The Man with the Golden Torc

"Oh, I think this one goes all the way up to eleven. Someone must have tried to override my spell’s coordinates to make us arrive at a destination of their choosing. Where they could be waiting for us. But, being the happy paranoid little soul that I am, I long ago preprogrammed my spell to be prepared for such an eventuality and, at the first sign of outside tampering, drop me off at a predesignated emergency arrival point."

"God, I love it when you talk technical."

"Shut up. I chose this place because a toilet cubicle is one of the few places where you can just appear out of nowhere without being noticed. Do I really need to add that I did not have two people in mind when I chose this arrival point?"

"Why Paddington?" I said.

"It’s a central London station, with trains always going somewhere. You can just pick one at random, hop on, and disappear without a trace. Now, let’s get out of here. The only people powerful enough to intercept a portal spell would have to be major league sorcerers. Which could mean your family."

"Why not Manifest Destiny?" I said, just to be contrary.

"You heard Truman. They put their faith in science, not magic. My kind are only allowed in as fellow travellers. What interests me is how your family could know that you’re travelling with me now."

I shrugged. "We probably have agents buried deep within Manifest Destiny. We have people everywhere, in every kind of organisation, so we won’t be surprised when they try to start something nasty. How else do you think we know everything that’s going on?"

Molly looked at me. "And you didn’t think to tell me this before?"

"Sorry; I thought you knew how my family operates. Besides, I’ve been distracted. I’ve had a lot on my mind, just recently."

"Is there anything else I ought to know?"

"There’s something squelching in my shoe."

"I should have stabbed you while you were still asleep," said Molly.

We made our way up and out and onto the Paddington station main concourse. The wide-open space was full of people bustling back and forth as though their lives depended on it or just standing together like sheep, staring vacantly at the changing displays on the information screens. Train engines roared loudly, people spoke loudly into mobile phones, doing their best to look as though their calls were vitally important, and every now and again the station loudspeakers would blast out some deafening but totally incomprehensible statement.

I relaxed a little. I like crowds. Always somewhere to hide, in a crowd. Molly and I pretended to examine the menu on a nearby fast-food stall while taking a surreptitious look around. It all seemed normal enough. Two armed policemen wandered by, burdened down with flack jackets and equipment, alert for everyday problems. They weren’t interested in Molly and me. They didn’t know people like Molly and me even existed, the lucky devils.

"I liked this place a lot better before they gave it a makeover," I said to Molly. "There used to be a restaurant here where you could order chili con carne and chips, and beans and bacon and sausages, and pile it as high as you liked. Now, that was a meal and a half. I used to call it the cholesterol special. You could feel your arteries hardening just looking at it."

Molly regarded me with distaste bordering on disgust. "I’m amazed your heart didn’t just explode."

"I always did like to live dangerously. Speaking of which, don’t turn around too quickly, but spot the two guys approaching from four o’clock. I think we’ve been made."

"Already? Damn." Molly sneaked a look in the direction I’d indicated. Two men in anonymous dark suits were striding towards us, holding their hands up to their faces and talking to their wrists. Either they had radios up their sleeves or they were Care in the Community. Molly scowled. "They could just be plainclothes policemen…"

The two men produced automatic weapons from slings under their jackets and opened up, actually shooting through the packed crowd to get at us. Men and women crashed to the ground, bleeding and screaming and dying. People were thrown this way and that by the bullets’ impact, and one man’s head exploded. The woman with him sank to her knees beside his kicking body, howling her grief and horror. People ran screaming in every direction and dived for what little cover there was. And the two men with automatic weapons ran straight at Molly and me, firing without pause. The armed police came ru

I ducked behind the fast-food stall, and Molly was right there with me. Above us, bowls of soup shattered and blew apart, spraying hot liquid everywhere. The staff inside the stall shrieked and ducked down, their screams almost drowned out by the chaos and the roar of gunfire. The whole stall rocked and shuddered as bullets pounded into it again and again. How many guns did these bastards have? Shouldn’t they be ru

"We can’t stay here," I said to Molly. "I can armour up, but that won’t protect you."

"I don’t need protecting," said Molly. "I’ll arrange a diversion, and then we both run like hell for the nearest street exit. Sound good to you?"

"Sounds like a plan to me. What kind of diversion?"

"Close your eyes and put your hands over them."

I did so, and a moment later came an incandescent flare that hurt my eyes even through tightly squeezed eyelids. Raised voices cried out in shock and pain, and Molly grabbed me by the shoulder and hauled me out from behind the bullet-riddled fast-food stall. I forced my eyes open as I stumbled after her. Black spots blurred and jumped in my vision, but at least I could see. The armed men were staggering around, tears streaming from half-open eyes, firing their guns at any sudden sound or movement. And since most of the civilians were gone, that mostly meant they were shooting at each other. I could live with that. I passed right by one gunman as I followed Molly to the nearest street exit, and I paused just long enough to break his neck with one blow. Never involve civilians in our wars, you bastard.

I would have liked to kill more of them, but there wasn’t time. I’m not an assassin, but sometimes the only right thing remaining is to just kill the bastards until there aren’t any left. I hate it when i

The gunmen had to be Manifest Destiny. My family would have been more subtle. And, I still believed, more sparing of the i

I caught up with Molly as she stumbled to a halt halfway up the steep slope that led out into the main traffic. We were both breathing hard. Cars and vans roared past unknowing, as though it was just another day. I looked at Molly.

"What do we do now? Hail a taxi?"

"I wouldn’t. You can never be sure whom the drivers are really working for. I’ve got a better idea."

She bent over and hiked up her dress, revealing a dainty silver charm bracelet around her left ankle. She snapped one of the charms free and held it up: a delicate little silver motorcycle. Molly muttered a few Words in a harsh language that must have hurt her throat and breathed on the charm. It wriggled eerily on her palm, and then leapt off, growing rapidly in midair until standing on the slope before us was a Vincent Black Shadow motorbike. A big black beast of a bike, and a classic of its kind. I was impressed.