For an unusually long time, nothing happened, so she gave it a shake, then a vigorous rub. Suddenly the ball began to grow warm as the interior filled with roiling smoke in a thousand different colors, and slowly there formed an image of a very handsome man wearing some sort of British military uniform. He smiled at her from the cloudy depths of the crystal, then shook his head while waggling a stern finger back and forth.
Shocked speechless for a moment, Melissa quickly rallied, but before she could get out a single word the man vanished and the crystal turned solid white. Damn! Well, it was worth a try.
With a sigh, Melissa put the ball back in the bowling bag and zipped it shut. “Guess I do this the hard way,” she muttered, tromping up the stairs for the attic ...
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Appearing alongside the Cadillac at the curb, Rissa plucked a parking ticket from under the windshield wiper and stuffed it into a pocket for later. Then she saw the bright yellow boot clamped onto a tire. Anger flared inside her mind, and ethereal flames poured out of her palms to engulf the steel clamp for only a microsecond before it vanished like an ice cube in a microwave oven.
Don’t you dare get in my way today, Universe. I haven’t got the time! Jumping behind the steering wheel, Rissa inserted the key and the huge Detroit engine started in a rumble of barely controlled power, the vibrations sending a pleasant tingle straight up both legs. Now she understood why Melissa liked big Caddys so much and tried not to blush. The woman really did have no shame whatsoever. God bless ’er ... goddess ... whoever.
Just as a flower delivery truck arrived, Rissa shifted gears and stomped on the gas. “Banzai!” she cried, wildly peeling away from the curb. Taking a sharp left at the traffic light, she shifted into high gear—and came to an immediate screeching halt.
Filling the road ahead, a double row of cars, buses, trucks, and trolleys extended out of sight. The traffic jam branched out at every intersection, and seemed to be growing exponentially. It looked as if the entire state of Georgia had descended upon Savannah. Just to see an office fire?
Uneasy, Rissa wondered if this was just coincidence or something else entirely. A cold shiver ran down her spine, exactly as it had when the antiques dealer vanished from inside the subway car.
Glancing at the thick plume of smoke rising in the distance, Rissa drummed her fingers on the dashboard and impatiently debated flying the car over the damn traffic jam. But then she wisely decided it would only cause future problems for her grandparents. Being supernatural and announcing it to the public were two extremely different things. The latter often involved an angry mob of villagers and the early termination of your fire insurance.
Besides, if I can’t maintain the flight, Rissa added dourly, the crash might not only kill me, but any other poor bastard I land on! Cadillacs had many wonderful attributes, but being lightweight was definitely not one of them.
Noticing a horse-drawn carriage among the honking conga line of assorted vehicles, Rissa remembered passing through that old gray mare in the past and wondered if she could do that again on purpose.
“Okay, I want the Cadillac and me to become ghosts, intangible and invisible,” Rissa loudly commanded.
With a scowl, the man in the VW Beetle alongside lowered his newspaper to lean out the window. “What was that again, ma’am?”
“Ah ... visit Laserium! Best holograms in the South!” Rissa replied quickly, just as the amber ring pulsed into action. Once more her body issued streamers of magic, and radiating a sparkling display of multicolored lights, a spiraling vortex of ethereal energy soon engulfed her and the Cadillac. Instantly both of them became as transparent as a soap opera plot twist.
“Dang, I gotta check that out!” the man gasped, then went back to the crossword puzzle.
Exhaling in relief, Rissa carefully eased the huge car forward and braced for the expected tap of hitting the bumper of the Buick Grand Marquis directly in front. But as the fenders overlapped, the Cadillac kept going, and soon she was inside the trunk of the Buick—no spare tire—then the back seat—there it is —front seat, engine, and into a crowded bus full of drunken Scotsmen carrying bagpipes and wearing the classic regalia of the Highland militia.
A few seconds later, Rissa and the Cadillac exited the bus; Rissa had a smile on her face, the ancient question of what the Scots really wore beneath their kilts finally answered.
The sensation of passing through other objects was oddly similar to diving into cool water. More important, the spell was working. Nobody seemed to notice her passage through them, so Rissa put the pedal to the metal and steadily accelerated until the speedometer needle was quivering around ninety-five.
Rocketing forward, Rissa flashed through the rows of cars, trucks, vans, buildings, and trees in a wild kaleidoscope of blurry images. The visual effect was strangely hypnotic, and Rissa had trouble slowing down when the Tower finally came into sight.
Chaos ruled the entire block. Overhead the sky was perfectly clear, except for a single dark cloud centered above the office building. Sheets of bluish-gray rain were pelting the Tower, the torrential downpour more than enough to extinguish an erupting volcano, much less a simple office building.
Quickly slowing down, Rissa frowned. Unfortunately the rain wasn’t touching the Tower. It was angling away ... No, it was bending around the building, making it appear to be encased in protective glass dome like a museum display.
As the ghostly Cadillac plowed through a crowd of gawking bystanders holding umbrellas and cell phones, Rissa bitterly cursed. This had to be more dark magic! But what was the point? Why would anybody go to this much trouble? Then it hit her. This wasn’t a trap to kill Colt, but a trick to lure her out of the mansion.
Still braking, Rissa whipped out her cell phone and hit speed dial. “Mel, they’re coming!” she shouted, then tucked the phone away just as she drove out of the milling throng and through a splashing fountain. Water through water.
The decorative plaza around the building was packed solid with emergency vehicles; police, fire department, ambulances, and more TV news crews than she thought possible. The reporters were talking nonstop into cameras, while the rescue workers were mostly standing around muttering to each other or scratching their heads in confusion.
Standing before a delivery door, a fat police officer worked the arming bolt on a huge black rifle to lever in a cartridge; then he aimed and fired. The massive bullet flattened in the air inches away from the door and tumbled away resembling a lead pancake.
“Impossible,” the officer gasped. Then she fired again and bellowed. “This is impossible!”
Just then, a burly firefighter started an electric chainsaw and thrust it at a glass window. Instantly the spinning teeth broke off to fly away in every direction, and a dozen people dropped to the sidewalk clutching their bloody arms and legs.
Throwing healing spells everywhere, Rissa rolled past the plaza and started looking for a place to park when it occurred to her that was not necessary. Circling back, she headed for the revolving door. That had to be the main entrance.
Sure enough, a large pair of glass windows showed a lobby full of billowing smoke. Gathered in the middle of a marble floor was a crowd of terrified people kneeling in prayer, shouting on cell phones, screaming for help, or openly weeping. A security guard was desperately smashing a bronze statue of Robert E. Lee against a window. However, the glass didn’t even tremble from the impacts, much less shatter, and President Lee was starting to come apart from the brutal pounding.
Hitting the gas instead of the brakes, Rissa rapidly accelerated. Time was short, and she had to quickly neutralize whatever was keeping everybody prisoner before they cooked alive and this turned into a massacre.
As the Cadillac reached the window it abruptly stopped with a resounding crash, the windshield and headlights shattering and the hood crumpling like a wet accordion. Not wearing a seat belt, Rissa was violently thrown forward—only to be saved from a dashboard lobotomy by the explos
ive appearance of a turgid airbag. God bless Ralph Nader!
Stumbling from the wreckage, Rissa checked to make sure that she was still invisible, then warily shuffled toward the building. Stretching out a hand, she fingered the air until encountering something that felt like cushioned steel about a foot away from the window. Obviously the oil painting of her grandmother had been right; the entire building was sealed tight against intruders. This was big-league stuff, major juju, and Rissa wasn’t exactly sure what she could do about it. Then again, you don’t need to be an automotive engineer to give a car a flat tire.
“Neutralize every spell!” Rissa commanded, gesturing broadly with both hands and wiggling her fingers.
Her heart pulsed, and a bubble of energy expanded outward from inside her chest. There was a dazzling pyrotechnic burst and nothing else seemed to happen. Except that she and the Caddy were now visible and standing in the pouring rain. Oh, crap.
Slowly turning, everybody in the lobby began to stare at her and the crumpled car. Not knowing what else to do, Rissa politely waved, then rushed forward, concentrating on the task at hand. Getting past the Seal.
Coming out of the rain, she paused in consternation for a moment, debating plans, options, and ideas until something clicked.
“Door!” Rissa commanded, extending a palm. Her skin flashed hot, and a door appeared in the solid granite wall. But as she reached for the handle, her hand rebounded an inch away. Wow, it Seals that fast? Impressive. She had achieved full penetration, but couldn’t maintain it for long enough to matter. There briefly flashed in her mind a disturbingly similar occurrence with an ex-boyfriend. Then she dismissed the memory with a shake. Fighting a fire was never the proper time or place to be thinking about old flames.
As several police officers started walking toward her, Rissa wondered if the Seal spell merely affected doors and windows. Only one way to find out.
“Yield to me!” Rissa commanded, grabbing hold of the empty air and pulling it apart. It felt like kneading cold taffy. But obediently a double row of five holes appeared in the granite wall; then they began to separate, leaving a gaping crack behind.
With her heart thumping, Rissa quickly approached and stuck out a hand to probe the emptiness. When she encountered no resistance, Rissa whooped in triumph just as a wave of searing heat poured out, followed by a thick column of smoke.
“Please help us!” a woman begged from the lobby.
“She can’t hear you!” a man retorted savagely.
“Oh, yes, I can!” Rissa bellowed, expanding the hole to the very edge of the windows but carefully keeping the shape irregular.
“Officers!” Rissa shouted over a shoulder. “These people—” But that was as far as she got before being rudely shoved aside as a dirty mob in business attire charged out of the smoky interior and into the blessed rain.
Once the stampede thinned, Rissa boldly ran into the lobby. As expected, the heat was oppressive; she was dripping sweat in only a few moments, then started hacking and coughing. The smoky air was thick enough to chew. Ripping off a sleeve, she tied it around her mouth as a crude mask, then used the ring to convert it into a World War One gas mask. Just like in Paths of Glory, United Artists, 1957.
Immediately she was breathing normally through the bulky filter. Then, in spite of the heavy glass goggles, her vision became blurry as both eyes started tearing. A modern gas mask probably could have fixed that, but she had no idea what they looked like. Unbidden, Rissa had a sobering premonition that a little detail like that was going to kill her someday. But not today!
Brandishing the amber ring, Rissa tried to dispel the unnatural blaze, but it had no effect. She debated summoning a rainstorm inside the building, but if a single lightning bolt hit the wet floor that would kill everybody faster than the fire. Clearly, fighting magic with magic was a much trickier proposition than she had ever imagined.
On top of which, the power was off and the emergency lights were strangely dead. Combined with the thick clouds of smoke and spreading flames, that made it damn near impossible for her to see anything inside the lobby. The fresh air from the hole in the wall was fanning the fire, and furniture that had been merely smoldering now burst into flames. Not good!
Quickly Rissa attempted to convert the wood into something nonflammable. Ah ... fiberglass! Nope, still burning. Okay, brick! What the ... it’s still on fire? All right, solid steel!
Her arms began to ache as rivers of magic blasted from her hands, torrents from each palm and streamers from every fingertip. With a sputtering hiss, the new fires died away. That helped, but not enough. The stone walls were also burning, and Rissa had a terrible suspicion that if she dared to change them into anything else the abrupt shift in material might bring down the entire fifteen-story structure.
Just then she noticed that the lobby was empty, which made no sense. Surely a building of this size had more than a few dozen employees. Trying the stairwell door, Rissa was not surprised when it refused to budge. The bastard who conjured the conflagration had Sealed every door, both inside and out. The poor people on the upper levels were completely trapped, the steadily increasing heat and smoke cooking them alive. Wait a second; didn’t Colt mention that his office is on the top floor?
Unleashing a bolt of manna from her mind, Rissa disintegrated a piece of the wall alongside the door and charged into the dark stairwell, turning on the emergency lights with a gesture. But the halogen bulbs only gave off a dim glow, and the ring on her finger grew uncomfortably warm. She was becoming exhausted, and her heart fluttered in a very disturbing fashion. Rissa had a very bad feeling that she was running out of magic, maybe even running low on life force. She needed to do something incredibly clever or else everybody was going to die! Then inspiration hit.
“Rings!” Rissa commanded, thinking of all those boxes of them waiting in her grandfather’s workshop.
Wondering if she had gone too far, Rissa anxiously waited, the big amber ring on her finger becoming painfully hot. Streamers of power issued from her body, swirling around her like a carbon atom. Then a new dragon ring appeared on every finger, just as the old one went cold and heavy, then abruptly turned a dingy brown.
“Hallelujah!” Rissa shouted, waving both arms and issuing a barrage of commands at warp speed. She felt rejuvenated, renewed, empowered, enhanced, and full of ass-kicking beans!
Magic exploded out of her amber rings, and the halogen lights flared brightly, bitterly cold air gushed from the air vents in the burning walls, and irregular holes appeared alongside the closed exit doors on each landing. Only a few moments later, somebody loudly shouted, then another, and soon a flood of bedraggled people started pouring into the smoky stairwell.
Releasing a tidal wave of energy, Rissa carefully replaced the damaged marble floors and granite walls with fresh marble and granite of the exact same composition, fortifying the entire skyscraper just as the jubilant crowd raced past, laughing and crying in joy as they scampered toward freedom. Her joints ached, but she sighed in relief when Colt finally appeared. Apparently he was the last to leave, and had an elderly woman cradled in his arms, one of her legs wrapped in strips of bloody cloth.
“Rissa?” Colt gasped, carefully starting down the slippery stairs. “But what are you—”
“Keep moving!” she interrupted, healing the broken bone with a warm touch. “We’ll talk outside!”
Nodding assent, Colt continued on down to the lobby and out to the plaza. As they stepped into the rain, an army of firefighters rushed into the building, dragging along hoses and a host of assorted equipment.
After relaying the elderly woman to the paramedics, Rissa and Colt held hands and took their time walking out of the soothing rain, an island of calm in the general pandemonium.
“Hi,” Rissa said, unable to come up with anything more inventive.
Impulsively wrapping both arms around her, Colt held on long and tight. “I honestly thought we’d never be together again,” he whispered, a slight catc
h in his voice.
“Oh, you’ll never get rid of me,” Rissa stated, returning the hug with interest.
“Don’t want to!” Colt replied with a laugh, scooping her off the ground and twirling around.
“See? I told you he couldn’t dance worth a damn,” a familiar voice sneered.
Stopping in his tracks, Colt jerked about and cursed.
Standing near the splashing fountain were Laura and a rather handsome mature gentleman. She was now dressed in a Chanel pantsuit, and he was wearing a dark blue suit that perfectly complemented the silvery highlights in his wavy hair.
“You!” Rissa gasped in horror.
“Me,” Dominic acknowledged with a smile, displaying human teeth. “Hello again.”
“Wait, I know you, sir,” Colt said, setting Rissa down. “You’re the antiques dealer that sold me all of those paintings for the apartment, Danny something.”
“Dominic Meternich, at your service,” he chuckled, giving a sweeping bow.
“Oh, just kill them,” Laura growled impatiently, twisting the golden ring on her finger.
“Good idea!” Rissa snarled, drawing Lady Magenta from a pocket and snapping off four fast rounds. But at the first sight of the weapon, Dominic and Laura instantly vanished.
Going on pure gut instinct, Rissa spun around and triggered the last two rounds at the empty air directly behind her just as Dominic and Laura reappeared. The bullet that hit him did nothing but put a hole in the lapel of his suit. However, she staggered backward with a cry, red blood gushing from her throat. In a flash they were gone again.
Across the plaza, a group of frowning police pulled out handguns and started running closer.
“What’s going on?” Colt loudly demanded, looking totally confused.
“Tell you later!” Rissa replied, grabbing his hand and putting everything she had into a single command. Calgon, take us away!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Belle, Book and Candle: A Fantasy Novel by Nick Pollotta Page 19
