Free Mystic Militia by Cyndi Friberg Page B

panel. The same would be true in reverse as he materialized inside the dwelling. It had taken many cycles to master simultaneous transition.
    He placed his hands against the privacy panel and gradually released his physical form, allowing his energy to slowly pass through the wood. As he immerged on the inside of her apartment, he manifested a Shadow shield, expanding the field gradually as each centimeter of his body reformed. He took his time, ensuring that nothing he did alerted the occupant to his presence.
    The front room was dark, the television’s screen vacant. Light in the sleeping area drew him toward the back of the dwelling, but he paused. Ever cautious, he activated his integrated scanners and analyzed the results reflected on the inside of his right cornea. Environmental statistics scrolled first, followed by energy readings. A familiar energy pattern appeared and he tensed. Deactivating the system so he could focus on his external sensors, he quickly confirmed his suspicion. Allenton had been here, might be here still.
    Fine by me . Nazerel was more than ready for a fight.
    He crept down the narrow hallway, combining visual sweeps with sensor pulses. Allenton was the obvious choice to pursue the rebel hunters. It took a Shadow Assassin to find a Shadow Assassin. Still, the betrayal infuriated Nazerel. Allenton had experienced the oppression and subjugation fueling this rebellion. He should know better than siding with the self-serving Ontarians.
    Easing the privacy panel— door —inward with the toe of his boot, Nazerel leaned slowly forward and checked the small utility room. Bathroom , his language implant corrected. He grinded his teeth, wishing he could turn the stupid thing off. Blending in was important, but he couldn’t afford the distraction right now.
    The floor creaked as he neared the bedroom door, momentarily halting his progress. He listened for any indication that she’d heard his approach. Silence. With a controlled breath, he took a careful step and then another, not trusting the floor to cooperate. The door was about half open. It was unlikely he could slip past the barrier without shifting the panel inward. He looked into the room, assessing his options.
    Angie sat on the bed, a book open across her lap. The fall of her hair obscured her face and—her hair was several shades too dark. In the muted lamplight he could barely discern the red.
    This wasn’t Angie.
    It was a trap!
    He shoved the door open and dove for the bed, knowing a hostage was his only hope of escaping this scene alive. His fingers tangled in her too-dark hair as an energy pulse whizzed past his neck, narrowly missing his flesh. Allenton could sense his energy pattern, giving the traitor a basic idea of where Nazerel was, but their Shadow shields kept them both from knowing the other’s exact location.
    The female cried out as Nazerel dragged her off the bed, too angry to govern his strength.
    “Release her and lower your shield or I’ll fry you where you stand!”
    Nazerel pivoted, shielding his body with the human. His gut twisted at the cowardly move, but they’d left him no choice but self-preservation. The Mystic stood near the doorway, his hands glowing with yellow-orange light. Pyrokins could be deadly fighters, but they frequently destroyed far more than their target.
    Without releasing his shield, he taunted, “Go ahead. You can’t burn me without frying this female. Now get the hell out of my way.”
    Stinging particles peppered his back, sizzling through his garments and creating holes in his shield. The female cried out as one of the energy particles burned the back of her arm. Easily anticipating Allenton’s next move, Nazerel shoved the human forward and rolled to the left.
    The Mystic lunged for the female, twisting sharply with her in his arms and shielding her with his broad back. Allenton’s second blast hit the Mystic in a concentrated stream, boring deep into his body. The Mystic screamed, but