by E M Lacey
Julius was a detective to his core, not a magician. His detective training made catching on to the ritual of magic easy. But this was his first time, on his own, with no skilled backup. He hoped he had enough skill to keep them both alive.
Abigail dug her nails into his obliques. He grunted under the weight of an unexpected surge of power. Abigail was counting on him to keep her safe and he would do that, even if it meant he was monster food.
The monster took a swing at the barrier. It shrieked, a shrill and hurtful sound, as it was thrown from the coach house, creating a wider hole.
Julius turned his head enough to his left, so that he could keep his eyes on the hole.
“We can’t stay here.”
“Why?!” Abigail’s nails would have broken through his skin, if it wasn’t for his shirt.
“Abby, please,” Julius hissed. “That hurts and it makes it hard for me to concentrate.”
She released him, apologizing, and backing away.
“Don’t move, Abby. I’m not mad, I just need to focus.”
“I’m just making it worse for you.” Her voice trembled and her body followed, another shaky step away from him and the barrier he erected.
He felt the weight of his wards fluctuate between heavy and not-there. He turned his head to focus on the frightened redhead. He offered her a reassuring smile, which was to be followed up with a few coaxing words to hang in there, but those words were never said, because a second beast tore through the wall near Abigail. She screamed for real this time, a loud and piercing thing. It hurt his ears, drawing his hands instinctually up to cover them. His barrier fell as he bent over, his head throbbing from Abigail’s scream.
“What are you, a banshee?” He snarked, peeling his eyes open only to find an actual banshee in the place where Abigail once stood. It was the deep brown of an oak tree with deep creases in its face. Hair wild and spindly hair crowned her head as she moved about in grave clothes, an old dirty gray linen dress with bits of leaves and twigs stuck in it. It flickered like a light about to loose power. He scanned the small living room to find Abigail cowering in a corner as far away from the banshee as she could get.
Movement to his right kicked his reflexes into gear. He felt the coming swipe from the creature the barrier had knocked from the room. He twisted his body out of reach before its talons got him. They managed to nick his shirt, or rather the Kevlar he wore under it.
The creature took another swing at him. Julius danced out of its reach again, while searching for a way out for both of them.
His pouch bounced on his left hip. He ran a rapid mental inventory of the contents he’d packed. There were some small, light bombs that looked like fluorescent marbles: sun flares. He could use those. The flare would literally blind everything that looked at the light, granting them a good thirty seconds to get out. But would it work on the banshee? She wasn’t a living thing, but maybe her eyes were just as sensitive as the living.
It might buy them some time, but could they get past the monster and the banshee? He eased his hand into the pouch, rooting around until he found the cool orbs. He kept his face neutral, watchful, as he eased them out. He moved cautiously, keeping the orbs hidden in his closed hand. The yellow-eyed monster tracked him, moving when he moved, pushing him further away from Abigail.
Eyes on the thing in front of him, he shifted left in Abigail’s direction. He loosened his limbs, letting his foot flex, ever so slightly. Bracing himself, he let it slide on the floor, his body shifting slowly, as he rolled the sun orbs forward in his hands, setting them between the thumb and index finger of his right hand.
The creature stilled. Its bulbous eyes were laser-focused on him and with no available weapons save the sun orbs, the idea of getting out of the coach house unscathed was rapidly turning into a fantasy.
Julius had a few blades strapped in places that would prove potentially fatal if he were to go for them. He managed a few inches before a guttural growl of suspicion cut through the breathy panting of a second beast that entered through the gaping hole created by the first. It joined in. Its growl was higher pitched, more of a rough keening. Julius extended his left arm carefully toward Abigail, allowing his head a slight turn so he could gain a better idea on her position in the room.
She stared at his hand as if it were an alien. He jerked it in her direction, flexing his fingers. The larger of the two creatures tensed, its growl intensifying.
“We don’t have time for this.” Julius saw a point of escape. “I’m going to need you to take my hand.”
Abigail’s eyes darted between the two creatures pointedly before settling on Julius’ face. The banshee had drifted through the wall out into the darkness just as a second, smaller version of the bulbous eyed creature entered. “We can’t get past those things.”
Julius flashed the small orbs between his thumb and forefinger. “This is going to help us, but I’m going to need you to take my hand once I set them off, so I can lead you out.”
“What are those?” Abigail whispered loudly.
“Don’t worry about it. Just take my hand and let’s get ready to go.”
Abigail inched forward, eyes darting between the two creatures on either side of Julius and his hand.
Julius relaxed slightly, when he felt her hand clasp his. A sound that was a cross between clicking and a sputtering lawnmower started up. Julius maneuvered them so he could take the damage should the monsters move before he could drop the sun orbs.
“Get ready to run on three.” He rolled the orbs into the center of his right palm and squeezed.
“Do you think they can count?” Abigail whispered, jerking her head toward the creatures in the room with them.
Julius grabbed Abigail’s hand in his with his left.
“Ohhhhh!” She whispered loudly, earning a snarl from the smaller of the two creatures.
Julius took a deep breath, keeping his eyes on the creatures as best he could, then began the count.
The creature to his right moved just as he threw down the orbs.
“Close your eyes, Abby!” He jerked back, this time not fast enough, as the claws of the beast on his right cut through the Kevlar making contact with his skin. It hurt like crazy; worst of all, it burned, which meant poison. He didn’t have the luxury of worry. He had to trust the adrenaline in his veins to keep him functional enough to get them to safety.
He pulled Abigail toward the overlarge hole in the wall. He until he got them to a safe place. Her awkward footing made it difficult to maneuver around the monsters cowering from the light. The stench of burning dead flesh filled the room. Abigail gagged. The larger of the two creatures lunged for her. Julius managed to snatch her out of its reach, swinging her up into his arms, carrying her the rest of the way out of the coach house. He waited until they were a good distance away before setting her on her feet. He directed her as they ran, aiming her toward a copse of trees. They crawled into an opening. Abigail quickly settled into the farthest corner of their hiding place and closed her eyes like a toddler wishing to not be seen. Julius positioned himself so he could keep an eye on the opening.
He pulled up his left pants leg and withdrew a hunting knife from its sheath. He examined the serrated edge. The blade was long enough to do damage. He wasn’t sure if it would kill the creatures chasing them but it would have to do.
“You can open your eyes now.”
Abigail blinked then looked around. “Where are we?”
“Not in the house.”
“What are we going to do now?”
Julius ducked down, pulling Abigail with him. “First, we’re going to keep quiet or whisper.”
Abigail nodded.
“Where are the others?”
Julius scanned the area. Nothing but darkness, long shadows, and silence. Julius moved quickly, covering Abigail’s mouth the moment a loud crack of a branch breaking sent both their hearts fluttering. Abigail didn’t struggle, she was as still as a corpse, chest heaving.
Even with the spell cast on his sight, Julius still found it difficult to figure out what was moving toward them. He crouched lower, using his body as a shield over Abigail.
“Julius!” A familiar voice whispered loudly. The steady thumping of running feet punctuated the whisper.
“Julius!” McKellen called again as he stepped into a funnel of light, bearing cuts and bruises. He twisted in the darkness, most likely searching for them.
Julius studied McKellen, searching for tell-tale signs of spellbinding. The first sign was the color of his aura. It still glowed silver. Outside of the bleeding, bruised, and sweaty skin, McKellen was McKellen.
“I’m over here.” Julius stood first, cautioning Abigail with a look to stay put.
McKellen gave him a lopsided grin then his brows furrowed.
“Where’s Abby?” McKellen scanned the copse of trees Julius emerged from.
“Where are the others?” Julius countered.
“They’re fighting this strange shrouded man.”
Julius cocked his head. “Why aren’t you there with them?”
“We have to get everyone together and get the hell out.”
Julius raised his blade, keeping it out of sight but ready to be used. McKellen would never step away from a battle to go on a retrieval mission.
Fake McKellen swaggered forward. “We’ve gotta get to the others, Julius.” Fake McKellen scanned the copse of trees Julius stood in. “Get Abigail so we can go.”
Julius brought his blade into view, pointing it at the Fake McKellen. “That’s close enough.”
Fake McKellen stopped and the smile he set loose was full of venom. “How’d you figure me out, Julius?”
Julius hoped Abigail could read him. He would do his best to send her a signal to run. Where he would take them, he had no idea. They needed to keep moving, toward his team if possible.
“I know my friend and you’re not him.”
Fake McKellen glared, his vivid green eyes flashed red as dull green light washed over his body and it shifted. Fake McKellen became a short dark-haired man with deep cuts across his left cheek, forehead, and a deep one half-way around his neck. The man wore a pair of well-worn jeans, an old, wrinkled yellow t-shirt, and each hand was covered in rings.
“Nagual,” Julius hissed, backing up. Even without a bestiary, he knew what a nagual was. Skinwalkers who didn’t have to take the skin of the creature it mimicked. Abigail was already on all fours, backing as quietly as she could away from their temporary shelter.
The nagual chuckled. Abigail screamed. Julius spun to defend her, only to come face to face with the large yellow-eyed creature. Its huge left arm was raised to strike and a kicking and screaming Abigail was tucked under its right.
The creature struck.
I’m gonna die. Julius fell back, a pointless attempt to stave off the inevitable.
“No!” Abigail screamed at the top of her lungs as she struggled against the creature’s grip. It stank and it was going to hurt Julius. She couldn’t let him get hurt on account of her. Her magic was unpredictable, but she had to help him.
She heard something. A soft snap, like a communion cracker, only it was inside her. Heat rolled through her body, darkening her gaze. She pushed it into the creature holding her. It needed to burn. It deserved to burn and burn it did.
The ichor in its veins was like gasoline, igniting, bubbling the slimy black surface of its skin. It dropped her. She scooted as far away from it as she could, just as it raised its tri-jointed arms toward the black sky and keened, a long high-pitched thing, before bursting into flames.
Abigail turned her attention to the nagual. He was now a short-scarred man with red eyes.
The nagual’s laughter was cut short by a glaring orange light. It spun on its heel and began to run, managing two steps before he burst into flame. The second, smaller creature burst through the still flaming body of the nagual, claws drawn and teeth bared. Abigail’s lip curled as she watched it speed toward her. The heat bloomed in her chest and she reached for the thing in front of her. The heat wrapped around it, engulfing it in flames. It fell. A lifeless, burning heap at her bare feet.
She ran through the fire of the burning corpse to Julius’ side. He lay motionless. The sudden rise and fall of his chest was cause for celebration. She lay her hand on his forehead. It was warm. She then slid both hands under his armpits. Gently gripping his ribs, she drew them down toward his waist, stopping midway on a wet spot.
She frowned, wishing she could see, jerking back at the sudden halo of light. She was grateful for it. It revealed a deep gash along his side. A set of red lines ran across his chest. She moved to touch them. His hand jolted out, grabbing hers; his eyes opened halfway. His smile was relieved and pained.
“Please get out of here.”
“I have to help you.”
Julius had a brief coughing fit. Abigail’s hands fluttered about with nothing to do.
“Don’t worry about me. They want you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but you need to make it hard for them to catch you.”
“How am I going to do that? I don’t know this place. I barely know my own neighborhood.”
“Run. Look for light and you’ll find a way out of here. Just don’t let them catch you.”
“I can’t…”
Julius nodded weakly. “You have to. I’ve got poison in me, and you’re not a doctor.”
“But…”
Julius shook his head sharply, wincing at the action, but hardening his gaze. “You don’t have time to be emotional. It gets you caught or worse—dead.”
Tears streamed down Abigail’s face.
“Get out of here.”
Reluctantly, Abigail got to her feet.
“Wait.”
Abigail paused.
“Find my pouch. Take it with you.”
Abigail looked at him sideways.
“What’s inside might be of some help.”
Abigail searched around Julius’ body, unbuckled the pouch, and carefully pulled it from him. She got to her feet, threw the pouch over her shoulder and took one last look at Julius.
“Go.”
She ran as fast as she could into the shadows.
Chapter Twenty-Three
McKellen held his place behind the tree on the hill. He hoped the glow from the runes on his skin didn’t give him away. He’d wrapped his left arm around the bottom of his face. His nose pressed against the crook of his arm. His watery eyes blurred from the stench coming from the black spirit box. The green ectoplasm didn’t help.
He flexed his hand around the hilt of Kin’s Blood. He’d have one shot at the shrouded man. The blade had been spelled so it could cut through anything. It had been blessed to make it nearly impossible to destroy. It was meant to survive, a gift from the witch who cursed him and destroyed nearly every member of his family. There were only two McKellens left in the world. Both had lived for centuries. Hunter and his little sister Myra. The witch cursed them in a way that they could never see each other. To do so, would lock them in a life and death battle that would end with one of them killing the other. As the curse went, it allowed only one McKellen the right to walk the earth. As long as he and Myra stayed away from each other, they were safe.
McKellen spared a glance at the crude, angular infinity symbol with a scythe through its center at the base of his wrist. He had an identical one on the other wrist. It was the tie that bound him to the mortal world. He could die, but he would always wake up, healed of whatever injury that took him.
McKellen lifted his gaze, studying the shrouded man. The only visible part of his anatomy was the forearm and the hand holding the shepherd’s crook. The hand wrapped around the shepherd’s crook was large. His skin was the same cinnamon brown as Julius, and he had a sleeve of tattoos similar to his own, including the spectral eyes he used occasionally when he sought rifts in the space he occupied.
The shrouded man turned away, dragg
ing his shepherd’s crook toward the box. McKellen took a deep breath and launched himself from his hiding place, blade drawn, toward the shrouded man. He moved quick, keeping low. The shrouded man spun and faced him, bringing the sharp edge of the shepherd’s crook down. McKellen spun artfully away, moving in closer, bringing his blade home, sinking it into the not-so-soft flesh of the shrouded man’s belly.
The shepherd’s crook fell. Putrid green smoke streamed from the wound. The shrouded man’s body tipped toward the box, throwing his hand out for balance.
McKellen yanked the blade from the shrouded man’s gut, drawing back for another kill shot. The shrouded man leaned heavily on the spirit box. His head hung low, shoulders slumped, but McKellen was well aware that the shrouded man could be faking it.
He kicked the shepherd’s crook away. It slid across the grass, stopping at the edge of the hill. The front end of the crook hanging over the edge, but not enough to send it over.
The shrouded man laughed, a baritone rumble. McKellen moved back. Ready to strike.
The shrouded man stood and turned to face him again. His right hand draped across his stomach. The left raised in welcome.
“You got me.” He laughed, drawing his hand away from the wound. There was a dark smear of what looked like mud, but no blood, covering his right hand.
“What the…” McKellen raised Kin’s Blood, taking a few cautious steps back. He might need to run. He was no coward but he wasn’t a fool either. Sometimes it was better to back off, contemplate, then come back. This looked like one of those back-off to contemplate situations.
“My Master thanks you for your sacrifice.”
