The New Magic - The Revelation of Jonah McAllister, Landon Wark [10 best novels of all time .TXT] 📗

stared at the coagulating blood dripping off the arm onto the floor below. He imagined the dead eyes staring vacantly back at him with violent accusations.

"I'm not the one who got you killed," he grumbled angrily. "What the hell were you thinking?"

His hands shook as he continued clicking the pen. He had made exactly one good decision since that night in the lab and that had been Sandy. Back at the house he was convinced he was in need of an assistant and she had filled that role well, but she had since advanced into more of a lieutenant, mastering logistics and personnel. And he had lied to her... Maybe not exactly lied when he had said that things didn't necessarily have to become violent. But he knew she was right. She bet on the darker part of human nature and she'd never go broke because of it. And still he insisted on sending her out there. The only person he might consider to be a friend was out there with the worst of it.

Because someone has to spread the word, and you're not exactly Mr. Charismatic.

"You really are a piece of shit, McAllister," he muttered.

He rose up and walked past the body, filled with a cold rage. The heavy coat that Sandy had brought him for the rare occasion that he might see fit to grace the world with his presence slipped over his shoulders as he took one last look at the body. They didn't need to fight. Whatever grudges they held, they could just let them go and be happy with a world of... He swallowed. Magic.

He closed the door to the apartment and with a word sealed it. The barrier would hold up against almost any physical force short of a powerful explosive that would likely take out most of the wall with it. He considered leaving a note for anyone who might come to remove the corpse, but decided he would only be gone for a few minutes.

Ahead of him the long, odourless hallway that led to the elevator stood before him, but he stayed planted where he stood. It took him a full minute to recite the formula and then, with a flash of reddish light the hallway was empty.

Nearly a kilometer away, in a dark alley inhabited only by a pair of transients, an identical but much more muted flash foretold the arrival of Jonah McAllister. The arrival was not exactly stealthy, but he had managed to reduce the brightness by almost an order of magnitude.

The transients glared at him with wide eyes in the street lights as they scrambled up from beneath the ratty blanket that must have provided nearly zero protection from the cold.

Get used to it, he thought as he walked to the mouth of the alley, where it met with one of the seldom used streets of the city.

The old payphone stood like a monument to an ancient civilization that had died out ages ago. A relic whose purpose could only be deduced by the most skilled historians. Graffiti, the sacred inscriptions of that old era covered the clear plastic that surrounded it down to waist height.

Jonah pulled the receiver from the cradle and pulled a coin out of his pocket and fed it into the slot. A word and a second coin appeared between his fingers. He fed that into the slot and repeated the process nearly two dozen times.

He checked the watch on his wrist before dialing the long number. The line buzzed for nearly a full minute before a rushed voice answered.

"Hi, I'm calling about a case... Yeah. It's—Well the case number is... I'd rather just give you the case number."

The voice on the other end yawned and mumbled along with the clacking of computer keys.

Jonah's breathing ramped up slightly as the voice spoke.

"No... Keep looking for them. I... I don't care about the cost. Just find them."

He slowly replaced the receiver in the cradle and pushed his fingers into his temples.

He slowly fed another string of coins into the slot and dialed, much more slowly this time. The line buzzed and he thought at least a dozen times about hanging up. He should hang up. It was a stupid thing to do. Stupid as hell, but he... he needed a voice on the other end of the line. He needed a way to surface from beneath the waves, if only for a moment. The line clicked and the staticky connection picked up.

"You've reached the McAllisters. Jonah, if you're listening: We miss you. Please, come home."

He braced his hand on the edge of the plastic surrounding the phone, placing as much weight on it as he thought it would bear.

"We can work everything out together. Just, please come home."

A tone buzzed and the line waited for a message, but he merely stood there. Saying anything would be an unforgiving mistake. As it stood anyone monitoring the line could be forgiven for thinking the call was from one of the many scam farms that operated in this part of the world. But if he were to say anything. If he were to breathe into the receiver too hard, they would know. And he wasn't ready for that. Yet.

He curled his hand up into a fist. There was a time, fast approaching when they wouldn't be able to stop him, when no one would, but that was still in the future. Best to stay quiet.

With a quivering exhale that condensed in the night air around him, Jonah clenched his hand into a fist. He might still be weak and he might still be mortal, but what he could do was try to keep the few friends he did have safe.

At least until everyone understood. And they would.

Someday, everyone would understand.

There was only a dribble of milk left in the bottom