by Drew Hayes
It was the first twelve notes from the song “Dixie.” He had time to think, just before the Charger landed, that whoever owned it had really gone the extra mile in their attempts to replicate the General Lee. After that, the only sound to fill the air was a horrific crunch and subsequent explosions.
Well . . . that and the screaming of dozens of suddenly-flaming spirits. Auggie’s calculations had been slightly off about where the car would come down. It missed the center of the island, but that was okay.
The Charger had landed dead center on the portal, instead.
Chapter 14
If not for the horn, Auggie’s body and the evil spirit piloting it would both have been caught in the explosion, if not crushed directly under the falling car. When those curiously upbeat notes sounded through the air, though, The Emissary looked up to see what was coming. The other spirits in the vicinity did too, and as a group, they realized that something on fire was falling toward them at a rapid clip.
Before The Emissary was consciously able to process the danger of his present location, Auggie’s body had already begun to move. Unlike the spirits, it was still alive, and was hardwired with things like “reflexes.” Auggie’s body, and its unwanted passenger, dashed to the edge of the island, diving underwater just as the car landed and chaos broke out.
By the time The Emissary regained control and dragged the body back on to land, the once-orderly army was a thing of the past. The initial blast had taken out nearly all of the troops around the portal, and those that remained were scattered. Pools of fire had sprung up everywhere, the entire island engulfed in a staggering heat. The cold water clinging to Auggie’s body began to dry at once.
But it was when The Emissary swept his vision to the left that he saw something even worse than the ruined troops or burning wreckage atop his portal. In the confusion of the explosion, that woman had broken free from the pile of spirits that had crushed in on top of her. Now, she stood silhouetted in the flickering night, deftly handling every attacker that had the misfortune to draw close enough.
The Emissary started forward to handle her, but a thought gave him pause. Hadn’t there been another human with her? The thought came two seconds two late, as Topher’s considerable shoulder slammed into Auggie’s stolen body’s spine, sending The Emissary sprawling to the ground.
Before The Emissary was able to turn around or right the body, let alone deal with the surprising pain of being tackled, milky liquid rained down from Topher’s borrowed bottle. The Emissary glanced up to see the large man staring down with unexpected resolve, lighter in one hand and newly-emptied plastic bottle in the other.
“Get out of Auggie’s body.” Topher flicked the flint and the lighter sparked to life. The Emissary had seen that woman wield the milky liquid on the others; he already knew what the addition of fire would do.
“Fool, if you burn me, then your friend’s flesh will roast as well.”
“I know that.” Topher held the lighter directly over Auggie’s body. If he dropped it, if even a rogue spark happened to fall, there would be no chance to get away. “But I know Auggie would rather see his body destroyed than used to hurt people. So, one more time, get the fuck out of my friend.”
The Emissary was an ancient being; he had worn flesh millennia ago and had served in the domain of an all-but-forgotten god for ages eternal. He had been a leader of men, then a leader of spirits, and had built his life and afterlife around the ability to read and command others. All of that experience served him well as he looked in to Topher’s eyes and realized something critically important:
Topher Nightshade was one hundred percent not fucking around.
With a concentration of effort, The Emissary released his grip on the flesh he’d worn all night, rising into the air in his true form. Topher could see him now: a creature formed from darkness with a pair of red eyes glaring murder at the man who had evicted him from his useful home.
The Emissary snarled at him, enjoying the sudden look of fear in the young man’s eyes. This one was big and strong; he would make a better vessel of flesh. There was still time to clear the circle, still time to complete the ritual. He could still usher in the beautiful new world. He reached his shadowy claws forward, intent on sinking them into this large man’s vulnerable body.
“Hey, shitbrick. Let’s dance.”
Standing a few feet away, wearing fresh scratches and bruises, stood Velt. She held up her good hand and crooked a finger to The Emissary, inviting him to come play. It was a good strategy, the wraith had to admit. The woman wanted to draw his attention before he captured another vessel, while she still had the advantage. It was a good plan, but he would not fall for it. The Emissary turned back around to face Topher . . .
—and caught a blast of fire directly to his ethereal face.
“Why the hell would you look away from me?” Topher yelled, spraying the newly-grabbed can of bug-spray through the lighter.
The Emissary let out a hellish screech and retreated, trying in vain to wipe the fire from his face.
“Take your friend and get back to the mainland,” Velt ordered, turning to follow The Emissary.
“But I can still—”
“Bodies aren’t made to last without spirits in them, moron. Now, the thing is empty, and Auggie has been disconnected for almost an entire night. He needs to get back in there. Soon.” Velt spared Topher no more words, instead, rushing forward to press the opportunity he’d given her by wounding The Emissary.
Tempted as he was to ignore her and keep fighting, loyalty to Auggie overwhelmed his need to pitch in. Besides, she’d been telling him all night that she could handle The Emissary. Time to let the professional do her work.
Topher scooped up Auggie’s body, carefully put it over his shoulder, and ran across the island to the boat. Though there were a few of the horde spirits remaining, they didn’t feel the need to bother him. Most were either trying to put out fires on their spectral forms or just steering clear of the growing inferno around them.
By the time he reached the boat where Clinton and Art were waiting, Topher had realized that Velt had successfully broken the army. All that remained now was their commander.
* * *
Her first punch caught The Emissary right in the torso, or at least, where his torso would be if he weren’t a being composed of soul and shadow. It sent him reeling, even as he managed to tear away the last bits of fire clinging to his head. For any normal spirit, such a burning would have had them halfway dissipated, if not destroyed entirely. Wraiths, unfortunately, were made of tougher stuff. They were the oldest form of malevolent spirit, and they had the power to go with it. They weren’t invulnerable, though.
Velt had already taken out two of these legendary monsters in the past year. Now seemed like a great time to go for the hat trick. She lunged forward, kicking her momentarily off-balance enemy right in what would have been his hip. It was always a strange feeling when her clothing phased through their spectral bodies and her skin connected with the ghostly bare flesh waiting beneath. No amount of incorporeality could get through her. Velt was as real to the spirits she dealt with as fire or silver; she punched right through the barriers between their worlds.
The Emissary scrambled up, wounded but far from incapacitated. His claws extended as the burning red coals of his eyes grew brighter. This woman was strong, yes, but she was still only flesh. If he could bear the pain, then all it would take was a single, well-timed slice. Humans were so ludicrously fragile, after all. Her right arm was either useless, or so close to it that the difference was trivial, which meant she would be ill-equipped to defend against a full assault. No doubt she would get in a few blows with those nimble legs of hers; however, it would be more than possible to sink one of his claws into the soft skin of her throat.
With a burst of speed, The Emissary darted forward, swinging with both arms. Each limb ended in a set of claws that would turn flesh and blood in to nothing more than scattered gore; she didn’t
stand a chance. The woman blocked his attack with her left arm as he’d expected, then slid around on her back foot to try and dodge the other claw. The Emissary had been waiting for this, and instead of being caught off-guard, he pressed forward. She might land a kick, but the claws would take a chunk of her throat in exchange. Then, Velt did something The Emissary hadn’t expected.
She spit in his face.
The Emissary paused, first from sheer surprise and then from a sudden and intense burst of pain. It was so bad that he was momentarily stunned, unable to do more than wail. Velt, on the other hand, had no such issues with movement. She seized the opportunity to strike, grabbing The Emissary’s shoulder and driving home several powerful knee-strikes to his torso. Just as the pain began to fade, she released her grip, hopped back, and let him have a full-on punter’s kick right in his center of his mass.
It sent him literally flying backward, leaving him ten feet away when he finally regained control.
“How . . . why did that hurt?” Without Auggie’s body to speak through, he used his own voice, a horrid hissing sound that would have stained most people’s nightmares for years after hearing it.
“Old recipe,” Velt replied. “One part spit, one part bitten-off cheek, swish to combine and you’ve got blood-filled spit. And that was just an appetizer. I wish I could show you the main course.”
“Giving up already?”
“Nothing like that. It’s just that, as I recall reading, your little ceremony and rite bullshit has a clock on it.” Velt nodded upward to the sky behind The Emissary’s dark form. “In case you haven’t noticed, the sky is getting light. I’d wager sunrise is only a few minutes away.”
The damn woman was right; the stars had faded completely and the rich black of the evening sky was retreating to a putrid gray. There was still time to complete the ceremony, but precious little of it. A quick glance at the portal showed that the car was, while still burning, at least down to a smolder now. It was doable . . . assuming The Emissary could get past the copper-haired woman barring his way.
Velt seemed to read his mind, holding up her good arm in a fist and flashing The Emissary a red-toothed grin, blood from her open cheek-wound staining her teeth.
“One more round. All or nothing. You want a piece?”
The Emissary wanted more than a piece: he wanted her in shreds. Given the limitations of the looming deadline, though, a piece would have to do. This time, he would aim for a piece of her heart, ideally still wet with blood.
With an angry snarl, The Emissary flew forward once more.
* * *
Topher leapt out of the boat as Clinton and Art shoved it onto the shore, Auggie’s still-motionless body laid carefully across his shoulder. He scanned the sky again, trying to spot his friend in the growing light of day. There was just too much sky to search, and Auggie’s spirit was already partially see-through. In sheer desperation, Topher put his hands to his mouth and let out a mighty yell.
“AUGGIE!”
“Gah! What!”
Topher jerked around to find himself face-to-face with Auggie’s spirit, floating over from the direction of the dock.
“Why were you over there?”
“Well, I saw you get into the boat and assumed, as any rational person would, that you were taking it to the dock. I floated down to meet you,” Auggie explained.
“Sorry, I was just scared I wouldn’t be able to find you.” Topher delicately removed Auggie’s body from his broad shoulder and laid it on to the damp grass. “Velt says you need to get back in as soon as possible. You’ve been out for too long.”
“Even if that weren’t the case, you wouldn’t hear me arguing,” Auggie replied. “This brief foray into the afterlife has been more than enough for me. I’m ready to be flesh and blood once more.”
“It’s not all that bad, once you get used to it,” Clinton said.
“Assumin’ you can go somewhere other than a summer camp,” Art added.
“Perhaps one day, I will find out, but let’s not make it this day.” Auggie floated over to his body, hoping it was the last time he would see it from the outside. “I think it is time for me to come home.”
* * *
The Emissary let out a sound somewhere between a wail and a squeal as Velt’s arm, slick with blood from the gash his claws had given her, wrapped around his head and squeezed. She released a moment later, lingering just long enough for the sticky blood to sear into the creature’s form, but not so long as to allow him time to counterattack. They each retreated a few steps, slowly circling one another.
This fight was maddening, because, in other circumstances, The Emissary knew he could win. She was still strong, still injuring him every time they clashed, but Velt was slowing down. The blood loss, injuries, and relentless physical exertion were all taking their toll on her body. If there were more time . . . but no: once the sun rose, the ritual would be ruined. Out of the corner of his eye, The Emissary spotted a spirit floating on the sidelines as it watched their battle.
It was Irwin, that useless lump of ectoplasm who was supposed to have killed this woman hours ago. An idea popped in to The Emissary’s head, a way for Irwin to redeem himself. All he needed was one good blow and the fight would be done, and for that, only a distraction was required. Behind his back, The Emissary crooked a finger at Irwin, getting his attention and motioning for him to circle around behind Velt. The lesser spirit took the cue, floating slowly into position.
“Decided to call it and go down peacefully?” Velt asked. “I don’t blame you; looks like the sun will be up any minute.”
“Don’t be absurd. I am here to save the world, to offer all those poor humans a better state of being.”
Irwin was nearly there. Just a few seconds longer, and they could act.
“I will never give up on my duty. You are the one damning these humans to things like pain, disease, and fear. I come to bring freedom and power, yet you want to keep them chained down. You are the monster here.”
“Maybe so. I don’t know if your world would be a better one or not. Maybe it would be a nicer, more peaceful place. Doesn’t really matter to me; my job is to stop you. All that other shit is just details.” Velt brought up her left hand and drew back her right foot, braced for battle. “Besides, there’s not much of a place for someone like me in a peaceful world.”
The Emissary said nothing more; instead, he charged. At the same time, from Velt’s rear, Irwin did the same, rushing at Velt with his shoulder down. It wouldn’t be much of a blow, but it would knock her off balance. In that moment, The Emissary would strike, carving her to tatters. It was likely too late to salvage the ritual—the sun’s light was nearly visible—but if he had to fail, then The Emissary at least wanted to drag this woman down too.
The two spirits raced forward with the single human between them. It was going to work; this woman was going to die. The Emissary reveled in the glow of satisfaction as his claws ached to be coated in her blood, even knowing it would hurt. They were mere feet away now, time for this fight to come to an end. The Emissary began his swing, ready to carve a swath of pain from this woman’s hide.
“Olé, motherfuckers!” Velt spun out of the way, ducking her head to avoid The Emissary’s claws mere instants from impact. Neither Irwin, nor The Emissary could stop in time and the two collided, tumbling through the air and landing inches from the dimly glowing portal.
“Give me a little credit here,” Velt taunted. “Awareness of the environment is part of fighting basics. Speaking of which, I hope you’re in the mood for a tan.”
The sun, the damnable, cursed, horrid sun had crested the horizon. It was only a sliver, but it was enough for whatever cosmic force governed magic. The Emissary could feel the magic that had soaked in to the air crackle and begin to flow toward the portal. The magic’s exodus increased in power with every passing second, and he could feel his spectral form being dragged toward the throbbing red circle that so recently had been a symbol of trium
ph.
“What the hell?” Irwin yelped as the first of the quasi-formed spirits flew past him, sank into the portal, and vanished.
“These guys were only here on a night pass,” Velt explained. “And it just expired.”
More and more of the horde spirits, or what remained of them after the fire, zipped through the air, vanishing in flashes of red light as they were pulled back to the plane they’d tied themselves to all those millennia ago. The Emissary tried to hang on as best he could, even though he knew it was futile. They had failed to free their god, and now, he was calling them back to show his disappointment.
Irwin got up and began to float toward Velt, suddenly far less afraid of her than the glowing circle at his back, but his progress stopped as a firm, clawed hand grabbed his leg.
“No, brother. I think you will come back with us. We have much to . . . discuss.” With that, The Emissary released his clawed hand he had dug in to the ground, sending he and Irwin hurtling through the air. Just before they vanished, the wraith met Velt’s eyes one last time. The Emissary would find a way back to this plane. He would bear his god’s punishment and crawl back if needed. And when he did, The Emissary would soak his hands in that woman’s cursed blood.
Then they were gone, and moments later, the red circle on the ground vanished, leaving Velt alone on an island with several small fires and an obliterated Dodge Charger.
* * *
Auggie’s eyes opened slowly. It was strange to feel the weight of a body again, to move under the strain of gravity. Then, the pain from his body’s cumulative wounds hit him, and Auggie wished gravity were the only thing he had to deal with.
“Are you okay?” Topher asked, staring down at his friend.
“I think so.” Auggie’s voice was rough and hoarse; clearly the being who had stolen it hadn’t taken care to speak gently. “I feel like total shit, but at least that means I can feel.”
