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you’ll be fine. Do you understand me?”
    “I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I didn’t mean to hurt anybody. I’m trying to do the right thing.” He cringed at the pathetic whine in his voice.
    Her voice was firm. “I need you to calm down and stick by that phone, okay? Whatever you do, do not surrender yourself to the police. The police may not understand what you’ve done like we do. Should you see police vehicles, hide as best you can until we can get to you. Do you understand? Hello? Hello?”
    The kernel of self-preservation blossomed. His mind conjured images of Harlequin descending, lightning crackling from his fingertips; the Probe girl on the roof lying helpless in a spreading pool of blood.
    Oscar Britton might have a dangerous, uncontrolled power, but the army murdered little girls.
    What the hell are you doing?
His mind screamed at him.
You damned idiot! Run!
    He dropped the receiver, letting it hang.
    He turned to see two police cars whip into the parking lot, screeching to a halt. Rob was gone.
    Four uniformed officers exited the vehicles, guns drawn, and raced for the door.

CHAPTER VI
YOU RAN
    Magic? Fuck that. I’ve got 5.56 millimeters of magic right here. Once I pull this trigger, no spell in the world is going to stop your brains from winding up all over the wall behind you. There’s been a reawakening all right. We woke up our warrior hearts. We remembered Guadalcanal. We remembered Fallujah. We remembered what it means to be a United States Marine.
    —Lance Corporal Jimmy “Gonzo” Gonzales
Second Marine Expeditionary Force, Thirteenth Suppression Lance
    Britton dove over the counter, flipping and landing face-first on the rubber matting. He heard shouts as he crawled to his knees, brushing his nose against a code-locked safe.
    Beside it was a sawed-off shotgun. The breech was open, shells loaded into both barrels. All he had to do was snap it closed, stand, and fight.
    He couldn’t run forever. Why had Captain Nereid had warned him not to surrender to the police? So Harlequin could have the pleasure of killing him instead or hauling him before a court-martial to do the deed officially?
    He glanced over the counter. The police officers advanced at a crouch. Two leveled pistols. The other two followed, with shotguns ready.
    Just a few hours ago, he’d been on the same side as the police. Crime needed a motive. All he’d ever wanted to do was the right thing. Rage and terror competed in his gut.
    Rage won by a nose. The magic rose. This time he welcomed it.
    Screw the gun. I don’t need it.
    He closed his eyes and let the tide flow. He could feel the current reaching out toward the cops. He stood, arms spread. The air behind the policemen reverberated. They spun, crying out.
    He hesitated at their cries. There had to be a difference between him and what he’d always been taught Selfers were.
You didn’t kill your father on purpose,
he reminded himself.
That was an accident. You don’t hurt innocent people. If you forget that, you really are a Selfer.
    He struggled against the magical tide. One of the cops turned back to Britton and fired. The bullet punched a hole in the sliding door and buried itself in the counter.
    Britton didn’t flinch, overwhelmed by the magic coursing through him. He felt like his veins would burst, his cells pried apart. He desperately tried to shunt the tide back, but it would not be denied, howling toward the policemen.
    Behind the cops, the air pulsed open into a shining gate.
    Another cop leveled a black shotgun through the glass display window. “Selfer son of a bitch! Switch it off!”
    I’m trying,
Britton thought,
but now it’s out, and I can’t stop it.
He could feel tendrils of magic slide through the gate, reaching beyond.
    The shotgun boomed, turning the window into spinning fragments.
    The magic found what it sought and hauled it through the gate.
    The portal spasmed and pushed something tall and strange into the world. The cops turned, Britton