//------------------------------// // Chapter 29: To Ring a Unicorn // Story: The Enforcer and Her Blackmailers (Enhanced & Augmented) // by scifipony //------------------------------// "Welcome to my world," I said, placing the stencil, brushing on the black, and spraying the fast-dry lacquer. As Sunset Shimmer watched—and for some reason I felt a need for her to watch—I layered on Grimoire both physically and mentally. I continued by releasing my pigtails, combing my mane back, and pushing in berets, creating Grimoire's signature Baltimare tough's bouffant. The stallion version, not the mare version. In a society where stallions wore their hair short, many eastern gang members never cut their manes or tails. A few spritzes made the hair style solid. I finished by putting my tail in a bun, hiding the chartreuse stripe. A second-hoof, carefully tailored for movement, black hip-length bad-weather short cape completed the costume, though I left the cowl down. I stood. Sunset Shimmer followed wordlessly. The twin roan ponies still awaited their carriage, lit by a flickering gas streetlight. Both were brownish-tannish in color with black manes, and black points that made them look like they had stepped knee-deep in charcoal. I stopped at the curb and waited with Sunset Shimmer to my right. I sensed them looking and turned to my left to meet their magenta eyes. I lowered my muzzle as I looked, exposing the whites beneath my irises, showing them predator eyes. I didn't blink. "Come on, Candy," one said, and they trotted down the block. I waited another minute, hoping everypony who needed to see me would see me and prepare. I suddenly really really didn't want to do this. I could well believe I faced death. A year ago, I'd looked into a blue sky and saw a griffon wearing knives on her talons about to crash on me and Carne Asada. I'd seen my death then, and according to Carne Asada, they'd barely revived me from my injuries after I'd put down the hen. I saw death now; less immediate, but how many times could I play with fire and survive? At the very least, I could see where I might thoroughly ruin Sunset Shimmer's life, or get her hurt or killed. It would be my fault. I could be a coward, as I had always been, and run away from my life. Or I could go forward and give restitution for my crimes against society, as well as find some for those against myself. The crisp autumn chill in the air felt appropriate somehow. I stepped into the street as the traffic cleared, and slowly strolled toward Lower Canterlot. I didn't make the conscious decision. I just let my body lead. I followed. As did Sunset Shimmer. Lamplighters had lit the last lights and night had fallen completely before an escort appeared out of the general hoof traffic heading home or out for a meal. It was a lanky mauve stallion, sporting an unkempt black mane and a reversed red billed-cap. A blue pegasus with a spiked mane fluttered down to join us as we walked. "Grimoire!" "Sunset Shimmer, meet Tailor and Streak. Not their real names, of course. Tailor, Streak, meet my friend Sunset Shimmer." Both shot me an annoyed look. Too many pony ears listening around us. Sunset Shimmer said, "Hey, you're the pegasus who bothered Star— St-St—Grimoire last week." "Indeed, she is," I said. "She delivered a note with your name on it. Somepony knew you needed help!" If Sunset Shimmer saw any incongruity in my words, she showed no indication. Perhaps the addict inside prevented it and that made me morn a lost companion I knew I'd miss. She kept close enough for me to feel the heat of her body. She did not balk as we turned at the intersection. I soon knew where Tailor and Streak led us: The Edge, that park-adjacent eatery district near that Hooflyn-style deli that Running Mead apparently liked. I entertained how I would throw Tailor at Streak if I felt Sunset and I had to run for it. I had worried Running Mead might choose to meet in a warehouse or any place unfamiliar that might close me in and force me to take desperate measures, but this was good. No, it was very good. I kept my face a mask and followed. I played idly with some quick draw Teleport calculations, but felt certain I needn't fear an ambush at least, not with the moderate hoof traffic we traveled with as cover. Mid-dinner hour looked to be a perfect time to meet for "business" in the semi-seedy trendy neighborhood of three blocks known for its dive bars and up-and-coming chef-run restaurants. Running Mead liked it, I suspected, because few of the establishments had glass storefronts, and those that did had smoked glass you couldn't see through. With everypony inside eating, or in a rush to get inside, the area outside felt relatively empty. Maybe Running Mead kept it that way by influencing the proprietors with some protection scheme. I stopped as we entered a block that edged on a small urban park. Lanterns, some gas-lit, some powered by potions, warmly lit brownstone buildings. A few were white-washed in Canterlot colors, but most evidenced forest green or brown, with stenciled signs that read The Draft Horse or Mama's Kitchen or Hayride's. Little planters of daisies and carnations graced the sidewalk. Trees had firefly dish-ponds and feeders to attract the cheerful night insects, and in this season, they literally buzzed with wane light. I smelled garlic and the scent of cooking oil caramelizing hay, but my nerves made the scents unappetizing and caused my stomach to sour. The cobblestones here, worn from centuries of use, looked recently scrubbed, leaving random puddles that reflected the lights, and, to the east, the newly risen moon. "What are you waiting for?" asked Streak, prodding me with the stiff pinion feathers of her wing. I blinked, realizing I'd been woolgathering. I wasn't going to tell her I was finding any excuse to delay, but I took it as a reason to work up a quick draw stun spell, not so much though that my horn lit. Didn't want to scare the locals. Down the street, where a warehouse from a block over made a slightly more private alcove, lay The Hooflyn Delicatessen. Blinking marquee lights around the sign ensured you saw it. Here, café tables stood beside the establishment with a smoked black window. A brown pony with a tan mane, white socks, and a white horn stood swirling the dark contents of a wine goblet in his amber magic beside a green bottle. He wore a gold corduroy jacket. A couple ponies loitered, maybe his less scrupulous enforcers. Not bodyguards, as good ones knew they needed to hoof-aside their employer in an instant—but, then again, I might have higher standards then average ponies. I'd beaten the bodyguards of Carne Asada's Lieutenants into shape when their lackadaisical manner threatened to make my protecting the Doña more difficult. Running Mead had never earned that perk from me. After a minute, I saw light glint off amber eyes as Running Mead regarded me. Well, too late for regrets and plenty of time for Fellows to scope out the situation. I called up Grimoire, finding his deep-toned voice and hoping for his imagined strength. I touched Sunset Shimmer's flank with a hoof and pointed. "We're going there." She gave me a strange look as if I had changed into another pony; I had. "You walk out ahead of me." She did so. As she stepped up to his table, I stood off five pony-lengths and said, "You asked to meet the princess' protégé." "So I did!" He held out a hoof and she reciprocated with a gentle tap. I watched with keen interest, waiting for any magic beyond Levitate. I watched the other ponies who watched me. I decided to add Mirror Shield to my quick draw queue. "My little filly, Sunset Shimmer—" "I'm not a filly," she interrupted, surprising me, her ears forward. I expected her to be groveling, but certain types of condescension grated on all mares. He laughed, gently, and turned to his wine, lifting it in his amber-colored aura. A red; by the light fruit smell, a claret. I could identify it because Sunset Shimmer drank the varietal when she didn't drink hard cider or beer. "They all want to be seen as older until they realize they'd rather be seen as younger. My apologies." He sipped and put the crystal goblet down with a glassy clack. "I know what ails you." Sunset Shimmer stiffened. Still, no unusual magic. Impatience made me half turn as if to walk away, never taking my eyes off him, of course. "My dear, dear Grimoire, don't leave." I stopped. "We made a deal." "It takes two to agree to a deal." I wheeled my body around, keeping my eye on Running Mead while I addressed Streak hotly. "Did you tell him what I told you to tell him?" "I did. Every word." Running Mead said, "She did! She said you told her that I had won. You don't run from a winner, Grimoire." He motioned with his nose and his two flunkies split up and walked toward me, but kept enough distance that I'd be unable to physically counter them. I retreated more steps from Running Mead and the flunkies compensated. Ok—they were trained to some degree. Apparently Streak had indeed told him everything I'd said. Keeping track of the two—not to mention keeping track of Tailor about whom I knew little—put me on the spot and made me even more nervous, reminding me of that day I'd fought in the Hooflyn gang war. My bowels twisted in unhappy anticipation. These sights, this tension, that was the reminder that had made me almost shoot my TA during what should have been a fun defensive spell practicum. I worked to control my breathing. Perspiration condensed under my cloak. With the awareness of three hostiles (I discounted Streak and Tailor), I nevertheless didn't overreact when Running Mead threw something at me. I caught a heavy purse that, like the first time he'd turned me into a sleepwalker, would have struck me in the head. The creep used the tactic to keep idiots like me on the edge and malleable. Had he understood my fighting technique, he'd have known better. I brought the purple velvet purse to eye level and pulled the drawstrings to see dozens of glittering gold bits. I cinched the purse, licking my lips, but didn't throw it in my saddlebags. Instead, I kept levitating it. It gave me a reason to leave my horn lit so I could fully spin up my quick draw queue. He added, "I am a generous employer. I insist you stay. I think I'll be able to convince you—" I cringed despite my usual self-control, but he didn't notice and continued, "—to stay on the team. As for you, Miss Sunset Shimmer, I was saying—" She cried, "I have bits. Lots of bits! A simple transaction and I'll leave you to your business with G-Gr— Grimoire." "No, no, no. You don't understand, my little filly. This isn't a business transaction. This is an employment interview." "I just want some net—" "—We don't talk aloud about such things," he interrupted, waving a hoof. "You want this." He levitated an envelope and passed it under Sunset Shimmer's nose. She gasped, ears perked. "Yes, but—" "As my newest employee, you'll find an unlimited supply. Unemployed, you'll find the plant may as well be extinct. So, here is your first job: I want you to talk to Lieutenant Bright Moon of the royal guard and tell her—" "I-I can't do that." "I beg to differ. Do you want to earn your keep tonight by saying 'yes,' or do I send you home to contemplate your sorry life? Either way, you'll eventually do what I ask." "What? I have bits. Can't we just—" "Your bits mean nothing to me Sunset Shimmer. I thought you were one of Equestria's best and brightest…" As I watched him work to break her, I saw it wasn't working because she prepared to fight. She wasn't experienced in battle magic, at least against ponies. Perhaps she didn't realize her horn lit as she worked up Teleport while holding on to the numbers for Levitate. She had apparently figured out my quick draw technique, somewhat, but her numbers were sluggish, clouded, and not at all hot. Her transform wavered like a heat mirage, numbers floating lazily away and dissipating. Her snatch-and-dodge wouldn't get her far, if her teleport spell worked at all. "Don't do it," I warned, snapping her concentration, but not mine. What I waited for was Running Mead to spin up his mind control spell. I had to see how he did it, if I were counter it. I put Mirror Shield at the top of my queue. Sunset Shimmer glared at me. I waved my jingling coins at her and gave her a toothy grin I didn't feel. The muscles in her jaw bunched and her ears went sharply forward. She faced Running Mead and said, firmly, "No," with what was certainly the last of her willpower. "So determined to be contrary. Tsk, tsk. However, I do think I can convince you." He reached out with a simple Levitate and squeezed her right shoulder gently. Having done that, he spoke, telling her how important it was for her to find the lieutenant, to remind her of her manners in agreeing to favors without doing them. He went on about how the royal guardsmare would be so appreciative of Sunset's visit. He continued by remarking how nice it was that Sunset Shimmer herself agreed to do him the favor. Furthermore, she was welcome to take the envelope with her. "Uh, huh," Sunset Shimmer said, her eyes unfocused. "Putting it that way, I can certainly see how it helps everypony. Yeah, right, I'll do it…" She nattered on as my jaw dropped. Running Mead had touched her with his levitation spell, and though he kept Levitate spinning, he now lifted his wine and sipped it as he listened, not touching her at all. I had expected a spell. A spell! Was it his words? No, that wasn't it! I felt no compulsion to agree with the monster, nor to talk to any royal guard, and by the looks of the rest of the audience, neither did anypony else. That led to a singular conclusion: His odd ability to persuade ponies had to be his special talent. He had a talent that allowed him to turn ponies into hypnotized sleepwalkers. Were he a pegasus, or an earth pony, he'd be just as good at it. It was all because of a cutie mark. A filthy cutie mark. A Force spell had wormed itself to the top of my quick draw queue. I wasn't surprised, nor was I appalled. A familiar voice in the street said loudly, "I do think that is enough." I wheeled around again, gasping, keeping an eye on Running Mead. Detective Fellows approached at an unhurried stroll. I pushed down Force and opted for Mirror Shield again. I dropped the bits as I backed up, too frantic to keep up the charade at the expense of readiness. All the flunkies flinched at the jingling thunk. Running Mead glanced around, his ears swiveling rapidly. In that instant, I would have prepared Teleport in his place. Some bodyguard ought to have had a hoof on him already, possibly spiriting him away. I had yet to see him do any magic beyond Levitate. Might he actually only be a low level unicorn? His eyes shifted rapidly; he was as hyperaware of everypony's position as I was. Fellows continued, "So, Running Mead, has Lady Grimoire told you that this is actually a sting operation she arranged? To catch you in the act of committing a crime?" "Thank you," I said sarcastically. My heart beat double-time, my breath becoming loud enough to hear. Were the shooting to start, I stood in the middle of the crossfire! "Is that so?" he asked, eyes flicking momentarily at me. "I knew she wanted to quit, but to put me out of business! I didn't see that coming." I looked from Fellows to Running Mead and back. Why did I get the feeling that these two knew each other? Had I been set up? But... But, I had been sent to kill Fellows, and had nearly done so in the factory. He'd stuck to the detective story. Why would he do that? What about the constabulary's hue and cry following my escape from the factory? That had been real—but it didn't have to have been directed by a detective at the scene of the crime! The factory worker had seen me. Had vandalism been enough for the search? What if Fellows were a competitor or a colleague, fallen out of favor, based somewhere in downtown Canterlot? Sunset Shimmer had mentioned somepony she had bought her nettle-ewe from: Actually Fellows, or his henchponies? Perhaps the fight had resulted in Fellows and Running Mead coming to terms? Some sort of "crime boss" truce? It neatly explained why Running Mead seemed oblivious that Detective Fellows had gotten away. I am so dead! My position made it impossible to tackle Sunset and teleport away without being burnt down in a crossfire or magicked by Running Mead. Fellows walked closer, the clatter of his hooves echoing in the alcove. It had become awkwardly silent, except for the fireflies that buzzed haphazardly about. My bad luck, all possible witnesses had gone inside the restaurants and only the smells of garlic pastas and hay burgers drifted out. If I stood a chance of escaping alive, and taking Sunset Shimmer with me, I had to act soon. If I hit Running Mead square on with Force, I might just have a chance. I gulped. I hesitated. I— I just couldn't do it. Not unless he shot first, I couldn't. It wasn't so much that my spell might fail, but that not-killing-ponies was too deeply ingrained. Around me, the two lackeys' horns lit, one green and one yellow, but nopony fired. Even Don't Look Don't See Don't Hear was out of the question. Were I in their position, I'd reflexively fire where a pony had disappeared. Fellows said, and I took it he was addressing me, "I wouldn't do anything rash." "Do you leave me a choice?" I asked, my eyes and ears flicking to targets, knowing that if they all shot, I'd be unable to defend against them all. Casting Teleport, I'd lose Mirror. I felt so overwhelmed, I feared I might teleport into the ground, which would cause the spell to fail instead in a shower of sparkles. When I'd been a bodyguard, I'd trained and surrounded myself with a team, and for good reason! Nopony could look or be everywhere. I queued Teleport anyway. Fellows laughed. "Everything isn't about you, Lady Grimoire. Did you think I was so stupid as to come here alone?" He dodged left. I reflexively teleported five pony lengths right and drove myself into the ground because my subconscious wanted to duck. Funny how the spell bent my legs to my stomach to make sure the spell didn't fail because of the obstacle of the street, but I still barked my knees and hit my jaw hard enough on the cobblestones to see stars. Frost steam curled above me. Running Mead's lackeys fired. Whichever one had fired at Fellows, missed. The other had fired Force at me exactly as I would have—at where I'd disappeared from. The under-powered bolt missed hitting my flank because I'd teleported. It continued through and burnt across Streak's rear end instead. Her tail burst into flames. As I rolled evasively, I saw other shots, this time from behind, stunning one of the lackeys. Fetched up on my back, I saw an armored mint-green pegasus throw a javelin that clattered at Running Mead's hooves, preventing him from bolting the opposite direction. He'd warded off the javelin with Levitate. As he ducked beside his table, he shot what appeared to be some sort of wimpy slow moving amber energy stream left over from the spell towards a dark corner, toward an alley, probably his escape route. He shouted, "I'm innocent! Protect me from those flying thugs!" Moments later, an actinic magenta bolt shot into the sky. The pegasus cried out, spasming, scattering her quiver of javelins as electricity crackled around her. The wooden weapons came clanking down and bouncing as she spiraled rapidly to the pavement. I transformed my new force spell back to Levitate, reaching out just in time to intercept the armored mare, but with no good control. It stopped her, but it translated her downward momentum to sideways momentum, spinning her on her stomach toward Fellows who had to jump over the poor pony. Sparks flew in her wake. The motion blew out the rest of Streak's flames as she rolled and screamed like a child, wafting a mixed scent of burnt hair and ozone my way. "I'm innocent! Murderers! Protect me!" Another? I rolled just in time to avoid a stun spell—almost; it hit my back right hoof. The leg twitched and went completely pins-and-needles—my bad leg that had been numb before, so I knew how to deal with it. Tailor had fired at me, the miscreant. Holding on to my discipline, I spun up Mirror; not a moment too soon. A uniformed constable standing near Running Mead shot me. The purple bolt ricocheted off harmlessly, but that wasn't all. A glowing amber tendril reached my way. The energy stream looked like an extension of a unicorn's aura, like the aura that glowed around levitated objects, and by its simple equation of stability, it was indeed Levitate. I fended it off with Mirror Shield, but the tendril avoided the reflective optical illusion as I jiggered it around. The apparition extended back to Running Mead's horn. Was he levitating air to extend it? Yes. Yes, he was. Like Force created a frictional cylinder of air—just with enough intensity to glow—in order to grab at me. Force, insufficiently prepared, was all I had. If I could apply— A Barthemule transform actuated, compelling me to finish the calculation as the sphere bloomed and surrounded me, lifting me off my legs and warding off Running Mead's touch. Touch? I gasped: He had to touch a pony to make his talent work? And touch he did. But he'd given up on me. Suddenly the constabulary task force was shooting at one another. Soon one would shoot at me and not miss. Sunset Shimmer hid behind a café table she'd knocked over, cringing and shaking, shielding her head. I noticed this because I'd floated closer to Running Mead as my spell ran its course and collapsed under the weight of its temporal paradox. I rolled flat and kept down, unable to run because my leg, which, though better, was largely numb. I simultaneously prepared a spell. From my position, I saw that Running Mead cowered behind a protective constable. He had his rear legs and flank up like a racer—ready to bolt again as soon as he could take over the copper blocking his escape. His tamed constable defended against one not yet turned. This gave me a perfect view of Running Mead's cutie mark. A spilt glass mug of mead. He made ponies drunk and compliant. Something about the physical manifestation resonated in by brain like the visions I'd seen while healing using Flowing Waters' spell. I sensed greasy green smoke and bruising purple that, in my mind, swirled about it; I even scented sulfur in my fevered aural entanglement. His was a filthy, horrible cutie mark. I could not in the depths of my soul, would not, let him escape this time. In an adrenalized intuited snap, I transformed Force into Levitate into my healing spell, using my memories of working on Rye Bald under the influence of nettle-ewe; I refined it with all I had learned by experimenting on Sunset Shimmer's cutie mark, moving it, impeding her cutie mark's effort to control and make her miserable, confusing its feedback mechanisms. To that I added burning, unbridled outrage and bile. I reached out with no compunction that I might cause harm, dashing my magic like a storm wave against a rocky headlands, directly into Running Mead's flank with no thought I might fail. I did not fail. The cutie mark's hum of conceit and bacchanal contentment flooded across my senses, with images of vineyards and the scents of intoxicating oaky wine. I could see horrific magical numbers spinning up in the ecstasy of fulfilling a destiny, a mathematics blissful in the face of atrocity. I shook my head to rid myself of the equations as I reached for the cutie mark's metaphysical connection, that bulb of magic-in-stasis centered in his hip. It formed the non-corporeal organ tissue that projected the image of his cutie mark to both sides of his body for all to see. The instant I grasped it, I ripped with all my strength. It resisted. Like pulling elastic. I renewed my determination even as I heard Running Mead scream in terror. He fell on his side and thrashed against the pavement, bucking and neighing loudly. The constable looked around in confusion for an enemy, but didn't see me as she had to dodge the "innocent" stallion she was protecting. I was a shark. I tore at the cutie mark as the constable turned and focused on me. Running Mead, with a sick bang, struck himself senseless against the glass wall. I ripped harder, flooding the connection with every splendor of magic I could push into it. Something cracked and plunked, like a boulder on a mountain that had shifted downward, now on an unstable cliff edge, instead of embedded in granite bedrock. It stretched. Like pulling a melted marshmallow from a roasting stick, the faint aura of the glass-mug-spilling-alcohol cutie mark distorted as it pulled reluctantly away, leaving a gooey tendril of light. It looked like the ghost of a symbol as I dragged the transparent thing until it floated disembodied away from Running Mead's flank. At the instant of separation, the instant when the constable would have shot me, she instead stumbled. I fought the cutie mark, still magnetically attracted to its host. As the constable fell to her knees, I struggled frantically to keep hold of the apparition as my magic faded in exhaustion. I levered myself to a sitting position and saw the almost empty green-glass bottle of Claret. The label read Stags Leap Claret, Applewood, 989 vintage. I wrestled the cutie mark into the bottle just as my spell broke into thousands of burnt-out digits. The cutie mark inched up the neck. I got Levitate spun up as fast as I could, barely thrusting the cork into the bottle in time. It squeaked as I pushed down. I held my breath. The apparition stopped moving, hovering and drifting about the inside of the green smoked-glass bottle. I giggled. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I cried, "Now that's the way to get a cutie mark!" Something felt very wrong. My body trembled. I blinked, felt the world spin around me, but felt the opposite of being sick. Suddenly, my heart leapt with overwhelming emotion. It was... it was... I felt elation and a pride magnitudes beyond anything imaginable. The jaded part of my mind thought this was what sex was supposed to feel like. The other simply decided I’d finally gone right properly crazy. I had done it. I had defeated The Monster! I'd learned something profound about myself, and about cutie marks—how to manipulate them. This, this—joy vanquished all other thought or worry. I felt myself lifted up, literally high. The world took on a epiphanic golden glow. I had gone right properly crazy. The shooting around me ceased the instant I'd wrenched Running Mead's cutie mark free. The compromised coppers shook themselves as my levitated body rotated, giving me a view of a dozen confused combatants and constables who worked to secure the area. I felt so satisfied that I'd accomplished my goal that the idea that anypony might arrest me, that anypony might harm me, became a completely unthinkable non sequitur, a stupid joke. My burning moment of self-knowledge and destiny passed, however. I found myself touching the ground, my hooves holding weight. I stumbled as my numbed leg found itself unable to do its necessary task of holding me up; I held it to my stomach, shaking it absently to bring it back to normal. I tingled all over, though, and could hardly care. As my trained senses struggled to wrestle my brain back from an endorphin surge to end endorphin surges, I smelled the perfume scent of the makeup powder I used to brush on my fake cutie mark: Gardenia. It smelled burnt. Fellows galloped up, causing me reflexively to renew my quick draw queue as I blinked and tried to throw off the dizzies. From his saddlebags, he withdrew a rusted wrought iron ring the size of a donut, covered with tiny red iron-hot numbers that to my learned eyes vibrated and danced in place. Magic runes. Running Mead lay there dumbfounded and stunned, muttering to himself, "Where did it go? It—It's gone!" Fellows slipped the ring over Running Mead's horn and from the other saddlebag, he pulled two glass tubs. He ladled the pink contents of one over the ring, then poured the sickly green glowing contents of the other over it. With a loud crack, the gel crystallized, affixing the ring in place. Well, that made sense. Wouldn't want a criminal tossing his head and launching the ring into the air. He turned to me and said, "Thank you, Lady Grimoire. You came through after all." He huffed and tilted his head, squinting past me. A smile drifted across his face. "Congratulations on getting a real cutie mark." I blinked. I looked. The brushed-on grimoire had flaked off. Under the bits of powder lay something indeed new. I saw a doubled four-point star, purple overlaying white, with two turquoise auroras dancing above it. It was the same star burnt by my magic into the fur of my forehead. From my perspective, the auroras looked like they were trying to pull the high magic symbol from the matrix of the cutie mark itself. Since Aurora was my given name, the one I refused to use, it felt appropriate. But wait. What? My special talent was cutie mark magic? I stopped breathing. I stood that way for seconds. My special talent was cutie mark magic? My special talent was? Cutie Mark Magic!? I gasped, nodding. Okay. Maybe that made sense, considering what I'd learned. "Cutie mark magic," I muttered, and felt my lips pull up in a half-grin. "Huh..." In my peripheral vision, I saw Fellows turning to look at Running Mead. He said, "I don't know what you did to him, but you knocked the sense out of him." I watched in horror as his head continued turning to scan toward Running Mead's flank and the scar that the unmarking had left. It looked like an equal sign burnt into his hide. Like charcoal. Like an atrocity. Instinct that had queued another spell allowed me to transform it into Levitate. It didn't matter that it was inaccurate. I winged the Claret bottle, bashing it hard enough against the glass window that the window cracked. The bottle didn't, but it bounced, spun cork over bottom, to smash open on the cobblestone pavement, spraying me with droplets of red wine and bits of glass that bounced like dumped marbles. Released, like a tiny comet, Running Mead's cutie mark shot back into place on his haunch, causing the stallion to cry out, "Gah!" "Sorry," I said as Fellows looked from the smashed bottle to me. "Nerves," I added. "Um, I learned how Running Mead's magic works." "Right," he said, standing and drawing out his pad of paper and a pencil. "Go ahead." As the other constable, who had moments ago been protecting Running Mead, reached out a leg to shake the stallion to his senses, I cried, "Stop!" To her credit, the mare jerked back her leg. "Touch," I said, "He does it by touch. It's a cutie mark talent, so all he has to do is touch you physically or via magic. Whatever he tells you that he can make sound reasonable, you'll do. It's like sleepwalking. You have no control over your nightmares." "I see." As Fellows looked back at Running Mead, I began to get an uncomfortable feeling. Was he reacting beyond my magical flinch or statement? No. No more than Sunset Shimmer was reacting to me, attended by a plainclothes mare who tried to coax Sunset from hiding her head under her front legs. Somepony, somepony's protégé (the one with the crown), manifestly didn't have the right stuff. Glancing back at Fellows, intuition told me he had definitely not seen me casting Mark Unmarking. Or comprehended something had even happened. Too far out of context. Nopony could do that. Nopony until just now. As I analyzed the feeling, I queued Teleport. Again and again. He wasn't looking at me and I had time to glance behind, to see Streak pawing at her singed tail. Blood coated her blackened flank. A constable watched her. Fellows said, "All the help you've provided will prove a mitigating factor—" Blam! Teleport landed me half a pony length from Streak, right at the constable's front legs as he reared in fright. I stood, took advantage of his movement and my momentum, and threw him over. I leapt atop Streak— Bang! At the end of the street, I caught my breath and spun up my numbers as a cloud of disturbed fireflies swirled away. Frost steam billowed above us. The constables turned and pointed as I found what I wanted to see. The royal guardsmare lay flat, jittering spasmodically as she preened a wing. The constabulary air force was grounded. Pop! I teleported Streak above the warehouse, barely making the very edge of the building. We fell a pony length to the roof with a whump that knocked the breath out of us both. I'd gotten the angle right; nopony on the ground would know where my exit pop sounded. The blood on her flank had turned to ice and it slid off like red snow, plopping on the tar and composite surface. I waved off the steam, not wanting to provide the least clue as to where we'd reappeared—as if anypony down there, beyond completely incapacitated Sunset Shimmer, was a high level enough unicorn to even realize there were atmospheric effects they could trace us with. "Can you walk?" I asked. Her burnt flank looked red, raw, and painful. "I think so," she replied with an unconvincing smile. I limped with her, occasionally shaking my leg to hasten it waking up. At the opposite side of the block-sized flat roof, looking down on the evening hoof traffic and a lone taxi, she asked, "Why'd ya do it?" "We're victims, but the constabulary has other ideas. You have a record?" "Not in Canterlot. I threw a brick through a moving company's window in Vanhoover. The owners of Always Ontime hold grudges." I laughed. "Not what I meant. For the record, the stuff in Rye Bald's kitchen was minestrone soup. I helped him escape and I have a letter to prove it. So, let's make ourselves disappear. We aren't the big fish in this pond." "Yeah, thanks. Oh, and this is yours." She pushed her face into her messenger bag and pulled out the purse I'd dropped. Her spiked mane blew like wind chimes in the cool evening breeze. "Really, thanks." I leaned against the blue pegasus and teleported us to the next warehouse roof. "Don't mention it." Later, I healed her flank. And gave her most of the gold bits telling her I was an early investor in her moving company. I also did a lot of thinking about what having a cutie mark really meant.