Catch her if you love her

I was almost running. The sky was clearly hinting that it was about to cry a good rain, refilling the not-quite-dry puddles. And it would have been worth running for. But I wasn't running for no reason; I was running because of my sister. Or more precisely, because of her. And even more precisely, because of her gift.

At the start of the season, Maggie had ordered me a wildly popular magic transformer jacket. A completely impractical and terribly uncomfortable thing, but popular. So popular that during a few minutes of fast walking, I passed three guys and one grandfather wearing the exact same jackets. This popularity played a nasty trick on me.

Yesterday, a potential client had come to our firm, Mike's and mine. He never moved from potential to actual; he argued with Mike and left, cursing us with every word in the book. Well, he left, and good riddance. Getting involved with types like that is nothing but trouble. A hysterical, jealous husband whose wife had left him. But this troublemaker managed to mix up our jackets. He left his in the reception and ran off in mine. They looked very similar, and I barely noticed the switch myself. But when I put it on and stepped outside, I heard nothing.

And my jacket would have definitely reminded me to wear a hat. Maggie still thinks I'm a little kid and had configured the gift accordingly. At first, I thought the fashionable rag was less reliable than advertised, or that its magic charge was dead. But then I took a closer look and understood: the jacket wasn't mine. Good thing Ilona remembered yesterday's visitor wearing a jacket just like mine.

And so now I was running to the address that our indispensable Ilona had also dug up, to make the reverse exchange, fervently hoping that our guest from yesterday would be home. It wasn't far to house number 14 on Menhstridt, so I didn't look for a carriage and went on foot. And of course, after a few minutes, the weather turned nasty. Clouds gathered, the wind picked up. It would be awkward if I showed up in a soaked jacket.

I could, of course, activate the umbrella mode, but on a crowded street, that was risky. The fashion house of Vui Lidona had dedicated a separate section in the jacket's advertisement to describing the umbrella: "Upon voice command, a large, quasi-material, semi-transparent umbrella unfolds above the user's head. Its dimensions will keep you dry even in heavy rain falling at an angle..." The umbrella really does deploy at your first wish. And it's truly big. It's so big you can only walk with it on an empty street. Otherwise, you constantly snag the umbrellas of other pedestrians. And if there's a gust of wind, you'll simply be blown away with such a sail.

So the umbrella remained inactive, and my steps became wider and faster. Rounding a corner, I collided on the wet cobblestones with a disheveled girl who seemed to be in an even greater hurry. She had just slipped and was flying forward, trying to right herself and avoid a fall. A mass of red hair buried itself in my chest, and her hands decisively pushed me aside.

"Let me through!" The voice of the short girl was surprisingly strong and resolute.

And her appearance matched it. Sharply defined cheekbones, piercing green eyes. I even began to doubt that I still needed to run somewhere. A girl like that was worth getting a little wet in the rain for. But she was clearly not in the mood for conversation and was in a terrible rush. Not wanting to hinder her, I moved left. She moved the same way. I shifted right, and she jerked simultaneously with me again.

"Let me through!" She seemed to have decided I was trying to detain her. I tried to step aside again, but didn't have time. She immediately kicked me in the shin with the toe of her shoe, then swung and hit me with her small but weighty bag, aiming for my face. I naturally dodged, and she, losing her balance, began to fall. I caught her at the last moment, preventing her from splatting on the wet stones, but earned no gratitude. The little beast butted me in the chin with her forehead (good thing she couldn't reach higher), pushed off, and, growling something, ran on.

I watched her go. What a firecracker of a girl! She flew, jumping over puddles and scanning the crowd of passers-by for someone. My feelings were mixed. On one hand, the girl was clearly strange, but at the same time, she commanded respect. Despite the slippery road and her haste, she had kicked my shin masterfully: with the toe of her shoe at a right angle to the bone. It really hurt. Respect. And she ran beautifully. I involuntarily stared until the spot of fiery red hair finally disappeared behind the backs of the crowd. The girl was of average height or even a bit shorter. Mentally wishing she wouldn't crash after her next jump, I turned and went on my way. My destination was a few houses away. As I entered the courtyard I needed, the first drops were already beginning to fall from the sky.

Ducking into a through arch in the brick wall, I heard the rain begin to drum on the cobblestones behind my back. House No. 14 on Menhstridt was a typical representative for this district of Landana, where people weren't exactly poor, but those of middle or lower income could rent a furnished apartment with a concierge.

The three-story building of brown-red brick was built in the shape of a rectangle with a well-courtyard in the middle. There were two entrances to the building, both located in the courtyard, which could only be accessed through these arched passageways. The windows of the more expensive apartments faced the two parallel streets. On each floor, there were two cheaper apartments at the end of the building, whose windows looked directly at the wall of a similar house. I'd had to rent a similar one myself once, so I understood the layout of such houses perfectly.

The courtyards of such houses are brighter at night than during the day. Because at night the lamps are lit, while during the day the gloom in the brick well is feebly dispersed by rare rays that the dark brick walls don't have time to swallow before they reach the ground. It only gets lighter here around noon, when the sun is high. It was early morning and raining now, so entering the courtyard, I could see very little. But I knew well where the door should be, so I didn't stand under the arch waiting for my eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness. I stepped into the courtyard and took a few quick steps to the right, hurrying to get under the entrance canopy. But I was out of luck. Half a step from the canopy, I crashed into a transparent barrier and froze like a fly trying to fly into a room through a closed window.

"Sorry, sir. The passage is temporarily closed. If you need to, you can use the other door," a policeman said in a bored tone, standing calmly on a dry patch under the canopy while the rain soaked me.

Well, just my luck. I wanted to say something rude, but picking a fight with a constable on duty is not the best idea. So, kicking the magical membrane blocking the passage in farewell, I silently hurried to the second entrance. But reaching the door, I changed my mind about opening it. If the constables were in the building and the passage was blocked by magic, then something bad had happened here. Either someone had died, or something truly valuable had been stolen, or... In short, the King's constables don't use magical artifacts for trifles. No one would authorize draining the charge of expensive government property over a simple theft or a fight.

Investigations were likely underway in the house. Tenants and visitors were probably being questioned. For me, this only meant I risked getting stuck here for a long time, and that wasn't part of my plans.

Confirming my worst fears, I heard the familiar voice of Sergeant Drix. A dutiful man, but not very bright. He came out of the door blocked to me and began giving orders to the constable standing at the entrance.

"Jones, don't let anyone out. If anyone comes, let them in and block the passage again. Ask everyone who arrives for their names and their purpose for coming..."

Yeah, Drix was in top form. Instructions to a constable should be given immediately. And anyway... A competent sergeant has subordinates who, at a crime scene, know what to do and how without extra instructions. But this sleepy Jones hadn't even asked me who I was or why I'd come, simply sending me to the other door.

Not waiting for Jones to remember me, I quickly took a few steps and disappeared through the arch opposite the one I'd entered by. Better to come back for the jacket after noon. I had absolutely no desire to get stuck here.

It seemed the surprises for today weren't over yet, and one shouldn't hurry too much in dark alleyways. A shadow detached itself from the wall and rushed at my feet. The shadow turned out to be a large dog. It rushed silently, which put me on edge. Dogs usually bark or growl when they attack. Only well-trained or magically altered killer dogs attack silently.

I retreated to the wall and thrust my left elbow forward, shifting my weight to my left leg. If the dog attacked, protecting my neck was the priority. But the approaching canine didn't lunge. Wagging its tail vigorously, it stuck out its tongue and offered its head, clearly expecting to be petted or scratched.

For a stoutly built German Shepherd, it was surprisingly friendly to a stranger. Usually, dogs of this working breed are taught to obey only one person, not allowing anyone else to feed or pet them. As a child, I had wanted exactly this kind of dog. They are strong, loyal, and moderately aggressive. After watching the sincerely happy-to-see-me dog for a couple of seconds, I couldn't resist and patted its broad head. The dog pressed against my leg and switched its tail to propeller mode.

"Sorry, shaggy friend, but I'm in a hurry," I bent down, scratched behind its furry ears, "so I can't play with you. Find yourself another pal."

Turning around, I moved toward the alley's exit.

"Sir, wait!" came from behind. It seemed Constable Jones had finally figured out he shouldn't have let me go.

I pretended not to hear and sped up.

"Stop, sir! Stop!"

The crown servant shouted the last word at the top of his lungs. It seemed the sergeant had chewed him out for his carelessness. I heard the clatter of boots reinforced with copper studs. The constable decided to chase me but was stopped by growling and barking. Unlike me, the constable clearly hadn't made a good impression on the German.

"Get this dog away! Hey! Remove this dog immediately!"

I took advantage of the unexpected help from my new four-legged friend, who was now blocking the passage through the alley, and made my exit. After running a few yards, I turned into a narrow lane between houses, only to collide a couple of steps later with the red-haired stranger who had recently masterfully bruised my shin. She was in a hurry again. But this time, she wasn't chasing anyone. On the contrary. Two guys of rather grim appearance were following, or almost running after her.

"You again! You scoundrel! You still won't stop me!" the red-haired beast blurted in my face and gave me a hearty kick with the toe of her shoe, this time on my right shin.

Taken by surprise, I couldn't even muster indignation. What the hell was this! I decisively blocked the passage, wanting to sort things out with this insolent female. Gorgeous hair and a beautiful figure didn't give her the right to yell at strangers and beat them up without explanation.

The girl, however, seeing me block the passage, finally decided I had been trying to intercept her from the start.

"Oh, so that's how it is! Well, you asked for it!"

She unclasped her purse and tried to pull something out. I suspected some kind of defensive artifact or weapon. But she didn't have time. One of the guys chasing her, the shorter one, snatched her purse and pinned her against the wall. The second one shoved his hand into his jacket pocket and looked at me.

"Sir, you'd best move along to where you were headed. This is a family matter here."

"Family?" the girl shouted, "I don't remember any ugly freaks like you in my family! Let me go, or you'll regret it!"

"Gentlemen, the lady is displeased with your company," I said, watching the tall one's hands.

"She's not happy with you either," the thug decided to drop the politeness, "get lost and you'll stay in one piece."

The bruiser pulled his hand from his pocket and sharply flicked his wrist, extending a telescopic baton with a weighted end. I once again regretted leaving home without my cane. This was all Maggie's fault. She'd declared my cane didn't match the new jacket at all. Oh, little sister... But the cane is very useful when meeting stray dogs and unpleasant types like the one now staring me down while his pal shamelessly groped the girl.

"Get your filthy hands off me, you creep! I don't have anything! Let go!"

"I must repeat, the lady does not wish to associate with you, gentlemen. Be so kind as to return her purse and allow her to leave."

"You're a brave one! Or stupid. Or both..."

Without finishing, the bruiser tried to hit me with the baton. But the trick didn't work. I was on guard. He stood and moved too confidently. Not like your common thug. But not a pro either. A pro wouldn't have fumbled with a baton against fists. I ducked under the swing and answered with a left hook. The bastard was sturdy and stayed on his feet, but he was clearly dazed. I had to add a right uppercut to his jaw. A rather loud click sounded. Lower teeth met upper ones, clearly damaging the enamel, and the thug went down like a sack of potatoes.

And his short friend was already trying to put a hole in me with a switchblade that had appeared in his left hand. I barely avoided the thrust. I broke the distance and got into a more stable stance, preparing for the next attack. The remaining bandit was nervous, glancing from me to the girl and back. Thinking for a second, he kicked the redhead in the stomach, and as she doubled over in pain, he rushed me, slashing with the knife. But he wasn't just slashing wildly; he knew what he was doing. He didn't overextend his arm and kept his weight balanced on both feet. Dangerous, needed to deal with him quickly. I stepped back, and when he followed, I moved forward and to the side simultaneously, letting the knife thrust slide past me. This allowed me to get behind him.

He jumped back and turned around, but I had already managed to do what I intended. I grabbed the big guy's baton. Now the advantage was mine. The first blow I landed was on his knife hand. He didn't drop the weapon, but he clutched his hand and hissed in pain. The second and final blow connected with his head. I hit without holding back. If someone's trying to stab me, I'm not going to worry about preserving their life.

The shorty dropped the knife and sank to the ground, and I quickly felt my side. In knife fights, it's easy to miss getting cut.

"You damn bastard!" I couldn't hold back.

There were no wounds on me, no blood was flowing, but I felt like swearing a blue streak. This creep had slashed my jacket!

I turned to the one for whom this had all started, planning to finally find out what was going on. By this time, the girl had managed to pick up her purse and pull out... a flower?

"Are people like you not even afraid of murder? Do you really measure everything only in money?"

The redhead pointed a half-wilted tea rose in my direction with a look that suggested it was a loaded .38 caliber Colt. Either she was crazy (which wouldn't surprise me), or this wasn't just a flower. My second suspicion was confirmed in the worst way for me. A pink cloud shot out from the flower's head towards me and rapidly expanded. Understanding what I was dealing with, I held my breath and took several quick steps back.

Unfortunately, I didn't manage to squeeze my eyes shut in time, and I paid for it. It felt like ground hot pepper had been poured under my eyelids. I cried like a child who'd had all his sweets taken away for life. What a quality artifact the girl had! Probably expensive. And unusually disguised, too.

By the time I had more or less blinked my vision clear, the girl had long since vanished. Her pursuers remained on the spot. It would have been worth getting a better look at them, but in my condition, they just looked like two dark blurs. Heaving a heavy sigh, I turned around and headed for house number 14.