by CM Raymond
Willa sprinted, positioning herself to the side of the fight. Her mind racing, she searched the small library of poems in her head hoping for something of use. Some were more reliable than others, most seldom worked in her practice space. She cursed herself for focusing her craft on peace rather than war.
She raised her right hand toward the fight, directing it at her friend. Every spell she had cast on him before was meant to calm him. Now she wanted nothing more than to light him up.
“In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what winds dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?”
She smiled, awed—even in the midst of battle—at how a poem’s meaning could dramatically change with the context.
Power like red heat emanated from her and toward the molten man. Elijah raised his heavy arms, and created a defensive stance, arms absorbing Brooke’s assaults.
Willa chanted on.
Frustrated with his renewed strength, Alarawn’s creature wound up for a finishing right hook. As her fist arced toward its target, Elijah dodged. The punch landed on the glass wall behind him. It exploded into glittering bits. He countered with a quick but devastating uppercut. His large metal arms powered into Brooke’s ribs. Her body bent with the blow. Elijah grabbed the head of the creature and drove it into his alloy knee.
Willa’s chant continued. Her energy waned as she sustained the spell. She had to. Had to keep going. Until she was attacked by an unwanted interruption.
“That’s enough singing from you, darling.”
The voice preceded a blow to the back of her head.
Willa dropped to the glass-covered concrete. She rolled, looking into Rex’s eyes.
“You’re one tough bitch,” he said. “Much stronger than that pup I killed.” A smile spread across Rex’s face. Blood ran from his freshly broken nose, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Why?” she cried. “Why did he have to die? What was Sean to you?”
“The kid? He was nothing to me. An ant beneath my boot.”
“Then why?”
The large man laughed. “For a professor, you aren’t very bright. Your student died for one reason, and one reason only. For you. I did it all for you. Because I knew it would bring you out into the open, because I knew it would lead to this. And it worked. His death brought you here, just like I planned. And now you can die just like him.”
“Screw you,” Willa said, through a grimace. It was a base reaction, but the only one she had. Nothing else made sense. Why would he want her? Do all this for her? She didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. His actions were clear enough.
She started to crawl, desperate to get away. She made it only a few feet when she heard the hulking man laugh.
“Well, not just like him, I guess.” She turned to see him reach across his body and draw a jagged blade. “We’re going to have some fun first.”
Willa tensed, waiting for the strike, but it never came.
Before he could step forward, something small flew across Willa’s line of sight. She heard glass shatter, then her world exploded.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Chem watched in horror as the giant dickhead who stole his research pulled out a blade, ready to gut Willa where she lay. So Chem did what he did best.
He used science.
On the Uber ride over to PPG Tower, Chem combined what few supplies he had into a makeshift weapon. Leftover cesium from when he put Bill in traction, a thin glass beaker, and water. Those three materials, along with some MacGyver-level knowhow turned Chem’s little lab experiment into a homemade grenade.
A grenade he tested out on Rex’s face.
The beaker shattered across the creep’s large dome head, mixing the water with the cesium. A crack like a cannon shot rang out and the man was instantly wreathed in smoke and steam.
Chem started to shout, but his celebration died in his throat. Rex stepped through the cloud, his thousand dollar suit torn but his body unharmed. The look on his face screamed murder, and he still held a knife in his hand.
“Shit.”
The cesium grenade was a one-off, so Chem reached for his backup. A giant metal wrench that he pinched from a supply closet.
As Rex approached, he swung his weapon with all he could muster. Adrenaline compensated for his physical weakness, and he connected with Rex’s knife-bearing hand. The knife rattled on the ground. Rex turned, shaking the pain out of his appendage.
Chem’s forehead dripped sweat, even in the terrible Pittsburgh cold. Standing toe-to-toe with the brute, the chemist was four inches taller, but half as wide.
“Somebody else wants to be a hero?” Rex said.
“Better than being an asshole,” Chem replied, gripping the wrench more tightly.
Chem’s life was a series of events, most of them included him weaseling his way out of trouble. But now, he was determined to go down fighting for the good of humanity. For the good of his city.
Or at least for payback for messing with his experiment.
He took another swing. This time, Rex caught the enormous wrench in mid-air. In one swift turn, he disarmed the chemist. Without hesitating, Chem grabbed Rex’s jacket and thrust his knee upward, targeting Rex’s crotch.
But Rex was unfazed. Smiling, the brute plowed his fist into Chem’s face. Cartilage crunched.
He dropped to his knees. The night sky faded. Before going completely black, he heard a voice.
“It’s my turn, bitch.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
We’re too weak.
Willa watched Rex drop Percy with one blow. Brooke had turned the tables again on Elijah. The three had done what they had to. Fate, providence, or chance had brought them to this point, and now their time was running out. Brooke’s power was too much. Rex was too experienced, and he fought with an inhuman strength.
Willa considered using the strengthening spell on the chemist, but he was too far gone. Even with enhanced strength, he stood little chance against the bodyguard. Rex was himself a monster. Unlike the guards Willa fought by the river, her poems seemed to have little effect on the brute. She remembered the first night she saw him, the way he dropped three stories and sprinted away after landing. Whatever he was, old tools couldn’t stop him.
We need some other way.
Willa placed her hand over her chest and chanted a desperate verse, hoping for a miracle. Four lines in, Willa felt a surge. It was a combination of strength, clarity, and confidence. Everything came into focus. And she knew exactly what she needed to do.
“It’s my turn, bitch,” she yelled. Then she attacked.
Rex turned from the crumpled mass of Percy’s body just in time to see Willa crash into him. The sneer of victory melted from his face. She wondered if he knew—if he could read her new found strength.
She didn’t hesitate. Swinging wildly, her fists collided with his face. She continued her poem, screaming the next lines:
“Her words did gather thunder as they ran,
And as the lightning to the thunder
Which follows it, riving the spirit of man…”
Rex was caught completely off guard by the poet’s sudden change. Her attack increased as her spell gained momentum:
“No sword
Of Wrath her right arm whirl’d,
But one poor poet’s scroll, and with ‘his’ word
She shook the world.”
Her final line coincided with a final push. Electricity surged from her hands. Rex went sliding across the concrete. The large man gained a knee. He stared at her, his eyes daggers.
“You think your little poems can defeat me?”
Willa slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were unwavering.
“Yes.” Without closing her eyes, she raised both hands in front of her. Connecting the tips of her forefingers and thumbs, she put Rex’s head in the middle of the little triangle.
With confidence, she spoke the wo
rd of a different poem. It was simple and honest and it broke every rule she had ever learned. But at that moment, the words to Sean’s poem made all the sense in the world.
Its power reverberated in the air around her as she spoke.
“But in this place, I am stronger,
under this town I thrive,
through this city my reach grows longer,
and with my home I rise.”
Rex came charging toward her, but Willa merely reached out, her hand touching the chest of Alarawn’s henchman as she spoke the final line.
The concussive force of that contact radiated around her, but Willa held her ground. Rex, on the other hand, was sent soaring, his body finally finding ground thirty feet from its point of departure. The pavement cracked where he landed.
He didn’t move.
Electricity radiated through Willa’s body. She felt like she could scale buildings. Like she could bend steel. Like she could crush bones.
Willa took a step forward.
Her mind was on fire, a savage, swirling force. She thought of Sean’s mangled body. She thought of how right it would feel to end the monster that murdered her student. How good it would feel. It compelled her forward. She wanted to kill him. She needed to kill him. She would kill him. It was so clear, her purpose. It gave Willa a high like none she had ever known.
Her grandfather’s words ran through her mind—admonitions not to lose herself, warnings about slippery slopes—but she pushed them aside. She had made her choice.
Violence over fear. Passion over peace. Death over doubt.
There was no other way. She raised a fist high, an executioner’s ax poised to strike.
The sound of shattering glass broke her focus. She turned and looked as the thing that was Brooke Alarawn bore down on Elijah. The historian was nearly finished. For a moment, Willa could see the future terror Brooke could bring down on this city. The pain her power would rain down on the community, on people like Sean. She saw a dead city smothered in cold steel.
And Willa knew that if she let herself go, her magic could bring the same fate.
She turned, dropped her fist, and ran to the chemist’s side.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I’m doing a helluva lot better than our boy over there.” Chem stood, motioning toward Rex.
Willa looked up, but not at Elijah. She turned and saw that Rex’s body was no longer there. But he no longer mattered.
The poet smiled as she gave Chem a hand. “It’s nice that one of us studies something useful. Now let’s go save this city.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY
“Join me, Elijah,” the storm creature said, her arms outstretched toward him. “Look at us. We are gods. If we combine forces, we could do anything. We can right all of the city’s wrongs.”
Elijah leaned against one of the few remaining windows of PPG Place. He was nearly finished. Whatever Chem did to his serum worked far too well. Before he had the chance to consider her offer, a sound came from him. “Biezh do haaye.” Elijah rested his metal head against the building.
Laughing, he said, “I’m not sure what that means, but I’m guessing it’s a no.”
Gabrijel stood alongside of him the entire fight. Now his new friend urged him on. The passenger apparently didn’t feel as bad as Elijah did—his resolve was certain.
“You’re a fool. We could have everything.”
“I’m just hoping I get my Subaru back.” He inspected his arms and legs. What once was pristine steel now looked more like scrap metal.
The damage was clear.
“Have it your way,” Brooke said. Clouds gathered in the space above PPG Place. Lightning crashed around them, blinding Elijah. Hail began to fall, pinging off his metal exterior.
Get up, you damned fool, a voice inside his head said. You can’t just lie there. This is your city.
“It’s not my city,” Elijah replied.
It is now.
The storm surged as Alarawn roared with blood-curdling laughter. Wind whipped around her, and she rose slowly off the ground. At the sight of Brooke wrapped in a tempest, the heat in Elijah’s body gave out; and his power went with it.
Elijah sank, his hands barely keeping him up.
Out of nowhere, a giant metal wrench landed by his side, clanging. Elijah looked up and saw Willa and Chem come into view through the driving sleet.
Chem nodded, then began searching through a black doctor’s bag. Willa stood tall, her right palm extended in his direction.
“The Human Dress, is forged Iron
The Human Form, a fiery Forge.
The Human Face, a Furnace seal’d
The Human Heart, its hungry Gorge.”
Heat rose within his core. The red that showed through the cracks in his steel shell darkened. Smoke burned in his lungs.
She’s doing it, he thought. One last chance.
Then the voice returned. Vstát, Američan. Dej tu děvku peklo.
Elijah had no idea what the words meant, but they were precisely the pep talk he needed. Standing, he felt his power grow. Shielding his face, he walked into the hail and wind—heading toward their source.
Brooke Alarawn was so enraptured by the storm she was creating, she never saw the wrench coming. It landed with all the force Elijah had on the side of her shoulder. The tool clanged as if he had connected with a steel utility pole. Nevertheless, Brooke dropped to a knee, stunned.
This was the historian’s only chance—if he indeed had one. He leapt onto her and straddled her torso. With his burning forearm against her throat, he pushed with the power and rage of generations of workers ruled by the industry. Wild screams of the passenger coursed through his brain.
Her eyes went wide. For a moment, he recognized her as Brooke Alarawn: his boss, his friend, his lover. Struck by the revelation, he eased up just enough, allowing her to land a right-handed blow to his wounded side. Elijah screamed but refused to relent.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Chem, squinting through the blizzard, crouched over his medical bag. His hands moved fast, but with a certain surety. The scientist in him was disgusted by the rudimentary estimations he was forced to make, but speed was paramount.
He poured the elements into a syringe and stood.
“Keep at it,” he screamed to Willa.
The magician, lost in her trance, didn’t respond.
Half-diving, Chem rolled within arm’s reach of the battle as Alarawn struck Elijah’s side.
Without missing a beat, the chemist lunged. A crack had formed at the base of her neck, just large enough for the hypodermic needle to ease through. Relief settled over him as it sunk into something fleshy.
Chem pushed the plunger.
The creature turned. Its eyes were those of a trapped animal. A frozen arm lashed out at Chem and batted him away like a fly. His body slid across glass and concrete.
Pain shook him, but he looked up anyway. He had to see the experiment through.
This better work.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
On their feet again, the creatures of fire and ice exchanged blows as the winds whipped through the urban square. Willa’s lips continue to move, but her power was quickly slipping away.
The world became hazy and started to darken. No more power went out from the words. They had become impotent—or, more precisely, she had.
Slumping to the ground, Willa landed on her ass, legs crossed. All she could do now was watch the battle play out before her eyes.
Elijah’s strength was slipping away.
The tables were turning, and Alarawn had the upper hand once again.
With one final swing, the storm creature connected with Elijah in the chest and sent his large metal mass flying. He collided with the wall of the ice rink and continued through it. The metal body slid across the surface, leaving puddles in its wake.
The creature turned toward Willa and smiled as it strode in her direction. The poet-magician had nothing left. She lifted her
arms in a poor attempt at a defensive stance.
Less than five yards away, the creature’s gait began to wobble. Six more steps and Alarawn fell, directly at Willa’s feet.
She stared at the fallen monster, not believing her eyes. But the thought of Elijah broke her trance. Willa yelled his name and ran to the ice rink.
Through the mist, she came upon the historian’s body—not that of the molten man, but Elijah as she knew him. His naked, soft, body was splayed out, motionless on the ice. Smoke seeped from a red scar on his chest.
As she approached, he turned and looked up. “Is it over?”
Willa bit her lip and nodded. “We did it.”
She leaned down and took Elijah into a one-arm embrace, taking care with his wounded body.
“You run around naked more than any white guy I’ve ever met.” The chemist’s voice echoed around the eerily silent square. “Let’s get you out of here.”
The heroes limped, holding each other up, out into the littered grounds.
“It worked,” Willa said, looking up into Percy’s eyes.
“Of course it worked. I’m a damn genius.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
Brooke’s naked body lay in the middle of the wreckage, a cast-off doll. A thin layer of ice encased her human form. Her frozen lashes fluttered. She watched as the three academics limped away.
She thought about Alarawn Industries.
She thought about Pittsburgh.
She thought about her family.
Cold coursed through her veins. It enveloped her. The transformation of her bruised body was painful—a pain she relished. It made her angry.
The hottest fires...
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the square.
Elijah turned and saw the creature walking toward them. At its roar, all hope vanished. It was larger than before, its once symmetrical form now jagged and monstrous. The ice was so thick that Elijah couldn’t make out what was once Brooke Alarawn’s face.
