Free Firefight by Brandon Sanderson

burning, not enough debris. This wasn’t caused by a bomb.”
    I nodded. Val climbed up too, then the three of us ran across the rooftop toward the burning one. Tia and the other two maneuvered the boat through the water alongside us.
    Prof stopped Val and me beside the rope bridge leading tothe next building. People pushed past us, faces ashen, clothing singed. Prof seized the arm of one who didn’t look too wounded. “What was it?” he asked softly.
    The man shook his head and broke away. Prof pointed for me to provide fire support, and I knelt down beside a brick chimney, rifle out, covering Tia and Exel as they moved the boat up beside the burning building, then climbed out and onto it, carrying a pack that I assumed had a first-aid kit in it.
    I sat, watching as Exel began to bandage the wounded. Tia took out something else, the small device we called the harmsway—the fake box with wires sticking out of it that we claimed healed people. Prof really did the work; he must have gifted some of his ability to Tia before joining me on the rooftop.
    Tia would have to use it sparingly, only to bring the worst of the wounded from the brink of death. Miraculous healing would draw too much attention to us. Sparks. We might draw too much attention anyway. We were obviously organized, armed, and skilled. If we weren’t careful, this might very well undermine Exel’s and Val’s cover stories.
    “What about me?” Mizzy asked over the line. The young woman still waited in the boat, which rocked in the dark water near the side of the burning building. “Prof, sir?”
    “Watch the boat,” he said over the line.
    “I …” Mizzy looked deflated. “Yes sir.”
    I focused on my duty, watching for threats to Tia and Exel on the burning rooftop, but my heart wrenched for the girl. I knew what it was like to feel Prof’s skepticism. He could be a hard man. Harder lately. Poor kid.
    You’re treating her that way too , I realized. She’s probably not even a year younger than you are . It wasn’t fair to think of her as a kid. She was a woman. A pretty one at that.
    Focus .
    “Ah, here you are, Jonathan. Very prompt of you.”
    The voice, spoken in a businesslike tone, made me jump almost to the stars. I spun on the source of the sound, leveling my rifle.
    An older black woman stood beside Prof. Wrinkled skin, white hair in a bun. Scarf at the neck, fashionable—yet somewhat grandmotherly—white jacket over a blouse and slacks.
    Regalia, empress of Manhattan. Standing right there .
    I planted a bullet in the side of her head.

11
    MY shot didn’t do much. Well, it made Regalia’s head explode, so there was that—but it exploded into a burst of water. Immediately after, more water bulged up out of the neck in a giant bubble and formed into her head again. Color flooded it, and soon she looked exactly as she had a moment before.
    Regalia’s self-projections were apparently tied to her water manipulation powers. I hadn’t realized that, but it made sense.
    In order to kill her, we’d have to find her real body, wherever it was. Fortunately, most Epics who created projections had to be in a trance of some sort to do it, which would mean that somewhere she was vulnerable.
    Regalia’s avatar glanced at me, then turned back to Prof. This was one of the most powerful Epics who had ever lived.Sparks. Hands sweating, heart thumping, I kept my gun on her—for all the good it would do.
    “Abigail,” Prof said to her, his voice soft.
    “Jonathan,” Regalia replied.
    “What have you done here?” Prof nodded toward the destruction and the injured.
    “I needed to draw you out some way, dear man.” She spoke with elevated diction, like someone from the old movies. “I figured that a rogue Epic would focus your attention.”
    “And if I hadn’t yet arrived in the city?” Prof demanded.
    “Then knowledge of the destruction here would pull you faster,” Regalia said. “But I was fairly certain you’d be arriving