Hard Magic Read Online Free Page B

he just kept his mouth shut, but if it were up to him, he would have to go with Cowley’s plan. It wasnlike Magicals didn’t catch enough heat from a few bad apples as it was. The last thing they needed was stories in the papers about a Brute taking the heads off some G-men in public.
    “You ready, Sullivan?” Purvis asked as he opened his door into the downpour.
    “Yeah,” he muttered. “This is the last time, you know. That was the deal. After this, I’m a free man. I ain’t beholden to nobody.”
    “Over my pay grade,” the senior agent responded before stepping out. He slammed the door behind him. All down the street other cops saw Purvis appear and the lawmen began to exit their cars as well.
    “He better keep a leash on those bulls or this could get ugly,” Sullivan said as he pulled a pack of smokes out of his coat. “Got a light, Sam?”
    “You know I always do, Sullivan.” Cowley turned around and snapped his fingers. A flame appeared from the end of his thumb. “Figures God would bless me with a little tiny Power, and he gives a magic lighter to somebody who doesn’t smoke.” He chuckled. Cowley was some religion that forbade smoking, a strange combination for a Torch.
    Sullivan lit the fag. “Ironic.” He took a long drag. Sullivan liked the agent. Cowley was homely and avoided the spotlight as much as Purvis sought it. They’d worked together before and Sullivan knew the agent was competent. “You know, you best not let your boss see you do that. I hear J. Edgar don’t like magic.”
    “Lots of folks don’t.” Cowley turned around and opened his door. “We better go.” He got out, pulling the Thompson with him.
    Sullivan sighed. Cowley was the weakest kind of Magical, with just a flicker of natural Power, but even that could ruin a man’s career in some circles. He tugged his hat down low and got ready, feeling the Power stored inside his chest. It took a lot of practice to build up that much and still keep it under control. He activated a small part and felt his body shift. For a brief moment the world around him seemed to flex. The springs on the Ford creaked. He cracked his knuckles, feeling the Spike, gently testing the tug of gravity around him.
    Cigarette dangling from his lower lip, he opened the door and slowly unfolded himself from the backseat. Jake Sullivan was a big man, and he used a big gun. He reached back inside and maneuvered the long case from the backseat. The black canvas bag was enormous and he let it dangle from one hand.
    Cowley looked over, rain running off his fedora, and pointed at the case. “I don’t see how you can carry that thing around.”
    Sullivan took one last drag before tossing his smoke into a puddle. “Saved your life in Detroit, if I remember right.”
    “True, but it has to weigh a ton.”
    “Not to me,” Sullivan said as he reached into the bag, grabbed the Lewis gun by its stock and withdrew it. Even twenty-six pounds empty didn’t really concern somebody who could alter gravity. To him it was light as a feather and swung like a bird gun.
    “Damn, is that a fence post?” Purvis asked, cradling a short barreled Browning Auto-5. “Put that thing back. This is an arrest, not a war.”
    “You don’t know Delilah.” Sullivan threw the sling over his shoulder and head so the massive machine gun could hang at his side. It wasn’t exactly concealable, but his parole deal had specified he would help take down Active murderers, not that he had to be tactful about it. “You know, Purvis, I’ve never got in a gunfight and said afterwards, damn, I wish I hadn’t brought all that extra ammo.”
    “Put it away, Sullivan. That’s an order. I got lots of men who can shoot, and I’ve only got one that can do—” he waved his hands like a bad stage magician—“ whatever it is you do.”
    “Where’d you get that monster anyway?” Cowley asked.
    “Flea market,” Sullivan answered as he unslung the mighty Lewis and put it back into its