Rust & Magic- The Complete Series Read online

  The woman examined her, then lightly closed the door and locked it without breaking eye contact. The man she was with waited outside. Like a soldier. Like a prison guard.

  Tingling pinpricks raced up and down Taniff's spine. If Jack found a way out. If he got loose and she was discovered as connected to him . . . Her magic wasn’t refined enough to be of any use to Magi-Corps; they'd dismiss her for sure.

  Regarding her, the MC ran a gloved hand down the length of the counter. The leather wrapping her fingers creaked. Her face was tight, controlled. “Someone brought a doll to you yesterday.”

  A statement or a question? Taniff choked down a wad of pain that caught in her throat like a button. “Lots of people bring me those. What is this about?”

  The woman raised the porcelain girl from the workbench and stared at her. If she wanted dramatics, she got it. “This wasn't a doll a lot of people would have.” She set the figure down. Calculated.

  Pressure built in Taniff’s chest. Fuck it. “Let's not beat around the bush. My business license is clean. I have IDs for everything in this city—the shuttle, the tunnel, Merchant's Pass. I haven't smoked baca since I was in my twenties, and I don't carry mag-weapons. I have nothing to do with you and your freak patrol. What's the problem?”

  The MC regarded her, then said, “I'm looking for the person who came here yesterday. She would have dropped off a special doll for repairs.”

  Arms crossed. “That's everyone I see.”

  “This one was lifted from an underground raid. Magic contraband, illegal dusts. The thing must be saturated with aggressive energy.”

  “Like I’d be able to tell that.” Taniff hadn’t realized anyone snorted dusts anymore. Another reflection of how much she'd shut magic out of her life in order to keep living with it.

  The officer inspected more items on the counter, raising tools, setting them down. Picking through doll parts in a battered tin box. “I believe they ditched it with you because this person realized she couldn't control it.”

  Made sense: the client brought Jack to her assuming Taniff wouldn’t know what he was. Maybe thought she’d toss it when the woman never returned to collect him. And her song made the problem worse. To resist tensing her jaw, Taniff propped her hands on the edge of the counter. “Can you describe it to me?”

  Slowly, a glass jar rolled into the room from the kitchen entryway and stopped just shy of the Magi-Corps' feet. The officer picked it up, held it to the light.

  Inside lay a gray field mouse, neck snapped, intestines ripped out and looped around the rodent like glossy ribbon.

  The MC raised her brows to her, questioningly.

  Saturated with aggressive energy indeed. “Like I said.” Taniff braced her body. “I have a cat.” She shoved off the counter and darted toward the kitchen. Slipping on the throw rug, she fought for purchase on the floor.

  “Stop!” The woman threw down the jar. Pieces of broken glass splashed everywhere.

  As Taniff reached the kitchen, she grabbed the first thing she saw: the percolator.

  “Stop,” the officer ordered again.

  A quick scan of the room. Jack wasn’t anywhere. Bastard wanted her to get caught, that was clear. When she spotted the back window, open a crack, her stomach dropped. Wherever he went, he'd lead trouble back to her door; magic always worked in circles.

  When the woman’s long face came into view around the door frame, Taniff yanked the lid from the percolator and tossed scalding coffee in her direction. Without even a scream, the soaked woman swung and connected a punch to Taniff's chest.

  She sucked for air. Hurled the empty coffee pot, but missed the woman. The thing slammed into the wall.

  Panting, Taniff searched for something, anything else she could use. A song begged to come forward, to defend herself, but she couldn't release it. Couldn't sing the notes that might bring calm without magnifying how much deep shit she waded into for assaulting an MC. They could think she was a horrible person all day long, but the second they identified her as magic, lights out.

  She reached for the ceramic fruit bowl, but the officer tackled her to the ground. Her head smacked the floor. Stars replaced the room. Being straddled, the woman was choking her.

  She clawed at the MC’s coat, tufts of wool gathering under her fingernails. No use. The two struggled on the ground. Oxygen drained; her throat squeaked. Pain pierced her temples.

  Desperate, she curled her body, looped her thick ankle against the woman’s throat and clumsily thrust her backward.

  Taniff gulped for air as she writhed on the ground. God, she wanted to sing, to hum, to whistle—any tune to slow this woman down. She weighed her options: dead on the floor, or fugitive with a living voodoo ahead of her and Magi-Corps on her tail.

  The officer pounced, punched her face, and fought to clamp around her neck again.

  Fugitive.

  Taniff gripped the woman’s wrists. She sang the first tune to jump into her head. Self-defense. Instinct to survive. Anxiety and fear surged through her. She struggled to keep the tone even. Experience proving itself useful. The notes rose slowly, descended down. Every note a whole note.

  The MC froze. Still straddling Taniff’s body, the woman’s hold relaxed, she sat upright.

  The song continued, dancing itself along in a waltz of sound both leading and following.

  Confusion spread across the officer’s face.

  There you are.

  It worked. The song actually worked, and not on a doll. Taniff eased the woman to her back. Singing more quietly now, she shifted to all fours, then rocked a few times until she managed standing. Her knees throbbed.

  A pounding from the other room. The Magi-Corps’ partner.

  Shit. No time to lullaby the woman to full sleep. Jack had to be found and . . . and she didn’t know what. Return him? Destroy him? She was caught either way. Her whole life, everything she’d done to stay unseen to this point was fucked.

  With a crash, the partner broke open the front door. The clatter of little porcelain heads hitting the hardwood challenged her concentration. Holding out one last note, Taniff flung the fruit bowl into the side of the now drowsy officer’s head. Then she bolted out the back door and into the cold drizzle soaking the back alley in fog.

  The partner appeared in the doorway but didn’t pursue her. What would be the point? They already knew where she lived, who she was—what she was.

  Taniff kept running.

  BLACK WATER REFLECTED the occasional dim street lamp as she hurried in the only direction she imagined Jack went. At a narrow alley, Taniff ducked under a low brick archway, peered back toward the drizzly roadway, her home, her life, and then disappeared into a dilapidated and forgotten section of Bellows: Near Street. Somewhere she’d sworn she’d never return.

  The dank corridor carried a festering potion of rotted garbage and urine. She drew up her skirt to keep it from dragging in the muck. Not twenty feet from the rest of the world, vulnerable populations of the elderly, children, and the disabled huddled for warmth. The government and Magi-Corps ensured no one lived on the major avenues and boulevards—a touted fact—however, they refused to help citizens down on their luck leave the unseen alleyways.

  An old man eyed her. Bushy brows and knotted hands. His image reflected a child’s nightmare; something to be feared, yet most likely harmless. She sidestepped him and continued forward. Strings of bare light bulbs laced the alley, providing an eerie yellowed glow as if time had faded the world here. Her throat ached as though the MC’s hands still clamped around it.

  Fifty years ago, when Magi-Corps formed to cleanse society of those unpredictable few who might use power against others, there’d been a thin belief that peace was attainable; politicians aligned with Magi-Corps ideals to weed out the baddies. Or so they said. Within two weeks it became evident the MC had actually been tasked with eradicating all who possessed rare abilities. The posters went up on every street corner. If you see something, say something.

&n
bsp; Taniff’s family had fled not just their apartment on Near Street during the first round of isolations, but their life. Every aspect of her survival hinged on not being capable of magic, on not associating with others of magic, and especially, not being caught performing magic.

  The darkened alley gave way to a short, concrete staircase. The same stairs which fed into a set of apartments and the rickety landing where her mother first taught her to sing. The blotchy past she’d put behind her all those decades ago now surrounded her.

  She feared someone would remember her—retaliation, punishment. She feared no one would—suspicion, distrust.

  Clenching her eyes, Taniff rubbed her temples. She didn’t belong inside or out. Maybe she’d been fooling herself she ever had.

  A crackling sound morphed to a hard sizzle. She squinted at a swinging light above her. A pale green anole lizard hung, belly to glass, strapped to the hot bulb with twisted wire.

  No. No! She grabbed the wire and worked the hot metal until the lizard fell to the ground. Charred skin, lifeless.

  Jack’s handiwork. He couldn’t be far.

  She breathed deep, an attempt at composure.

  Tossing the gnarled wire aside, Taniff hurried up the stairway and onto the landing. A nauseating odor of salted fish wafted around her. The air grew dense. Sweat slicked the hair at the nape of her neck. She wanted to run, to chase the voodoo until it wore out, but the reality was she didn’t know where to begin and he wasn’t the one capable of exhaustion.

  Feet away, three men hunched together to one side of a barrel full of burning trash grilling speared strips of onion and what appeared to be a rat. Avoiding eye contact, Taniff entered the apartment building.

  Sticky hand prints covered the chair rails of the foyer and peeling floral wallpaper drooped in uneven strips above it. Pockets of musty air surrounded her as she stepped toward a wooden staircase. Willing her back and throbbing knees to continue, she climbed the creaking stairs, unsure where she intended to go. At each level, hallways stretched without lights except for scattered candles and what spilled out from open apartment doors. No sign of Jack.

  The next hallway was significantly longer—probably the level where two buildings joined. People huddled on the floor. A trio howled with laughter as they left one apartment, walked two doors down, and entered another.

  Magic pulsed under her fingernails. This floor, hell, the whole building, was drenched with it, but the energy flow felt used and reused. Too many people squeezing out the last dregs they could find.

  Jack could be anywhere in the complex. Wasn't like she knew how to manipulate her environment or seek out a presence to find him. No. When Taniff was eight, her mother taught her how to make toys move on their own, how to fix her broken dolls. Soon after, Magi-Corps snatched her mother away as easily as removing a figure from a dollhouse. Treated her like a criminal when she had only ever been loving and kind. Taniff ran. The dolls, the fixing, those were the only spells she’d ever learned. They were all a little girl in a happy family needed to know.

  Despite keeping her head down and trying not to attract attention, as Taniff peered down the next hall, a woman turned her way as if on cue. Eye contact. Taniff fought her thoughts. She knew that face. Long, not quite pale. Brown, hooded eyes like buttons. Not the buttons of a human-like doll, but that of a teddy bear or tiger—something that hunted. And a red feather dangling from one ear.

  The woman rose and started toward her. That slow purposeful gait. Jack's owner!

  Taniff’s instinct urged her to bolt, but her body refused. As she stepped toward the stairs, pain shot through her foot, and drew her attention downward.

  Jack stood beside her, gazing up like a child, as if begging her to be pleased with his work, hoping she'd praise him for the long hat pin driven between her toes. In a single motion, she picked up Jack with one hand and plucked the four-inch pin from her foot with the other.

  The voodoo swung at her and gnawed her knuckles, but she refused to drop him. Hobbling down the steps, the woman trailing her, Taniff wrapped Jack in her paisley scarf. Swaddled like a vicious baby.

  If the woman found out she'd brought her doll to life instead of repairing it, she'd report it. She’d already receive punishment for interfering with Magi-Corps’ search at her shop. Having solid proof she was magic, however, they’d dismiss Taniff quickly.

  She grabbed the railing, feeling her way down the steps.

  “Hey,” the woman yelled from the floor above. “Hey. Stop.”

  Taniff did not stop. Couldn’t risk the woman seeing what she’d done to Jack, knowing what she was. Telling the Corps where she’d seen her last.

  Pain piercing each step, she staggered along to increase her pace, each wooden stair shouting out her position. Although Jack couldn't make noise, he fought to shred the scarf and escape. She squeezed him tighter. He bit her thumb.

  Exhausted and sucking for breath, Taniff rushed toward the main entrance at ground level. Twenty, thirty agonizing feet and she’d be free. So close.

  The woman slammed into her and knocked Taniff off balance.

  “No, no,” she cried, scrambling to control Jack and steady herself at the same time. “No. Please.”

  Before Taniff could catch herself, Jack's owner shoved her against the wall. “Tell me you have it.”

  “What?” She hugged the voodoo tighter. “Let me go.”

  The slap came fast. “Answer me. Do you have it?”

  Cheek burning and terrified, Taniff wove a story. “I don't know you. Get off me.”

  “This is important.” The woman eased off but made it clear Taniff shouldn’t move. “I went to your shop. I saw the Corps there.”

  Shifting her body sideways to guard Jack, she tried to make it seem like she was holding her side. “I promise I won't report you. Not a word. It's none of my business. He's our secret.”

  “He?”

  A pair of MC officers opened the front door, but then abruptly closed it as they yelled at someone on the street.

  “Come on,” the woman said, yanking Taniff's elbow and forcing her into the closest apartment.

  INSIDE, FLIES SWARMED the kitchen trash and bounced off the windows. Cobwebs hung in the corners like curtains. A faded couch and matching plaid chair faced a television playing a black and white movie balanced on top of a rusted generator.

  Jack's owner pushed her forward. “Sit down.”

  Wrestling to keep the doll still, she plopped down like some smug teenager being scolded. Appearances. She could fake a lot of things for a few minutes. Mad instead of scared. Joy when she was upset. Normal.

  The woman paced, arms crossed. “Why did you say 'he'?”

  “I don't know. You made me nervous.”

  “Anybody that's willing to step into this building isn't going to be nervous about me.” She moved closer to Taniff, stared at her hard. “Where is it?”

  “How should I know?” The sting in her cheek begged to be rubbed but she wouldn’t let go of Jack. Couldn’t.

  “What are you so afraid of?”

  “You brought a voodoo doll into my shop!”

  The woman smirked. “So what? Magi-Corps would show up and take it away.” She dropped onto the chair.

  “You’re not worried I told them where it came from?”

  She laughed. “They know where it came from. Been watching us ever since the resistance made itself known—”

  “What resis—”

  “Shit, I'm surprised they didn't escort me to your place they were so bad at trailing me. What I want to know is, did you do it?”

  Did she do what? Unease raced under her skin. Nobody knew about her ability. She’d been careful. Made certain. Taniff rose and marched toward the exit. “You're clearly mistaking me for someone else.”

  Jack's owner firmed up her voice. “Nope. I know about you.”

  She shifted the bundle under her arm, Jack kicking for freedom, and gripped the doorknob. “Sorry about your missing doll, but you don't
know me.”

  She turned the knob.

  “You bring them to life with a song.”

  Taniff's heart hitched like a sudden sharp note. She froze.

  “You hum or whistle, and dolls . . . become.”

  Turning, Taniff faced the woman. “You didn't report me?”

  The woman laughed. “Are you serious? If I was going to rat you out, I'd do it after I got my living weapon back. Something that tortured, that violent, animated. We can take down Magi-Corps.”

  Living weapon? And she'd brought him to life. Jack kicked her ribs. She squeezed harder.

  The woman leaned forward, elbows to knees. “The resistance needs it.” Her face serious as shattered porcelain. “Where's my doll?”

  Taniff’s voice shook. “What you're doing isn't right.”

  “Oh, it absolutely is. Magi-Corps can't control us any longer. We're taking the fight to the streets and possessing a voodoo with no conscience, no remorse. Ha. They'll never expect this.” She was actually smiling.

  A hard, crushing bite into Taniff’s side and she dropped her scarf and Jack in it. She clambered to grab the bundle before it drew attention from the voodoo’s owner, but the second he hit the floor, Jack’s furious movements to get free revealed the last of her secrets.

  “I knew it!” The woman jumped up and ran toward her. She leapt onto Jack and pinned him.

  He kicked her shoulder repeatedly and writhed under her hold.

  “He’s not yours to control,” Taniff pleaded. “Let me put him back to sleep. He’s not a pawn in your game. Please.”

  Jack’s owner clutched his arms tight as she rose and rushed to a corner of the room where she stuffed the doll into a birdcage. “This belongs to me.” She latched the small, wire door. “I say what I do with it.”

  Taniff’s stomach soured. “You used me!”

  “No. You were paid for a service.”