Teague
Chapter 01
the magician

There is a city of fallen angels,
where men and women dance in sin
to the song of a choir from hell.

0 o 0 o 0

Scum. This city is pulsating with scum from the crumbling tops to the swill in the sewers. That’s the way we like it. We—the pilferers, the thieves, the murderers, the lowest classes of life—make the rules. If you’re strong you get respect. If you’re weak you’re dead. End of story.

Not mine. I don’t give about the categories. Just trying to feed myself. And Echo Wilt, who won’t leave me the hell alone. (See? Give me some credit. I’ve got enough humanity left in me to feed a bratty little girl.) I steal, maim, and kill to keep me (and the kid) alive. I’m what you call a… freelancer. If the job pays well I’m all for it—even if it ain’t exactly legal.

Like this one, the one I’m working on now. The deal is to get some sword from the Karne for some wannabe hotshot, Rogelio. I get 5k CCs plus the 3000CC I got upfront. This job was huge. No one went up against the Karne and lived. But, hey. We all got to eat sometime, right?

“Evening gentleman,” I said, “And welcome to the show.” I bowed to the spectators and they pulled their triggers. I was smiling when the bullet entered my skull. My body jerked around in the center of the ship bay as bullets tore holes through my limbs and face. When the gunfire stopped, I was fish food, a pile of fabric and muscle good for nothing else.

Up on the catwalk, one soldier took off his helmet: me. I appeared among the ranks, dropping a gun and leaping up into the steam pipes. “I applaud your enthusiasm, boys,” I said, “But the show won’t start if you don’t let me finish talking.” Some of them cursed and turned to fire at me again. Rude, aren’t they?

The mannequin was filleted and shattered on the walkway. I jumped down, spinning so that my coat wrapped around me. Bullets flew through the air, but I was gone again. I stood up in another level of the hold, watching my show unfold with a smile.

“Amateurs,” I laughed. One or two turned left and right trying to find my voice. The rest began to slither in pairs below me; probably afraid I was going to jump them if they went solo.

That was impolite of me, degrading them like that. The Karne are actually the top assassins on western coast of the former United States. They were ruthless and damn good at what they do. Only these grunts probably weren’t used to handling someone like me.

“Look, if you don’t like my performance, just say so. I’ll leave.” They shot at me again. Some people have no sense of humor.

I should go; I had the sword already, slung over my back, they were getting really angry. And Echo was whining about fixing the fridge or something. But watching mayhem unfold from the shadows was pretty much the only fun I ever got. Sure, I could just wait for another turf war or a riot, but doing it myself was much more entertaining.

I closed my eyes and let myself fall back into the shadows. The next time I saw light I was on the deck, hidden between the containers. There was no one in sight. I stepped out of the gap and nearly got minced by gunfire again. “Never mind then.” In the past, they used rotten tomatoes and cabbages. These days they never ran out of .38s.

I ducked back and reappeared on top of the metallic monstrosities, running as the rounds whizzed past, hoping the rust would at least to carry my weight. For my final act, I jumped off the ship and into the water: “Thank you, ladies and lasses. You have been a wonderful audience.”

Anti-climatic all around, which was a crying shame. A magician lives for the show.

0 o 0 o 0

Echo was waiting at our empty flat eight stories above the bazaar the next afternoon, just like she promised. She was reading up on magic tricks again—a dangerous hobby in a dangerous time. But this was the old downtown. We live off danger here. She flipped through the text with extreme concentration, barely noticing my arrival.

You wouldn’t expect her to make it here, with her being so small despite her fourteen years. Her hair was like a rat’s nest (only it smelled slightly better), with a long bleached lock coming down her back like a tail. She wore the street urchin gambit, plus a faded jacket she had stolen. She did nothing to make herself look older. To Echo, when people underestimated her, it was nothing but an advantage.

I plopped down next to her after delivering to sword to my employer, and I waved a few 500CC notes in front of her face. She kept reading till she saw it, making a wild grab as soon as she realized what it was. I let her have it… for now.

“Hell yeah, baby! Dinner is so on you,” she said, her smile revealing slanted canines like those of a money-sucking—er, blood-sucking vampire. I reached to take it back. “Nuh-huh.” She held it out of my reach. “Have you paid off your debt yet?”

“Of course.”

She made a big show of sniffing the air. “Hey what’s that smell?” Her nose eventually pointed to me as the source and she said, “Oh. Bullshit.”

Rolling my eyes, I waved my hand with a flourish. The money appeared in my hand. Echo dropped her empty hand and scowled. “Pay the damn debt. If I get jumped in the street, it’s your damn fault.”

“Quit cursing,” I told her, but I really don’t expect her to listen. She let out another colorful list. “Quiet! I want to sleep!”

“But I’m hu-u-ungry,” she whined. I tossed her a note, telling her to leave me alone. “No-o-o. Come with me.”

As I mentioned before, she can pretty much handle herself. So if she wants me to come along, there’s only one reason: “I’m not buying you any alcohol, end of story.”

“But—”

“No.”

“Come on.”

“I’m not your father, but I’m still not letting you drink again.” Last time was a disaster.

Echo glowered and shut her book. “Meanie,” she said. Thankfully, after that she left me alone and went out with a few notes from my pay. Knowing her, she’ll cause some kind of riot five minutes after she shimmies down that pole. Such is the story of my life.

As you can probably tell, first person is not my strong point. However, this story has grown on me so I can promise I will try my best with it. Maybe leave this one in first and write the rest in third. And guess what? I’ve started to proofread my writing. Yay! (I can honestly say that before I never proofread any of my work.) So read and review, please! Fellow writers, you know that warm, fuzzy feeling you get when you see a review for your story? SHARE THE LOVE! (but don’t flame. constructive criticism okay.)

One last thing (I promise): I have a blog called “KyRen on FictionPress.” Basically, when you want little updates on my stories’ progress, then visit my profile for the link.

Have a nice night everyone!