Mags & Nats 3-Book Box Set Page 18

  “Where the hell is Valencia getting enough money to pay a Manipulator a thousand dollars a day?” Kaira asked, shaking her head.

  It was a good question. I filed it away to consider more later.

  “I guess we could get her during the rally itself,” I said, hearing the doubt in my own voice. “I could distract the Manipulator while you guys get Valencia.”

  “Right,” Yutika said. “We just show up at the rally, snatch Valencia in front of thousands of people, and then bring her somewhere long enough for Michael to Whisper to her. No sweat.”

  “And there are only six of us to pull this thing off,” Smith grumbled.

  “Not six.” A.J. stood up from the couch and put a hand on his hip. “The Nat makes seven.”

  Everyone turned to me.

  I felt a slow grin spread over my face as a beautiful smile lit Kaira’s.

  ✽✽✽

  With twenty-four hours before the rally, no one left the living room as we scrapped together a desperate plan. A.J. zoomed in countless bowls of popcorn that he popped and drenched in vegan butter without ever leaving the comfort of his bean bag chair. There was a sizeable pyramid of Smith’s empty grape soda cans growing on top of the coffee table.

  At one point, Yutika fell asleep mid-drawing. Michael had to rush forward and catch her before she crashed through the soda can pyramid. The way he gently lifted her, and glared at Bri and Smith until they gave up their couch for her, left no question in my mind that feelings between the two were mutual.

  An hour before we needed to leave the house, our plan was as solid as we could make it. There were too many variables and too many ways for everything to fall apart, and my nerves were like frayed threads.

  Everyone else had dispersed to change into what A.J. had dubbed our “kick-ass” cop outfits. I pulled on my uniform, which Yutika had drawn in such a way that it fit me perfectly. I stared at the blank wall, which was no longer blank. Maps, schedules, and spreadsheets were projected over the white surface.

  Smith had even made a flow chart, with Valencia at the top, and Penelope and the other murder victims underneath. As I studied the chart, a nagging sense ate at my mind. Something didn’t add up. I just couldn’t figure out what it was.

  Four murders in four days. I looked at their images on the wall. Penelope Heppurn and Jonas Meddlesworth on the Magic side, and Alina Freeman and the Mayor on the Natural side. There had been some debate about whether to include Elizabeth’s Nelson’s boyfriend in the list of the dead, since his had been called a suicide and didn’t have the same obvious magically-motivated undertones as the others.

  And then there was the question of the mysterious lab where Bobby Axelrod and Jonas Meddlesworth had both worked, and where Elizabeth Nelson had been taken. I strained my mind to make a connection I was sure was there, somewhere, if only I could come at it from the right angle.

  Valencia Stark’s motivations were obvious. But from everything I knew about her, she didn’t have the analytical mind that would be required to orchestrate the downfall of an organization as powerful as the Alliance on her own. Was it possible there was someone else pulling her strings?

  We didn’t have time for mistakes. If Valencia was just a distraction, and the real threat was someone more dangerous, then we might be going on a wild goose chase.

  Think, Galder.

  I remembered my criminal law professor, a squirrely little man who broke out in a sweat every time he talked about motives and intentionality.

  “Follow the money,” he’d say as he mopped his face with his jacket sleeve and paced back and forth behind the podium.

  I let out a short breath.

  Follow the money.

  “Yutika!” I called, running for the stairs. “Smith!”

  CHAPTER 24

  We were all silent as our newly-formed, courtesy-of-Yutika police van inched through traffic on our way to the Alliance building. Even with our siren wailing, it was slow going. In a city that was known for horrendous traffic, today was the worst I had ever seen it.

  People clogged the sidewalks and spilled out into the streets. After seeing my third “Get Graysen Galder” T-shirt, I kept my gaze firmly inside the vehicle.

  Car traffic thinned once we got near the Alliance building and the blockades that lined the road. Michael, who was driving the van, rolled down his window and nodded at the cops directing pedestrians. They barely glanced at his badge and uniform before removing the barricade and letting us through.

  Kaira had transformed all of our appearances so thoroughly that we’d needed to take the time to memorize each other’s new faces.

  Yutika had created all of our uniforms so Kaira wouldn’t need to use extra energy illusioning our clothes. Yutika also drew real guns to avoid another Axelrod situation where our illusions were discovered, although we all agreed that she wouldn’t draw any bullets to fill them. I’d learned that the only one of us who had ever shot a gun was Michael, and he didn’t seem eager to either discuss or repeat the experience.

  I adjusted my earpiece as backfeed from Smith’s muttering filled my ear. I felt the way I always had before a big crew meet. My muscles were tense, and I was anxious to get to the main event and expend all of the pent-up energy inside me.

  I slipped a hand into my pocket, reassuring myself that the small plastic rectangle was still there. It had taken Smith and Yutika about two minutes to design it after I’d explained what I wanted and why. I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone else, since I wasn’t entirely sure my desperate plan would work. But I hoped.

  For the first time since my arrest, I felt like I had some measure of control.

  Michael stopped the van when the crowd was too thick for us to get any closer to the Alliance steps. He cut the engine, and a deafening silence filled the car.

  “Anyone have any questions?” Kaira asked.

  No one did.

  “Alright then.” Kaira unbuckled her seatbelt. “Let’s do this.”

  I opened the back door of the van and stepped out, adjusting my holster and bulletproof vest.

  As Kaira moved past me, I put a hand on her elbow.

  “Be careful,” I told her.

  She let her hand drop and squeezed mine for a second.

  “This will all be over soon,” she said quietly. A complicated smile curved her lips, and then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd before I could think of a response.

  Shaking myself, I pushed through the crowd, looking for the man whose face Smith had left plastered on the wall for the past day. I tried not to look at the signs people were holding up, but they were impossible to ignore.

  Nats get out was the most popular one, but there were plenty of other gems.

  Mag perps apprehended, but where’s Galder? another sign read.

  The Alliance = Nat Governing.

  Some of the signs had been magicked so they displayed footage of the murders on loop. I caught my own face on a number of them. It made me want to hunch my shoulders and duck my head, even though no one would ever recognize me with the illusion Kaira had given me.

  I had never seen so many people in one place in my life. It was like how I imagined it would feel to be in Times Square on New Year’s Eve.

  I remembered one of Valencia’s rallies I’d caught sight of on the news only a few weeks ago. There had been no more than a dozen Magics shouting and holding up signs. Now, there were thousands.

  The thought of how far our city had fallen in less than a week—and how much farther it would yet fall if Valencia got her way—twisted my insides. I reminded myself she was why we were here. We were going to prove that Valencia was behind the murders. It wouldn’t undo the damage that had been done to the fragile unity between Naturals and Magics, but that could be mended.

  Easy peasy, as A.J. would say.

  A fat, gray cloud burst into existence directly over the Alliance building. The crowd went wild.

  “Welcome, newest memb-ahs of the UnAllied!” Valencia called in he
r classic Boston accent.

  The Rain Maker would be impossible to miss, even if she wasn’t standing in front of the microphone. Valencia’s dress was cow-patterned today, which had A.J. babbling in my ear about the environment and bovine rights. Her signature leopard-print purse was slung over her arm as she controlled her tiny rain storm like an orchestra conductor.

  I tried to tune out her bigoted speech as I scanned the crowd for the Manipulator, who should be somewhere close by.

  “Down with Nats,” Valencia called. “Down with the Alliance!”

  The crowd cheered.

  “We won’t let them control us any long-ah,” she continued. “I challenge each of you to come out to vote to put an end to the Alliance once and for all!”

  There was more cheering and applauding. I swallowed the bile that was rising from my stomach.

  “Two-thirds vote, Mags! That’s all we need to end the Alliance. That’s all we need to get a real lead-ah in charge of this city. And I swear, I won’t stop until Mags are the only ones left standing!”

  I couldn’t believe anyone could stand to listen to such filth, and yet, the crowd was eating up her every word. I could see the civilization our city had maintained for thirty years crumbling before my eyes. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed to keep from storming up those stairs and knocking Valencia unconscious just to shut her up.

  Not that beating up Valencia would help my case…but damn, it would feel good.

  “The vote will be held in the Mag building on Commonwealth all day Tuesday. That’s in three days, people…three days until the Alliance is nothing more than a nightma-yah. I’ll see you all on Tuesday!”

  The crowd roared in approval, and chants of End the Alliance rang in my ears.

  Three days. That’s all we had to apprehend the real killer and pacify the angry Magics. If we failed, the Alliance would be dissolved, and we’d be thrown into civil war.

  “Holy schnikey,” A.J. said into my earpiece. “Three days?!”

  “Let’s just focus on getting Valencia,” Kaira replied, her voice grim. “We’ll worry about the rest later.”

  Valencia introduced the head of LA’s UnAllied, a Level 6 Levitator. The woman hovered over the crowd as she began her speech about how the Alliance had been lying to Magics and was really just using the guise of unity to continue oppressing them.

  I pressed a hand over my earpiece, trying to make out Smith’s voice amid all the other sounds. He was still in the van, using a drone to keep a bird’s eye view of the whole rally. There were so many people here, there was no way any of us standing in the crowd would be able to find the guy we were searching for.

  “The Manipulator’s standing on the bottom step of the Alliance building, on the side closer to Franklin Street,” Smith said. “Wearing a Red Sox cap.”

  “Everyone’s got a Red Sox cap,” I replied, scanning the sea of people.

  “Beard. Green shirt.”

  I pushed through a family holding signs that read Give Galder the Chair in glittered lettering.

  I imagined the sign was figurative, since the electric chair wasn’t used for executions anymore.

  Smith’s voice in my ear guided me as I cut through the crowd. As the only one immune to the Manipulator’s magic, it would be up to me to distract the man long enough for the others to get Valencia.

  My pulse jumped when I finally spotted the Manipulator.

  The guy was about two feet taller and at least a hundred pounds heavier than his picture had suggested. I’d give Smith hell about it later. As I watched, a little boy tried to scoot past the man to run up the Alliance steps.

  The Manipulator grabbed the back of the kid’s jacket and bent until they were eye level. The man grinned, showing off the silver grills plating his teeth. The kid squealed in terror and ran back in the opposite direction.

  Nice.

  The Manipulator stood, cracked his knuckles, and brushed his hand against a bulge in his jacket.

  “He’s got a gun,” Smith said.

  “I see,” I said, gathering myself. At least Kaira had illusioned me to look almost as big and fierce as the Manipulator himself. But the illusion wouldn’t help if the other guy attacked me.

  “Are you guys ready?” I asked, trying not to move my lips too much in case the Manipulator caught sight of me.

  “Bri?” Kaira asked. “You ready?”

  “Oh, hell yeah,” she replied. “As soon as Valencia’s done signing that woman’s bra, I’ll grab her.”

  I almost laughed at the disgust in Bri’s voice.

  “Okay, Gray. Go ahead.”

  I pulled the police ID off my belt and strode up to the Manipulator.

  “Natural Police,” I stated in a firm, cop-like voice. “Sir, I’m going to need you to come with me.”

  The Manipulator bared his grills, took two steps forward, and grabbed a fistful of my uniform.

  “Get the fuck away from me, Nat,” he snarled.

  Okay, so it would seem the soft approach wasn’t going to work.

  I reached for my unloaded gun. At the same moment, the Manipulator pulled his gun out of his jacket and aimed it at me.

  I heard Kaira scream something into my earpiece, but all of my attention was fixed on the Manipulator.

  “We’re surrounded by thousands of people with cell phones right now,” I said, keeping my voice even. “What do you think the odds are that not a single one of them is filming this right now?”

  The man’s gaze shifted left and right before coming back to settle on me.

  “And what do you think is going to happen to you after the video of you shooting a cop—a Natural cop—is pasted all over the nightly news?” I slowly lowered my gun and put it back in its holster.

  “By this time tomorrow, you’ll be in a holding cell awaiting execution.” I smiled. “I’ve been told the last meal for first high law offenders is soggy green beans.”

  The Manipulator’s hold on his gun faltered.

  “Hey!”

  A nearby cop—a real one—was racing toward us, his own weapon raised. The Manipulator looked at the cop, looked at me, and took off.

  He blasted a path through the crowd, heedless of the people in his way.

  I went after him.

  “Stop,” I commanded, taking the time to go around, rather than through, a family in my way.

  The Manipulator looked behind him as he reached a thinner section of the crowd. He stepped off the curb and started sprinting down the street, which had been blocked off from traffic.

  The Manipulator might be a powerful Magic, but his fitness wasn’t anything to write home about. He certainly hadn’t jogged five miles a day for the last three years like I had. As soon as I wasn’t blocked in by people on every side, I closed the distance between us.

  I tackled the guy from behind. The Manipulator hit the pavement face-first with me on top of him.

  Not very graceful, but effective.

  “Boston Natural Police,” I yelled, using one hand to wrench the Manipulator’s hands behind his back and the other to hold up my badge as five real cops came running down the street toward us with their weapons raised.

  “Help me apprehend this asshole,” I commanded the first cop to reach us, because I realized I had no idea how to actually use the handcuffs that were dangling from my belt.

  “Want me to get my cah?” the cop asked in a Boston accent that was only slightly less thick than Valencia’s.

  “Nah, just hold him,” I replied, ramping up my own Boston accent for effect. “The guy’s a Mag.”

  “Shit, then what’re we doin’ with him?”

  “How should I know?” I replied. “Captain told us to get him. Keep him here while I call it in.”

  As soon as I was sure the cop wasn’t letting go of the Manipulator, I disappeared into the crowd.

  “Guys?” I asked, holding my microphone up to my mouth. “Where are we at?”

  “Valencia’s in the cruiser. Gray, meet us on the c
orner of Congress and Sudbury.”

  I skidded to a stop and changed direction. “On my way.”

  CHAPTER 25

  The van door opened, and I found myself squeezing onto a seat beside a shrieking Valencia Stark.

  Everyone was soaked, and it took me a few confused seconds to realize that it was raining inside the van.

  We had prepared for Valencia’s temper tantrum, and Smith was huddled in the backseat under waterproof tarps along with all of his electronics. His voice was slightly muffled when he said, “The path ahead’s clear. Gun it!”

  With Michael behind the wheel, it was more of a controlled acceleration, but with the siren on our van screeching for effect, it still felt dramatic.

  “I know my rights!” Valencia shouted at the top of her lungs as rain continued to soak us. “You people can’t hold me. I want to talk to my lawy-ah!”

  “Turn off the rain, or I’ll knock you out,” Bri said, scowling as she wrung out her hair.

  Valencia bared her teeth, but the rain stopped falling.

  It did nothing to stop the unpleasant squishing sound every time someone shifted on the seat. Valencia’s tent-like dress draped over my lap, soaking me even more. The only thing that wasn’t soaked was her leopard-print purse, which I realized was vinyl.

  Yutika reached over and pulled a dark hood over Valencia’s head so she wouldn’t be able to see where we were taking her. The Rain Maker screamed and snarled, but with Bri sitting next to her, there wasn’t much she could do.

  After Valencia had shouted herself hoarse, the van went quiet as we drove to the warehouse on the Boston waterfront that Smith, Yutika, and A.J. had spent several hours preparing for our purposes. As we neared the waterfront, Michael kept glancing in his rearview mirror.

  “What’s wrong?” Kaira demanded.

  “Nothing,” he muttered. “I thought we had a tail, but he just turned off.”

  “What’d you do with my Manipulat-ah, moth-ah fuck-ahs?” Valencia demanded, her voice slightly muffled from the hood.

  “Shut up,” Bri and I told her at the same time.