Sevardin Harker. Venday, New Years Day, 2355. 7:33 AM. Arroyo (Orange Grove Boulevard).

Sev stood watching Arroyo’s Annual Rose Pageant Parade alongside Ethano and Elamni. They were doing their best, trying to wring real happiness from forced smiles, burying themselves in each other’s company and the serenity of the present moment. But Sev couldn’t shake the feeling of blasphemy. The sense of betrayal.

Look at the parade. Pretend you’re happy. Forget your partner—her husband, his father, your brother—is laying between life and death less than a mile away. Don’t even think about Jecia.

As the Erician Air Force Band rounded the corner, Thai Airlines’ float—a pair of phoenixes circling a pagoda, all rendered in flowers—followed. Streams of flower petals, enchanted with exempt magic, spiraled around the float as embedded speakers played traditional Thai music. Dancers twirled in tandem with the petals, creating a vibrant display of vermillion, crimson, and gold.

Sev turned to Ethano and asked:

“What do you like better? The bands or the floats?”

Ethano considered the question carefully, like he was trying to find the right answer.

“The floats,” he said at last.

“They are something special,” Sev agreed.

He was a band man himself. Part of it was that he was a sucker for uniforms, but it was their unity—precise coordination writ large—that really spoke to him. They are of many minds and one body.

The quote was like glass in his head. In an instant, it brought him right back to the mortal breathe. A sensation of connection he might never feel again. He remembered Jecia, just before the burning shelf hit, trying to tell him something. But what?

He did his best to shake it off for the hundredth time that week. Just watch the parade. After the Thai float came a troupe of mounted caballeros pulling off rope tricks. Check out those ropes. Watch the tricks. It’s the first day of a new year. The first day of the rest of our lives. Wee, look at us go.

Just before the float housing the Rose Pageant’s Royal Court could round the corner, Sev’s symphone started ringing. He fished it out of his peacoat and looked at the caller ID. Risso Dellorusso? His stomach wrung his guts. Somehow, I doubt this is about well-wishes or resolutions for good behavior.

Sev excused himself from Elamni and Ethano, retreating from the parade route and walking toward the back of the spectator section, which bordered the eastmost edge of the Athenaeum campus. He used sorcery to dampen his own voice and the external noise from the crowd, then answered the phone.

“Happy new year, Risso,” Sev said.

“Yeah! You too, Sev. You too,” Risso said. “I come bearing a late Christmas gift. Heard something you definitely want to know. Can’t tell you where I heard it for my own safety, but believe me when I tell you it’s legit.”

“Oh?”

“Some enterprising Caltech kids have started cracking licenses again.”

“Techies are always cracking licenses, Risso,” Sev said.

The precocious little shits at the California Institute of Technology were always fudging their licenses’ runic code. Usually it was strictly academic. The kids felt they were entitled to access non-exempt magic that could make their research easier and more expedient. Which is to say much more dangerous.

“But not for combat magic,” Risso clarified.

“Go on,” Sev said, mood darkening.

“These kids claim to have cracked Keeper permissions on licenses. Full combat access. And the Rollers are buying in bulk. Like, tonight.”

That is different. And conspicuously specific.

“Where?”

“North Arroyo. Back of LeVoy’s Smoke Shop sometime this evening.”

Fuck.

“They mention a time?”

“Sometime after eleven tonight. And you know how these things go. They’ll probably show up closer to twelve.”

I hope this isn’t real. Nothing good has ever come from us storming that damn smoke shop. It’s the heart of the Rollers’ hornet nest. Sev exhaled and frowned. Probably isn’t legit though. In Arroyo, there are more cops out in force today than any other day of the year because of the parade. Amagia and Asfalis LE alike.

“Gotta be honest. This sounds like a trap, Risso. For you. It’s New Year’s Day. Arroyo is crawling with cops, press, and tourists. Why would the Rollers risk buying today?”

“No, that’s exactly it! The cops are busy, man. They are looking for terrorist bombers and dealing with drunk drivers. That’s exactly why my… uh. Let’s call him my sponsor. Err no. Supervisor. He brokered the deal. He knows the techies, and he’s on good terms with somebody from the Rollers. Made them an introduction for a service fee.”

“Who is this supervisor, Risso?”

“Sev, you’re killing me. I just told you I can’t—”

“If what you’re telling me is true, I need to put together a team now. But I can’t call in the manpower based on what is essentially an anonymous tip. Who is your fixer, and how did you hear this?”

“I was a fly on the wall when the techies came by his place of business, okay? Sev, I need this guy. And you need me near this guy so I can hear more shit like this!”

“Risso, this man could be trying to use you to instigate a gang war.”

“He doesn’t know I was listening! I was on the other side of the room with my headphones on.”

“Then how the hell do you know what you heard?”

“I have my ways, Detective! Where’s the trust?”

It’s a good thing Risso had called. Sevardin would have slapped him in person. Risso seemed to appreciate that, and explained:

“Alright, alright. Look. I have a pair of headphones that have a… uh. Let’s call it a ‘gray-area’ listening enchantment. I figured it might be useful for this kind of thing!”

Sevardin sighed. Coming from anybody else, Sev would assume it was a weak attempt at covering a trap, but it was just stupid enough to be plausible for Risso.

“I need a name, Risso.”

“To begin with, the name I know is probably not the same one on this guy’s social security card,” he said chuckling. “And if you go and kick his front door down, tonight’s deal will fall through and you’ll miss the chance to nab the Rollers’ mals.”

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. You are going to come in to the central precinct—”

“No. No! Sev. Listen to me. I am not—”

“Yes, you are. Risso. You are going to come into the central precinct for your own protection and tell us everything you know about this literal terrorist so you don’t end up sharing a prison cell with him. Then we saddle you with a nice little reward and everyone goes home happy.”

“What kind of reward are we talking?”

“Ten grand,” Sev said, pulling a number out of thin air. He just needed enough money to entice Risso to provide the information.

But Risso scoffed and said:

“Do better.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I’ve been moving up in the world, detective. Ten gees ain’t shit.”

Something is wrong. Usually he has a better sense for self-preservation. Sev realized there was more surety in Risso’s voice than usual. A nervous energy he could almost feel through the receiver. Also, it was unlike him to call instead of showing up in person and trying to barter. Is he high on something? Christ!

“I just wanted to reach out as a concerned fucking citizen,” Risso said. “Figured you might want to put an end to the magic arson and public fucking executions. I was willing to call this a favor for a future favor. But since you tried to bully me into coming into an interrogation—”

“Risso,” Sev began, choking his fury down to a whisper. “What do you think will happen after we bust up your friend’s deal? He’s going to look for the leak and plug it. Twice. In the back of its fucking head!”

Sev exhaled and looked around to make sure nobody had overheard him. A little girl gave him a strange look, and then turned back to the parade. I have to cool it or the asfalis cops will think I’m a terrorist.

“Your concern is truly touching, detective, but I already left LA County. I figured—”

“It doesn’t matter if you aren’t here right now! As soon as you show your face in Arroyo again, you will be a dead man. But if you just come in—”

“Nah,” Risso said. “I’m tired of being pushed around. For once in my goddamned life, it’d be nice to see some real gratitude. So I’ll take my chances. Act on it if you want to or not. But remember your decision the next time somebody in Farman gets lit up.”

The line clicked dead.

Sev swore.

It wasn’t like Risso to act without a specific reward in mind. But it is like him to do something colossally stupid and think he’s coming out ahead. Finding out the fixer’s identity would have to wait. He needed to bring this tip to his CO and see how they wanted to proceed. And I can’t afford to watch the rest of the parade.

“Hey,” he whispered to Elamni.

“Go,” she said, a touch bitter. “I know that look.”

It hurt to hear it. But she knows the job.

“Hey little man,” Sev said, raising his fist for Ethano. “I gotta run.”

“The parade isn’t over yet.”

It wasn’t a complaint. Just a confused, disappointed observation. Sevardin’s stomach knotted.

“I know kiddo. I’ll make it up to you.”

— 8:48 AM | Arroyo (Central Precinct) —

“I don’t like it,” Deputy Chief Hart said.

“Neither do I, but we can’t afford to ignore it.” Sev insisted. “If the Rollers get their hands on even half a dozen licenses with Keeper permissions…”

Sev had gone into the Central precinct, taking a torturously circuitous route to avoid the parade.  He went straight to Hart’s office and filled him in. Hart was the head of the Monstrum and Malefaction division, and usually preferred a laissez faire approach to leadership. I’m sure he’s thrilled to be hearing from me on a holiday. Smith and Miller were also already on their way in, pulled away from friends and family for what could be a goose chase, or possibly a trap.

“Look, Harker. I’ll ask entropathy and GP to reach out to their CIs. If we can verify that something is going down, we’ll put a task force together. But it seems more likely to me that this anonymous fixer is taking your idiot snitch for a ride. Middlemen thrive off of conflict between gangs. We ring in the new year with an impotent bust, it will embolden the Rifa. Then this asshole gets to play both sides.”

“And if we can’t get any verification?”

Hart sighed and said:

“If you’re confident you can avoid detection, your venture can stake it out. If something comes up, call for backup and move in. It’s a holiday though. People want to spend time with their families and we already have an army working OT to patrol the game and the parade. Tonight is a skeleton shift.”

Sev nodded, resignedly. I don’t like the idea of going it alone. Hell, even three ventures would be light that deep in Rollers’ territory.

“Can we at least borrow an ESS?” Sev asked.

Etheric Signature Scanners were like temperature gauges for concentrations of magic. Caltech kids are smart, and they’ll move the product in thick plastic. But at some point, the Rollers will need to remove the licenses to verify their legitimacy.

“What do you think we’re using to look for terrorists, Sev?” Hart asked.

“The parade and the game will be long over by the time this alleged deal happens. All I need is one scanner, Chief. Otherwise there is no point. We will have no way of knowing whether an illicit deal is happening.”

Hart held up a hand and nodded, deeply exasperated.

“I’ll get you a scanner. And I’ll make sure we have some people in Farman tonight. But if you seriously want to pull off a bust, we have to make them think they’re in our blind spot. Otherwise they’ll get spooked.”

Maybe that’s our best option. Let them know we’re watching them like hawks so they get cold feet. He shook his head. No. That tips off Risso’s silent partner and it doesn’t get the licenses off the street. It will just make their next meeting all the more cautious.

God damn it, Risso!

— 11:04 AM —

“Another strikeout,” Smith said, hanging up the phone. “Jenkins couldn’t even find any of his snitches to ask about your guy’s lead. The city is a madhouse on New Year’s.”

Sev nodded his head and closed his eyes, trying to think of another angle he could approach this from.

“The dustboys are probably working the Rose Bowl crowds,” Sev observed. “University of Austin is in the game this year and the Republic’s drug laws are a lot harsher than ours. Arroyo’s dealers stand to make a killing. Maybe if we can catch somebody in the act, we can lean on them for information in exchange for some clemency.”

“Assuming anybody even knows anything,” Smith said.

He was irritated and Sev couldn’t blame him. Smith was a father of two and was supposed to be spending time with his family.

“How would that work anyway? You want us to just patrol the game crowds and hope we find somebody dumb enough to be buying in our presence?” Smith asked.

“You’re overthinking this, compadre,” Miller said. “You said Hart would give us a scanner. You’ve got a vantage point picked out. So we just watch and wait for backup. As soon as the scanner lights up, we have probable cause. When our boys show up, we kick down the doors. Even if the Caltech nerds get away, we can still get the licenses off the street.”

Miller made a fair point. There was nothing else they could do, really. And odds were strong that Risso’s boss had seeded him with false info to throw them off the scent of an actual deal. You’re probably in for a boring night.

— 11:39 PM | North Arroyo —

Sev and Smith lay prone on the roof of Johnson’s Barbershop, a storied establishment across the street from LeVoy’s that was mercifully closed for New Year’s. They had arrived in North Arroyo in a maintenance van and climbed the building under the cover of stealth cloaks. Ther moon was waning to almost nothing that night, which rendered them effectively invisible from the street. Meanwhile, Miller waited in the van, ready to signal for backup from the CV.

“Eyes up,” Sev said, spying a white pickup pulling into LeVoy’s rear parking lot.

Two scrawny white boys stepped out of the cab and moved to the covered bed of the truck where they removed a large plastic cooler—the sort that would look natural at a tailgate party. Its plastic case was just thick enough to mask an ambient magical signature.

“Son of a bitch,” Smith muttered, and scanned the cooler.

“Plastic will drown it out, but the building should see a spike when they test the licenses.”

Sev radioed Miller:

“Give dispatch a heads up. LeVoy’s just received some unusual visitors bearing gifts.”

“Ten-four,” Miller replied.

The next few minutes seemed to last longer than the preceding hour of the stakeout. The scanner continued to give null readings.

“Gangs are getting smarter,” Smith observed. “Maybe they found a way to seal the shop from the ESS off the arcanet.”

“Let’s hope not,” Sev said.

Two agonizing minutes later, the scanner’s display twitched from green to yellow, then went back to green. It was so brief it could have been a mistake. Then it happened again. We need that damn screen to turn red and give us a timestamped reading.

“Shit. Something’s going on in there but it’s so brief it can’t register a solid reading.”

No reading means no probable cause.

The scanner twitched yellow again.

“What do you want to do, boss?” Smith asked. “We came this far.”

Sev swore. If we can prove that they set up countermeasures for the scanners, we can make a case for intervention. The scanner flickers plus the tip should equate to reasonable PC. But if we are wrong about this, my career is over and the chapter is in for a world of legal hurt. He thought of the charred body of the kid who had been electrocuted by the Rifa. If the Rollers get access to amagiate firepower, Bungalow Heaven will drown in fire and blood. Not just the Rifa. Everybody who happens to get in the way.

“We’re moving in,” Sev said. “Miller, call for backup.”

“Fireblooded,” Miller said as if it were a confirmation.

Smith smiled at Sev approvingly and said:

“Knew you had it in you, boss.”

The fuck is that supposed to mean?

Sev ignored the backhanded compliment and gestured for Smith to follow him. They descended the building and rejoined Miller in the van. As Miller drove them to LeVoy’s rear parking lot, Sev and Smith applied kinetic barrier and reflex enhancement contracts. Dispatch chattered on the CV, charting the approach of friendly officers to the scene.

When they heard the first amagiate sirens blare, Miller pulled their van perpendicularly across the entrance to the parking lot, boxing in the cars. All three of them bailed out of the van. Sev blew open the back door with a blast of sorcerous force, smashing the wood off its hinges.

Inside, there were four Rollers and the two kids who had been in the truck. A cooler rested on a card table, along with a license. One of the rollers wore a shining—presumably cracked—license on his wrist, and hesitated.

“AKF! On the ground, now! Hands on your fucking heads!” Sev shouted.

The terrified techies both complied immediately, dropping to the floor. The other rollers put their hands up.

“Drop it, asshole!” Smith bellowed.

Miller entered behind Sev and Smith and advanced on the kid wearing the license, leveling his shotgun at his face and shouting in a torrent. Mercifully, the kid unclasped the license and dropped to the floor, overwhelmed.

Sev recognized the oldest man in the room. Jahnim Zachary Rose, AKA Jahnz, de facto leader of the Rollers while Takane Wallace was doing a stint in county. Sev had worked with Jahnz before as an informant. Later on in the same case, Jahnz had instructed the Rollers to bail Juel out of an unwinnable situation. The greatest shame in his career. And Jahnz is still hanging it over our heads.

“The fuck are you smiling about, shitbird?” Smith demanded, getting in Jahnz’ face.

Jahnz casually leaned out of Smith’s sightline and trained his smile on Sev.

“Detective Harker,” he said warmly. “It’s been a minute.”

“How the tables turn, Jahnz,” Sev said. “Used to be that you were the ones selling weapons to college kids.”

“Desperate times, detective. The Rifa are out for blood, and we need to protect what’s ours.”

Before Sev could reply, Jahnz continued:

“You know, I heard about what happened to your partners. For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

Sev’s heartbeat seemed to echo in his head. Choose your words very carefully, Jahnz.

“Like I said, you need to protect what’s close to you. By any means necessary.”

Suddenly another roller emerged in the back doorway that Miller was supposed to be covering. He held a shotgun that was nearly as large as he was. Couldn’t be older than fifteen. He leveled the gun at Miller. He shouted, voice cracking:

“Put the guns down motherfuckers, or I blow his fucking head off!”

Miller didn’t move, keeping his gun trained on another roller. Smith did the same.

“And the tables keep on turning!” Jahnz laughed. “Seems like we have ourselves a good ol’ fashioned standoff, detective.”

Sev’s heart beat cold. Sev didn’t drop his gun, but raised it away from Jahnz, emanating for calm and gesturing with one hand for Jahnz to be reasonable.

“This doesn’t have to get messy, Jahnz. Tell him to drop the gun.”

“I have a different proposal, Detective. Flores owed us a debt, and I want to call in that favor. Elsewise, he might wake up to find his reputation in ruins. And what would people say about a hero cop who has to call gangbangers in for backup? Imagine the scandal.” Jahnz shivered.

You heartless fucker.

“You aren’t getting these licenses, Jahnz,” Sev said.

Jahnz considered Sev for a long moment then nodded. I don’t like that smile.

“Aight. But we aren’t doing time for them neither. Call it a citizens’ arrest. We turned these two over to your custody. Just doing our civic duty, keeping the streets safe from little entropaths looking to make a quick buck.”

“You piece of shit,” one of the techies said, but he didn’t lift his head from the ground.

The mood in the room shifted and Sev’s stomach lurched like he was being rocked at sea. The urdic tension seemed to simmer. He shook his head at Jahnz but didn’t know what to say.

“I want all three of you to swear it on your power,” Jahnz said. “No take-backs.”

“That’s not going to happen, Jahnz,” Sev said.

Jahnz looked surprised.

“I think it’s a very generous offer, detective. Are you prepared for a massacre? Because I don’t think the AKF can afford any more bad press. And I don’t think you need any more dead partners.”

Sev’s jaw tightened. Backup is on the way. All we need to do is wait and—

“We’re gonna count to five…” Smith began over Sev’s shoulder.

No!

“…And if your boy doesn’t drop that fucking gun, you’ll get your massacre.”

Smith, you fucking moron! You goddamned maniac! The sirens blared closer, but they were still at least twenty seconds away.

“One,” Smith said.

Now that he’s made the threat, we have to lean into it. If we look weak, there is no way in hell the Rollers will back off. Jahnz, for the love of gods, save us all.

“Two,” Sev said.

Jahnz took a deep breath. Sev saw the defeat in his eyes.

But before he could get a word out, the room exploded in gunfire.