Page 102 of Worse Fates

Rurik steps forward and looks around. “Everyone missed this.” He turns, nods to the estate. “No homeless or teens fucking shit up.”

Arms folded, I join them.

Summer curses again.

I kick a discard spray bottle away towards empty bottles that clink as they meet. Whatever poor souls who lingered around this place, for fun or safety, I can assume are most likely long gone—their blood drained or bodies used for their spellbooks.

“C’mon. No time to waste.” Rurik crouches, then pushes off with powerful legs, vaulting over the fence.

I glance over at Summer. She cocks an eyebrow, as if I’ve somehow forgotten who she is. Then, with an air of casual arrogance, the shadow under her feet darkens—like a pool of spilled ink—before swallowing her whole, as if a trapdoor had sprung.

Shrugging, I leap over the fence just as Summer’s shadow unfurls, and she steps out like a diver emerging from deep waters.

I fill my lungs with scents, trying to hold back a gag as rank air churns my gut.

“There’s too much happening to get a read on where they are,” I say, pushing the air out my lungs.

Beside me, I notice the waving tendrils of shadows flowing from Summer’s hand, that soon vanish on a huff.

“Same, a lotta magic and killing happened in too short a time for me to pin point any direction.”

“Then it looks like we hunt the old fashioned way. Stay low.” Rurik moves on ahead, gaze whipping back and forth to ensure no one hides within the shadow.

I move beside him, stepping over frozen puddles and the odd dead rat. Overcast clouds shroud the sun, heavy with the promise of rain. But even a downpour won’t cleanse the rot of blood mages for an age.

Summer hisses for us to stop, and when we turn to her she’s aimed down another pockmarked road, near a stubby warehouse. A tree has toppled over into the roof and it’s hard to tell what colour it used to be with all the graffiti covering it.

I go over, Rurik a hunting dog at my side, and follow Summer as she carefully steps towards the building. As we draw closer, we press our backs to what must’ve been a small office block.

And, by the warehouse, I spot two blood mages. They look young, maybe even teenagers from their gangly postures. They’re joking about something, fist bumping with spellbooks made from human flesh clasped to their legs with belts.

“Apollo.” Rurik’s voice is ragged as he moves forward and eyes desperate as if his long lost soulmate stood before him. “He’s close.”

Hand shooting out, I take a fistful of Rurik’s leather jacket and drag him back. “Brother, stop. Think. We don’t want to set off any alarms.”

Rurik doesn’t move an inch, he stays silent, his muscles taut and nearly vibrating with energy.

Shooting a weary look at Rurik, Summer edges closer. “Let me handle this.”

The shadow mage holds out her hands—one above the other—as she twists her fingers and coaxes thin air to take shape. Her eyes swallowed in a dark eclipse as a ball of pure darkness, no bigger than a tennis ball, is weaved into existence that sucks away all light and sound.

Then, with a flick of her wrist, she tosses it toward the two boys—almost casually, considering the destruction it’s about to cause

The ball doesn’t land but hovers midair when it reaches them, pulsing once before pushing everything outwards—the shocked boys, cast aside cans and debris, even their shadows.

If the orb hadn’t taken away noise in its small orbit, I could’ve almost heard the sick crunch of their noses and foreheads smacked together. But even as they crumble, unconscious, to the floor, there is only silence until the black orb sucks into its own orbit and vanishes with a wink.

Rurik rips out of my clutches after a beat and I follow him towards the two, our fangs sliding out.

“Wait, wait!” Summer hisses. “They might be able to sense fresh blood being spilled.”

So instead of murdering them, Rurik and I drag the two towards the back and tie them up with discharged rusted chains.

Now that we’re closer, I can hear voices inside the warehouse.

Dusting off my hands, I take the lead and go around back, trying to spy through cracked windows. But it’s difficult to make out anything through boarded up windows or glass covered in a thick layer of grime and dust.

It isn’t until we’re on the other side I find an uncovered broken window for me to peer through.