Mike gave the phone a confused look. It wasn’t a number he knew, but the exchange said somewhere in Paragon. He flipped it open seconds before it went to voice mail. “Hello?”
“Mike,” came a deep voice through the line that sent a chill through him. “Where are you?”
Mike snapped shut the phone. He looked around the small coffee house in St. Martial, one that catered to the more touristy types of the Giza. He got up, tossing a ten on the table for something a lot cheaper, and he hustled out of the place.
He could catch the next ferry back to Cap. Once he was behind the walls of his warehouse, nothing could get in. Nobody. Not even a big, strapping supe that happened to be Scott’s friend.
The ferry wasn’t at the dock, though he could see it out in the water. He could go through the dimension, to Port Oakes, and from there to Cap. He took to the air and went to the entrance of St. Martial to the Pocket Dimension, located under some electrical wires.
The minute he touched down, something tackled him, throwing him across the platform and into the steel girders of the electrical wires. He yelled a spell of radiance, one of blinding, and he heard someone grunt, but not let go of him. He was thrown to the ground, hard enough he bounced, and his head cracked on the concrete so he was dazed a minute. His hand reached back and he yelled, “Nix!” A sword of nether – good for one sharp swipe – appeared in his hand.
A roar, almost inhuman, erupted from the humanoid creature in front of him. It took a moment for him to realize who it was, and to also realize he was right in trying to get back home. He took a swipe with the nether-sword – no dice, as the man moved aside easily, but appeared behind him, holding down both arms in such a tight grip that he was going to break something.
“Are you cheating on Scott?” the man breathed into his ear.
“What?”
The man shook him. Violently. The pain went down Mike’s shoulder, through his arm. “Are you cheating on Scott?”
“N – No!”
The man yanked at his arm, and Mike howled, buckling, falling to his knees. The man had torn his arm right out of his shoulder socket. How could he have done that?
Then Bomber picked him up by the front of his shirt, lifted him up and shook him again until Mike opened his eyes, full of tears of pain. “If you are, mage, I will personally tear your throat out with my teeth. Is that clear?”
He could do nothing, not even nod. He closed his eyes but Bomber slapped him to open them.
“And don’t say anything to Scott about this. This is between you – “ he poked Mike’s chest, hard enough to probably leave a bruise – “And me.”
Mike got tossed again to the concrete, but bumped his head hard enough that this time he passed out.
He woke up in the hospital, with some fairy standing over him healing his concussion. His arm was in a loose sling, and the fairy looked like she was concentrating with all her might. When she finished, she nodded to herself, satisfied.
“It wasn’t as bad as we thought,” she said to Mike with a smile and left him alone.
A little while later a nurse came in to check his vitals and tell him that he was lucky that whoever had robbed him had left his ID with him. Then a cop from the RIPD showed up. He sounded bored as he asked Mike, “Do you remember what happened? What your assailant looked like? Did you know him or her?” Mike didn’t remember, didn’t know, played stupid.
All the while, he remembered Bomber’s words, “This is between you and me.”
Oh yeah? It’s on.