Giantfall (Secret Magent Book 1) Page 4
I did the only thing I could think of to avoid certain death. I dashed to side of the suite and leaped through the glass window and out of the sixtieth floor of the building.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Chapter 9
As I flung myself from the sixtieth floor, I had just enough time to wriggle about and watch the entire suite glow gore red for a brief instant before turning into red mush. It liquefied like an ice cube hit by a jet engine and then sloshed out in a tidal wave of blood.
You know you’re having a bad day when a tidal wave of blood is the least of your worries. I had an express ticket for the ground floor, and at this rate I was going to end up high fiving Lisistrathiel at the gates of Hell in a short thirty seconds.
Abandon all hope, ye who enter.
Panic surged through me. Not because I was mildly uncomfortable with heights or anything though. Really. I was all out of tricks and had nothing but a wand, a magic hammer, and a rune stone to my name.
I blinked as a faint memory itched at the back of my mind.
The runestone. It didn’t operate on normal shield magics, did it? I saw it in action myself. No slowing down or freezing the bullets that thundered at me minutes ago. It deflected them.
At first, I thought it was because of the sheer strength of the enchantment, but the shield itself wasn’t all that strong. It was well made to conserve weightiness and promote usefulness, but it’s creators must have crafted it not to stop bullets but to redirect them.
It’s not a shield made of the same hard arcana as my wand blade. It’s a shield of pure force.
“Quality Dwarf engineering!” I shouted.
It wasn’t much of a chance, but it was all I had. If I could trick the enchantment into thinking I’m a dangerous projectile, it might just bounce off of it too. I turned the stone around so that the rune faced me, gripped it in both hands, and slammed it against my chest as hard as I possibly could.
The sound of a miniature thunderclap echoed in my ears as I felt like I’d cannonballed into the middle of a trampoline, suddenly flying upward and backwards. Blown towards the Meadhouse, my back crunched painfully against the balustrade of the second floor, and the rest of the runestone’s force deposited me into a crumpled heap just over the railing.
I rose up with a groan, raising a hand to my aching back. Splash went the liquefied remnants of the entire penthouse suite a split second later. All over the now red painted sidewalk below.
Ensanguination.
When I turned my eyes up, I saw a janitor staring at me in awe. I rolled my shoulders, rubbed the crick in my neck out, and winked at her as I made my way down to the ground floor and out of the building.
“Charles one, forces of gravity and blood magic, zero,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief.
“So you figured it out, huh?” asked an intrusive voice.
It’s only paranoia if there isn’t a Hell-spawned fiend out to get your soul.
“Lisistrathiel,” I said, turning to see the she-devil.
She was wearing a form-fitting winter coat and brandished a red soaked umbrella. Those magnificent legs, skin brazenly bared to the cold night air, taunted me. Her convenient closeness to where I had nearly fallen to my death couldn’t possibly have been coincidence.
A wicked grin widened on her lips. “It’s a good thing you found out how that pet rock of yours works, Charlie. Otherwise I would have had to catch you in my arms all romantic like.”
“You’d probably like that,” I shot back before adding, “You lied to me. About Heidi. She wasn’t a Vettir. She was a Jotun.”
Lis literally gasped. “Me? A liar? Never Charlie, if you can’t trust me then who can you trust?”
The umbrella was closed. Her smooth leather boots walked their way over to me in slow inevitable steps.
“Besides,” she added, “all I told you was that she wasn’t who she said she was.”
“Excuses. You knew I’d need my gun too, damn you.”
“Psh. Of course I knew that.”
“Then why?” I demanded.
Jagged eyebrows rose up as she innocently smiled, “It’s because I like you, of course. I just thought you could use some extra practice with your wand.”
“I nearly died!” I said, fists clenched.
“Proverbs, thirteen twenty four,” Lis began without missing a beat. “He that spareth his rod hateth his child.”
“Oh no, you don’t get to just quote the Bible at--”
The sudden ringing of my cellphone cut me off. It was Lodri.
“Meteoric Iron. I remember. What’s the situation.”
“Word back from Nine Towers. Told them what you told me. Big cowls told me to tell you you’ve done well. Coordinates have been sent to the usual place for your next assignment.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. New assignment?
“The job’s not done,” I replied.
“Your job is. Dunkirk is dead, you failed to defend the Jotun Locus at the ship museum, and instead of casing the Aesir, you’re off at the Meadhouse picking up-- Grngh. Two new agents have already been dispatched. From the upper echelons. If you’re not out of the country in twenty four hours then they’ll consider you a renegade.”
I felt cold fury seep through my veins. “And put me down on sight like a rabid dog?” I asked.
“Twenty four,” Lodri repeated, and hung up.
My hand hung limply at my side, the sound of the tone reaching my ears still.
“Thank goodness,” came Lis’ voice, filled with relief. “Duty all done. Mission complete. You did the right thing. That means you can erase one more sin off that list of yours and move on.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“No?” she asked, her voice a seductive hiss. “Charlie, Charlie, Nine Towers doesn’t want your help anymore. Worse, they sounded awful serious about branding you a renegade should you disobey. They’re the good guys, remember? Let them do their job.”
She was right, of course. Yet, even though I’d done right by Nine Towers I couldn’t help but feel that I’d failed. Harry was dead, Rurik would go on unnoticed, and Brigitte...
“Brigitte needs my help.”
“You were attacked up top, weren’t you? She’s probably tricked you. Set you up for murder most foul or something. A regular Judas, that one,” Lis whispered into my ear.
I closed my eyes for a moment and shook my head. “You don’t know that.”
Lis snorted derisively at that. “It’s clear as day. Why are you wasting time and risking your life? It’s not even your mission anymore.”
I smiled. “I think I need more answers before acting on a whim like that.”
The she-devil grimaced, sharp fangs peeking past tight lips. “Some answers hurt, you know.”
I turned around to fully face Lis before saying, “Better a hard truth than a happy lie. I’ve made my choice.”
Molten yellow eyes trembled with an emotion I didn’t recognize, before Lis shrugged and smiled. “Drat. Looks like you’re serious about doing things the hard way. Such a busybody. What do you have in mind to do then, renegade?”
“I’ll pay a visit to Brigitte. Play it by ear from there. I’ll be in touch.”
I turned to walk away, leaving Lis in the dust.
Too close. Even though my logic told me that she was right, I couldn’t help but feel that something was amiss in my cold black heart. Brigitte wouldn’t set me up. Not like that. You can’t fake the kind of blush I saw on her face.
Just as I sensed I was alone with my thoughts again, a terrible weight materialized on my shoulders. Searing hot claws dug playfully past my shirt and into my Kevlar vest as a voice belonging to Lis and yet a few octaves deeper, whispered into my ears.
“There’s always next time, Charles Montgomery Locke.”
In the blink of an eye, the crushing burden of sin vanished.
I grinned ruefully. “Anywhere, anytime, Lisistrathiel.”
Chapter 10
Pardon the pun.
The lockstone she gave me had just enough faint residue belonging to her that the ritual circle, drawn in classic bone white chalk, directed me right to her. And all it cost me was twenty minutes of concentration and a pair of legs to follow the trail of magical residue.
I felt like a blood hound closing in on the kill as I climbed over the wrought iron fence of a gated residential and stole through the night. I licked my lips as the spiritual residue faded to wisps. I was close now. I could taste it.
The Gothic style house I skulked behind had to be the place. I didn’t even need to press my ear to the wall to hear the garbled voices of Vetti accents. Maybe old Rurik was here too. Two birds with one stone?
I doubt it with my kind of luck.
As I peered past the corner of the house’s side, I saw an immaculate yard spread wide and empty but for the solitary hot house to my left. I could see exotic flowers and plants that had no right to exist in the frigid Northern climate thrive and crowd the glass of the sanctuary.
Quickly now. Dawn would break in the next half hour, and it’d only get harder to play spy from there on in.
Just as I resolved to break cover and seek an entrance, I heard a gentle sigh and the sound of a window opening wide. The pungent scent of cigarette smoke reached my nostrils. One look up and I grinned ear to ear.
What light through yonder window breaks? Brigitte, smoking an expensive brand of cancer stick.
Like a crocodile snapping my jaws upon a defenseless gazelle, I reached up in one fluid movement, clamped a hand onto the buxom Vettir’s mouth and pulled her out of the window, pinning her to the ground.
Her eyes were wide with fear before softening in recognition.
“Care for a rendez-vous?” I asked, before spiriting her away into the hot house.
I shut the door behind me with my free hand before focusing my attention onto Brigitte. She was breathing hard and had a hand gripping my wrist, though she wasn’t struggling.
“I’m going to take my hand off of your mouth now Ms. Helmsdottr. I’m sure you know what will happen should you call for help.”
I paused a moment to let her digest my words before taking my hand off her mouth. Brigitte gasped as I released her, the dim light of the hot house filled with her panting.
“You idiot. You should have--”
“Died in the ambush you set up for me?” I intercepted.
Stunned silence, and then, “What ambush?”
“Penthouse suite. It was a trap. Blood ritual on the floor and Vettir thugs waiting for me. They very nearly stained my good infiltration suit,” I supplied.
“That can’t be. Only me and a sparse few others knew of it at all...”
Brigitte’s breath caught in her throat as she realized why I had come and why I had been none to gentle in her abduction.
“Charles,” she began. “I didn’t think-- I’m sorry that... I understand.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. That was not the reaction of a guilty party trying to weasel their way out of getting killed in a garden shed at four thirty in the morning.
“Brigitte. No harm done. When you roll the dice as often as warlocks do, it’s more surprising if we don’t get into a spot of trouble like that. At least once in a while,” I replied.
“What?” she asked, making no effort to hide the incredulity in her voice. “You’re just going to believe me?”
“I could still kill you if you’re going to sound that disappointed,” I offered with a shrug. “Besides, you saved yourself.”
I could practically see the thoughtful frown that tugged at her lips. “How?” she demanded.
“Because you gave me a glimpse of who you really are. That ambush isn’t your style. Your response just now isn’t what I’d expect from someone caught red handed either.”
Silence hung over us once more before she replied in a husky voice, “If you keep saying things like that, Mr. Locke, I might want to make it up to you for the false lead. Physically.”
It occurred to me then that Brigitte was not only dressed quite suggestively but crammed quite close to me by the thick vegetation. Her dainty Vettir hands could easily press to my chest and her breathing now came out more ragged. Suggestive. Sex in a hot house with a woman I kidnapped during her smoke break?
That’s what I call romance.
“Intel first,” I managed to whisper into her ear. “Locations. Personnel. Anything that can help me.”
“I don’t have a lot of solids. I don’t have much at all,” she replied.
“It will be enough.”
“Rurik had the coordinates to an old bunker dating back to the Second World War in his personal files. I’ll send the coordinates to your phone. However...” she trailed off.
“However?”
“I gave NORN the coordinates too. A Jotun strike team has already been dispatched to level it in retaliation for the museum attack.”
“Which means both Jotun attackers and Vettir defenders are going to see me and think that I’m working for the other team. What’s worse, they have an hour head start to stomp the bunker flat. Outmanned, outnumbered, outgunned.”
“I know someone on the strike team,” Brigitte said. “It won’t be official, but if I manage to raise them on the channels, I can get them to play nice.”
“And turn a blind eye to a nosy Nine Towers agent coming to help,” I said.
“Yes,” Brigitte replied.
Her hand reached up to stroke my jawline before she stood up and walked past me. She stopped at the hot house door.
“When this is over I’ll be sure to repay you for your trust, Mr. Locke.”
I grabbed her forearm tightly and tugged on it hard enough to startle her. I bent down and whispered in her ear two words. “No glamours.”
“No glamours?” she echoed. “You mean as a Giant?”
“I won’t accept repayment from a Vettir, Ms. Helmsdottr. Do you understand?”
A shudder thrilled up her spine as she audibly gulped. “Repayment without a glamour is... Not possible.”
I stared into the darkness where I knew she stood, saying nothing. To my surprise, she broke the silence first.
“I’ll think about it. Now, hurry.”
I grinned as she shut the shed door on me. A woman of Brigitte’s quality deserved proper romancing.
Two minutes later and my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. Coordinates received.
Business before pleasure, I thought, slipping out of the garden shed and into the stark red dawn light.
Chapter 11
It was a rough road after I got Henry Dunkirk’s car off the E6 highway. I’d been gunning it like there was going to be a prize if I broke the sound barrier, but country roads don’t take kindly to high speeds and poor turning capabilities.
I glanced down at my cell phone’s tracking, which indicated I was right where Brigitte needed me to be. Everything was quiet now in the early light of dawn. Which meant I had enough time to gather some information before I leaped into the fray.
According to the NT database, the bunker apparently belonged to a lengthy defense line erected by the Fuhrer himself almost a century ago in anticipation of an allied invasion of Reich territory. Most were discovered and bulldozed, or turned into tourist traps. Not this one though.
All the maps on the Mundane web showed nothing but dense wilderness for miles around me. Phantom bunkers? What the hell was Rurik thinking, manning Hitler’s Atlantikwall with fresh troops?
The sudden echo of heavy explosives reached my ears and scattered bird and beast alike within the forest. Trees shuddered and the ground shook for the briefest of instants.
“Knock knock,” I muttered, and sprinted towards the sound full tilt.
The word 'fear' is thrown around a lot these days. People f
ear that their kids won’t obey curfew or fear that their social media posts might not get enough up votes from random strangers.
Real fear was watching a Jotun warrior cleave three Goblins into neat halves as they desperately tried to reload spent cartridges. And it wasn’t just one Giant at it either. Like a surreal fight between Vikings and short modern insurgents, I watched the battle rage as I slid down to the bunker’s flank and found a door hidden behind a growth of roots.
Even most of a century old, the door was a formidable slab of iron, likely thick enough to survive a bombardment. Typical German obsession with quality. Thankfully, I came prepared.
Withdrawing from my pocket the tiny brass hammer Lodri had given me, I awkwardly grasped it in a hand, pulled back and slammed it against the bunker door with all my might.
It made a tiny, comical ‘tink’ sound as it hit the slab of iron, and then a half a second later, an explosion of sound made my ears ring.
No. That doesn’t do it justice. The sound I heard in that moment was like the one you hear in theaters before a movie starts, multiplied by a grenade going off next to your head to the power of an air horn waking you from a dead sleep. It knocked me right onto my ass.
I managed to stand up after a bit, legs wobbling and ears wailing. Hoping that was enough to get me in, I turned back to look at the bunker door.
The door wasn’t there. Or rather, there was an immense hole where the door had been. The wall directly behind was littered with shrapnel hammered into it with the force of the sound.
“Tumultumancy,” I murmured, and crept my way into the bunker depths.
The Vetti had the advantage in here. The Giant strike team would be forced to a slow crawl down the claustrophobic corridors, and there was no place for a giant to hide from the concentrated fire power of the gun toting Goblins.
No sooner had the thought crossed my mind, than I came across just such a situation. Five of the green skinned thugs leered intently down a hall with Kalashnikovs poised to fire. They probably had some Jotun pinned down at the far end.