Wind Runner (Vanderbrook Champions Book 1)

by Edmund Hughes

  “She’s an illusion spryte,” said the bartender. “And she’s used that line before, many times.”

  “Scribe!” snapped Fantasy. “He’s pretty cute. Let me work my magic.”

  Fantasy set her arm on Malcolm’s shoulder again, and suddenly there was a dragon behind her, snarling and snorting tufts of smoke out of its noise. Conveniently, it was small enough to fit within the bar, and coordinated enough to not bump against the roof or into any of the patrons.

  “Oh, no!” cried Fantasy. “It’s the dragon that hungers for my blood! Please, Malcolm! You’re the only one who can save me!”

  Malcolm felt a little uncomfortable, despite knowing that it wasn’t real. It was hard to completely ignore an apparent threat through logic and reason when every other instinct in him recognized it as a danger.

  “That’s… quite a show,” he said. “Can we just talk normally, though?”

  “Oh… that’s no fun.” Fantasy rolled her eyes and waved her hand. The dragon and the suit of armor disappeared.

  “The dress is real?” Malcolm reached out and poked it with his finger.

  “The dress…” Fantasy took his hand and shifted it to her breast. “And these…”

  “Okay, hold up,” said Malcolm, pulling his hand back. “Look, I’m here with somebody. We just came to ask around for some information.”

  “I think the ‘somebody’ that you were here with is now with somebody else,” said Fantasy. “So why not be with me?”

  Malcolm scowled and looked over at Rose. Not much had changed since he’d left the table, but Bicep had slid his chair around next to hers. He was telling her something, animating whatever it was with arm gestures that showed off his muscles.

  “Bicep is a rogue,” said Fantasy. “He calls himself a strength demon, but he’s really more of a testosterone demon. Fun for a night or two, but… everyone needs variety.”

  She slid to the edge of her stool, pushing her leg against Malcolm’s. He took a sip of his beer, hoping that the alcohol would help him focus, but knowing it would probably do the opposite.

  “I’m looking for somebody,” said Malcolm.

  “So am I.”

  “Not… like that,” he said. “Have any new monsters come through here lately?”

  Fantasy glared at him.

  “Monsters?” she said. “What are you, a fucking champion?”

  Malcolm almost nodded before catching himself.

  “Sorry, slip of the tongue,” he said.

  “You can slip your tongue anywhere you want.” Fantasy slid her hand up his thigh, and it took a force of will on Malcolm’s part to push her hand away.

  “I’m looking for a demon,” he said. “One with fire, or explosion powers. Seen anyone like that?”

  Fantasy shrugged.

  “Maybe,” she said. “Why don’t we talk about it in the morning?”

  Malcolm ran a hand through his hair. He looked over at Rose to see if she was having any better luck. His heart caught in his throat when he saw that Bicep had a meaty arm around her. She was listening to what he was saying intently.

  “He’s going to have his way with her,” said Fantasy. “So why don’t you have your way… with me?”

  “No,” said Malcolm. “I trust her.”

  No sooner had he spoken the words did Bicep make his move. He groped at one of Rose’s breasts and leaned in whisper something in her ear. The bar was dim, and tendrils of darkness shot out from the nearest corner to their table, firmly disentangling the muscular demon from Rose. She stood up, pointed a finger at him, and then walked over to Malcolm.

  The look on Rose’s face when she saw how close Fantasy was sitting to him was an echo of Malcolm’s own recent feelings. She folded her arms and looked at the other woman squarely.

  “Malcolm,” she said. “Have you made friends with a new spryte?”

  “Uh… Rose, this is Fantasy. Fantasy… Rose.”

  “A pleasure,” said Fantasy, seeming undisturbed. “You know, I have a big bed back at my place. Perhaps the three of us…?”

  “Enough, Fantasy,” said the bartender. “You’re as bad as Bicep. These two aren’t here to play games. Why don’t you give them some space and let me talk to them for a bit?”

  “Scribe!” said Fantasy.

  “If they’re at all interested, they still will be after. Don’t be clingy.”

  Fantasy sighed, lifted her skirt, and then headed off to another corner of the tavern. Rose took the stool she’d been sitting in, smiling first at Malcolm, and then the bartender.

  “Thank you,” said Rose. “And we’d be very interested in having a chat with you, miss…?”

  “You don’t recognize me, do you?” said the bartender.

  Rose looked surprised. The bartender grinned and set a mug of beer down in front of her.

  “I’m Scribe,” said the bartender. “We’ve met before.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Malcolm watched as Rose slowly shook her head, her expression shifting into confusion.

  “Do you mean… before I became a spryte?” she asked. “You knew who I was?”

  “No,” said Scribe. “You come in between each of your episodes.”

  “Each of my… episodes?” asked Rose.

  Scribe laughed, and Malcolm felt a little angry at the chubby woman for being so flippant.

  “The last one must have done a number on you, huh?” said Scribe. “Yeah, between each of your episodes. Most demons and sprytes have a couple per year. You know, when you lose yourself completely. Start destroying things, killing people. Getting wild.”

  “And that’s… happened to me before?” asked Rose. “I mean, I knew something happened to my memory, but…”

  “Each time it happens, you start over from square one, maybe with a few scraps of memory, maybe not.” Scribe shrugged. “It’s happened to everyone in here. It’s happened to me, even. Sucks to lose business at the tavern when it does.”

  “Wait, how do you know all of this, then?” asked Rose.

  Scribe nodded, smiling as though she’d been dying for Rose to ask the question.

  “I’m a language spryte,” she said. “I keep a journal, and always remember about it after each episode.”

  “Keeping a journal…” said Rose. “That’s genius.”

  “Yeah, you’ve told me that before,” said Scribe. “You’ve even tried it yourself, before. A bunch of the others in here have, too. It’s all in my notes. Unless you’re particularly persistent about keeping it and making it a part of your life, you just forget about it during the episode.”

  “Can I read these notes?” asked Rose. “At least… the ones about me.”

  Scribe’s frowned, furrowing her brow and giving a small shake of her head.

  “I don’t think you’d want to,” she said. “And I have a policy against it. For my own safety.”

  Rose closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Malcolm reached over and set a hand on her shoulder.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “There has to be more to it than that,” said Rose. “These… episodes of chaos. They must be linked to something. To sprytes and demons overusing their powers, or…?”

  “That’s what made you a spryte in the first place,” said Scribe. “Now that you are one, it’s kind of like being unhinged. Like a kid that takes too much LSD and ends up seeing delusions for the rest of his life. There’s no going back.”

  Rose drained her mug of beer. She held up a defiant finger, as though using it to counter what Scribe was saying.

  “I don’t believe that,” she said. “And I don’t think you do, either. Why would you have an exclusive bar for sprytes and demons if you had to worry about them snapping at any time?”

  “Because there’s good money in it, and I’m business minded,” said Scribe. “The Champion Authority isn’t very active in small towns like Vanderbrook. When our people flee the big cities where the champions have control, they come looking for places like this.” />
  “This is all just conjecture,” said Rose. “You don’t know for sure that there isn’t a way for us to live without having these… episodes, or whatever you call them.”

  Scribe started laughing. She shook her head slowly, and waved a finger at Rose.

  “We’ve had this conversation before, almost verbatim,” said Scribe. “It’s all in my notes. I write everything down. The reason we have episodes, the reason we became like this in the first place, is because of who we are. Our habits, our personalities… those don’t change, Rose. That’s the trap.”

  “How can you believe that?” snapped Rose.

  Scribe shrugged.

  “They call us monsters,” she said. “Me? I think we’re just unlucky. When normal people without powers become ‘monsters’, there’s only so much damage they can do. We’re just better at it than they are.”

  Rose glared at Scribe. She was about to say something else when a heavy hand settled on Malcolm’s shoulder and lifted him roughly off his stool.

  “You aren’t a fucking spryte or demon,” said Bicep, holding him aloft. “I figured as much when I first saw you, but Bender says he recognizes you from the news. You’re a fucking champion.”

  The bar went silent. A few other demons stood up. Malcolm thought that they were going to help break the fight up, but only until he saw their faces.

  Uh-oh. I don’t think they take kindly to champions sneaking into their space.

  “Let him go!” Rose pulled a couple of tendrils of shadow and tried to loosen Bicep’s grip.

  He was stronger than he looked, which surprised Malcolm, and kept his hold. Another demon, a green skinned man with a long tongue, snuck up behind Rose and seized her by the arms.

  “Hey!” shouted Malcolm. “Enough!”

  “You don’t get to say when it’s enough!” snapped Bicep. “And besides, she’s one of us. When I’m done with you, I’m going to show her what she’s been missing out on, whether she likes it or not.”

  Malcolm grabbed onto Bicep’s wrist with his free hand and felt the sudden, familiar tingle as he absorbed his power. The sensation spread through his entire body, and over the course of about five seconds, several hundred new muscles burst into existence under his skin.

  It was enough for him to rip out of all his clothing but his boxers, like Bruce Banner turning into The Incredible Hulk. The stabilizer was still on his wrist, stretching slightly to accommodate his added bulk and probably sparing his life. Bicep stared at him in disbelief. Malcolm was taller now, too. His feet reached the floor, and his eyes were level with Bicep’s.

  “Fuck you!” shouted Bicep. He tried to twist Malcolm to the ground. Malcolm slammed a shoulder into him, reaching out for the wind at the same time and throwing in a gust for extra power.

  He flipped Bicep around, slamming him through a bar table. The green demon holding Rose tried to get an arm around her neck. Malcolm roared, feeling a sudden surge of bloodlust, and slammed his fist past Rose and into his head.

  The green demon sailed across the bar, slamming into a brick wall and sliding down to the ground. Malcolm whirled, preparing to attack anyone else stupid enough to try him. Scribe jumped out from behind the bar, holding her hands up in the universal sign of surrender.

  “Please!” she said. “The fight’s over! Please, don’t break anything else!”

  “Where is the heat demon?” asked Malcolm. “Tell me!”

  Why am I so angry right now? Is that part of this dude’s power?

  “Hothead?” asked Scribe. “He just got into town a day or two ago. He was only in here for a minute. I swear, if I see him, I’ll get in touch with you! Just call the bar later and give me your number.”

  “Malcolm…” Rose set her hand on one of his extremely muscled shoulders. Malcolm set his on top of it, and felt a surge as he absorbed her power in place of Bicep’s. He shrank back down to his normal size, feeling ridiculous in only his stretched-out boxers.

  “Alright,” he said. “That… works. We’ll go now.”

  He nodded to Rose, and the two of them hurried up the stairs.

  The only thing that made the walk home bearable was the fog. Malcolm stayed close to Rose, and they both walked quickly. Besides the incident on their way out, he also knew that she’d be thinking about the things that Scribe had said.

  “I don’t know if you should take her at her word,” he said, after a few minutes. “It sounds like she’s basing her assumptions off anecdotal evidence.”

  “Maybe,” said Rose, in a quiet voice. “But maybe not.”

  Malcolm wasn’t sure what to say to that.

  “If I ever… have an episode,” said Rose. “And if it looks like I’m going to hurt, or kill people. I want you to be the one who does it.”

  “Rose…”

  “You’re a champion,” she said. “It’s your job. And I think… I’d rather have it be you than anyone else.”

  “I’m not agreeing to that,” said Malcolm. “I think there is hope. We can find a solution, find a way to keep you from having another episode.”

  “I don’t even remember,” whispered Rose. “How many people have I already killed, Malcolm?”

  Again, he had no idea what to say. He reached over and squeezed her hand.

  “I’m not giving up,” he said. “And if it does happen, I’ll chain you up in my bedroom, or something.”

  Rose leaned her head from side to side and gave a tiny smile.

  “I might like that, you know.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Malcolm put on some sweatpants and a t-shirt as soon as they were back in his apartment. Rose was folding her new wardrobe into neat piles when he came back out into the living room. She looked at him with a wicked gleam in her eye.

  “So…” she said. “Do you want me to finish modelling my lingerie for you?”

  Malcolm grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

  She slipped into his room to change. Malcolm sat on the couch, and by the time she walked out in the skimpy underwear and fishnet stocking, he was already excited.

  “I saw you eyeing that illusion spryte in the tavern, you know,” said Rose. “Do you think she can do for you what I can?”

  Malcolm shook his head no, feeling a bit like a trained dog waiting on a treat. He decided to turn the tables a little bit as she walked toward him on the couch, pulling a gust of wind from behind her and knocking her into his lap.

  “I think you’re falling for me,” he said, with a wink.

  “You naughty boy.” She leaned in close, letting her hot breath tickle his neck. “Let’s see if you can make it through one of my lap dances without losing control early.”

  Malcolm let out a low groan and ran his hands across her butt. His phone vibrated where it lay on the couch next to him, and he glanced over to see a text from Tapestry.

  TAPESTRY: Are you up? I’m on my way over.

  “Huh,” he muttered, picking up the phone.

  “Let me guess,” said Rose. “Your champion mentor?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “She said she’s on her way over but… I could always just pretend that I’m asleep.”

  He ran his hands across Rose’s hips, feeling her grind her crotch against his hardness.

  “No,” she said. “It’s okay. Be a good host for her. I’ll wait for you in your bedroom for when the two of you are… finished.”

  Malcolm rolled his eyes.

  “I don’t think that’s what she meant,” he said. “It’s not like that between us. Besides, weren’t you just complaining about the illusion spryte a minute ago?”

  Rose pulled herself up and off Malcolm’s lap, to his disappointment.

  “I told you, I only get jealous when it comes to other sprytes,” said Rose. “I don’t consider normal women, even champions, to be much of a threat.”

  Malcolm gave a shrug, and Rose licked her lips. She waved her hand, summoning several strands of darkness that formed into a set of feminine hands and a pair of luscious lips. They st
arted rubbing his crotch, the lips poised right in front of his bulge as though preparing smother his erection to climax.

  “Point taken,” said Malcolm. “This shouldn’t take long. Are you going to be okay in the meantime, given that, uh, you haven’t had your focus activity today?”

  Lamest euphemism for sex ever.

  “I’ll manage,” said Rose. “And don’t worry… I’ll leave the lingerie on.”

  There was a knock at Malcolm’s door. Rose immediately vanished into the shadows of his room. Malcolm stood up, adjusted his sweatpants to minimize the obviousness of his package, and let Tapestry inside.

  She almost ran into his apartment. She had on a leather jacket, jeans, and what looked like cowboy boots. She looked him over and frowned at his state of readiness.

  “Are you serious?” asked Tapestry. “Why aren’t you ready?”

  “Ready…?” Malcolm frowned at her. “For what?”

  “We don’t have time!” she snapped. “Just put shoes on and come as you are.”

  “Hold on, just let me-”

  “Malcolm!” Tapestry looked at him seriously. “It’s the heat demon! I got a report from one of the Champion Authority’s informants saying that he was heading out of town, toward the old coal mine.”

  This could be my chance.

  “Let’s go.” Malcolm grabbed the sweatshirt he’d lent to Rose earlier and threw it on. He followed Tapestry downstairs and out to her BMW, barely getting into the passenger seat before she peeled out of her parking spot.

  “Here.” She passed the BMW’s aux cord over to him.

  “What?”

  “Put your music on!” she said. “You’re going to need to be at full strength for this.”

  Malcolm shrugged and plugged in his phone.

  Nine Inch Nails should work well enough as a chorus to battle, right?

  “We’re going to have to play this carefully,” said Tapestry. “Malcolm, my powers haven’t fully recovered yet. I won’t be able to regenerate if I get hit.”

  “You’re serious?” He blinked, realizing what that meant. “Tapestry, no offense, but what can you do without your regeneration?”