Chapter Ten—When Magic Hits the Fan

John waited for Kyle to start shooting, saw that his blip on their radar had turned the corner. But the shots didn’t come, which meant there was no one to shoot. He too turned the corner and aimed his pistol, but there were no guards.

They met at the doors, which were situated into a depression in the hallway. On each side were lovely lacquered tables filled with knickknacks that belonged in museums.

“Is Yates not here?” John asked, meaning in the penthouse, not just the bedroom areas.

“According to my sources, he’s supposed to be,” Kyle whispered. Then something on him beeped. He reached into his suit and pulled out a pink crystal set in a technological casing. “Damn,” he said.

“Mage presence?” John asked.

Kyle nodded. “Just beyond these doors.”

“Wait,” John said. “Where are the guards, then?”

Kyle shrugged.

John looked at the doors and reasserted his grip on his pistol. “Do they know we’re coming?”

Kyle narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

Was that even possible? John wondered. We infiltrated this place really quietly.

But maybe something was tripped. Maybe the guards had heart beat monitors and when they stopped, a silent alert went off. Maybe the police were on their way. Hell, maybe Yates had a private security force on the way.

This wasn’t good.

If he had a panic room located in the bedroom, this was over, but usually panic rooms were location in a more central area for easy access.

There was only one way to find out.

He nodded to John, and John nodded back. Together they both kicked their door open revealing a foyer of white marble and leather couches.

There were two guards there who started firing but Kyle and John were already shooting. The two men went down.

John moved in, swinging his pistol back and forth as he searched for targets. There were none.

Then boots stamped down the hall leading to the foyer. John turned, but Kyle swung his arm around and put a round through the guard’s head the moment he broke the corner.

“Nice shot,” John said.

“And I haven’t even started using my knife yet, Staxx.”

“Hmm,” John harrumphed.

He was always such a show off—full of bravado.

John/Staxx was too, but he was somewhat more subdued.

Noise came from behind the set of double doors leading to the bedroom. The gold handle turned, and they came open.

“Shit,” Kyle said. “There he is.”

It was a man in what looked like a business suit, except his loafers were pointed, his suit cuffs wide and hanging at the wrists, the evidence of a pulled back hood on the jacket around his neck.

“The mage,” John said. “Hey guy,” he added. “Step aside and you can live.”

The mage smirked then hurled a ball of magic toward him. He jumped, dodging the magical projectile that shattered the wall behind him into a rain of dust and wood and scored metal supports.

Kyle opened up, but the mage was good. He put forth berries that deflected his lead, then the mage launched a shimmering ball of the same magical energy at Kyle. He jumped behind the sofa.

A worry assaulted John, since he wasn’t sure Kyle had successfully dodged that magic attack. Instead of worrying about him, John leaned over his sofa and put down multiple rounds, but the mage turned, deflected his shots and pulled his pistol right out of his hand using kinetic magic.

“Shit!”

The mage laughed. “You two cunts and are fucked.”

Suddenly John’s feet were lifted off the tiles and his airflow cut off. He kicked his legs, grasping at his throat as if he could stop whatever unseen force of magic held him there.

“Max. Dead. Staxx, going to be dead,” the mage said, a smirk on his face. “And I get to be the one to snuff you.” Excitement came over his face, a feral psychotic glee. “What luck!”

And then the mage went rigid. John saw as well as felt his muscles tense and his eyes went wide in surprise. The grip around John’s throat lessened, then stopped. He fell to the tiles and coughed.

Getting to his knees, he looked up and found Max behind the mage, his mouth near the man’s ear. “The only mistake you made,” Max said through his teeth, was thinking you killed me, dumbass.”

And then he pulled the knife out and the mage went limp and died over the couch cushions.

“You all right, Staxx?”

John coughed again, nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Shit.”

Kyle laughed. “Fun stuff.”

John chuckled. “Let’s go have a talk with your asshole.”

“What?”

“Yates?”

“Right,” Kyle said. “But the way you phrased that…”

“You know what I”—he coughed again—“you know what I meant!”

“Sure did, big guy.”