by Joshua Roots
“More like until they need another rift closed.”
“That sounds about right.”
The pressure in my head thumped against the side of my skull. “Man, what a mess.”
“Could have been worse. At least we didn’t lose anyone.”
I was hesitant to ask the question lingering on my lips, but forced the words out. “Any word on Alistair?”
Mick’s face was suddenly lined with exhaustion and worry. “Nothing good. That venom is nasty stuff and no one knows how to counter it. R&D swears they can create an antidote based on the samples we recovered, but there’s no telling if they’ll be successful in time. The Healers have him in an induced coma to slow the spread of the venom in his system.”
I felt sick. The kid wasn’t ready for the field, but he’d stepped up when it mattered most. And he’d been grievously wounded in the process. The scar on my neck tingled as if to remind me how fragile and unfair life can be sometimes.
“What’s your opinion?” I asked. “Think he’ll make it?”
“No idea. The fact that he’s still alive is good, but he has a rough road ahead if he’s going to recover.”
The poor kid.
“Who the hell puts a greenhorn on a rift team like that? Especially one who was clearly not ready?”
Mick shrugged. “Daddy has connections. Uh, no offense,” he added.
“None taken,” I replied, covering my discomfort with a forced smile. “Speaking of nepotism, how is Old Man Monroe taking all this?”
“Hard. He was at the family infirmary the moment we arrived with Alistair and refused to leave his bedside. He was still there when the Council recalled me for my inquiry. As much as I dislike the conceited jerk, my heart bleeds for the guy.”
I only knew the Councilman tangentially through my dealings with the rift teams, but he seemed like the embodiment of a stereotypical politician. Stiff and scheming, he was always around when something important was going down. Rumor had it he was a hard-ass, both with the policies he endorsed and the ones he opposed. But bureaucrat or not, he was still a father. I couldn’t begin to fathom what he was going through with his child on Death’s doorstep.
Hopefully, I never would.
We walked through the security point near the entrance of HQ, pausing to recover our gear from the guards. A lot of Council members, and from what I heard much of the Skilled community, questioned the use of Normals for the building security, but I respected the politics of the move. The two societies were only a couple decades into the peace accord, one that was signed after generations of us living in secrecy. The magically gifted Skilled had spent seven-hundred some-odd years in hiding after our massive civil war killed tens of thousands of innocent Normal bystanders. Most of them died at the hands of a version of the Black Death that had mutated when exposed to the unrestrained magic we used in the war.
Or, at least, that’s what the history books taught us.
Whatever the actual motivation, the Normals came after us with a vengeance under the guise of various forms of persecution. The Inquisition, the Crusades, the Salem Witch Trials and so on. The names always changed, but the mission was always the same: retribution against those who’d inadvertently wiped out so much of their population. In response, most of the Skilled went into hiding, practicing their craft in secret while wearing masks of Normalcy in public.
With the Reformation, however, greater effort was placed on meshing the two societies—the last thing any of us wanted was more conflict. The Delwinn Council, specifically the Elders who had final authority on all major issues, felt that hiring Normals to protect HQ sent a clear message that the Skilled were completely onboard with the union.
Mick certainly seemed to approve. He smiled at the pretty blonde who handed him his staff while the bored man with dark hair made me sign for my gun and sword. I strapped the holster to my thigh while Mick and the female guard chatted. It wasn’t until I chambered a round into the Glock that Mick tore his attention away from her.
His eyes widened with surprise. “You keep that thing loaded?”
“Trust me, when you need it, you don’t have time to load it.”
He shook his head, chuckling while I slung my sword onto my back. We thanked the guards as we departed, but Mick lingered while the lady wrote her number on his hand.
“Hey, I completely forgot to ask how you were feeling,” he said, jogging to catch up with me near the doors. “Any headaches? Exhaustion? Muscle pain?”
“Migraine,” I admitted. “And my body feels like I’ve run a marathon, but at least I’m mobile. If I’d tapped my Skill like I did today a couple years ago, I’d have been comatose for days.”
“Magical atrophy is something we all have to worry about, Marcus. Use it or lose it, right?” he added with a wink.
I found no humor in his comment. “I lost it hard. Getting back in shape has been harder.”
“It’ll take a while to fully recover. Spend time in the library, keep hitting the gym, and practice, practice, practice.”
“Mind, body, and Skill strong, Grasshopper?”
“More like ‘Do or do not,’ Padawan.”
I laughed, then winced as my skull throbbed.
“Here.” Mick placed the hand without the phone number on my head. He started murmuring and the heat from the Healing Spell melted into my skull. It felt like someone was massaging my brain with a giant down pillow. The warmth subsided, as did most of the pain.
“Better?”
I nodded, basking in the relief. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.” He turned back toward the door. “So what’s your plan now that we’re on the sidelines?”
“I’m not sure. Get some sleep, then check on my bees in the morning. You?”
Mick glanced at the guard. “We’ll see.”
I shook my head. “I doubt we’ll be benched for long. It’s just a matter of time before they’ll need us. We may not be popular right now, but we have the one quality the Council needs the most.”
“Experience?”
“A pulse.”
Mick’s booming laugh echoed off the walls. “True. Take care, Shifter,” he added, offering me his hand.
I gripped it with a feeling of guilt for always taking what he offered, but never returning the favor. “You too,” I said earnestly. “And thanks. Not just for healing my headache, but for always being there. Sometimes I forget that people need to know when they’re appreciated, so I want to make you know that it’s been a pleasure serving with you on the rift team. Plus, if it wasn’t for you, Alistair would be in a lot worse shape.”
The Healer released me, beaming with pride. “You’re welcome, but I was just doing my job.”
“Well keep doing it. The way things are going, we’ll need all the capable Healers we can get.”
“Give me a call,” he said, then pushed open the door.
Something outside yelped with surprise. Mick and I turned to see who made the noise, then the squat man dropped like a rock as a knife slammed into his chest. He crumpled to the ground with a grunt.
Before I could check on him, we were both thrown backward as the door caved from the shockwave of a massive explosion.
Chapter Three
A Mimic Is an Awesome Thing to Waste
I landed hard on the marble floor, sliding several feet before slamming into the security desk. My ears rang as I blinked to clear the stars from my vision.
Next to me, Mick winced in pain, but rotated onto all fours. The knife had caught him just below the right collarbone. He shoved one of his hands against the wound, murmuring words I couldn’t hear, but the heat that pumped from his body signaled he was performing a Healing Spell.
Smoke and debris filled the entrance while the shrill cries of the building’s alarm rattled inside my head. I wobbled upright, grasping the cracked security desk for support, and turned toward the entrance. Streetlights illuminated dozens of shadows as they burst through the haze into the building.
&nb
sp; The creatures were long with flaps of yellow, furry skin that hung from their bodies like the folds of a bloodhound. They had flat, featureless faces, scrawny arms and legs, and thin lips that curled back to reveal rows of sharp teeth. With the addition of high cheekbones and black-orb eyes that were set wide apart, the creatures had a freakish, humanoid appearance.
They charged into the entrance on all fours like a pack of rabid hyenas.
The majority skidded across the polished floor as they galloped down the hall, but three continued toward Mick and me at full speed. I drew the Glock, but the lead beast plowed into me before I could pull the trigger. The impact tossed me onto my back once more, knocking the gun from my hands.
I expected the creature to attack, but instead it launched off of my chest and crashed into the guards at the security desk. The three of them collapsed into a heap of snarls and startled curses while a second beast pounced on me. It raked fingers across my chest, but the talonlike fingers caught in the webbing of the Kevlar. It jerked its hand in an effort to free itself while I reached beside me and snagged the Glock.
As I turned back, however, I froze.
Gone were the sallow, sickly features. Instead, I found myself staring at my mirror image, complete with my vest and holster. Mirror-Me cocked its head like a bird, sneered, then raised a fist full of claws overhead.
Instinctively, I swung the Glock upward and pulled the trigger. The gun thundered and the hollow-point punched a large, bloody hole in the chest of my attacker. My other face contorted with pain as the area around the wound trembled. The outfit began melding together in both color and shape.
The sight nauseated me, but I squeezed the trigger again. My hand bucked with the recoil and the creature fell off of me. It gasped while the “clothes” melted back into folds of sickly, yellow fur. The creature heaved once, then went still.
I stared at the featureless face, horrified that my own had occupied the space seconds earlier.
Someone cursed nearby. I spun, aiming the Glock in the direction of the sounds, but immediately released the pressure on the trigger when I saw Mick drive the knife into the eye of his own mirror image.
The creature writhed in agony as the folds of skin relaxed. Mick jerked the blade out and the creature bucked, clawing at the gore pouring down its face. Its wail echoed down the long hallway, but the cries died quickly as the beast slumped to the floor. Mick, knife in one hand and pressing his own wound with the other, spat at the corpse.
I took a step toward him, but ducked out of the way when the male guard flew backward over the desk.
He struck the far wall, then slid to the ground. As he rose on unsteady feet, the blonde guard stood, reared back, and hurled one of the chairs at him. It sailed across the hall, knocking the man into the wall once more. He dropped to the floor again but this time he stayed down.
“What the hell was th—” I started to ask, but the female guard leapt over the desk. She tackled me like a linebacker, driving me to the ground once more, then straddling me with her long, powerful legs. I grunted with surprise as her thighs crushed the air out of me.
I reached for her, but she slapped my hands away.
There was a deafening pop-pop-pop and three holes appeared in the woman’s chest. She wobbled as the blue uniform turned yellow. The delicate bones of her pretty face flattened while her firm breasts elongated. She coughed blood, then flopped forward, pinning me to the ground. The smell of rotten meat filled my nostrils.
I shoved the dead body off of me as hard as I could, then sat up.
“Stay down!’ the real female guard snapped. Before I could react, she’d leaned on the security desk and opened fire.
Bullets tore through the smoke outside the entrance, followed immediately by yelps. Several creatures collapsed onto the stairs outside.
Keeping her weapon trained on the door, the guard maneuvered around the remains of the desk and approached the entrance. She placed her hand against a small bio-pad that scanned her palm. The lights on it blinked green and I felt rather than saw the powerful hum of a defensive spell activating.
I stared at the shattered doorway, too stunned to do anything more. The Council tended to avoid modern technology, so the fact that they’d installed a system so advanced—and one that seemed to allow Normals access to spells—was a shock.
I’d definitely want more information on it when the dust settled.
The woman spoke into a small radio. “This is Klein. We have a breach at the front entrance. At least a dozen Mimics are inside the wire. I’ve activated the emergency defensive barrier, so the building is secure for now. Radcliff is down.”
I couldn’t hear the reply, but the woman nodded. “Acknowledged. There’s a Healer on the scene, but I’ll keep this channel open just in case.” She returned the radio to her belt, then trotted to where Mick was already working on the fallen guard.
“Dislocated shoulder and probably a concussion,” he said as we approached. “Multiple lacerations to his face and chest. Several are extremely deep. I’ll stabilize him as best I can until he can be moved.”
“What the hell are Mimics doing here?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around what had just happened. Blood, along with several clumps of yellow fur, covered the front of my vest.
The guard frowned. “I don’t know, but they destroyed our initial defense spells easily.”
We all jumped as a Mimic slammed against the defensive barrier. The shield exploded with blue sparks, but held. The creature rebounded with a blood-curdling scream, then threw itself at the hazy barrier once again. The guard opened fire and the Mimic flopped dead onto the stairs outside. Two more appeared, clawing at the barrier.
“All units, Klein again,” she said into her radio. “Things are heating up, so some support would be really nice right about now.”
The radio squelched with the reply, which I lost to the sound of the woman emptying her magazine into the creatures. Blood splattered the stairwell as they fell.
“These guys are really starting to annoy me,” she muttered, swapping magazines with practiced ease.
I looked from the dead Mimics to the guard.
“What’s your name?”
“Elsa.”
I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Elsa. I’m Marcus.”
She gripped my palm, then released me. “I know.”
“I just wanted to tell you that anyone who’s ever had reservations about Normal guards is completely wrong.”
For the first time since the attack, she cracked a grin. “Just doing my job.”
“Speaking of which, do you think you can manage this solo?”
“For now, yes. The barrier should hold and I’ll drill anything that gets close until reinforcements arrive.”
“Awesome. Mick, keep working on your patient, but help this bad-ass out if things get messy.”
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
I swapped the empty magazine with a fresh one from my holster, jamming it into the grip of my pistol. “Hunting.”
* * *
The first two corridors were deathly quiet. I sprinted through them at full speed, skidding around a corner, and continuing down a third. Several doors had been smashed open and the contents of the rooms destroyed, but I was relieved to see that all of them appeared empty.
As I neared the end, I heard the unmistakable sound of combat coming from the conference room where I’d been grilled earlier. The familiar rush of fear and adrenaline poured into me and I barged into the room before my rational brain could talk me out of action. A large, orange fireball blew the wall above me into kindling and I dove behind a row of chairs for cover.
“Hey! Good guy here!” I shouted as another fireball vaporized the chairs next to me.
I swept my hands toward a third ball heading for me. The air in front of me shifted to form a wedge. The burning sphere hit my barrier, splitting in two, and torching the area on both sides of me. I scampered sideways, desperate to get clear of
the tiny inferno.
“Marcus?” a raspy voice asked.
I poked my head over the smoldering remains of a chair. “What the hell, Pell?”
The old man lowered his hands, pausing to wipe the sweat pouring down his face with the cuff of his robe. His staff, long and twisted, still glowed with orange light. “Apologies, my boy,” he said as I extricated myself from the wreckage. “Those damn Mimics were everywhere.”
I wrinkled my nose at the overpowering stench of burning meat. Several large mounds of flesh smoldered nearby. Smoke from the charred remains of the Mimics drifted toward the ceiling.
I gazed in awe at the damage. “Whoa.”
“I’m old, not weak.” Fire burned in his eyes. “People tend to forget the latter.”
“No kidding.”
The wrinkles on his face deepened as he surveyed the carnage. “What the hell is going on?”
“Mimics blasted through the main entrance. They took out one of the guards and wounded Mick. We killed the three that attacked us, but there are still more trying to get inside. The other guard and Mick are holding down the fort.”
“Do they need help?”
“Already en route. I have every confidence the female guard can hold her own until they arrive.”
Pell nodded, then stared at the corpses. “Mimics,” he muttered in disbelief. “They’re carrion eaters that are normally skittish and solitary. They avoid human contact at all costs and they never travel in packs. What the hell caused them to turn aggressive like this?”
“They’re certainly breaking with tradition. Heck, some are even armed.”
“Not unheard of, but it does complicate things.”
“Not the words I’d use, but sure.”
He eyed me, ignoring my humor. “You say more are in the building?”
“My count was around a dozen. Between the bodies here and at the entrance, there are four, maybe five still inside the perimeter.”
