do we get down from here? And don't you start that 'love's light wings' junk."
"Dunno. Never thought about getting down. Uh . . . look, hold my cloak and I'll go first . . ."
"So what, you hang yourself if you slip?"
"No, you hang me if I slip . . . look, I promise not to slip, okay?"
Still squabbling, the two mages stumbled their way back in through the window and slammed it down just as a silver car, its lights off and engine purring like a well-behaved tiger, slid into the college drive.
One of the back doors opened. "You two drive around," a man said, climbing out even at the protest of one of those still in the car. "Keep out of sight, can't be suspicious. Come after me as quickly as possible, right?"
"Clark-"
He slammed the door and walked up to the college building. Inside the car, the woman sitting in the front seat slammed her hand on the glove compartment in frustration.
"He never pays any attention! I've seen - I've seen mages better at teamwork -"
"No need to get worked up, Jess-"
"While we're on the job, Mr Weston, you will refer to me as-"
"Lewis. Yes." The driver sighed and pulled in down the drive, around the side of the college.
*
The Inquisition didn't call themselves that - that was the mages' name for them, said with either a sneer or a shudder, depending on how much dealing with the Inquisition the mage in question had actually had. To themselves, the Inquisition were the MPI - the Ministry of Paranormal Investigations.
Mages were about as paranormal as it was possible to be.
The man called Clark had been working with them for a while. He didn't know quite what went on yet, not deeply in the milling layers of the organisation. He just brought mages in, that was his job - he didn't wonder what was done with them. They were a pest, he could see that, they were supposed to be a sort of parasite on Earth. His, Lewis and Weston's official agenda was to bring mages back to headquarters, where - he assumed - they would be removed back to their own realms. By the way they struggled, the mages either didn't know that or didn't believe it.
To be absolutely honest, he didn't mind the mages. They tidied up after themselves, mostly. They were curious - like magpies, they went after anything shiny. And they argued so much amongst themselves they could never get around to becoming a serious threat to humans. But then, it was a job. It paid the rent. It kept him in coffee.
The front door was open. That was one problem with them - the mages didn't seem to understand the concept of locking doors, or of private buildings at all. When mages entered a building (and god knew how they did it, locks just seemed to fall apart when they wanted them to) they just left it unlocked for anyone to wander in after them.
Clark checked the safety on his gun and slipped into the darkened college.
*
Fairway blew the candy-pink bubble a little larger, a little larger, now so big she couldn't look around it - perfect for Mew to pop it, and turn away with his arms folded.
"Nyaargh! Gum in hair, gum in hair-"
"Shouldn't've blown it so big," Texas said, spinning on one foot to roar at the echoing classroom, "-and pain is all around, like a bridge over troubled - water - I will lay me down, like a-"
"Jesus, Texas."
"D'you think we ought to rehearse a little?" Fairway said, peeling more bubblegum from her multi-plaited black hair. "Y'know, while we're in the warm and dry . . ."
"When you're down and out . . . when you're on the streets . . . yeah, maybe. When evening falls- so hard, I will comfort you . . . Where'd the boys go? And Whin'n'Linnel, now I think about it. Ohh, I'll take your part - ohh, when darkness comes - and pain is allll ar-ound, like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down - like a-aa bridge over troubled wat-er, I will lay me dooooownn . . ."
"Feel free to give over anytime you like, like." Mew muttered.
"Whin'll've found the library. I don't know where the boys went, last time I saw them -"
Fairway paused, bright-brown eyes curious and intent as a sparrow's, and leapt on Texas before she could open her mouth. Texas went down with a shriek, her hat rolling off across the floor, as Fairway clapped a hand over her mouth and hissed "D'you hear that?"
"Whf?"
"That most ancient and soul-stirring of battle-chants," Fairway said, as Mew stood up nervously, sliding his legs off the desk. They listened intently, at the shimmering silence of the air.
From down the corridor came the faint edge of thousand of people at the other side of the country chanting, "The referee's a wanker, the referee's a-"
"The sods got hold of a telly and never told us," Mew said indignantly.
"Language, Bartolomew."
"That is how I'm communicatin' with you. Really bloody astute."
"Shut up, there's a good boy." Texas said, shoving Fairway off herself. "You go get Nat and Alessandro then, I'll pick a play."
"I'm going to regret this, but fine." Fairway dusted her hands off and strolled out of the room, clasping her hands behind her back and humming Three Lions as she went. Fairway was a quasimage - born human, though she had developed mage abilities - and was actually called Winifred, a name which had reduced the mages to helpless laughter. She'd taken the name of her old street instead, when she'd joined the Apple Island Players, and helped them with the parts of plays they didn't understand.
"Well, Mew my lad," Texas said, standing up and dusting her robes off, slapping her hat back on her head. "Time to pick a piece of art for us to pick to pieces. What'll it be?"
"Seein' as there's only seven of us, gods know." he said with a scowl, and sat down on the desk again. "Dunno how I got stuck with you weirdoes."
"You probably shouldn't've got yourself zephyred then. You're a wanderluster, my dear, and you haven't even hit adolescence yet. If I were you, I'd be a little more grateful for having some friendly faces to get you back to a gateway." Texas struck a heroic sort of pose and said, "We shall do some Shakespeare. It always goes down well."
Mew sighed but said nothing. Texas seemed to be contemplating the ceiling, before she nodded and said, "We ain't done Romes and Jules for ages. Sounds like a plan?"
"We 'an't done anything' in ages, we 'an't 'ad an audience since August."
"Can't be helped. Unlike your missing Hs. You could try to hit a least one a sentence, Mew. But I know things are getting desperate with all these zephyrs . . . d'you know, I don't want to leave this realm. It's bloody beautiful, in its own weird way. I just . . . thought we'd have fun here. We aren't hurting anybody. So why -?"
"Zephyrs an' Inquistors an' Hadrians an' worse," Mew said mildly, kicking his legs as he looked across at Texas. "You onny want to do Romeo an' Juliet 'cause you're always Mercutio, anyway."
"Well, yeah."
Texas didn't look, maybe, perfect for the role. She could have played Juliet, if she'd lose the cowboy hat and could somehow take a foot off her height; tall - impressive, they said, she seemed to go up forever - with a cascade of bright-blonde curly hair and innocent sky-blue eyes. Texas got to pick her parts, because she was the best actor they had. They all knew it. So did she. It was a mercy she wasn't any more arrogant than she was.
It wasn't just that she somehow could lose a foot if she wanted to, by hunching herself like this and tucking in her shoulders like this. She could sing in a voice of milk chocolate, their female lead vocalist - Nat was usually the male, since his voice was chocolate too but had an edge of chopped nuts or nougat, something slightly rough and growling. Texas' main power was her voice. Apart from the singing, her accent could change from moment to moment, from her favourite - her namesake - which fitted the hat and the boots she wore under her sand-coloured robes, to Newcastle, to New York, to New Zealand; she was a one-woman radio show.
So Texas called the shots. If only she'd had the right mind frame for it, she could have called herself a leader and made herself one. Most mages, however, have neither the ability nor the inclination for the job.
"Bagsie not Tybalt agen."
"But you're brilliant as Tybalt," Texas said, spreading her arms and beaming. "Didn't you hear the audience last time?"
"They was pissing themselves."
"Less of the lip. It was a stylish and modern reinterpretation of Shakespeare."
"You had a bloody eleven-year-old Tybalt!"
"Yeah. Their faces were a right picture, weren't they?" Texas snickered, and then sobered suddenly. Of course, Mew wouldn't have had to play a part so ridiculously unright for him, if Seera was still with them.
*
In the library, lit by a couple of candles glowing like fireflies, Whin turned the page of a book and continued with her swift scribbling. She was already in one of her play-trances, gone to the world, candlelight sparkling in her dark eyes. She didn't have long to transcribe. It didn't occur to the mages that this was stealing - taking the book was stealing, ideas and words were the worlds' property. No mage would ever dream of stealing.
Occasionally they had to move the definition around to keep to this ideal, but they always said that language evolves, doesn't it . . . ?
*
"Come on, come on -" Nat said, rubbing his hands together - long, piano-fingers interlacing nervously as he stared at the screen. "Come on, my son -"
"Who're we rooting for?" Alessandro said, tossing an apple core in the bin.
"Sod knows. Whoever plays best. Go on! Gods, will you look at that? That was bloody well saved."
The door slammed open and they almost leapt out of their boots, Andro letting out a squeal, but the lightswitch flicked on to reveal Fairway, half-scowling.
"You were holding out a TV on us?" she said, and then glanced at the footballers onscreen. "Who's playing?"
"Arsenal - Man U. Arsenal're one up."
"Come on Arsenal," she said, shuffling Nat aside to sit on the table next to him. Alessandro pulled a face at her back and got up to flick the light off again.
*
The dark silver car of the Inquisition rolled to a gentle halt in the carpark at the back of the college. Lewis leaned out of the window and said, "Definitely mages."
There was some strange, arcane structure taking up two parking spaces. It looked like a traditional wooden caravan, but with extra bits nailed on until it was a mess of planks, all painted blue and covered with stars in pale cream and clear white, and a bright rainbow. Sticking out the front in an adapted harness was -
"Is that a car?" Weston said. "They've left the radio on, anyway."
They got out of the car and walked up to the car-caravan. The radio, or else a cassette, was playing in the car, which was still lit up inside - a Mini, a dented old thing, chipped red with racing stripes and the remains of a Union Jack on the roof.
"Probably stolen," Lewis murmured. "It's lousy with magic."
"It's Everlasting Love," Weston said, cocking an ear at the car. "I like this song."
"For god's sake, can we focus on the job?" Lewis snapped, pulling up the bonnet of the Mini. Her mouth dropped open. The engine - wiring stuck out into strange copper shapes, and here and there was the neon-blue glow of a Lazarus stone, powering the car with magic. No wonder it glowed like the heart of a golden firework-storm through her demimage Sight.
"What's-?" Weston leaned into have a look.
"Do you bloody well mind?"
The bonnet snapped shut so quickly he nearly lost his fingers, and then the headlights were on and the engine was roaring, the Mini's windscreen wipers flashing back and forth furiously.
"It's - alive?" Weston yelped.
"It's magic! I said it was!" Lewis yelped, backing away quickly as the Mini's engine revved like a wolf growling.
"You bet I'm magic!" a voice said from somewhere inside the possessed car. "And what d'you think you're playing at? That's my engine you were looking at, you perverts!"
"Oh god, what did they do to it?"
"It! It!" the Mini moaned. "As if I don't have any feelings!"
"They've made it - crazy, or something, try and shoot out the tyres quickly-"
"Oh, now you've really done it!" the Mini yelped, squirting a blast of windscreen wash into Weston's face so he dropped his gun with a yelp. "That's just plain - bloody humans!"
Its tyres screeched on the grit and Lewis choked, grabbing Weston's arm and fleeing for the entrance to the college, scramble-bolting across the gravelled carpark. The Mini's doors slammed out at either side, freeing it from the harness with a crash, and then it was racing after them with doors flapping madly. Into the night spilled the song from its cassette player.
"Open up your eyes, then you'll realise, here I stand with my everlast-ing love-"
"Run!" Lewis shrieked, dragging Weston towards the doors as he frantically tried to wipe soapy water from his eyes.
"What's happening? What's happening?"
"Just run!"
"Need you by my side, girl to be my bride, you'll never be denied everlast-ing love . . ."
Lewis kicked the door open, terror giving her strength, and threw Weston in, rolling on top of him. The insane car bounced off the door behind them, too large to fit in, and fell back with a further dent in its snout-like bonnet, doors bouncing awkwardly, windscreen wipers moving gingerly as if testing a bruise.
"You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off," it said. "Heh."
*
Linnel, sitting on the top of a flight of stairs, put her head on one side. "Did you hear that?"
"Yeah. Sounds like Wes doing his nut again."
"D'you think something's happened to him?"
"Wes? He throws fits over squirrels, Lin. It'll be - a leaf blew onto his bonnet or something."
Rosencrantz hummed softly, then murmured under his breath, "What exactly are we doing here? We can't play, not when humans aren't meant to know about us. We're being chased by everything under the sun, we can't even stop for five minutes to get our bearings before the bloody Inquisition're breathing down our necks again-"
"So leave."
He paused, and looked across at Linnel, who stared back at him with a strangely dark expression on her freckled face.
"What?" he said eventually.
"Leave. If you don't like it. You could take the mage-paths down to 'henge, you could be on Avalon in two days. Why don't you?"
He struggled to say anything for a moment, and eventually stuttered, "Because - because you guys are here."
"There you go," she said softly. "We're a coven, Rosencrantz, we stick together."
"Couldn't we all stick together and go home?"
"Home," she said softly, looking down at her hands folded on her lap and smiling. "Where were you born?"
"I was - I was born - here . . ."
Linnel closed her eyes and smiled. "Your grandmother founded the Apple Island Players on Earth for mages to perform at carnivals and festivals and anywhere where we wouldn't be noticed too much. For mages to perform for humans, Rosencrantz, for mages to perform for the humans who wrote the plays! The descendants of Shakespeare and Wilde! And your family named you in the best fashion of the theatre and now you want to turn away from all that heritage?"
"Why the hell do I have to be an actor just because of my stupid name?"
She leaned forward, put a hand over his, smiling sweetly. "Deny thy father and refuse thy name . . . 'tis but thy name that is - thy - enemy; thou art thyself. What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet. So Rosencrantz would were he not Rosencrantz call'd. If you were Fred you'd be an actor, Rosencrantz. Look at you! You're the best Cassio we've got! You play Macbeth like a king! And you're the finest Rosencrantz on any of the realms."
He wrenched his hand away, and clamped them over his ears. "Just once - just once - I don't want to be stupid Rosencrantz . . . Just once I want to be Hamlet . . ."
"If I promise to arrange it," Linnel murmured, "will you stay with us at least until we get Mew to a gateway?"
He paused, looked up at her, and gave a small sigh.
"I can't leave. Linnel . . . I'm sorry I said - I won't leave, anyway. Ever. You are . . . I mean, everyone annoys the hell out of me and we bitch and bicker and we never stop trying to drive each other crazy, but . . ."
"We're a coven," she said, and smiled. Rosencrantz looked down again, and that was when he saw Clark at the foot of the stars, holding something that gleamed black like a bullet.
"Keep your hands where I can see them. If you so much as twitch I swear you'll never regret anything again."
*
"Fly, little wing . . ." Texas murmured.
Mew sighed and hit her with the wobbling cardboard sword. "Are we gonna practise this or what?"
The taller mage flicked her gaze down at him and roared, "Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?"
Tybalt dropped his sword, and stared at her quivering with terror. "What - what - what's the line?"
Texas jumped around so she was facing where she had stood a second ago and said in a high, hissing voice, "What wouldst thou have with me?"
She leapt back, and gave a crazy grin, body swaying like a hyperactive lioness. "Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives . . . that I mean to make bold withal, and as you shall use me hereafter dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine - be about your ears ere it be out!"
Texas began enthusiastically air-fencing, leaping around like a kangaroo again to roar as Tybalt, "I am for you!" and then to the side, suddenly frantically trying to calm two invisible fighters, "Good Mercu- Mercutio! Put thy rapier up!"
Mew picked up and leaned on his sword, watching with a little grin as the mage leapt around, slashing left and right with a silver-foiled blade and bellowing at her invisible opponent, "Come, sir, your passado!"
The sound of a gunshot made Mew trip over in shock and Texas, in mid-leap, stumbled and rolled over her side, up again in a flash, quivering rigid, thrusting the younger mage behind her protectively. He staggered and nearly fell over; Texas didn't know her strength. "Holy hells," she whispered. "Mew, stay here! I'll find the others!"
As she bolted through the door, she held a hand out and phased it through the lightswitch, concentrating on the spark and flare of magic so it exploded, cutting out all the light on the floor, and her footsteps sounded even louder in the blackness of the corridor.
Mew scowled. "Stay here? Just 'cause I'm a kid? Balls to that!"
He charged forward in the darkness, pitched over a costume box and fell over with a crown digging into his side and a cloak over his head.
"Mebbe I will just wait here," he muttered. "Just 'til they get some light back on, like."
*
Rosencrantz tried to back away from Clark, upstairs, one arm thrown out to press Linnel out of the way - but she brushed past him in an instant and faced Clark with her fists clenched at her sides, her voice tight as she said, "Where's Seera? What did you do with her?"
Clark kept the gun trained on Linnel, but she wasn't looking at it; she was staring him right in the eye. Mages had an unnerving habit of that, he'd noticed. He licked his lips and said, "Stay right there, miss. My back-up'll be here any second, you don't want to cause an upset, do y-"
"What did you do to Seera?" Linnel screamed at Clark, and Rosencrantz tried to grab her arm, afraid every second of the flash-bang of that horrible, dark metal machine in the Inquisitor's hands. Rosencrantz looked down at his empty hand. He hadn't caught Linnel's arm . . . she was phasing . . .
"Listen," Clark said, as calmly as he could, as if he was speaking to a hysterical seven year old. "I don't know who you mean, but if you come with us I'm sure I could find someone who-"
Magic sparked off Linnel, electric with fury. "Come with you!" she spat. "You! Stupid, stupid, stupid-!"
"Lin, leave it-" Rosencrantz hissed.
"You two stay still or I swear I'll shoot!" Clark yelled at them, which usually worked, except the mad female mage took a step at him and raised a hand from which white-gold light exploded, and he shot, and the sound of the gun echoed through the whole building.
*
Alessandro and Fairway were more upset about the television cutting out than the sudden, sharp gunshot, but Nat was up in a flash and stunned with shock. "The Inquisition!" he yelped, as the other two shrieked at the suddenly blank television.
"No!" Fairway grabbed Alessandro by his robes and shook him backwards and forwards, practically sobbing. "Beckham had the ball! This can't be happening! I haven't seen a match in a year, Arsenal were one up and Beckham had the ball-!"
"Hope everyone's okay," Nat murmured, peering out into the corridor. "You two wait here, I'll see if I can-"
Footsteps . . .
All three fell silent, and sat tense as wire in the darkness of the empty classroom. A shape went past the window, tall and dark; through their Sight, magic fluttered gold and worried around it.
"Texas," Nat hissed, and then phased his head and shoulders through the door and said, "Texas?"
"Hah!"
She had whipped around, eyes wide and mad, and the silver blade of a sword pricked Nat's throat. For a second he looked terrified, and then she giggled and said, "You look like you just pissed yourself, mate."
"Texas," he croaked, pushing the cardboard sword away with one hand and placing the other protectively around his neck, "did you hear that?"
"Yeah." She sobered suddenly. "What're we gonna do?"
"Find where it was, first, and then make sure . . . no-one's hurt . . ."
*
Rosencrantz hit the stairs first and slid down a little as Linnel landed on top of him and slapped him with the flat of her fist, sobbing, "Rosencrantz, you bastard! I was -"
"Let's get the hell out of here," he said, trying to wrench her up. He had phased through the stairs above so they were on the next turn of the staircase, but it wouldn't take long before the Inquisitor-
Four sharp pangs, kicking up sparks where they hit the metal edge of a step. Rosencrantz threw his arms over his head and Linnel sent a spiteful zip of magic up at the Inquisitor, then dived on Rosencrantz and bowled them both downstairs. No time for dodging, thinking, serious magic; just get away, anywhere -
Rosencrantz' ribs bruised, and he heard Linnel's stifled yelp before they hit the floor and rolled up, snatching each other's hands to slip-slide-race down the corridor. Her lip was bloody, his breathing came hard against his chest. Another bullet shattered a window by their heads and they leapt through, phasing, into the sharpness of the night air. A blast of cold air and they were racing between a couple of bushes, running through a brick wall as if it wasn't there and inside again, scrambling to search for more stairs.
"The others-"
"-I know-"
Linnel stumbled in her robes and skimmed her gloved palms across the thin carpet of the reception, hearing Rosencrantz curse in shock and looking up at a pair of human shoes. Two pairs. More Inquisitors.
*
Texas and Nat went left, Fairway and Alessandro went right. To signal each other, they were to scream blue murder and make as much of a magical racket as possible. This was a plan. They still managed to find inventive ways to mess it up.
"Are we lost?" Fairway said.
"Help if the bloody lights were on . . ." Alessandro murmured, glancing out of a window at the darkened carpark. "Hey . . . Wes is out there . . ."
Fairway looked down, leaning on the windowsill, and then fumbled to open the window. Locked. She was about to curse when she remembered she was a mage - it was still so easy to slip back into mundane thinking - and she leaned out through the window, phasing cleanly through the flat of glass as if she was a ghost.
"Wes?"
It was very hard to call softly, but Wes' headlights glowed for a second in recognition and his engine revved slightly. "Yo," the car said.
"What's up?"
"Pair of damned Inquisitors. I got one of 'em," His doors were still flapping cheerfully, and his wipers flicked every now and then as if he was thinking. "Dead hit, right between the eyes."
"Oh god, Wes. Tell me you didn't - you didn't -"
He cocked a wiper curiously.
"You didn't - kill one -"
The car made a snorting noise, dragonlike with his engine behind it. "Where's the skill in that? They're big enough, aren't they? Nah, I got him - dead on - zip." Another short, sharp spray of soapy water. Fairway put a hand against her forehead, brushing her tangled plaits back. She was beginning to get a headache.
"So what happened then?"
"Chased 'em off. But they went inside - actually, you might want to be careful, now I think about it . . ."
"Like you ever think," she muttered as she pulled back inside and looked at Alessandro. "Wes chased two Inquisitors in here . . . Andro, we have to get everyone together and get everyone out."
"Yeah, but where is everybody?"
"Hm."
*
Mew walked around the dark room, tripping over things now and then, waving his sword in a distracted way.
"Two households both alike in dignity, in fair Verona where we lay our scene, like-"
He looked up nervously, hearing more gunshots.
"From - from ancient - grudge, break to new - oh Christ I'm scared -"
He started to bite his fingernails, since Linnel wasn't there to stop him.
"They'll be back, she'll be back, c'mon, Texas . . ."
It was horrible, horrible, being stuck here in the dark and not knowing, not knowing -
("What did happen to Seera?"
Fairway gritted her teeth. "If we knew, we'd get her back, safe and sound. The Inquisition have her and so help me, I'm going to find out what those bastards did to her . . .")
Mew wasn't really sure what a gun was - something like an aggressive firework, he thought - but he knew they could kill, they had killed, and everyone else was out there and there'd been half a dozen shots already. What if -
("Why can't we bring her back?"
"Angel," Linnel said softly, kissing the top of his head, through his hair. "We don't know where she is, but as soon as we do, we'll get her, don't you worry. Now go to sleep, Mew.")
"I'm scared," he said to the darkness, but it came out as a whimper. He swished the cardboard sword through the air, tried to whistle, but it sounded empty and bleak and he sat down, putting his arms around his knees.
("Why are the Inquistion after us?"
"Because they're narky sods." Texas tipped her hat back thoughtfully. "Dunno hon, sorry. Wish I did . . .")
("What was Seera like?"
"Oh, nice." Alessandro rubbed his nose, gave a nervous sort of grin. "Best not - well, you might meet her soon, after all . . .")
("But how did they get her? Nat?"
"Mew, just, just leave it, it's not . . . just be careful around them, alright?")
("I think - Seera - is she dead?"
Rosencrantz was very quiet for a moment. "We don't know," he said softly. ". . . probably. There's nothing . . . we can do. We could try but . . . no-one wants to see anyone else get hurt or killed. Just stay away from them if you can, Mew, they're dangerous, they're twisted . . .")
Mew looked up but all he could see were shadows and he didn't know what they were shadows of.
He stuffed his face against his knees, screwing his eyes up tightly. They were going to come back, they were going to be safe, they'd bloody better be . . .
*
Rosencrantz took a step backwards but Linnel raised a hand and sparks sprayed out. The female Inquisitor's gun went off three times - Linnel screamed - Rosencrantz threw his arms out and a shield with them, solid magic in a sphere around them, blasting the Inquistors back. Rosencrantz dropped to his knees by Linnel and whispered, "Gods, gods, Lin, don't be dead-"
Linnel scrambled backwards, trying to thrust herself away from a black mark in the carpet. "That was nearly my head," she said in a trembling voice. "My head, that was nearly, my head-"
"Okay, okay-"
Rosencrantz blinked as something rapped off his shield. One of the Inquisitor's guns. "Drop this shield this minute," she growled, "and we'll take you in without any trouble. Now."
"Die," Rosencrantz spat, and helped Linnel to her feet. She was still shaking. "Lin, we've got to-"
"You have five seconds," the female Inquisitor said. "Five."
She raised her gun, placed the muzzle against the shield, which crawled with golden sparks for a second. "Four."
"Lewis, shouldn't we ask them how many other-"
"They'll tell us," Lewis said. "Three."
"Fucking bitch," Rosencrantz muttered, but Linnel just stared at her with dark, dangerous eyes and said nothing.
"Two. This is your last chance, mages."
"Fucking traitor, you're a bloody demi, what the hell are you-"
"One-"
"Rose, drop the shield," Linnel whispered.
"Not bloody likel-"
The bullet exploded against the shield; with the sound of the gun and the sound of the impact - hot metal burst like a raindrop - the entire corridor rang and Weston put his hands over his ears, while Lewis was sent staggering, dropping her gun with a screech of bruised bones. Linnel screamed; Rosencrantz dropped like a doll and she caught him around the chest, holding him off the ground, staggering under his weight. His shield had vanished, the impact too close. He tried to say something but his eyes were closed and his words slurred into each other.
"Bitch," Linnel spat at Lewis. "And you're no better you - you bastard, son of bastards, son of bitches and bastards and both of you take one fucking step and I'll burst you into blood-"
She was clutching Rosencrantz away from them, teeth bared in a snarl, motherly peaceable Linnel with her wild red hair hanging in her face and fury in her eyes. "I'll kill you." She snarled, wolf-wild, "I'll kill you, what the hell did you do to Seera?"
There was a triumphant trumpet like the cavalry had arrived and Texas and Nat burst out of the doors at the far end of the corridor; Nat sent a burst of compact magic at Lewis, knocking her off her feet, and Texas leapt at Weston swinging her sword and roaring, "Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you - Jesus Christ!"
A bullet ricocheted off her shield and she was too startled to stop; she hit Weston full on, the impact of two bodies thumping the breath from them both. Weston hit the floor first and Texas on top of him, with a high yelp of pain, and then and whirl of silver foil and she held the sword at his throat, kneeling over him, teeth bared.
"Ahah," she said, a little breathless. "Now who has the upper hand? Gods, Nat, I'm gonna have a bruise like a melon on my side-"
"Shut up, for gods' sakes," Nat hissed. He had one hand aimed at Lewis, who was glaring up at him, her gun out of reach on the carpet. "Lin, are you okay? What the hell happened to Rosencrantz, is he-"
"That bitch shot right against his shield," Linnel said, supporting the length of Rosencrantz's body against her own, his arms around her shoulders. He mumbled into her hair and she hugged him closer, his trailing feet clumsy between her legs. "We've got to get out of here, there's another one of these bastards in the building- where's Whin?"
*
Whin's fingertips were splattered with ink and there was a streak across her forehead where she'd wiped her wispy brown hair from her face. She rubbed her nose - more ink - and began scribbling again quickly, transcribing words from book to paper.
Behind her the door swung open gently and light streaked the carpet for a second, then cut off. There was a long silence Whin didn't notice as anything different from the rest of the silence, still writing frantically. Whatever Whin did she did absolutely, entirely focused, which made her a strong healer and a quick writer and a sitting duck.
A shape moved through the shadows, quietly, straight towards her. Whin's candle guttered but she didn't even notice, fumbling for more ink and slopping it as she kept writing, faster-
A hand clamped on her shoulder and another around her mouth. Whin gave a muffled scream into the glove until Fairway hissed by her ear, "It's me, Christ, keep quiet-"
Whin looked around with mad eyes, terrified, ringed in white. She stared at Fairway for a long time before she relaxed, and when Fairway let go of her mouth she brushed her hair back and whispered, "What's happening, Fairway? Are we moving?"
"Very, very quickly." Fairway murmured. "Inquisition're onto us, pack up your stuff and-"
A scream from outside and the sharp bang of a gun; Fairway raced back for the door as Andro fell through, phasing, a hand around his arm and blood seeping through his gloves, spattered up his sleeve. Fairway's hands pressed over her mouth and she looked up at Clark, pale as he kicked the door open; Fairway grabbed the whimpering Andro and dragged him away, staring up at Clark, hating him and scared almost out of her mind.
"I didn't want to do that," Clark said quietly. "Hands where I can see them, we can go in quietly, just tell me how many more of you there are-"
"Piss off," Fairway said faintly. She'd caught Andro's wrist and now he was squeezing her hand, so tightly she could barely feel the blood in her fingers, and she squeezed back and pressed him close. Nat would go out of his mind if he saw Andro hurt like this, she knew, and Andro wanted Nat but he wasn't here . . .
"No-one else has to get hurt, we can get medical attention for your friend-"
"Fairway, would you stand up, please?"
It was Whin, walking up to them, her bag over her shoulder, manuscript and ink packed away. She was carrying her candle, a very small figure lit in jumping light. "Please. It's okay." the healer said.
"If I stand up he'll shoot me!"
"I will," Clark muttered. "But I won't like it, alright? Just everybody stay calm and this can be-"
"Winifred Roberts is a British citizen and can stand up wherever she likes." Whin said in a calm voice. "If anyone shoots her there will be trouble, there will be hospital reports and lawyers and court cases and you will go to prison for a very long time." She was smiling in a very strange way, and added, "You bastard." with no emotion in her voice at all.
Clark stared at Whin and then at Fairway, who clutched Andro tighter as he gave a sharp choked curse. "You're a human?" Clark said, gun still aimed on them but uncertainly now.
Fairway licked her lips. "Yeah. My parents are, anyway. And I have a British passport. I have an national insurance number. I have rights. You shoot me or my friends and I'll-"
"You can't - you're with these - you're not-"
"They're my coven."
Clark lowered his gun. He couldn't believe this. This girl looked barely seventeen. "Your parents. Won't your parents be worried? And these - mages - don't they worry you? I mean, don't they- they -"
"They're still people, you moron, just because they can do magic doesn't make anyone-"
"They're criminal invaders, for god's sake, you're standing in a college - council property, government property -they've broken into-"
"They're not hurting anyone!" Fairway screamed at him. "Whin, please come help Andro - you lift that gun I'll call the police, you bastard, I still have my mobile. They're not hurting anyone. We always put things back how we find them. What the hell do you have against us? Them? Us?"
Clark stared at her. "They're mages. They're not - they shouldn't be here."
"So you hate them for being here. So Britain should just be for the British, right?"
"That's not what I meant. We don't know what these - what you're - what mages are capable of. How can we know if it's safe for them to be-?"
He was losing certainty even as he spoke. Fairway tried to move aside to let Whin at Andro's arm but he was gripping her hand too tightly. "This is about mages coming here." she said. "The bottom of this is racism, you fucking neo-Nazi."
Clark opened his mouth, shut it, went even paler. To be accused of racism by a mage would just be a mage, fair enough, they yelled all sorts of things. But to have - it was the worst thing. A young black girl was accusing him of racism. Did it make him even more racist because he felt that made it worse? Doubt made his hands feel numb on the gun. But - but -
"Can't phase down," Whin murmured by Fairway's ear, hands full of bandages. "Can't risk hurting Andro more."
"There is something we can do," Fairway murmured, and narrowed her eyes.
She hadn't been doing magic for very long, and it was hard to get a grip, but she concentrated on the slippery metal of the gun and pulled at its atoms with magic-
And it slid out of Clark's grasp - it slid through his fingers and he yelped - and then through the floor. Fairway cut off her hold abruptly, blinking hard and dazed, leaving the gun embedded in the ceiling of the room below.
"Right."
Fairway and Whin stood up, supporting Andro as he hugged his newly-bandaged arm and breathed slow and loud. "We're leaving now. If you've hurt any more of our friends we'll phase your feet into the floor and leave them there." Fairway said. "Now get out of our way."
Clark just stood there, staring at them. Whin raised a hand and let a shield brush Clark against the wall, holding him there gently but firmly - he struggled briefly, the entire situation turned on his head - and the three mages made their way through the door. The glass panels were spattered with blood that had run down, leaving red streaks that made Andro groan. They began to make their way downstairs.
*
Lewis made a grab for her gun. Nat's cry of shock and burst of magic came too late; she rolled aside and fired into him twice. Both bounced off his shield and he doubled over, breath thumped out of his lungs, as Texas looked up and was kicked off by Weston. He pinned both her hands to the floor, pressed over her, and yelled at Lewis, "She could have cut my head off!"
"Weston, you moron, it's a cardboard sword. All you mages - against the wall, hands flat against the-"
Texas brought her knee up between Weston's legs and his entire body clenched. She caught his wrists and wrenched him up with her, swinging him in front of her. "You wanna shoot," she said to Lewis, behind Weston's head, "Go ahead and bloody well shoot."
"I don't have to shoot you," Lewis said quietly. "These three-"
Nat bulled into her and she fell back with a shriek; her gun went off again, into the ceiling - Nat rolled over her and to his feet and Linnel dragged Rosencrantz along - he was beginning to wake up. Nat sent a burst of magic into Lewis' hand and she screamed high and hard; raw magic left burns like acid-hailstone and salt had sprayed her skin, and the gun was sent skittering along the floor. Texas spun Weston around and into Lewis before racing after her friends, pausing only to snatch up her sword again and swing it as she went, singing loudly, "you're not singin', you're not singin', you're not singin' any more-"
*
"Lewis? Weston?" Clark hissed into a black plastic device that Fairway would have recognised but the other mages would simply have stared at. "Can you hear me? I mean, read me? Christ. Look, there's three mages up here and I saw two downstairs, only one of them's a human girl so don't shoot anyone for god's sake-"
*
"We should leave Rosencrantz in Wes," Nat said, as Linnel and Texas reattached the Mini to his harness on the caravan. "He can look after him."
"No - no way-" Rosencrantz sprawled on the back seat, hands clutching his stomach. He felt bruised inside, the impact of the bullet felt like it had crushed his organs. He knew it would pass but gods it hurt like hell. "The others are still in there, Whin an' Fairway and - and - Andro and Mew -"
"And you're not good for anything like this," Linnel said through the window. "Wes, tell him."
"You're not." the Mini said. "You look like hell."
"How can you even tell? Look, Wes, let me go-"
The locks on the doors clicked down. "No can do, mate. You rest up here."
"You're letting Nat go! He got two bullets!"
"Yeah, but not a millimetre away from my shield, mate." Nat said, leaning in through a window. "Someone has to wait here in case the others come back anyway, right? Good luck."
"We're not splitting up once we get in there," Texas said. "We can't, right? And we have to find Mew first, can't leave him on his own much longer-"
"I hate you all." Rosencrantz muttered.
"We know you do, Rose." Linnel said, and leaned through the other window to kiss him, awkwardly between his hair and his cheek. "All secure, we can make a getaway as soon as we're all here-"
"Don't call me Rose."
"Good luck."
*
This room was strange.
On the outside wall was a brown-black burn where electricity and magic had sparked and popped together, where the lightswitch - melted brown-edged plastic now - had been phased through. Clark left the door open, staring into the darkness, trying to concentrate on the sounds. He'd heard something.
It was too dark to see a thing. He took a step forwards and stood on something soft, some item of clothing, and scrambled back - there was no movement within the room, so he crouched down slowly and reached out for the clothing. He flinched on touching it and pressed down. It was empty. He felt around a little, hand patting across the floor. A box, a chest - clothes spilled out of it, a brass crown he bruised the edge of his hand off, a cardboard sword. Props. A school play?
There was a dragging noise and a small intake of breath deeper in the room. Clark looked up, stood up.
"Is someone there?"
Silence, and then the slightest shuffling noise.
"Come out and show yourself. Where are you?"
He took a few steps forwards and his elbow hit the edge of a desk; he cursed rubbed it - funny bone his arse - and felt out. Behind this desk was another desk, to either side of this desk was another desk, behind them were desks - every desk in the room had been dragged to this corner.
"A fort. A fort? Okay." He gave an uneasy laugh. "You built a fort. How old are you?"
Something shuffled again, under the tables - under the table in the furthest corner. An unbroken male voice whimpered, in a Liverpudlian accent, "Piss off."
"Okay. Okay."
A kid. A mage kid or - what?
"My name's Clark."
"You piss off. You piss off!" The voice was more frantic now, and there was a scrabble under the table. "You lot killed Seera! You piss off! I aren't gonna die - I don't wanna die-"
"You're not going to die. No-one's going to hurt you-"
"You killed Seera! You're gonna kill me! Have you killed the others? Even Texas? I want Texas - I want Linnel - don't hurt her, she's nice- I want Linnel -"
Clark thought about the girl on the stairs, the one the other mage had called Linnel: "What did you do to Seera?" screamed at him like she wanted to tear his windpipe out.
"Who's Seera?" Clark said.
"She was one of them - the players - I never met her, but Linnel says she was nice an' you bastards killed her - they all pretend she's still okay, like, but they know - everyone knows - I don't wanna die -"
"You're not gonna die. Going to die." Clark rubbed his head. This kid's accent was rubbing off on him. "What's your name, kid?"
Another shuffle of robes. "Mew. Bartholomew, like. You aren't gonna kill me?"
"No. Promise. Where-"
There was a click beside him. Clark looked around, at Lewis, who was aiming into the heart of the tables. Clark put a hand over her gun, pushed it down, but she shook him off and raised her hands again. "Lewis, leave it." he muttered. "It's just a kid, he's not going to hurt anybody."
"Where is he?" Lewis murmured. "Under the tables?"
Clark's glance flickered over the tables, back to Lewis. "I don't want to take a kid in. Not on his own. He should be with his - his -"
"They're not his family," Lewis said quietly. "They don't understand family, they're savages, for Christ's sake - they're his coven. And they're no bloody role models for a child, Clark, you've seen them-"
"Don't you talk about them like that!" Mew yelled from under the tables. "They're worth twenny of you, you bloody arseholes!"
"See?" Lewis said through gritted teeth. "Start moving these tables aside."
"Lewis-"
"Clark, move the tables and that's an order. Showing sympathy for these people isn't going to make anyone's job any easier."
*
Whin, Fairway and Andro ran into Nat, Texas and Linnel with mutual screams and bursts of magic flying everywhere, on the stairway. By the time they'd worked out it was each other they were fighting - it was obvious enough, with the magic and the cursing and Texas whacking Fairway over the head with a cardboard sword - Weston was running down the corridor towards them. As he ran his feet began to stumble, sleepy, and when he reached them he plunged headfirst into them, dropping unconscious between Texas and Linnel.
Whin, the healer, lowered her hand and said, "Who needs guns?"
*
"This pissing well sucks."
Wes hummed to himself, Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay. Rosencrantz shuffled on the back seat, sick and hurting inside. He couldn't believe that bitch had fired right into his shield. She was a demi, she knew what it would have done -
"Hey-ho," Wes said suddenly. "Company."
It was Whin and Nat, Andro between them, making their way across the carpark. Wes turned his headlights on and one of his doors popped open, letting Whin and Nat push Andro onto the back seat beside Rosencrantz, who shuffled up. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of clotting blood and said, "What happened to you?"
"Got shot," Andro muttered. "What happened to you?"
"Bastards locked me in here."
"The Inquisition?"
"Bloody Lin and Texas."
Nat got in, kneeling on the back seat by Andro, one hand on his shoulder and his eyes frightened. "Does it still hurt?"
"'Course it does," Andro muttered, flopping his head onto Nat's hand. "Idiot." Nat stroked his cheek quickly and his smile twitched brokenly.
Whin climbed into the driver's seat and said, "Wes, we ought to go around for the others - in case they need to be out quickly - we're meeting them at the front. Okay?"
"Sure."
The gear lever shifted, pedals moved up and down without a foot, and Wes' steering wheel span rapidly as the accelerator floored itself. Whin barely even had time to buckle her seatbelt before the car crashed forwards, the caravan bouncing behind it, and spun almost on two wheels around the college.
*
"I promised that kid that he wouldn't get hurt."
"He doesn't have to get hurt, if he's sensible."
"Lewis, I don't want you taking this kid in."
Lewis paused, looked at Clark. "What?"
"You just - shouldn't. He's just a kid. The older mages are a danger, fair enough, I've seen them fight back. But he's just-"
"I could bloody well take you two!" the 'kid' yelled from under the tables, voice wobbling. "You come closer, I'll blast your bloody knees out!"
"Clark, childhood is a social construct, and for mages it does not exist. That is a mage, not a child. Now help me move these tables."
Clark's hands clenched. "You'd be a right case for Freud," he muttered. "Your dad's a mage and you spend all your time bringing them in to have who-knows-what done to them-"
"Clark," Lewis said through clenched teeth, "I am choosing to believe that you hit your head in trying to apprehend some mages, because you sound like you're defending them. And you can shut the hell up about my personal life while we're working or anywhere else for that matter, or-"
"You're a demi?" the voice under the table said. "My mate Fairway's a quasi, or at least she is if you lot 'an't killed her-"
"No, she's definitely fine." Clark muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "Lewis, let's just leave this, it was a crappy night and we didn't bring anybody in, they got away, let's just leave it -"
"I'm bringing in one mage, Clark, if the rest of them had to escape -"
"Dead or alive?" Clark muttered. "Or doesn't it matter?"
"Of course I'd rather bring them in alive-"
"Drop the gun and step away from the prop box," Texas said from the doorway, one arm raised like a gun. The humans jumped. Linnel pushed past Texas and called, "Mew! Mew, are you in here? Are you hurt?"
"Lin! I'm under the tables!"
"Take one step-" Lewis growled, aiming back at the tables. "I don't know if I'll hit your brat or not, but whether you risk it or not's up to you-"
Clark took a step backwards, stumbled on the heavy brass crown he'd hit his hand on earlier.
"You scummy, shitty little-" Linnel growled.
"Mew's just a kid," Fairway said. "You can't-"
"If you hurt Mew," Texas said in her lazy drawl of a voice, "I'll spray your brains across the wall."
"Texas, you get her - she said 'orrible things about us, she's a right cow-"
"Mew, be a dear, shut up. This is a very delicate hostage situation."
"I'm glad you realise that," Lewis snarled, "because-"
The crown made a surprisingly loud clanging noise and one of the glass jewels dropped off when Clark brought it down on Lewis' head. He dropped the band of brass, cursing and stuffing his ringing fingers under his armpits.
"Jesus. Je-sus."
Texas lowered her arm, gave a low whistle. "Brilliant." She started to laugh. "Brilliant."
Linnel gave Clark a distrusting stare as he lowered Lewis' body to the floor and checked her pulse. "Why shouldn't we just blast you anyway?" she said quietly, as Clark put Lewis down properly and stood up, wiping his hands off on each other.
"You'd better, probably. It'll look weird when she wakes up if I'm still standing."
Linnel glanced at Fairway, who shrugged - Texas was still laughing - and began pulling tables aside. "Mew? It's okay now Mew, you can come out-"
"I could've blasted their knees out."
"I know you could, sweetheart. C'mon. There."
She helped pull him the last few feet and knelt there, arms around him, glaring up at Clark. He stared down at her, swallowed. Finally he said, "Who's Seera?"
Linnel's arms tightened around Mew and she put a hand on his head. Her mouth was hidden from view behind Mew's head but her eyes narrowed, and it wasn't an expression Clark could read at all. "One of us. One of the Apple Island Players. Only you bastards got hold of her and no-one's seen her since. What did you do to her?"
"I don't . . . know . . . I don't know what happens to mages, I just bring them in . . . you're actors? All of you?"
"Nah, mate. Players. There's a difference -" Texas leaned on her cardboard sword, which bent under her and nearly tipped her to the ground; she burst out laughing again and Fairway gave a frustrated snort.
"We do poetry and skits and all kinds of junk. That's not important. Seera is."
Texas stopped laughing immediately. Clark looked around at Linnel again. Her eyes had so much accusation, so much sheer hatred in them that his stomach fell every time he met them. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I don't know what happens to mages after we . . ."
Fairway began stuffing costumes back into the prop chest, dropping the brass crown in on top. "I'll need your help with this, Texas." she said in a whisper, her lips dry. "Lin, are you bringing Mew . . . ?"
Linnel stood up, keeping a tight hold of Mew's hand. "You find out what happens to the mages you beat up and kidnap." she said. "And I hope, I really, really do, that it's something your conscience can cope with, you evil little prick. Come on, Mew."
She walked out, Mew beside her, glancing back curiously at the Inquisitor standing blankly in the midst of the mages. Their footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Texas and Fairway steadied the chest between them and Texas touched her hat. "Do the right thing, mate. Find out what happens. Tell us, if you can. We . . . Seera was one of us. And we don't know if she's dead or alive or worse. All that family means to you, coven means to us, and one of our coven members - we don't know - we don't know. None of us deserves that. No-one does."
"Wait-"
They glanced around again, halfway through the door. "If she wakes up - and I'm still conscious and unhurt-"
Fairway glanced at Lewis and said, "You still want to work for them?"
"I can't find out what they're doing if I'm fired."
The two mages glanced at each other and Texas shrugged. Fairway put down her end of the trunk and walked over to Clark, put her hands on either side of his head. She saw the terror, bottomless terror in his eyes, because he knew what she could do. She could just squeeze and pop his brains across the ceiling. Instead she licked her lips and muttered, "I should just boil your brain for shooting Andro, you bastard."
Instead, still glaring into his eyes, she let him drop to sleep, and caught him before he hit the floor, and laid him out.
Texas glanced at her as she picked up the chest again. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Fine. Sure. Let's get out of here, Texas."