Take a Shot

Sidestep

Recon missions were the best. I didn't have to kill anyone, I didn't have to get hurt, and I would be home in four days. I loved reconnaissance.

I stretched my arms behind my head. There were a few people wandering the streets, and I'd passed by a relatively big city on my way here, but this was really out in the sticks. I couldn't see there being a magic guild out here in this near-deserted town. Though, Astronomer's Ruin had been pretty far out, if I remembered right. I sat back from the ledge of the roof, stretching my legs out.

Somewhat recently, one of the magic guilds that helped Harmony transport goods under the Yoruban government's radar had dissolved. Due to how Yoruba handled their mass of magicians, this wasn't incredibly uncommon; we'd been through four, maybe five in the past 10 years. Harmony didn't do much trading in and out of Yoruba, so finding a new partner magician's guild wasn't time sensitive. I was here to look around, make notes, and ensure the landscape hadn't changed much magician-wise. I was to start on Yoruba's west side and move eastward.

It got boiling hot on this side of Yoruba, though. I'd kill for a pair of shorts. Hell, I'd kill for a baggy shirt. Ref had officially taken over as my outfitter for more than a year now, which meant baggy shirts - "you look like a whale, and we can't add a belt because someone could grab you and use it as a weapon against you" - shorts that hit above my knees - "your scars are easy to identify and far too distracting" - and all my more revealing outfits - "have some modesty! You're a fucking professional!" - were now no-gos for my missions. Not like wearing tight pants and sweating my ass off in the middle of the hot season wasn't suspicious.

I offered to go as a short, fat man in order to wear baggier clothes. The joke hadn't gone over well.

It was dangerous, of course, for me to be in Yoruba at all, since their stupid government would have me arrested or killed for doing my job. Luckily, I was barely recognizable. Quill as he was, Ref was real good at making sure I didn't look like myself. Even my temperance device was in a different form than the last time I'd been here. I lifted my hand above my head, looking at the chunky, knuckle-to-knuckle silver ring on my middle finger. And Yami'd said it wouldn't be possible; the little girl had really outdone herself.

A sense of magic put a twinge in my back. My hand flew to grab the pain point, eyes snapping to focus. This was a familiar magic. What was this? Magic being more prevalent on Yoruba than Dalal made the risk of identification itself higher, but this magic...I knew this magic, knew it well. This stir in my stomach was familiar to when the Triad would teleport in front of me, but it didn't boil my blood like other fire-type magics did.

I rolled from my back to my stomach, creeping to the lip of the roof. This area was rather deserted, so it shouldn't be difficult to determine which hmangtu made me feel this way. I looked from head to head. None looked remotely familiar. If I was a better magician, I'd have been able to identify the magic, thus its source, within moments of feeling it, but that wasn't a skill I'd spent time cultivating, nor one I desired to. I grabbed my binoculars and peered into the sparse crowd.

The pain was growing stronger. Another one, unfamiliar but powerful enough to trigger my magic sense even through my device's suppression, hit like a blunt object to the back of my neck. My hand on my back moved to the new pain point. The twinge in my back had grown to a more severe ache. I'd be impressed by the potency of the pain if I wasn't so worried about being outed.

"Are we in the right area?"

"We're nearby, at least."

Those voices sounded closer than I'd anticipated. One male, one female. I didn't have to strain to hear them. I set the binoculars down carefully, scooting back from the lip a bit.