The Magpye: Circus by CW Lynch

die,
gasping for air as the Magpye's blade slipped between his ribs and
burst him inside like a water balloon. The Magpye picked up the
guard's radio and listened to the chatter. Able's trick, learnt
from a movie.
    "The cops are here."
    "Jesus, they've rolled right up
to the front door."
    "They just got themselves
screwed then. Shut the gates behind them. This is going to be
easy."
    "They're not getting out."
    "Fuck it, kill 'em in their
car."
    "No, wait. Send someone down.
There's something not right."
    The explosion that came next
sounded small through the radio, but the shock wave that reached
all the way to the basement told a different story. Magpye smiled.
Turned out Owen White had some tricks of his own.
     
    ***
     
    Owen smiled. Through his night
vision goggles the explosion had been a ball of pure white, like an
instant snowfall burying the old mill and every scum bag Kingsman
in it. All too soon, the bright ball of brilliant white faded away,
leaving the mill with its heavy iron doors hanging open. White
flames moved across the green background of the night vision,
silhouetting dark blurry figures.
    To Owen's right, Nutt looked
down the scope of his rifle. "Three, four, five..." he counted
slowly.
    "Expendables," said White,
"They're not sending any of their big guns down to check the car.
Take them anyway, let them know we're here."
    Nutt grunted his approval
before opening fire. "Five, four, three, two ... one..."
     
    ***
     
    King paced back and forth.
Taylor was at the window, smiling.
    "Is this supposed to happen?"
King barked. "Because it looks like our people are getting
shot."
    "Nobody important," replied
Taylor, his voice showing a rare trace of excitement. "Their
shooter is quite impressive though."
    "Great, that's just... great,"
hissed Cane. "Where the hell is Grace?"
    "Baiting the trap," replied
Taylor.
     
    ***
     
    Magpye crept through the
basement of the mill, a shadow among shadows. The place reeked of
oil and ink and even though the great machines here were rusted and
tired, their immense power still resonated from within them. Lives
were made and lives were broken here, in the incantations of ink on
paper. That was the true power of the Kings - they controlled all
the stories. They could burn a circus to the ground, kill everyone
in it, then tell whatever lies they wanted and everyone believed
them. It said it in the paper, honey, so it must be true. The real
lives, the real stories that they crushed were lost forever. All
there was was their story, their history.
    He was going to change that.
After tonight, people were going to know who he was.
    "And who, pray tell, are
you?"
    The voice startled him. Nobody
could creep up on him, could they? He cursed the ghosts and all
their eyes and ears as he spun around, looking for a gap amongst
the steel and iron leviathans to disappear into. Wally Wu, still a
little bit of a coward after all, was looking for a place to
hide.
    He didn't find a gap to squeeze
into. He found Grace Faraway.
    Lithe, naked, her tattoos
swirling like smoke across her dark skin, she walked towards him a
thing of living ink and shadows. He knew what she was instantly. A
voice, somewhere deep down in the river of ghosts that ran through
his head, bubbled up its wisdom. He'd heard the voice before, when
the others were quiet enough. It was the only voice that frightened
him, and it frightened him to hear it now.
    "Faraway," said the Magpye.
"The ghost that haunts Kings."
    Faraway laughed, and
it sounded like someone walking through broken glass, as if she
hadn't laughed before and the apparatus had all but dried
up . "I haven't heard that one
in a long time. Someone's been... reading."
    She trailed a hand across the
leather and plastic of Magpye's mask, her fingertips like ice and
electricity combined.
    "Do you feel safe in there,
little spirit?"
    "Safer than you are, I..."
    Suddenly, the witch shoved
Magpye hard in the chest with both hands. His chest felt as if it
were on fire and