THE TRAVELLER EFFECT

Chapter 1

The garage pops and creaks as the day’s heat radiates into a cloudless night, and I wish I had a magic spell for cooling. I was sweating in my long-sleeved black shirt and gloves even before I broke in.

‘There’s still no traffic, Paul.’

Coyote is watching the building on Little Brother, the ubiquitous network of public surveillance cameras. I’m counting on him to warn me when trouble comes. And it will; he’s not the only one watching.

“Thanks,” I whisper, even though we’re both certain the building is empty. We saw the last occupant leave around two o’clock and waited another hour to be sure. Of course, Coyote watched from the safety of the warehouse loft we share in Delta, while I hid in an alley across the street in Surrey.

Subconsciously, I rub the coin that hangs on a leather cord around my neck as I mutter, “Stealth.” It’s not necessary to touch the coin’s crystal to activate the spell, but it feels natural as it’s the source of that magic.

A series of ghostly footprints appears, tracking straight down the hallway, except for where they swerve past one of two closed doors. That doesn’t make sense, I think as I start walking. The vinyl flooring is so worn in places that I can see bare concrete underneath. I wouldn’t expect to make a sound no matter where I step. But whatever; the spell is showing me the quietest path. As long as I step on the prints, I should be fine.

The glowing footprints fade at the end of the hallway, which does make sense because I haven’t decided where to go from here.

Half a dozen luxury cars are parked in the center of the room, though it’s not entirely accurate to call them cars anymore. Their leather seats, dashboards, rims, and other parts are currently stacked on tall racks, ready for shipping.

‘The office should be straight ahead,’ Coyote says.

“Got it.” Another set of prints appears as I focus on a darkened gap in the shelving on the opposite wall. Unlike the rooms on either side of the hallway, whose walls don’t go all the way to the twenty-foot ceiling, the office has no exterior windows and only the one entrance.

Though they’re bright, the footprints don’t cast real light. That’s good because they don’t affect my night vision, and bad because it would be much easier to identify the lock on the office door.

Instead, I remove my gloves and probe with my fingers. The doorknob is smooth, and there’s no keyhole. There’s no deadbolt above it either, so I slide my hands up the walls on either side of the door and meet a raised panel on the left. It glows softly at my touch, displaying a grid of numbers.

“I’m going to try the lock spell.”

Coyote warns, ‘That didn’t work out so well the last time, Boss.’

He’s only recently started calling me that, though I’m not his employer. We’re not exactly equals either, and I’m starting to think he only calls me Boss when he knows more than I do. In this case, he may be right.

The person who designed the lock spell was a mechanical genius. I’m not. And physical spells work best when the caster understands the forces involved. Unfortunately, if what it detects inside the wall is a copper pipe and I’m imagining a locking bolt, it’ll force that open instead. Nothing will ruin a covert recovery job like ten gallons per minute of cold water bursting through the walls. Coyote still bugs me about that one.

“What do you know about this lock?” I describe the panel for him.

It takes Coyote only seconds to find specs. ‘Typically, it uses four solenoid-driven bolts: two on each side, mounted in the frame, not the door. That way you can’t defeat it by taking the hinges off.’

“Perfect.” I can visualize that more easily than a mechanism that turns or has gears. I slip the cord over my neck and place the coin against the wall near the top right corner of the door.

Unlike the stealth spell, which targets the imagination regions of my brain to create an image only I can see, the lock spell uses the energy present in all wormholes.

Imagining a metal bar retracting into the door jamb, I slide the coin down the wall and hear the first bolt scrape lightly as the energy field pushes it home. I used to have a larger crystal that had been specifically trained for opening doors. With that one, I could have just stood back and willed the door to open. Instead, it takes nearly a minute to cover both sides of the door.

“That was four,” I say, wishing I could restart the stealth spell before trying the door handle. As I understand it, some magic users can manage several spells at once. Me, I’m likely to release the bolts and have to start all over.

The door opens without sounding an alarm. In hindsight, that was unlikely because the garage borders a residential neighborhood; the gang members who work here do not want to draw attention to themselves. Relieved, I whisper, “Stealth.”

‘Two suspicious vehicles just turned onto 32nd.’

Crap. Did I miss a silent alarm on the front door? “That’s miles away.”

‘They’re moving fast. You’ve got less than four minutes.’

Damn. “Plus another two for the gate. I wired it shut.”

‘I already accounted for that. They’re going really fast.’

Damn! I shove the door open and fumble for a light switch. No point hiding now.

The room is crammed full of antiques, high-end electronics, paintings, boxes of jewelry; anything that’s compact and of high value. I sprint along the racks until I find a section that’s mostly pottery. “Good thing these guys are so well-organized.”

There are Chinese vases, Greek amphorae, Namibian pots, and many others. But I’m looking for something Central American. My client described it as a terracotta bowl that belonged to her grandmother. She said it wasn’t worth much, but had sentimental value. And she was willing to pay my standard recovery fee.

“Found it.” It’s right at the end of an aisle with other unglazed pieces: a thick-bodied, rusty-brown bowl with simple geometric patterns.

‘Three minutes.’

The thieves have a well-stocked wrapping station against the back wall, complete with packing foam and a variety of ready-to-assemble cardboard boxes. I don’t have time to make one, so I grab a strip of bubble wrap and reach for the bowl.

The floor below the pottery shelf suddenly lights up with glowing footprints that suggest I should approach the rack from either side, not from the end as I was about to. Leaning forward, I spot what looks like a ceramic coaster painted with a shiny hexagonal pattern. It’s balanced precariously at the lip of the shelf, where I might have knocked it off had I grabbed the bowl from there.

“That little thing is going to make enough noise to get me caught if it falls?”

‘What’s wrong, Paul?’

“My spell is glitching.” The disc doesn’t look particularly valuable, and I’ve found what I came for, anyway, so I move to flick it safely back onto the shelf.

“What the—!” A halo of tiny footprints surrounds the object. Not only that; they’re animated! And they’re all walking away from the disc.

Okay, now I just have to have it.

‘Two minutes.’ Headlights sweep across the garage’s front windows.

I gently pick up the disc. It’s a bit more than five centimetres in diameter, and the hexagon on top isn’t just a pattern; it’s a portal crystal! I can tell by the energy it emits: the same thing I feel from my coin.

‘What’s happening, Paul?’

“I found … I’ll tell you later.” I quickly wrap the bowl and tuck the disc into the folds of plastic.

‘The back door is your best option.’

“On my way.” With a destination in mind, the spell shows a path back to the garage. Strangely, it swerves from the end of each rack on its way. I take a closer look. There are crystal-embedded discs on every shelf.

Like the first, the one I cautiously pick up from an adjacent rack fits comfortably in my hand and has a decent mass. I’m reminded of the smooth stones I used to seek on the shore of Kootenay Lake as a kid. The disc feels like it would skip for miles.

I have no idea what they are, but I’m definitely taking them with me. Careful not to let them touch each other, I slip nine more into the bowl as I head for the garage.

‘One minute! Get out of there!’

Grabbing a final disc, I step into the garage and freeze. Coyote made a mistake. I don’t have a minute; there’s someone in the hallway.

I instinctively dive for cover as the man raises his pistol. As I do, I fling the disc I’m holding. It’s a reflex action, and the best I can hope for is to make him flinch.

The shot and the explosion of a windshield on the rack above me are simultaneous. Bits of safety glass rain down as I hit the floor, nearly masking the distinct clink of breaking pottery as the thrown disc impacts.

Suddenly, the world stops making sense. I’m lying flat on the ground but I feel like I’m falling. The glass fragments skitter around as if the floor is vibrating, and the Ferrari I’m hiding behind rises on its suspension.

The shooter swears. His tone starts out low, angry, and confused before climbing higher. And I don’t mean pitch; his voice is now coming from up near the ceiling.

The dizzying force stops abruptly. I have no idea why the man is still shouting, but it doesn’t matter; he’s obviously occupied and the path to the back door is clear. I scramble from my shelter. Then the world spins again, tumbling me onto another car’s hood.

From my new perspective, I spot the shooter. He’s floating! And he doesn’t look happy about it. He flails his arms and drifts toward me. I notice that he’s barefoot and wearing a T-shirt and pajama bottoms. Apparently, there was a bedroom behind the closed door my stealth spell warned me about.

I really should be running, but it’s been only seconds since I tossed the disc and I’m not thinking clearly. Dimly, I know this is magic, though it’s unlike anything I’ve encountered before. Unfortunately, the shooter, despite his unusual situation, remembers that he has a gun. He tries to aim at me, which causes him to counter-rotate. And then the mysterious force cuts off again.

He crashes through the false ceiling of his bedroom. The sharp snap of bone and accompanying scream tells me he didn’t land on his bed.

‘Paul, they’re approaching the front door.’

“There’s a night watchman in here!”

‘Really? I only counted … oops, my bad. One of their associates was released from prison this week.’

I don’t have time to be upset. And if Coyote couldn’t work out how many people are employed by this operation, no one could have. The back door awaits.

I slam the emergency release bar and shove the steel door open. The parking lot is empty except for a line of faded dumpsters. Shouts echoing from both sides of the building warn that I’ll soon be surrounded.

As I run for the hole I’d cut in the back fence earlier, the discs bouncing in the bowl suddenly seem more of a burden than a prize, and I really don’t need this many to figure out what they are. Also, the voices are getting louder.

With only seconds to spare, I set the bowl down and palm two discs. The voices are louder on the right, so I pitch one at that corner of the building, then immediately throw the second at the opposite corner.

It’s as if a tornado has sprouted when the first disc shatters on the pavement. But instead of wind, the raw energy that powers wormholes rips up chunks of asphalt, and grabs rocks, garbage, and the first thug to reach the corner. The swirling mass sounds like an industrial wood chipper spooling up as the man is repeatedly bounced against the side of the building along with the churning debris.

My aim with the second disc was just as good, but the thug arrives a moment too late to be caught in what appears to be an ice fountain. He leaps back and shields his face as a white vortex spews pellets and shards. Despite the still-oppressive heat, the side of the garage is quickly coated in a thick layer of ice, and the thug’s hair is frosted white. Unfortunately, he spots me at the fence.

I grab the bowl and duck through the opening as the thug raises his pistol. Two steps later I’m out of his sight, behind a row of shipping containers.

‘Paul, I see a disturbance in the parking lot.’

“I’m aware, thanks.”

‘You’re welcome.’

Does Coyote not get that I was being sarcastic? “Your timing is great tonight.”

‘Glad to help.’

Apparently not.

The roar of the first vortex winds down as I reach the street I have to cross to get my Jeep. Thanks to some pre-heist planning and a pair of wire cutters, there are no streetlights here. It’s not completely dark though, and I still have to hurry in case—

BANG. A bullet whistles past. The shooter misses by five metres. But I prefer that he not get a second chance, so I upgrade my stealthy lope to an all-out sprint.

The alley to the next street is narrow and too straight for my liking. Not only that, it’s longer than the distance between me and the shipping containers. Judging by the rising tide of voices, there’ll be more than one thug using me for target practice in a confined space.

I stop and pull a line of wheeled plastic garbage bins across the path. That takes about three seconds. Setting a disc on each eats up another four. My twenty-second lead is almost cut in half, and I only have five discs left for investigation. Worse, the garbage bins don’t completely block the path. If the thugs spot the discs on top of the bins, I’ll have wasted what little time I have.

Damn! Oh well, I really only need one disc, anyway. I squat and place four more on the ground in the deep shadow between the bins. Then I run.

I’ve covered only half the length of the alley when I hear voices.

“Don’t touch the bins.” One of the thugs has seen the discs.

I tuck to one side of the alley, hoping that will make me harder to hit.

BANG. Another bullet zips past through the exact center of the alley. I’ve still got twenty metres to the corner when I hear a WHUMP, a scream, and an ominous roar.

Cracking wood and shattering glass are joined by three more blasts and as many screams. I once worked as an airport baggage handler, and the combined noise of the vortexes is a match for the biggest jet engine I ever heard there. Two intense flashes light up the neighborhood as the last discs get caught up in the chain reaction.

My Jeep is way older than I am and a bit rusty, but it starts on the first try every time. Risking a glance towards the alley as I U-turn onto the street, I see a sky filled with plastic scraps, leaves, and what looks like clothing. A cloud of thick dust billows from the alley as I speed away.

 

COMING 2027