The Trickster’s Lament preview #2

Another glimpse of my novel-in-progress.

Don’t you just hate it when a plan falls apart? A simple museum heist has gone completely off the rails for Hermes. The trickster god better think fast.

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I didn’t wait for more gunfire and sprinted out of their line of sight into a nearby gift shop. I vaulted the cashier’s desk and winded through the shelves of merchandise. As I did so, I felt a sudden and intense accumulation of magic behind me, a growing pressure that was followed by a violent rush of wind. The sensation swiftly changed from that of a strong gust to the feeling of barbed-wire digging into me. I dropped to the floor.

The clamor of the spell demolished the shop. Books, toys, mugs, and pens were caught up and eviscerated by a wind storm condensed into a narrow room-wide blade of fast-moving air. Metal shrieked as the spell sliced apart shelving. It traveled to the end of the room before it dissipated, leaving a deep gash in the wall.

Wind magic is hard. Controlling it with any degree of precision, let alone focusing it into a cutting edge, is notorious among mages for its difficulty. Most would-be practitioners either give up or lose limbs. These mercenaries were no amateurs. They also obviously had no interest in witnesses.

After the spell ran its course, I pushed myself to my feet and leapt up and over the pile of shredded debris. My foot caught on a piece of ripped cardboard, and I tripped. Four pops of a gun sounded behind me. One of the bullets caught me in the shin. As I regained my footing, centuries of discipline helped me to force the shock of pain to the fringes of my awareness. Another bullet did the proverbial whistle past my ear and kicked up a bit of plaster a few feet away.

Exiting the shop, I reached the second-floor rotunda overlooking the lobby. Speed was essential, so, without stopping, I rolled forward, defying the pain in my leg. I shapeshifted as I came out of the roll, landing as a tortoise whose inertia and smooth underside skidded me along the tile floor like a misshapen hockey puck. Shots aimed at human head height whizzed over me.

I came to a rest and peeked out of my shell. Three men exited the gift shop and proceeded cautiously, two of them with guns raised. Before they could spot me, I changed into a fly and circled behind them. Strong hands swiftly grabbed the pair of gunmen by the napes of their neck and slammed their heads together.

The mage spun around at the sound of my attack. He was dressed like the others – black body armor and balaclava, night vision goggles – but he carried no gun except a sidearm at his hip. His hands were stretched out with palms forward. He was furiously chanting to focus his magic. Not fast enough.

I swung one of the unconscious mercs into a wide arc. At the apex of the throw, I let go. The merc flew gracelessly into the mage. The man saw it and nimbly hopped aside, dodging entirely.

But I followed through the toss and kept spinning. I gripped the second merc with both hands and hurled him as hard as I could. It was a beautiful hit. Both bodies were lifted off the floor and traveled a perfectly horizontal trajectory into a wall.

With luck and medical attention, they would keep all their ribs intact.

More footsteps echoed in the museum’s open space. This was becoming annoying. I didn’t have the inclination to play soldier, and I was running out of time. I had to find Bast. She was still somewhere in the museum, and she had my prize in her hands. Catching up with her was my one and only priority. These thugs were a distraction, at best.

I gritted my teeth. She had better still be here.

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Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.