So did the mages—for a moment. Until their shields went down and so did they. Well, most of them.
I saw a few make it through some industrial sliding doors up ahead, using magic to increase their speed, while ours started to flag. I wasn’t sure whether the troll was getting tired, because he ought to be tired after acting like a wrecking crew all on his own. Or if maybe there was another reason.
And then I saw the reason.
Cage after old iron cage lined the walls and spilled out into one end of the huge space. Some housed lumps huddled in darkness, too dirty and ragged to make an easy identification. But others had humans clinging to the bars, staring out in dawning hope, hands reaching, reaching, reaching—
For the keys that the troll shook off one of the few men who were still moving, before throwing him through a window. And then standing in the middle of the room and roaring, the sound almost drowned out by the cries of the slaves and the yells, cheers, and boos of the crowd around me. Who were surging to their feet, those who hadn’t already been there, and acting like they’d just won the Super Bowl.
Maybe because some of them had, I realized, finally spotting Fin on the other side of the screen, doing some swift calculations on an old yellow pad.
A list of odds and their payouts showed up on the wall a moment later, while the winners surged at Fin and the losers headed for the bar. I just stood there, staring at the images. Because the important part of the night’s events, which no one seemed to care about, was still ongoing.
The slaves were being freed.
The small woman with the smoking hair jumped down from the troll’s back, assisted by a hand the size of an easy chair, and grabbed the keys. And went hopping from cage to cage, letting out what I could now see were mostly weres. Some were in human form, thin, dirty people with matted hair and darting eyes. But others were too exhausted and sick to transform, leaving them stuck as a menagerie of animals: a lion with half its fur gone; a dozen wolves, so scrawny I could see all their ribs; a huge gorilla that was cradling a tiny baby with the greatest of tenderness; and a mass of selkies, fey skin changers who in their animal form resemble seals.
Somebody went to switch the channel and I growled at him. The man slowly pulled his hand away, and I hopped down and pushed through the remaining crowd to get closer to the screen. The slaves were running now, some stopping to help those who couldn’t help themselves, but most darting into the night, not even waiting to plunder their former jailers, whose bodies were littered everywhere.
Except on the long dock visible outside the sliding metal door, where a couple guys in a speedboat were about to take off. At least, they were before a young man with massive, eagle-like wings swooped down, the partial transformation allowing him to kick the duo back onto the dock. Where they were swarmed by their former captives.
But many more slaves ran off, not enticed by revenge any more than they had been by plunder.
They looked terrified.
But not of the troll. Who was slumped down now, on the dirty wood floor, head lolling, obviously exhausted. And letting his assistant do the mopping up.
“Dory!”
My head jerked up to see Fin waving at me above the crowd. He jumped off his stool and came bustling over, looking pleased. “You out and about already?”
I blinked at him, wondering how he knew I’d been at the theatre, and then I realized: he thought I was still recovering from the burnt-out-building fight.
“Yeah.” I went back to staring at the screen, where the eagle man had now transformed his feet into great claws, to rake at the slavers, one of whom had grabbed a kid as a shield.
And who, a second later, was hitting the dock on his knees, when the were-child changed into a python and wrapped around his neck.
“I should have expected it,” Fin said. “You always heal fast—”
“Fin.” I gestured at the screen, half-incoherent. “What is that?”
He looked over his shoulder, and then back at me, beaming. “The latest thing. I’m making a killing!”
“On what?”
“On the crazy crusade those two got going.” He jerked a thumb at the screen. “You haven’t heard?”
I shook my head.
He pushed his way through the crowd, and pulled a folded newspaper from in between two sofa cushions. “Here. It’s yesterday’s, but you get the idea.”
It would be hard to miss. At the top of the paper was a screaming headline: UNDERWORLD GANG WAR! And beneath that: WHAT IS THE CIRCLE HIDING?
Not a lot, judging by the pictures. Which showed members of the Silver Circle in their trademark leather overcoats, a few with glittering insignia, standing around the middle of what appeared to be another warehouse. It was a newer one this time, all dirty concrete floors and few windows to let in light. On what, at a guess, was another troll attack.
It looked like the one I’d just witnessed, except with more bodies.
A lot more.