Live and Let Lie

by F. A. Bentley

  I moved to the last man only to find that he’s had five holes pierced into his neck. Oh, he was missing his left arm too. All the way up to the shoulder. Gone.

  “He’s dead,” I said. “How? Why? I thought the Lord Illusionist said your lives were guaranteed.”

  “I’ve been out the whole time,” Zophie said.

  “As have I,” Popov muttered. “How was he killed? Cut throat?”

  “Not cut.”

  “Then what?” he asked.

  “Five holes in his neck judging by the blood. His arm was torn off afterwards, if I had to guess. Looks like someone just stuck their fingers into his neck and…” I trailed off when I saw the look of horror pass over the priest’s face.

  “Heavenly Father protect us,” he whispered. “We need to leave this place. Now.”

  Just as Zophie opened her mouth to reply, we heard it.

  Barely audible at first, it slithered in on the icy wind. At first I thought it was some distant amped up sound system that was carrying sound weirdly in the air, but it became unmistakable as the sound grew nearer.

  Humming. I could just barely hear someone humming. Louder with every passing second. Nearer. The priest turned to us and whispered in a voice both harsh and overwhelmed with terror.

  “Rusalka. Run.”

  Chapter 23

  We both heard the priest’s words, but neither of us moved a muscle. The humming was coupled now with the slap of wet feet hitting concrete. The grotesque squelches were enough to make me twitch with each and every pace.

  “Well now, what a grand surprise. Little children, how ever did you get free?” spoke a young woman’s voice, despite the motherly words.

  She certainly sounded harmless enough. My eyes turned to the lightless hallway opposite to the barren floor we were perched upon. The fact that I was somewhat uncomfortable with perilous heights certainly didn’t aide the situation. Heart in my throat, wand drawn and ready, the sickening sop of footsteps abruptly ended. A playful chuckle echoed eerily against the water park’s walls.

  “We need to run. We must. Quickly this way,” spoke the priest breathlessly.

  A half rusted ladder gave way to a solid drop to the second floor. The tiling below, almost invisible in the poor light, didn’t exactly scream safety. Popov went first. Followed by Zophie and me. We landed in a claustrophobic hall that must have connected to the Jacuzzi floor. The priest stumbled into a folding chair in the groping dark, cursing madly at the noise it made.

  “What a mysterious noise. Shall I investigate?” the Rusalka’s voice echoed from above.

  “The hall, quickly, if we can put some distance between us, then we might just make it out of here alive,” the priest muttered.

  “Get out alive? We should just kill it,” Zophie said.

  “For once I agree. Popov, you might not realize this but we’re actually quite used to spaghetti western showdowns against Supernaturals.”

  The priest shook his head. “You don’t understand. The Rusalka is different. She uses her magic to--”

  Zophie scoffed, “Doesn’t matter what this thing uses magic for. I’ll dispel everything its got with a flick of my wrist. Locke. On me.”

  “You should escape while we’re distracting it, Father,” I said, patting the man on the shoulder.

  “Don’t call me Father. And don’t come crying to me for last rites when this all goes to hell.”

  Cheerful humming reached our ears. The slap of wet feet soon followed. Wordlessly, Popov made a break for it. Zophie and I advanced, looking for a place to spring our attack from.

  “Where oh where have the children gone? I’m getting worried sick.”

  Zophie gulped, taking position at a blind angle in the hallway. I prepared my wand. The strategy was simple, relying on ambush more than anything else.

  Footsteps dangerously near, Nuhl sprung into action. “Unmake!” she shouted, her hands latching onto a pale limb.

  The effect was unmistakable. Like popping the cork of a champagne bottle, suddenly all the magic in the air near the Rusalka was erased. Zophie created an area of pure normality so devoid of magic that for a brief instant I considered taking up a desk job as an accountant.

  A split second later, I focused magic upon my wand tip, willed a blade of hard arcana to life and slashed.

  Soundless, cast in shadow, the Rusalka fell without a sound. I severed her neck. Plop. Where once there was a body, now only water. Problem solved.

  “By the numbers,” Zophie said. “Well done.”

  “I think I’m beginning to understand why you’re so boring,” I said.

  Nuhl glared at me, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean it’s a side effect. Too much divination magic ruins your eyesight. Too much body magics make you into a Frankenstein’s Monster cosplay. And too much antimagic kills your imagination and sense of wonder.”

  “Screw off. I don’t have to put up with your…” Zophie trailed off.

  “See?” I said, “Can’t even form a solid retort.”

  I had just enough time to ask myself why Nuhl looked terribly surprised before I felt pure agony on my back. All the way down my spine, every pain receptor went off like my body was having a fire drill and nobody told me.

  Falling forward I cried out in pain as Zophie collapsed onto her ass, her sudden scream mingling with mine. What the hell just happened? Were we under attack?

  “Very naughty,” whispered a young woman’s voice. The words sounded as though they were gurgled from a half drowned swimmer.

  Groaning in pain, I craned my head around to catch a glimpse of something surreal. Stepping out of the puddle was a stunningly beautiful woman. Completely naked, wild hair, her bare ass and curvy breasts were as snowy white as her lips were ice blue. She had to have been at least seven feet tall. Rusalka.

  Stretching lazily, the young woman cast her gaze to the floor before picking something up that had remained in the shadows of the hall. A black robed arm. Severed at the shoulder. The woman clasped onto it as though they were two lovers holding hands.

  My blood felt frozen in my veins. Scared stiff.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintances. I am my Lord Nikita Gogol’s most beloved Familiar.”

  “That clever bastard,” I said, my voice wavering. “This really was all a trick, just not the kind I expected.”

  The Rusalka smiled. Her teeth were shiny, black and countless. Sharp and shark like.

  “Tell me, children, do you like games of seek and hide?” she asked.

  Chapter 24

  “Locke!” Zophie cried out.

  I steeled myself, lurching to the side as the tiny woman leaped forth, hands reaching. My heart leaped into my throat as her anti magic spell connected with the Rusalka’s body, and an instant later, I swung my wand-sword in a reaping arc, severing the Supernatural woman at the waist.

  She collapsed into a puddle.

  “Miss me with the hide and seek,” I muttered.

  Second time’s the charm? Of course not.

  No sooner did I exhale than a pale white hand with rotting black claws for fingertips shot out of the puddle and gripped me by the ankle. I cursed, slashing the wrist.

  “I insist,” the Rusalka whispered.

  Two death blows, anti magic, a cut hand, and the Rusalka didn’t even seem inconvenienced. Humming an upbeat song to herself, she rose again from the puddle of chilled water she collapsed into.

  I took a step back, sweat staining my brow. My back throbbed in agony. My leg felt numb. Not good.

  “Zophie we--”

  “It’s no good,” she said, her voice wracked with fear, “why doesn’t my anti-magic work?”

  “Oh goodness. Do you children finally understand?”

  The Rusalka dug her claw into the concrete wall, slashing a quartet of canyons into the surface like it was butter. Was she immortal? Zophie let out a cry and took off down the hall.

  Backup fled. Weapons ineffective. Leg busted.
Of course it would have been stupid for me to stay and try and fight that monster. So I ran. I ran like an eighty year old grandpa with the giggle of the Rusalka dripping into my ears.

  “Ah, I just knew you’d end up playing along.”

  Leaping down a shattered staircase, I had to bite my finger to stop from screaming when I hit the concrete. What did that monster do to my leg? What did she do to my back?

  I felt feverish. Delirious.

  Cursing under my breath, I made it to the ground floor just in time to hear the slop clop of wet steps. The Rusalka had caught up, the graffiti of the hanged bear mocked me as I desperately peered around for somewhere to hide.

  I ran into the girl’s bathroom. I think I can be forgiven for doing something perverted given the circumstances. It was there that I found my salvation.

  A good old fashioned high school style locker. I practically flung myself into the confines, settled in as snug as I could and brought the gaping door near. Steady, deep breaths Charles. Remember that dragon you beat up? This isn’t so terrifying.

  Technically, it was a Linnormr, corrected a voice in my mind that sounded dangerously similar to Lis’.

  The humming neared, followed by wet steps. The rusted bathroom door creaked weakly in the chill night air.

  “I warn you,” I heard the Rusalka say, playfully, “I’ve gotten good at seek and hide over the years. I hope you’re not hiding anywhere obvious?”

  The screech of metal being torn apart assaulted my ears. I could just make out the locker across from mine. It had been torn apart. Of course she had to have super strength too. Goddammit.

  I let out a deep breath slowly and softly. Don’t think about it. Think about how you can beat the Rusalka instead. Her abilities included great strength, sharp claws, and probably poison too judging by the way my vision was swimming. The skin around my back wound felt ready to crackle apart like no name brand potato chips.

  And of course the seven foot tall amazon couldn’t just be all about offense. Oh no, she was immune to magical and even anti-magic too. Could it be that her ability to change into a puddle of water wasn’t actually magical but innate?

  I shook my head. Too many unknowns. I needed to focus on escaping to fight another day.

  I strained my ears against the locker as hard as I could. The whimpering wind was all that I could hear. Gone? Impossible. There was no way the Rusalka would have just wandered off like some deranged horror movie monster. Unlikely that she caught sight of Zophie and tried to chase her either.

  I grit my teeth. She threw me to the dogs, that bitch. I guess the disposable warlock is an easy sacrifice when a magically noble woman’s life was on the line.

  I’ll be damned before I let her get away with that. I strained my ears one last time, before taking a chance. Creaking open the locker, I peeked outside. The darkness leered back.

  No drip. No humming.

  Setting an unsteady foot on chilled concrete, I made my way out of the changing room and took stock of my surroundings. It was a straight line out of the ruin. Right between the two large pools I’d crossed between on my way in. I’d be home free if I could get past them and get to the car. But it was definitely an ambush.

  I gulped. No. There wasn’t any other choice. Even staring at the exit now, my eyes began to blur and distort. Could I even manage to walk the narrow path between the two pools?

  It was looking like I’d have to. Or die trying. I licked my dry lips and threw myself into a lurching sprint. My footsteps echoed maddeningly throughout the abandoned water park. There was no way the Rusalka wasn’t hearing this.

  She must have been too far away to react fast enough though. Before I knew it I was at the other end of the pools. One more step would take me past the perimeter of those twin murky bogs.

  That’s when it finally happened. It wasn’t even a clever trick, but the Rusalka must have known I didn’t have time to screw around with my back and leg wound as they were. Just as I cleared the twin pools I felt cold claws sink into my calf, ruining my balance and sending me stumbling forward.

  “Shit,” I cursed, scrabbling on my hands and knees as a breath of cool air washed over me.

  “Come here, child. Aren’t you cold?” the Rusalka whispered.

  Her wet, frigid body was atop mine. Inhuman claws caressed my suit and the line of pain that she’d dug into my back earlier.

  One last trick. Flipping me onto my back, the black eyes of the Rusalka and her liquid body was poised. She looked ready to chow down on me. I focused all the magic I had left into my open palm, and at the last second let fly.

  A tiny barely visible wisp glided ponderously out of my hand. The second the Rusalka noticed it, I snapped my fingers and mashed my eyes into my sleeve.

  Light seared my eyeballs, even crammed as they were into my tux’s sleeve. I could only imagine the effect it had on the Rusalka’s open eyes. With a scream of shock and surprise the Rusalka released me, reeling back as she desperately clawed at her eyes.

  I slid out from under her naked body and onto my feet.

  The cold wind and the throb of pain coursing through my back beckoned me to just lie down and take a quick and fatal nap. I was barely hobbling at a limp, but even knowing the Rusalka’s regenerative powers it would take her a good long while to recover from--

  “You’re doing well for a first timer,” The Rusalka suddenly spoke. The renewed calmness in her voice sent shivers down my spine. “Nice and fit and clever. The square jaw and stubble just call to me.”

  I looked over my shoulder. The Rusalka’s eyes were nowhere to be found. She’d clawed them out, and in a few seconds, the empty holes had refilled with water and solidified back into fresh peepers.

  “Jesus Christ that’s so unfair,” I yelled.

  She was catching up. Her ragged fits of laughter grew nearer and nearer. It was all over. Light filled my eyes. I fell to my knees.

  Ah. I must be dying. Or--

  I heard a loud splat behind me. Water sprayed all over my tux. Turning around, I saw my Ferrari screech to a halt on top of the Rusalka. The door opened.

  “Get in!” Zophie called out.

  I threw myself onto the backseats as Zophie slammed the car into first and sped away from the AKVADROME.

  Chapter 25

  A cry of agony fled my lips as I felt a sharp, seething throb of pain shoot up my spine. I guess it would be too much trouble to just let me go gentle into that good night. With the same groggy anger I felt whenever I was forced awake before noon on a Sunday, I lifted my head off the padded leather seat of the Ferrari and noticed that Zophie Nuhl was straddling my spine.

  Lis does it better.

  “Locke. You still conscious?” Zophie shouted over the roar of the engine.

  “Must be. My nightmares usually just focus on making my soul ache, not my body.”

  “Shut up and lose the coat and shirt,” Zophie commanded.

  “I’m out of condoms,” I replied smartly.

  I wish I hadn’t. Zophie drove her palm right into the middle of my aching back wound. It took me a solid thirty seconds to stop writhing in pain. Nuhl used the opportunity to tear off my dress shirt. Buttons flew as she wrenched it free.

  “Goddamn! This is the thanks I get for saving your sorry life?” I asked

  “Shut up and hold still. If I don’t get it right you’re dead.”

  “At least if I died I wouldn’t have to put up with you or this wound anymore. What the hell kind of poison was on that Rusalka’s claws?”

  “Not poison. Entropy,” Nuhl replied.

  That one simple word sobered me up immediately. Entropic magic wasn’t something you could casually conjure and toss about. It was only ever used by powerful Supernaturals associated with Death or the most elite of Necromancers, and even then sparingly. One would have to be fabulously attuned to decay and doom to even think of casting an Entropy spell without personal risk.

  Anyone touched by the stuff, careless casters included, usually shr
iveled up and died an unpleasant death. That’s if you’re lucky. Unlucky people might get aged twenty years per touch per second, or be infected with the Bubonic plague’s big brother, or have their bones made about as tough to crack as potato chips.

  “This is it then,” I said, another throb of Entropy magic coursing through me.

  “I said sit still damn you,” Nuhl shouted anew.

  I did. Something cold touched my shoulder.

  As I turned my neck to see what the anti-mage was thinking, I saw her brandishing lip stick. The bright red of it gleamed in the flashing lamplights of the highway.

  Cold dots rained down on my back as Zophie traced a circle around the wound. It was almost as though she was making a…

  “I didn’t know anti-mages had rituals.”

  “It is but it isn’t. Bite down on something,” she replied.

  Of course she didn’t wait. Without further ado she pressed both her tiny hands onto the seeping wound the Rusalka had dealt me. I groaned in pain, but the searing ache lasted all of half a second. The throb of deadly infection was suddenly nowhere to be found.

  Quick thinking. The cut itself was negligible. Like the bite of a black widow, the real danger came from the venom. Except it wasn’t venom I was poisoned by. It was magic. And what’s magic to an anti-mage?

  “You dispelled it,” I said.

  “If it were anything else we’d be dropping you off at the morgue,” Zophie said, reversing her seat and pulling my pant leg up. “I’m no good at healing but something like this I can fix.”

  Before I knew it, the pain from my leg was gone too. Like ripping off a bandage.

  “I appreciate it,” I said as she slid off my back.

  Sitting up and putting on my shirt, my eyes wandered over to the anti-mage. She looked exhausted. Must have taken quite a bit out of her to properly purge the cuts.

  Slick with sweat, she was breathing heavily, her head resting on her hand. “What are you looking at, warlock?”

  There’s no such thing as a perfect girl, but I was beginning to understand Nuhl’s charm. Like a diamond in the rough, her beauty was more than skin deep. Petite yet incredibly fit, the warmth of her clenched thighs had yet to fade from my sides. I’ve never had much of a thing for tomboys like her, but she was certainly making me reconsider their appeal.