Moon Shadow

by J. R. Rain

  Mercifully, Kingsley had, by now, spotted Lichtenstein’s gladiator. The hairy beast, who was inexplicably named Nigel, had found his feet and was presently swaying. He looked like he might topple over at any minute.

  “This is hardly a fair fight,” I said, moving closer to the glass and now thoroughly ignoring Gunther behind me.

  “Who said life was fair, Ms. Moon?”

  Lichtenstein grinned and eased himself down into one of the straight back chairs, which swiveled to face the glass. He motioned for me to do the same, and I did, slowly. Jesus, the bastard had made watching his animals tear each other to pieces a recreational sport. I glanced back one last time at Gunther, who stood close enough behind me to reach out and snap my neck.

  I took in some air. The silver was wearing off. I was shaking less. Feeling stronger. Now, I looked out through the glass, and down into the arena, where the games were about to begin.

  ***

  The monster was butt-naked.

  Even from here I could see its many scars and stitchings. To say that Nigel looked like a rag doll on steroids wouldn’t quite be accurate. It looked like a walking, stalking, hulking quilt in human form. It had no genitals. No nipples. Its skin along its torso looked newer somehow, like it had been recently replaced, which lent credence to my theory that Lichtenstein was in constantly rebuilding these beasts.

  Kingsley didn’t look like he was in any condition to get in any good shots, let alone survive. Or shape-shift, which was probably his only chance at survival. I had a very, very bad feeling that I was about to watch my boyfriend get torn limb from limb, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. And I happened to love each and every limb.

  I was feeling better, stronger, but I didn’t let on, for obvious reasons. Lichtenstein, safe in the knowledge that his hulking security stood watch behind me, leaned forward with obvious glee. The light from the arena below reflected off his pale face, the whites of his eyes, and even his teeth as he grinned.

  Below, Kingsley took a shaky step backward. The creature before him was terrible to behold. It had a tiny slit for a mouth, and a strange, misshapen nose that, I swear to God, looked to have been attached sideways. His straggly hair grew only from the right side of his head.

  My human side wanted to scream, to run, to hide, to call the Avengers; indeed, what I was seeing was straight out of a comic book, or a horror movie. The demon bitch inside was fascinated by all of it. She had long since stirred. Next to me, I somehow caught the smallest movement from Dr. Lichtenstein: A minor head nod. Down through the window and into the arena, I noted the creature return the same head nod, and charge forward on huge, powerful legs that must have taken Lichtenstein years to find.

  The movement startled my boyfriend, who managed only to raise his hands and wobble some more, before the giant in front of him lashed out with a backhand that connected across Kingsley’s face, and sent the big lug spinning sideways. I could hear nothing, but I might have felt the impact from the blow, all the way up here.

  Oh, Kingsley, I thought.

  I really, really didn’t want to watch my boyfriend get killed before my eyes. Not so for Doctor Strange next to me. He was now sitting on the edge of his chair, a wicked gleam in his eyes, eyes that had seen far too much horror for my taste. Even for the taste of the demon bitch inside me, too.

  And that was saying something.

  Kingsley didn’t so much recover as stop stumbling. And just as he did so, the monster was on him again, swinging another backhand that rocketed out faster than, I was certain, anything Kingsley had ever experienced before. My boyfriend, the biggest, hairiest, strongest thing I had ever seen, was lifted off the ground by that last punch.

  The monster, whether directed by Lichtenstein or not, charged the wounded werewolf, and drove a knee into Kingsley’s chest, and, if I had to guess, no doubt breaking a few of my boyfriend’s ribs in the process. Kingsley fell to his back and the monster leaped upon him, unsealing a ferocious barrage of inhumanly, supernaturally, ungodly powerful blows.

  “Stop him!” I shouted.

  “Oh, but I can’t, Samantha Moon. My son fights only to the death.”

  I tried to stand but was forced back into my chair by a hand that wouldn’t give me an inch. Lichtenstein looked from me to Gunther, then back down into the arena, where Kingsley had managed to roll out from under the hulking beast, and find his feet. A credit to his will to live. Perhaps adrenaline was moving the silver through him, but clearly not fast enough. He still looked punch-drunk, was clearly hurt, and was now favoring one side.

  “Please, you have to stop this.”

  But Lichtenstein ignored me, and Gunther only applied more pressure to my shoulder, forcing me deeper into the chair.

  Through the window, I watched the famous defense attorney try to mount his own attack. He lunged at the approaching monster, grabbed for a leg, only to be unceremoniously swatted away. Kingsley hit the ground, rolled, and was rewarded for his efforts by a swift kick to his ribs that kept him rolling.

  I was feeling better, stronger, but I knew, even at full strength, I was little match for the brute behind me, let alone for the beast in the arena. Below, Kingsley had managed to catch one of the kicking feet. He held it, twisted. The creature roared through the slit in its mouth, although I couldn’t hear a sound. Lichtenstein frowned, and I thought there might be hope yet, until the creature pounced on Kingsley, and I saw only flailing limbs and punching hands.

  Lichtenstein nodded his approval, and as I thought desperately for a way to help the big oaf, I heard a commotion through the closed door behind us. A commotion that only seemed to be getting louder... and, for the moment, had gone unnoticed by Lichtenstein and his henchman.

  And just as Kingsley managed to roll away from a flurry of flying fists, the door into the sitting room—or viewing room—burst open. We all turned in unison to see Franklin standing there, breathing hard, a long and bloody knife in one hand.

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Lichtenstein was on his feet. The brute holding me released his grip. I was up and out of my chair as quickly as I could move. Granted, not as fast as I wanted to, but I was pleased to feel my strength returning.

  “Kingsley drank silver—” I began after dashing over to the butler’s side. Never had I been happier to see the big, gangly, irritable servant.

  “I know,” said Franklin, cutting me off.

  “Of course he knows,” said Lichtenstein. “He’s bonded with Kingsley. He knows all of his master’s moods, his happiness and his pains. Franklin would be highly aware that his new master is in grave danger. Like a homing pigeon, Franklin would know just where to find him, too.” The doctor completely ignored the one-sided battle that raged on in the arena below, a battle that, undoubtedly, would not end well for Kingsley. “And make no mistake, your new master is in the gravest of dangers.”

  I hadn’t known Franklin could drive, and I hadn’t known he was in the area either. Kingsley and I had driven here together. Maybe the creepy butler had taken an Uber ride. I didn’t know.

  “Stop him.” Franklin motioned with the bloody knife toward the big window.

  Lichtenstein, who stood before us and mostly blocked the big window, shook his head. I think the bastard just wanted to be a dick. He wanted to be cool. He wanted to show that he was in control, but I saw otherwise. I saw a man who was thunderously hurt, a man who felt betrayed beyond words. A man who seemed very much in love with the awkward-looking butler standing next to me.

  Not in love, I realized. He was bonded, perhaps permanently. Franklin had been bonded too, but the bond hadn’t held, and seemed to have easily transferred to Kingsley. Not so much for Lichtenstein, who seemed to have it bad for the gangly butler.

  Lichtenstein said, “Indeed. No doubt, Franklin perked up as soon as Kingsley began to feel the first pangs of silver coursing through him.”

  I looked at the butler. “But Yorba Linda is...” I shook my head. “More than an hour away.”r />
  Now the butt-hurt doctor found some humor in the situation, and it was, of course, at my expense. “So says the dragon lady.”

  I blinked, shot a glance at Franklin. “You can shift?”

  Franklin hadn’t taken his eyes off Gunther, continuing to hold the long knife between them and us. Yes, us. I was squarely on the side of Franklin.

  “Oh?” said Lichtenstein. “You are unaware of Franklin’s many gifts? There is a reason why I consider him one of my greatest achievements—”

  “I am not an achievement,” said Franklin. “I am a man.”

  “You were a man. Now you are something far, far greater.” Lichtenstein looked from him to me. “Franklin is a fellow shape-shifter, Samantha. Tell her, Franklin. Tell her what you can do. Tell her about the many gifts I have bestowed upon you. Gifts you scorn.”

  “We’ll talk another time, Sam. Now is not—”

  “Now is the perfect time to discuss all that I have given you, Franklin. Now is the perfect time to discuss your lack of appreciation for all that you are, thanks to me.”

  Franklin suddenly gritted his teeth, looking truly pained, and I realized that he was, vicariously, experiencing Kingsley’s own suffering.

  “You feel his pain, don’t you, Franklin? Good. Good. I was hoping you would. What I didn’t expect was to see the pain on your face. Good. Good. Now, maybe you can understand the pain you have caused—”

  “Enough!” shouted Franklin. Gone was all trace of his tantalizingly mysterious European accent. “Sam, I do not change into anything. I can run quickly, so fast that I am often a blur to those around me.”

  “The Wind, I used to call him,” said Lichtenstein proudly. “He ran like the wind, and I was so pleased. Never had we seen that tendency before. That particular trait. Yes, some of us can transform. Not all, Ms. Moon. One needs to be particularly evolved. And my Franklin was one such—”

  Franklin gasped and stumbled, as if someone had suckered punch him. “Call him back,” said Franklin, standing once again, the sword held surprisingly steady.

  Lichtenstein glanced out the window and down into the arena, where from my vantage point I could see some movement but no details. “I’m afraid it’s too late, my boy. You know how Nigel is once he gets the taste of blood. Like you, there’s no stopping him.”

  Too late??

  I was about to act, but Franklin beat me to it. He cried mightily and leaped forward, swinging the sword. I watched it plunge deep into the neck of Gunther. The guardsman didn’t blink or react. And he continued not blinking or reacting, even as his head rolled off his wide shoulders.

  I was too stunned to notice Lichtenstein escaping through a side panel, but I saw the panel swing shut.

  “Forget him, Sam,” gasped Franklin. “Can you teleport us down into the arena?”

  Chapter Fifty-five

  I told him I didn’t know, and just as the words came tumbling out of my mouth, Franklin grunted and doubled over. I shot a desperate glance down into the arena...

  The beast, Nigel, stepped away from Kingsley, who had dropped to his knees, holding his stomach. At one point, the creature had retrieved a sword, I didn’t know when, but he held one in his hand now. Blood poured through Kingsley’s fingers. The creature circled Kingsley, and I suspected I knew what was next.

  I happened to like my boyfriend’s head right where it belonged, thank you very much.

  “Please, Sam,” grunted Franklin, clearly suffering. How great his pain was in comparison to Kingsley’s, I didn’t know.

  I forced myself to calm down—damn hard to do with Rufus’s own severed head staring up at me. I turned away, breathed, and summoned the single flame... or tried to. Only a flickering of light appeared in my thoughts. I tried again, and managed the same result, a formless flicker. No flame, not really. It was the colloidal silver still in me, making the flame nearly impossible to form.

  I opened my eyes in time to see Kingsley reach feebly for the bastard’s leg, but miss. Blood poured from his broken nose and bloodied mouth, pumped from his stomach and over his hands. The sword, I realized had traces of silver in it. The wound wasn’t healing.

  “Sam, please...” grunted Franklin.

  Again I tried, and again nothing. On my fifth or sixth attempt, I was able to form the flame, but it winked out almost as quickly as it appeared. Shit, shit, shit. I opened my eyes one more time, and saw Nigel standing behind Kingsley. He lowered the weapon, taking aim like a golfer before a big swing.

  “Sam...” moaned Franklin.

  I summoned the flame again, held it, lost it. Tried again. Held it longer, lost it again. Tried again, held it... held it... and saw within it the dusty arena... my target landing place.

  I didn’t waste another second. My hand shot out, grabbed Franklin’s wrist, and we vanished.

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Only to reappear in the arena.

  I’d learned the technique on a special flight to the moon. Yes, the moon. It is a wondrous, jolting, life-altering thing to be in one place... and then find oneself in another. I see my destination first in the flame... and then I am there, in a blink. These days, the sensation of “jumping” is less and less jolting, but the experience was obviously new to Franklin. He stumbled to his knees and landed on his hands, his long knife skittering out of his grip. He shook his head like a wet dog and looked up... but I was already moving on wobbly legs. I tripped, caught myself on the palms of my hands, and, like a cornered hellcat, hurled myself at the thing called Nigel. In particular, at his cleaving sword arm.

  I caught his wrist as my momentum carried me up and around the brute, much like a stripper circling a brass pole. Except, in this case, the pole was a thickly muscular arm that might as well have been dipped in cement. My prying fingers found no success. Sword and hand might as well have been glued together.

  The thing called Nigel shook me loose, and I went tumbling head over rear, skidding to a stop in the dirt. Most of the skidding had been done on my face. As I snapped my head around, blood from my wounded chin flung to one side—

  The sword blade came slashing down to Kingsley’s exposed neck. But that was as far as it got... toward the neck. It was met by an explosion of sparks and a steel blade that held firm.

  Franklin’s own long knife was the only thing separating Kingsley from, well, having his head separated from his shoulders.

  “Get him out of here, Sam,” grunted Franklin.

  I scrabbled over the dirt and grabbed hold of Kingsley’s boot. “What about you, Franklin?”

  “I... have... some... unfinished... business... here,” he grunted, straining. “Hurry!”

  I nodded, summoned the single flame.

  This time, it came quicker, steadier. Except, for the briefest of moments, I didn’t know where to go. As the flame wavered in my thoughts, empty, waiting, I cast my thoughts out around us, pushing beyond the walls of the arena, beyond the ceiling, and even the floor, too.

  The floor...

  Beneath us was a tunnel, perhaps manmade, perhaps natural. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. But there it was, clear as day. At least, to my inner eyes.

  And then, we promptly disappeared. Or jumped. Or teleported.

  Whichever way it happened, when I opened my eyes again, we were alone in the darkness of the tunnel, safe.

  At least, for now.

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  I projected my thoughts up, and directly above us, I saw Franklin and Nigel engaging in an old-school grudge match. Swords clashed and punches were thrown. Kicks, too. It looked like a knock-down, drag-out fight that I wanted no part of. Indeed, whatever was going on up there was personal. And what was going on down here, in the tunnel, was personal, too.

  “You okay, big guy?” I asked the groaning hulk—or husk—of a man presently kneeling at my feet. The same position he had been in.

  “I hurt, Sam.”

  “Don’t be such a wuss.”

  I thought of the escaping Lichtenstein, and th
e boy, Luke, who had to be somewhere here in the castle. I needed to move. “You’ll be safe down here, I think. Rest up, you big wimp.”

  “Where you going?”

  “I have a boy to save.”

  I scanned my surroundings. My ability to see beyond me—through walls and fish guts even—was handy as hell, but it only went so far. I gave Kingsley a loving pat on his head—good doggy—and dashed off.

  ***

  I found myself in a storage room, completely abandoned and forgotten. I frowned, hands on hips, knowing there was a young boy in this castle being bled dry.

  Running through the castle, searching room by room would take too long. I thought about what I had to do, nodded to myself, and got to work. To jump, I always needed a target place to land, something I had seen before and could clearly imagine. In this case, Lichtenstein’s lab of horrors.

  I stumbled into a corpse, steadied myself by grabbing a cold shoulder. Once settled, I saw that I was alone. At least, no one living was here. I closed my eyes and scanned my surroundings, up, down and all around. Nothing of note, other than more rooms... and more monsters. No boy or Lichtenstein. So, I picked a long hallway, summoned the flame, and jumped.

  And appeared in the hallway. I scanned again, searching room by room, or as far as I could mentally see. Nothing. I leaped into the furthest, empty room. Scanned, leaped again. In this way, I popped in and out of rooms throughout the castle. The structure was immense, with many hidden rooms, corridors, and storage rooms. Many bedrooms and a great ballroom. I saw many, many lurching monsters. I also saw many of them lying seemingly comatose on cots and beds. Dozens of them. Precious few of them seemed truly alive. Most, if not all, were abominations, a testament to one man’s out-of-control ego. Many of these creatures should be put out of their misery, allowed to rot away as nature intended.