"Sorry, sorry!"
Zatanna clapped a hand over her mouth and took two quick steps back, waving her hands frantically, her face flushed with awkward panic. "Magic baby! I mean, magic baby!"
"I didn't expect to run into you tonight, but then again, that hound doesn't just pick random targets."
"A small town like Smallville, though..."
Lowering her voice, her emerald eyes sparkled with curiosity as she leaned in closer, her tone hushed and a little mischievous.
"So, which school are you with? Merlin? Solomon? Do you know Zatara—"
"I'm just an ordinary farmer," Locke cut her off, his voice flat, stopping her chatter in its tracks. "Please take me back."
"Right now," he added, emphasizing each word.
"Alright, alright..."
Zatanna gave an embarrassed smile and stood on her tiptoes, placing a hand solemnly on Locke's broad shoulder.
She took a deep breath, summoning all her magical energy, and clearly but quickly recited the backward incantation:
"Emoh ot llawsmalS!"
Buzz—
A burst of golden light, brighter than before, enveloped them both, only to fade and vanish just as quickly.
The alley fell dead silent.
Nothing...
Nothing happened.
Only the faint whistle of wind echoed through the narrow passage.
Blinking in confusion, Zatanna felt her magic reserves nearly drained, a sinking feeling creeping up on her.
Uh-oh.
Was her magic not strong enough? Was the distance too great? But why would it be? Metropolis to Smallville shouldn't require that much power.
Whoosh—
A gust of night wind swirled into the alley, playfully carrying a colorful flyer that slapped against Locke's work pants.
Locke bent down, pinching the paper between two fingers—
San Francisco Food Festival!
Six bold, vibrant words screamed across the top of the poster, flanked by an image of the Golden Gate Bridge and a tempting lobster.
Locke's eyes froze.
He remembered clearly: just before the golden light of the teleportation spell flashed in the field, he'd caught a faint whisper in the wind—
"TsaoC tseW ot tropsnart."
But now...
"Miss Zatanna."
Folding the flyer slowly, Locke's voice was soft—dangerously so.
"Care to explain why we're on the West Coast?"
"The straight-line distance from here to Smallville's probably halfway across the country, right?"
"..."
Zatanna's throat bobbed as a bead of sweat slid down her smooth cheek, glinting under the neon lights.
"W-Well, it's probably because..."
"Your magic resistance is kinda high?"
She scrambled for words. "It made the teleportation spell go haywire, draining way more magic from me than it should've! Like a dam bursting open... and we just... overshot."
Seeing her sweating buckets, looking like she might cry, and thinking of the near-straight path from Kansas to California on a U.S. map, Locke couldn't help but let out a wry chuckle.
Magic, huh...
Wait a second.
Magic resistance?
Locke focused inward, suddenly noticing that the earthy energy of the Genshan Qi within him felt more vibrant, more robust.
Had his body... absorbed some kind of external energy?
Case closed. His mountain energy didn't just grow from "eating"—it could directly absorb and convert pure energy too!
If that was true, could every magic-wielding sorcerer basically be a walking battery for him?
At that thought, Locke's gaze lingered on Zatanna, a little too intently, making her shiver and instinctively hug her arms.
"Uh, Mr. Farmer?"
Her face forced a nervous smile, like a trembling lamb.
Locke held up a finger in a "shush" gesture, then flashed a "friendly" grin. Reaching into the bottomless pocket of his work pants, he pulled out a flip phone, dialed a private number, and pressed it to his ear.
Beep—beep—beep—
The long, monotonous tone echoed clearly in the quiet alley, dragging on until it cut off with a short, automated disconnect.
What the...
What was up with Richie Rich? At this hour, knowing Lionel's nocturnal habits, he should've been wide awake, charming some gal at a fancy gala.
"Damn it," Locke muttered, not wanting to call again. He scrolled through his contacts, pausing at "Gray Gina Hutchinson" before hesitantly hitting dial.
Beep... beep...
The phone barely rang twice before it was picked up.
A clatter came through the receiver, mixed with a muffled yelp, like someone had just rolled out of bed and knocked something over.
"Mr. Locke?"
The assistant's voice was thick with sleep, but her professionalism kicked in fast, snapping her awake.
"Good evening! I'm all ears, go ahead."
In the background, pages rustled as if she'd instantly switched to work mode.
"I'm in San Francisco," Locke said bluntly. "Ran into a little trouble. Can you help get me back to Smallville?"
"..."
A weird silence hung on the other end.
It lasted so long Locke started to feel awkward. "If it's a hassle, I can—"
But before he could finish, Gray's breathing quickened, her voice dropping to an excited whisper.
"Mr. Locke! You're on the West Coa—"
Ahem.
Catching herself, she lowered her voice again. "Is this a covert mission? Do you need any support from my end?"
"I..."
Locke glanced at the curious Zatanna and the unfamiliar San Francisco street.
He gave up on explaining. "Sort of. I just need to get back ASAP."
"Got it! Look toward the city center!" Gray's voice suddenly brimmed with energy, accompanied by the clack of a keyboard. "The tallest building has a LutherCorp chopper on the roof. I'll notify the on-call pilot now!"
Locke looked up, his gaze cutting through San Francisco's dazzling, disorienting nightscape.
Sure enough, among the cluster of skyscrapers, a glass-walled tower pierced the sky like a blade, its red aviation beacon flashing prominently.
LionelCorp.
The familiar logo glowed coldly in the night, offering Locke a small sense of comfort in this strange city.
But just as he was about to hang up, Gray hesitated, her tone turning uncertain.
"Um, Mr. Locke, has the boss mentioned anything about the Asia-Pacific region..."
There was a faint trace of worry in her voice.
"Asia-Pacific?"
Locke picked up on the shift in her tone.
"Oh! No, nothing!"
Her voice snapped back to its usual professional cheer, though she spoke twice as fast as normal. "I was just curious why you didn't call the boss directly for this mission. He'd probably be better equipped to—"
Looking at the distant red beacon atop the skyscraper, Locke explained, "His phone didn't pick up. I tried."
"Haha, is that so?"
Gray's laugh sounded forced.
"The boss is probably in a super important closed-door international meeting. The group's been negotiating over a new strategic material in the Asia-Pacific—talks are at a critical stage, high confidentiality, so restricted comms make sense."
She tried hard to sound reasonable.
But as Lionel's assistant, Gray wasn't by his side? And she was fishing for info from him?
Was that normal?
"Gray," Locke interrupted. "What's going on with Lionel?"
Feed the author—vote now or the story starves 😭"
Want 2 chapters a day? You know what to do!
Request your favorite story too!
Pat-reon: belamy20