TBAM – Chapter Two: A

Read the rest of the novel here.

 

Keats knew very little about the geography of the United States of America. She could recall one of her childhood tutors showing her a map, but Keats had never considered knowledge of Earth to be an important part of her education. It was, after all, in a world she’d rather avoid. It was one of those places where those performing magic were required to be subtle about it, and subtlety was not Keats’ strong point. She had her memory control powers, and in her opinion, that was all she needed.

Despite the fact that Keats would not be able to point to West Virginia on her tutor’s map, she’d managed to teleport there. Specifically, she’d teleported to a pizza parlour in Charleston. She made an educated guess that it was 8PM here. It wasn’t the pizza place that Keats was interested in but the apartment above it, whose address was linked to the mobile phone found in Minister Trewick’s house.

Keats used her magic to scan the apartment and check it was empty. There was a good chance the owner of the phone had used a random address rather than one he lived at, but Keats knew it sometimes paid not to underestimate people’s stupidity. She broke in without hesitating.

After searching the 2 room apartment, Keats was positive this was the hideout of Desert Freedom’s hired assassin. She found some wads of cash, some American dollars, some Litian querts. If this was his advance, then whoever paid him was probably regretting their generosity. There were a couple of identification documents. She could tell that the American passport had been forged with magic. She could feel it through her fingertips. As far as she could tell, the Litian ID was genuine.

“Rappel Calizo.” Keats read the name out loud. He’d definitely come back for the money. If he’d used this address to register the phone, he probably hadn’t realised the police could hack into the systems of foreign network companies. Even if he thought there was a risk coming back here, he wouldn’t want to lose so much money, not after everything he’d already done.

He’d be back, and Keats would be waiting for him.

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