Half Moon

Chapter 2

A thick bank of clouds was obscuring the light of the moon, and the alleyway remained shrouded in shadows. Loud, noisy music was blaring, and silhouettes moved through the darkness.

High above, on the rooftop of a nearby building, two figures crouched. The light of a laptop screen shone obviously but unseen, illuminating the face of its user, a woman in her late twenties. Her face seemed to bear no lines whatsoever, but had a kind of unspeakable maturity about it. Brown eyes matched auburn hair that curled around her face. She seemed quite absorbed in whatever she was doing, her fingers swiftly running across the keyboard.

Her companion, a slightly older man, turned to watch her. He had dark hair that was cropped short, and eyes that were compelling pools of black. His coat flew freely in the breeze like a cape as he shifted his weight.

"Wat'cha doing?" he asked.

His partner replied, "Going through some files. Why are we here anyway?"

"Cuz' I'm bored and Andy's watching Wormwood for me," he said with a grin.

She rolled her eyes. "Let me rephrase that, Bane. What am I doing here?"

"Well, you're off duty, and I get lonely while watching the homeless."

A muffled scream interrupted their pointless conversation, and both parties craned their necks to see what was the source of the sound.

About sixty feet below, a large man had clamped his gloved hand over an older woman. Her eyes were wide opened, and the whites of them seemed so out of place in the blackness. The two figures on the roof thought they saw a glimmer of the robber's knife.

"Alyson, you see that?"

"Yes, Bane. Duh."

"How about it?" Bane cocked his head towards his friend, an eyebrow raised.

Alyson Reed rolled her eyes again. "Fine, let's go."

*** *** ***

The veteran mugger had one hand pressed against the old lady's mouth. His knife hand deftly slid the weapon back into its hold, and ripped the handbag from the lady. She tried to struggle, but the thug was way too strong for her.

Claiming his prize, the man turned to run. No doubt, the old lady began to scream for help, but by the time any help came, he would be gone.

There was no warning, except for an almost inaudible swooshing sound. From nowhere, a manhole cover zoomed out, slamming into the robber's gut. He felt the wind knocked out of him as the circular hunk of metal threw him on the floor, flying off like a boomerang.

Struggling to get up, the thug felt his whole body freeze as the air resounded with a defeaning bang.

A man's voice spoke, "Stay here till the police arrive."

The robber wanted to nod, but he could not move a single part of his body. He was in an awkward position; his body was bent to one side, with one hand pressed onto the floor. His other hand held the knife he had extracted as he was falling, and one leg looped over the other, as if he were about to jump back up to his feet.

"You're safe now, ma'am. Try not to be out this late next time alright?" he heard a second voice--a female one--say. The old lady he had attempted to mug uttered her gratitude and pried her hand bag from the paralysed robber's body.

As her heels clicked against the pavement, the thug heard another sound. An old song he used to enjoy listening to. By the Eagles, perhaps. Or was it Bon Jovi? He could hardly remember now. Though he felt no pain as of yet, he was pretty sure the sensations would come later.

He heard the man who had first spoke say, "What? Alright, we'll be right there."

"What's wrong?" said the woman.

"We gotta get back. Have you called the police?"

"Yep." At this, the robber gulped nervously. It had been a long time since he last left prison.

"Let's go then."

There were two cracking sounds, like those of bullwhips. Then a wisp of smoke passed by the robber's range of vision; all he could see was the graffiti of the wall his contorted and frozen body was facing.

*** *** ***

Justin Bane hated teleportation. He hated the whirring in his ears, especially during long-distance teleportations. The hated the dizzying feeling that followed, and he absolutely hated having to concentrate on his destination, lest he ended up in a ditch somewhere.

In about two seconds, his surroundings warped and twisted like a fog, then those of his destination materialised: immaculately clean flooring, large computer screens, ancient staves on display in glass cabinets. And above it all, high up on one empty wall, was the emblem of the Silent Circle of Magic.

It was quite a ridiculous sign, Bane thought. Three intersecting staves wrapped by a blue circle. That was it. Even a nitwit could have drawn that.

From behind an automatic door a young man in glasses scurried out. His curly hair bobbed with his quick steps, making him look rather comical. He approached Bane and Alyson, his sneakers squeaking to a halt.

"Mr. Bane! Here's the report," said the man a little too quickly. He added, "Good evening, Miss Reed."

"Hi, Robert," said Alyson with a smile, which the young man nervously returned.

Bane flipped through the files rather lazily--he hated documents and anything to do with reading or numbers. His eyes searched the page, looking for the crux of the problem he had just been rendered.

Then he saw it, and he frowned. He re-read it again.

"Two boys found dead in the forest. Investigation pending."