THE CENTURION AND THE RAINMAN
By Lou Antonelli
Corporal Doncard bit down on an unlit cigar so his teeth wouldn’t chatter as his antique patrol car eased along the badly rutted streets of Magtown. He gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. The pre-Change vehicle was supposed to be safe from spell static. He knew not to trust that. Anything with an electrical system was vulnerable.
“The roads don’t get repaved in this neighborhood,” Lieutenant Neely said from the passenger side. “What’s still left of the asphalt goes back to the Obama Era.” He shot the young corporal a glance. “You ever see anyone’s who’s been torced?”
Doncard shook his head. “I’ve never spent any time in Magtown.” He’d heard of torcing, seen crime scene sketches. No photos, cameras wouldn’t operate near a corpse for weeks afterward from the residual magic.
