Though the sky darkened at my back, there was still sufficient light for me to see inside. Row upon row of empty metal shelves ran from floor to ceiling, their wares long gone. Past them, I could make out a small office. Still not hearing anything but the hurried rush of my nervous breath, I went inside. I walked along the line of closest shelves, making my way toward the office. I glanced all around, but nothing moved in the dusky gloom. Just like the first location, it was obvious someone of power had been here too, and not long ago.
Despite the mish-mash of graffiti-gang tags, Iron Maiden song lyrics, and an almost literate homage to my uncle-I saw none of the usual trappings that came along with an abandoned warehouse. No trash lying about; no empty quart bottles, used condoms, or discarded food wrappers. Nothing to show any of the usual vacated-warehouse residents had been here in years, despite the tags claiming it as so-and-so’s turf and the complete lack of dust.
I closed in on the office situated in a clearing in the forest of shelves. Shards of shattered glass littered the floor, standing out bright in the dim light. I could feel the magical footprint lurking about the office without even trying. Something big happened here, just like Rachelle said. Hoping to figure out what, I pressed myself against the cubicle wall and peeked inside. While barren of furniture, the 10’x10’ space was far from empty. A large star surrounded by a circle was painted in black on the floor. Scattered about inside the circle were a handful of half-melted candles. Large burn marks scorched the cement floor at four points of the pentagram. Unable to get a clear view, I went inside to have a closer look.
As I entered the office, I caught the subtle, tangy scent of burnt flesh. While it smelled enticing, like driving by a barbecue joint, it wasn’t a good sign. I tightened my grip on my pistol and walked along the outside edge of the pentagram. At each of the scorch marks, there were small traces of what appeared to be melted candle wax. I knew better. This was the flesh I smelled.
My nervousness building, I kept looking to see what else I could find. In one of the corners were piled two sets of steel manacles. I picked a set up and examined them. On the cuffs, as well as spiraling down the length of chain, were etched silver, magical restraining symbols. I whistled. Runes like these were only used to bind the most powerful of supernatural beings. It took an impressive amount of magical energy to forge cuffs like these and even more so to ensure they worked on a reasonably powerful being. Whoever used them was the John Holmes of magic. They were packin’. That they left them behind was even more an indication of power. You just don’t throw away things like these.
While hesitant to take them with me, worried their owner might change his mind and come looking, magical restraints like these were hard to come by. Besides, I’d be lying if I said an image of a naked Scarlett, chained to the wall of my bedroom with these babies didn’t spring to mind. The stir in my pants made my choice that much easier. What can I say? I’m a dog. Woof.
As hard as it was, pun intended, I got back to business. I picked up the second pair and slung them over my shoulder. With nothing more to examine inside, I left the office. Outside, I glanced around the rest of warehouse, but couldn’t see anything else that might be related to the breach. Believing I’d seen everything I was going to, I started for the exit. I didn’t get very far.
Just as I reached the end of the clearing, I heard voices coming from the docks. I clutched tight to the manacles to keep them quiet, and ducked around the back of the office. From there, I ran toward the shelves at the back of the warehouse, hoping the office walls would block my retreat. I got lucky. Sort of. I made it to the shelves, but without any merchandise, there was little to hide behind. I crept back into the shadows and dropped to the floor. Prone, I listened as the voices came closer. A moment later, the speakers popped into view.
Through the open front door, two men strolled into the warehouse. I didn’t recognize them. The taller of the two was dressed casually in loose-fitting jeans and a dark flannel shirt, a light jacket overtop. He was wiry thin except at his torso where he was abnormally thicker. He must have been wearing a vest.
The second, who couldn’t have been any larger than five-six, was dressed a little more professionally. He wore a pair of black slacks and a white buttondown shirt. He, too, wore a light jacket over his stocky frame. He probably had Kevlar underneath too, but it was hard to tell. Both were clean-shaven with shortcropped, military-style haircuts. Both were armed. While I couldn’t see their guns, I could tell by the way they walked they were carrying. There’s a certain swagger men affect when they’ve got the reassurance of a firearm and the will to put it to use. These guys had it in spades.
I held my breath as they walked toward the office and looked about, scanning the gloom. After a minute or so, the short one called to someone still outside where I couldn’t see.
Seconds later, an older man entered the warehouse, his cowboy boots clicking as he walked. He had long, wild gray hair with a matching beard, which rested heavily on his chest. I couldn’t help but picture Santa Claus. I caught myself looking for reindeer. He wore a loose-fitting earth-tone shirt and blue jeans that did little to hide his bulk. At about six feet, he easily weighed two hundred eighty pounds, but it was clear by how he moved it wasn’t fat lurking beneath his country couture. He had that big, bad biker look to him. The kind of guy you just don’t want to fuck with. And there I was.
He walked casually up to the other two, his narrow eyes taking in the scene. He started to say something, then went silent. His eyes widened. Right then, I felt the almost imperceptible tingle of a magical scan.
He knew I was there.
Without hesitation, he pointed me out, shouting to his goons to get me. I felt so unloved. It took them but an instant to orient on me, each fanning out with his gun drawn.
Since there was no point waiting to get shot, I popped up, letting the manacles drop to the floor as I drew my own guns. I didn’t wait for a clear shot, I simply started blasting. Stuck in the back end of a warehouse with no cover, I wanted them on the defensive. It worked. The little guy ducked behind the office without firing a shot. The wiry one snapped off a couple quickies as he scrambled to find shelter in the darkening warehouse. He wasn’t even close to hitting me.
The wizard stood his ground and glared at me. He was a confident fellow; too confident for my liking. I aimed at his chest and pulled the trigger. I saw a flash of sparks as the bullet struck an invisible barrier, deflecting away before it could hit the wizard. I sighed. No wonder he was so confident.
He walked forward with a smile, his hands held out as if to imply no threat. I knew better. The stocky goon ran over and positioned himself behind the wizard, taking advantage of the old man’s shield. Pretty smart of him. Thinking it was time to get moving, I left the manacles where they lay-my inner perv screaming obscenities at me the whole time-and drifted off Page 58 toward the darkness. The same direction the other goon had gone. I didn’t get far before the lights came on.
The wizard had cast an illumination spell and the whole warehouse was suddenly bathed in a yellowish glow.
I ducked down to make myself a smaller target, the wiry goon only about fifty feet to my right. He leveled his gun when he saw me, but didn’t shoot. I held both of mine out, one aimed at the goon, the other the wizard for all the good it’d do me.
“I don’t know who you are, but you’re not welcome here,” the wizard said with a southern twang. He came off calm and calculating despite the drawl. He knew I was more than just some random trespasser.