CHAPTER THIRTEEN
White threw a punch at the nearest masked Venetian. As soon as his fist collided with the Venetian’s mask, however, it passed through it as cleanly as air, causing White to stagger forward from the momentum of his punch before he regained his balance. He looked around in alarm, wondering where the Venetian had gone, before he heard movement above him and looked up.
At the top of a nearby shipping container the same Venetian—Bauta, he remembered the man introducing himself as—stood, his tabarro blowing in the wind behind him.
“What’s the matter, White?” said Bauta in a mocking voice. “Thought you got me that time? Well, perhaps this will be a lesson that you can’t always trust your lying eyes.”
White just growled. He fired a lightning bolt at Bauta, but the bolt merely
