Spellhacke- M. K. England Page 0,1

expected to have, honestly. I dive to one side, tumbling over a two-foot-wide pipe with the bag held tight against my stomach. A bright flash of orange maz blasts the metal just beside my hand, turning it red-hot in a flash. Seriously, she’s just gonna sling firaz around? She doesn’t know what’s in these pipes. What if they explode?

Apparently, she doesn’t care. Another fireball blasts at my heels, leaving a black scorch on the concrete.

Point taken.

I grab the top of the ladder where it connects with the roof and swing myself over the edge, dangling by one hand for half a terrifying second until my feet find the rungs. My shoulder screams in brief protest, but it’s used to this kind of abuse by now. A quick glance below, and I spot a landing about two stories down, where the ladder turns to stairs. Perfect.

Another blast of fire connects with the top of the ladder, then two more in quick succession. Then more. What the hell is she doing? What a waste of maz. I guess when the city’s paying for it, you can use as much as you want, though.

Then the ladder starts to heat up under my hands, and I understand.

Shit.

I need to hurry, outclimb the warming metal under my palms. I risk another glance down. The landing is closer, at least; less than one story to go. Above me, the cop pokes her head over the side and winds up for another blast.

I let go.

For one brief second, my chest fills with the weightless thrill of falling, falling.

Then I look down, soften my knees to absorb the shock, and exhale as I land on the balls of my feet and guide myself into a forward tumble. Perfect form, way to stick the landing, self.

Unfortunately, the platform is slightly shorter than I anticipated, and I roll straight past the edge of the landing and onto the first staircase. Behind me, the landing rattles with another blast of firaz, then another, closer. A message pops up in my vision:

(private) Ania: Our client is getting ready to murder me, therefore I’m getting ready to murder YOU

Our client can eat one thousand bees for all I care. I subvocalize a message back that thankfully translates correctly.

(private) you: Kindly FUCK OFF when your best friend is being chased by the cops

Perfect. Good rule for life.

I use my unintended momentum to swing myself over the railing onto the next set of stairs, then the next, the bag full of stolen maz thumping against the small of my back with each landing. If I were at all talented with maz, I could have sacrificed one of the vials (and a bit of our pay) to fight back. Maz is not my thing, though. You want your ex’s social media profiles hacked so they look like an ass? I’m on it. With maz, I’m useless.

Well, except for the stealing-and-selling-it thing.

Far above me, the staircase rattles as the cop makes her way down in the more traditional manner, but as soon as my feet hit the asphalt, I may as well be invisible. I’m gone, around a corner, over a fence, through a narrow alley—

—and onto an empty street with an officer at either end.

Seriously?

Both cops charge at me, but before I can find yet another alternate route, an arm darts out from the alley I just came from and yanks me back, then behind a dumpster. I’m all but thrown against the cold stone wall—by Ania. Thank the stars.

“Our client actually let you leave to rescue me?” I ask through gasping breaths.

“Kindly fuck off while your best friend is trying to save your ass.”

I bite back a grin. Ania never swears like that. I’m proud to be responsible for it.

Between us, her fingers fly as she weaves together a quick and simple concealment spell. Plum-colored strands of obscuraz pour from her fingertip implants, coming together in a tightly knit pattern. She ties it off with a quick yank, then rips it in half and shoves half of it into my hands, keeping half for herself.

“Stay absolutely still,” she murmurs.

The spell crumbles into faintly glowing sparks as it takes effect, and I press back against the alley wall and breathe as shallowly as I can. Ania does the same, taking my hand and holding tight as all three cops converge on the alley. The woman who chased me across the rooftops does a slow scan of the entire alley, sharp eyes looking for any sign of