Cass

It had only been a week and a day since the nightmare op that had taken Stephen away from me, but when SWAT called, I had to answer.

Of course it was in the middle of the night when the call came. Rogue mages and bad guys in general have terrible manners when it comes to arranging the time and place of their particular meltdown.
Somebody really should send a nice note to all the psychos out there to simmer down every once and a while so that we could recover emotionally from a rough operation. That would be awfully nice of them.

I looked at my phone, even though the particular ring tone had already told me who was calling. It was the office, all right.

The shit must’ve really hit the fan if SWAT was calling in Squad Four. After the meat grinder we’d been through the week before, we should’ve had months to mentally recover.

What the hell. It wasn’t like I’d been sleeping much anyway, those last eight days since my team had been chewed up.

I dragged myself out of bed and shrugged my way into a set of the navy blue tactical fatigues we always wore. By the time I did up my bootlaces and clipped on my gun belt, my mind was fully awake and I’d shaken off the dreams of inhuman monsters I’d been lost in moments ago.

I dumped my equipment bag on the bed and took all of ten seconds to glance through it and make sure everything was there. It always was. Survivalists and preppers like to call it a “go bag”; a pre-packaged duffel bag or backpack with the essentials one might need if disaster struck. Grab it and go.

Well, disaster was my profession, so my go bag was grabbed on a regular basis.

After that, all that was left was my Glock, sitting there on the nightstand like a bad reminder that I should’ve gone into accounting or some shit like that. Hell. Who was I kidding? I’ve been stuck firmly on this path since I was a kid. There’s nothing else I’m good at.

Still. When I went to grab it, a little of the skin of my forearm was exposed, and I could see the pinkish line of skin that served as a rude reminder of one of the many wounds I’d endured just over a week ago. It was fading fast already, but flesh that has been knitted back together with magic always holds that freshly-healed pinkish hue for a few weeks until it fades back to normal.

It made me pause. The sight of that pink skin brought back the memory; the hooked claw digging in and dragging through my flesh like a razor blade. The pain. The blood. The chaos all around me.
I closed my eyes tight against the sight of that pinkish skin, against that memory. Clenched my fists tight, as well. That helps, sometimes. Gets you back into thinking about what needs to be done, rather than dwelling on what’s been done to you.
All right, then, I thought. Once more unto the breech, I guess.

I shoved my pistol into its holster hard, as if to shove aside any more of those hesitant thoughts, and swung my go bag over my shoulder. Just another day at the office.

The text message I’d received included the street address for tonight’s festivities, and by the time I got into my car, I had the route called up on my GPS. The app showed a bunch of traffic on the streets around the location, even as late as it was. Damn, maybe this was something big.

Didn’t matter. Around my apartment, the streets were empty… it was three in the morning… but I put my little blue flashing light onto the dash of my car anyway. Safety first.

Now that I was moving, I plugged my phone into the car, and the last podcast I’d been listening to automatically kicked in and started playing over the speakers. It was a new one I was trying out; a young former MMA fighter and an older stand-up comedian talking about this and that.

This time, they were talking about magic.

“Yo, all I’m sayin’, B,” the younger guy said, “is being able to toss around a lightning bolt would be pretty dope.”

The older man laughed a little. “Well, yes, but let’s think about this for a second. Okay, for starters, think about the talent it takes for a person to be able to perform a Trick that powerful. Think of the years and years of training, and that whole time, you never know whether or not you’re going to be able to do it.”

“Yeah, but…”

“No, think about this. Think about… let’s set aside lightning bolts or something splashy like that. Even a simpler Trick. It takes these mages years and years of study and practice, every day, and a lot of them never progress beyond being able to do even the lowest levels of Tricks.”

“Still, I’m saying…”

“Hang on. I want you to think about this. Let’s say you decide to study magic. Let’s say you show some aptitude early on… they are testing in all the public schools now.”

“Yeah, I remember doing that as a kid. They made us hold those metal handles and look at that weird painting thing…”

“A glyph. It’s called a glyph.”

“Whatever. Anyway, my shit didn’t move at all,” the young man said with a little laugh. “I’m talking, not even like a little twitch.”

“Nothing?”

“Naw, nothing. We had a couple of kids who moved the needle a little, though. I remember. I don’t think they ever did anything with it, though.”

“Well, that’s probably because they couldn’t afford the tutors,” the older man said. “Training in magic is expensive. But let me get back to my earlier point. So let’s say you show some talent, and you can afford the time and money to go through those courses. Immediately… and I mean immediately… your name goes on a government list of registered mages. Even if you quit the very next day, you are still registered with the government. For life.”

“That’s messed up, B. Like Big Brother shit.”

“Little bit, maybe. But magic is dangerous. My point is, if there’s ever any criminal investigation involving magic in your neighborhood, your name is on a very short list with the local police department. Better have an alibi. Better have an alibi. Or, good luck with finding a lawyer who specializes in magical legal defense who doesn’t charge at least… what? Fifteen hundred an hour? Minimum?”

“Minimum? Messed up, man. I mean, even if I quit? Like, even if I can’t do any Tricks at all?”

“Right. And think how difficult it would be to prove that you can’t do something. They don’t know. The cops don’t know that you never completed this course or that one. So you’d better have an alibi.”

“It’s a freakin’ hassle, is what it is. Any magic case, and they’re up my ass? Fuck that, man.”

“Exactly. Exactly. Now, think about all of that hassle, and risk, and add that to the time and money it takes just to find out if you’ll ever be able to throw any Tricks around… now ask yourself this: is it worth it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it worth it? I mean, realistically, in your day to day life. Okay, let’s say you can shoot a lightning bolt. Oh, ha ha, okay, I’m gonna fry anybody that looks at me the wrong way or cuts me off in traffic. No, you’re not. No, you’re not. That’s murder. How fast does your ass end up in prison, and for what? I mean, think about that. By that logic… why not just carry around a gun? Right? You don’t carry around a gun, and just shoot anybody that pisses you off, right?”

“True.”

“Or how about this? You’re a trained, professional MMA fighter. And a big boy. You’ve got the capability right now to do a lot of damage to somebody if you want to. But do you?”

“Naw, man, you know me. I’m a… I’m a pussycat outside the ring. I don’t like violence. Like, you know, if you and me agree to have a match, I’ll beat your ass, but…”

“But you’re not a psycho. You’re a decent person.”

“Right.”

“So this is my point. We all see these mages do these crazy things, but really, in a practical sense, most magic isn’t all that useful in your day to day life. It doesn’t solve a lot of problems. And I think that’s why more people don’t go to all the trouble of studying it.”

“I get your point. Still, it would be pretty dope to have that shit in your back pocket if you wanted it.”

The older man laughed again. “Yeah, yeah. It still is pretty cool, right?”

“Oh, hey, I have a question. Those glyph things… who makes those, anyway? Google that shit for me…”

I switched off the podcast to give myself a little quiet. It was a discussion that had been gone over a million times before, on every podcast and in every corner bar all over the globe.

It was nothing but talk at this point. Tonight, I was going to have to deal with the sharp end of the consequences of the wrong people getting their hands on some magical abilities.

Again.

I saw the sea of flashing lights created by the squad cars making up the perimeter around the target building. I flashed my badge to one of the uniforms who was directing traffic away from the perimeter, made my way as close as I could to that moat of flashing lights, and parked.

I gave myself one more second to get centered before getting out of the car. It was déjà vu all over again. This is how it always went with SWAT; something wacky goes down, the uniforms respond to see what’s up, they get clobbered by something horrible and fall back to set up a perimeter. Then my phone goes off with a very distinctive ring tone and I reach for my go bag.

“All right, then,” I said to nobody in particular, and got out of the car to wade into the chaos.

It wasn’t until I reached the wide parking lot in front of the office building that it finally clicked into place exactly where I was. I had to let out a bitter little laugh. About time it came around to bite them in the ass, I thought.

In front of the building was a cement blocker identifying it in glittering steel letters: Revival Technologies, Incorporated.