Brooklyn Knight by null

uninjured. Not only could the professor neither see nor smell any traces of blood, but also Jerome was snoring too loudly and too contentedly to be in any way damaged. Kneeling at the guard’s side, Knight first shook the man to see if he could be awakened. When he could not, the professor bent close to Jerome’s face, sniffing around his nostrils. Catching a distinctive scent Knight had not noted in the air anywherein the building so far, he began piecing together what must have happened.
    Chloroform, he thought as he arranged the guard’s body a bit more comfortably. Too light a dose to have been forced on him. Besides, his clothing shows no signs of a struggle. His hair’s still combed.
    Remaining at Jerome’s side for the moment, Knight puzzled over exactly how the man had been rendered unconscious. Thinking for a moment that the intruders might have employed something on the order of a water gun, Knight felt the guard’s face. There was no moisture to be found there, none trapped in the man’s less-than-well-trimmed moustache. Rubbing his fingers together, the professor felt not even a trace of residue. An uncomfortable look crossing his face, Knight bent low over Jerome once more, taking a second set of sniffs around the man’s nostrils.
    Damn , he thought grimly, feeling the fool for not having noticed the faint trace before.
    Ozone… .
    The slight burning scent, he knew, one ever so minutely different from any most people would ever encounter within their lifetimes, had come from an electrical spark generated in only one damnable fashion—magic.
    Ozone. Oh, damn all the fools who plague me so… .
    A thin chill ran the length of the professor’s spine. It was not the gelid fingers of fear; Piers Knight knew too much of the beyond realms to find terror in the news that some unknown force was toying with the arcane arts, aiming them toward his person, if even indirectly. He had studied both the white and black disciplines of hundreds of cultures. Indeed, when he had checked his pockets earlier, it was to make certain several of the various magical items he sometimes made use of were on his person.
    His only discomfort came from the realization that those hewas hunting might be as familiar with such disciplines as himself. He had been counting on that knowledge as his edge. Now he felt somewhat less confident about confronting the intruders—uncertain.
    What damn bunch of idiots is it this time , he wondered, that think they’ve got the goods to confront me in my own fortress?
    Knight was not actually as confident as the confrontational thoughts flashing through his mind might have suggested, however. His rapidly growing problem resided in the fact that the professor had been assuming the few items he was carrying would make his task of stopping the intruders a simple one. His sending of Bridget to summon the police had merely been his way of not only getting her to safety but also of removing her from the premises where her continued presence would have hindered his freedom to use his abilities.
    That, however, had been before our little discovery that our opponents are magic users themselves.
    And, if his guess was correct, fairly competent ones. The ease of their entrance, the fact that they had most assuredly taken out everyone in the building with a hunter spell—an incantation designed to track down each individual within an area and render them unconscious without polluting the atmosphere its casters themselves were about to enter—these were people who knew what they were doing.
    Then again, he wondered, do these fellows use magic themselves, or did they simply purchase their entrance?
    Knight sighed in frustration, knowing he had no actual way of gauging what kind of power levels he would soon be facing. Assault spells or assault weapons? Maybe both. Sighing once more, knowing there was nothing more he could do for the security guard, and that his own time was running out as well, the professor