by T. G. Ayer
Jess turned her head a little to face the speaker. "I suspect we may see them slowly returning."
"How so?" A lilt of curiosity
"He is having nightmares, and flashbacks. A few sensory connections that bring on memories he finds odd."
"Has he remembered he has a sister?"
"Not yet. He just knows something is wrong." Jess paused before asking. "How is she?"
"She is safe. And well. Her powers are still bound."
Jess nodded. She would have to be satisfied with their assurance because in all these years they hadn’t given her more than the briefest updates on Logan's sister.
A throat was cleared. "And Omega? Are they still investigating her disappearance?"
Jess turned to the new voice. "It’s a cold case, intermittent investigation only."
"I take it they have no idea that we were responsible for her removal?" he asked.
"No. They have Sentinel on their list. And a few outlier demon lords. Nothing solid."
"Good." He moved his head, perhaps it was a nod. "Very well, is there anything you need, Jacinta? To perform your role better, to assist you in any way?"
She shook her head. "Just as long as I can arrange an immediate extraction should Logan's memory return. And I want to be assured that he will be safe."
"Of course, Jacinta. We do not harm. And as much as we can, we do not interfere." He sighed. "I think there will soon be a time when Omega will have to answer for their crimes."
"I do hope so," Jess said. She inclined her head, already sensing that the interview was done. As she glanced around the table, the council members began to disappear until only one remained.
Storm.
Storm was a Titan that based himself in Chicago, working with street kids, finding homes for lost paranormals, putting all sorts of people back on the right path. He'd done more with the last fifty years of work than half the council had in all their lives.
A golden-haired, blue-eyed Adonis he'd never fallen to arrogance or vanity. His work in the DarkWorld was what he lived for. He smiled and crooked his elbow. She took his arm, her fingers sinking into the soft linen of his tailored white suit, and allowed him to walk her outside. They paused in the doorway to glance back at the now empty table.
Jess sighed. "I hope they are right?"
"About what?"
"That he will not be harmed."
"I agree. He is a unique young man."
"And a good one too. Those are not found often within the morass of humanity."
"I am sad to have to agree with you." Storm patted her fingers, his golden hair glinting in the sunlight that streamed in through the windows. "I do hope he is never swayed from his path."
"Me too, Storm. Me too."
***
Chapter 11
Logan Westin, age 19
Mission: Cambodia
The alert had come through on those secret channels that only Gunther seemed to know about. Somewhere in the mass of the Cambodian wilds, a great grey cloud brewed. And what better way to battle a Weather mage than with one of your very own.
The team had gone from the wilds of Mongolia to the wilds of the Congo and now to the wilds of Cambodia. All in the space of two days. And all without a Teleporter.
Teleporters were very high in demand which meant Omega tended to push Alex a little harder than they should. And the guy didn't know how to say enough is enough.
Alex was on enforced rest, under observation at NY HQ just to ensure his body was fit for his next jump, and of course to ensure he didn't scramble his brains the next time he teleported someone out.
Mission Mongolia verified that a string of mutilated bodies were not actually caused by vampires, since the creatures were known to have died out almost a century ago. Mission Congo had hit them square in the gut. Black magyk; ritual sacrifice of toddlers by a very paranormal witch-doctor. Not something Logan wanted to see again anytime soon. The witch-doctor had a strangely warped notion of how paranormal power really worked. And all he'd ended up with was a pile of dead babies, and not an ounce more power. That mission alone had stripped Logan to the bare emotional minimum.
He leaned against the side of the aircraft, molding his spine to the metal hoping the hypnotic thrum would at least weigh down his eyelids again, bring on a doze that was more sleep than a memory he would rather forget. Gunther had better quit this ringmaster act soon. Someone's going to keel over from exhaustion unless the team got some solid R and R soon.
Between half-closed eyelids he gazed at the men opposite him. Youth glowed on their skins, barely holding onto the pallid cheeks, and the pale, drawn eyes. Magical exhaustion at its finest.
Weather mage Mikael Levine, sat a knee-kiss before him, eyes closed. Like Logan's, his power was strong and bordered on the destructive. Like him too, his magyk had visited him in his early teens, simmering in the sweet miasma of adolescent hormones. Until one day, an explosion of rage had the unfortunate result of a category two hurricane.
Fortunately for Mik, someone out there was looking for such disturbances, someone with the ability to differentiate this particular storm from a normal, non-magical one, that is. And fortunately the someone who tracked him down was not one he would rather have avoided.
Unfortunately for Mik and Logan, they were found just a hairsbreadth too late to save the lives of dozens of innocents caught in the maelstrom of their burgeoning powers.
For Logan, the blood still stained his heart, as bright and red today, as it had been six years ago, when Omega saved him from himself. At thirteen he'd been rebellious and angry. Filled to overflowing with guilt. Working off the rebellion and taming his anger was a fairly simple task given the power he dealt with. But the guilt still lived within him, as much a part of him as the breath in his lungs.
Mikael was burdened with similar demons; only he seemed to have used them to harden his heart. And now, under the superior tutelage of Omega, he could bring down rain from a barren blue sky, or turn a tornado on its back with a mere thought. And with a zero mortality rate.
Mik's face was pale, and he opened his eyes. Eyes that were eerily clear of the usual arresting green that clashed so much with his black-as-night hair. This trip into the Cambodian jungle would drain them all.
Drain them of both physical and magical energies.
At last Logan felt himself nodding off.
***
Logan sat on the empty wooden box, swinging his leg back and forth, listening to the monotonous thud as the heel of his sneaker hit the worn out slats. The sound was strangely comforting. The steady thump no more than five beats apart, constant, consistent, comforting. A voice filtered through to him; high-pitched giggling laughter – and he blinked and looked around, his heart giving a little happy lurch as his eyes searched for . . . For what? Logan frowned. What about the phantom sound had made him smile and look for its owner, as if he knew who she was?
He didn't know her. All he knew was he heard her laughter, ringing in his ears, like a ghost, trailing him everywhere he went. And he frowned and scanned the dusty yard, his eyes searching the woods beyond the broken-down fence. Tall evergreens stared sadly back at him, standing guard over his tiny house, watching over him, and hiding the mysterious girl whose voice was like a whisper on the wind.
Was she somewhere in the woods, watching him? Or was she really just a figment of his imagination?
***
Chapter 12
Logan's head dropped forward and he jerked awake, slamming his head on the metal behind him. The blades of the Black Hawk whirred above them, a monotonous blat-blat-blat that should have been a hypnotic rhythm. Should have been enough to lull Logan to sleep, but it provided no such escape. The fibrous hull of the machine was so well insulated, all he felt was the gentle rhythm of the blades, alive in the metal – like the throbbing reverberations of a mechanical heart.
The Black Hawk rumbled through the night sky, carrying them further into the jungle, skimming the tops of the highest tr
ees. Logan glanced out of the window, scanning the area ahead. They were almost there.
A gigantic black cloud marked the location of a great magical force that drew its power from the skies. The cloud roiled and twisted as if alive, and every few seconds a bright fork of lightning lit up its heaving center.
The helicopter circled the area, and the pilot's voice filtered through the headset confirming their arrival at the coordinates provided by the commanding officer Elias Gunther.
Logan spoke into the microphone of his headpiece. "Mik, you're up."
Mik opened his eyes, moving from sleep to wakefulness in the flicker of an eyelash. He gave Logan a slight nod and turned to look out of the window, to see what he was up against. Logan's stomach tightened. No matter how many times they faced a supernatural force in the field, he still felt that steady tension, reminding him to remain on high alert, whispering that anything could go wrong at any second and that it paid to be aware.
Done with his site inspection, Mik sat back, shook his head of silky black hair and took a deep breath. The dark hair settled around his shoulders, softening the sharp lines of his face. He sat there, still belted in, stiff as a board, his spine straight, the muscles in his neck corded. His fists were clenched and sat one upon each knee as if he needed their support to remain upright. He lifted his green eyes and met Logan's gaze. "I'm going in." His eyes closed as soon as he spoke the words and Logan waited, watching the Aerosi. A light sheen of perspiration filmed Mik's skin.
Logan's gaze flicked from Mik to the stormy black cloud hovering over a clearing up ahead. Even from this distance he could see the half-hidden temple, almost swallowed up by the roots of a gigantic tree. The pale, carved stone peered through the undergrowth of green that had slowly engulfed it after centuries of abandonment. Now the building was occupied, but not for mere worship.
Power simmered in the air as they waited for Mik to break through the weather magyk. Logan held his breath and watched as Mik slowly dissolved the cloud, cutting off the energy from the mage who called the power of the sky down to him
The Aerosi didn't stop even when the angry blackness faded to reveal a clump of puffy white clouds. Mik remained still, and continued to focus. Logan knew his mind would be trained on the location to tamp down any further attempts at absorbing the magyk of the Air. He understood the working of weather magyk, as well as any mage understood elemental power. Magyk was derived from the earth, the air, the fabric of life around you. Although a Pyrosi like Logan would summon flame into being, he knew he drew the essence of the fire from the elements around him.
Mik performed his task with a consummate ease. Ease borne of practice and skill. An ease that did not translate into a psychic one. The use of his power drained him, like one of those obsolete car batteries used half a century ago to power vehicles. He would need time to recharge.
Once Mik had the cloud, and the underlying power of it, under control, he opened his eyes. "It's safe to move, but we don't have long. He's powerful."
Logan nodded at Mik and spoke into his microphone. "Alright team. Let's get down there and get this done." A chorus of shouts filtered back to him and he smiled as the helicopter lowered them to about fifty feet off the ground. Near enough for them to descend the ropes with ease.
"See you all there," Saleem yelled. Saleem with no surname.
When asked he would say "Just Saleem," then smile and tilt his head in the tiniest of bows. The Djinn was fortunate. His teleporting ability was something Logan coveted. Unfortunately, Saleem could only ever transport one person at a time and jumping back and forth with the whole team would kill him fast enough. So he was restricted to jump only when necessary.
They had to move quickly. The sound of the Black Hawk would have alerted the rogue mage to their presence. No sense in hiding now, although caution was always paramount. Logan liked his team all in one piece.
The team gathered at the two open doors, Mik and Sandi exiting on one side, while Logan and his newly acquired partner clipped onto the remaining rope and grabbed hold of it. Logan gave his head the tiniest of shakes and he shimmied down the rope. Jess descended beside him and again he wondered what she was doing with him.
Jacinta Carnarvon was not your average paranormal agent, and everyone knew it even though Gunther had been keen to keep her identity under wraps. But that would mean Gunther took them all for fools. Which they certainly were not. One look at the her and you knew you were looking at a woman with innate power, not just your average mage.
One thing he did know was she read his mind. He was trying to learn to control his thoughts, to place his own wards around his mind. If she could read his thoughts surely she'd have the power to direct his actions. But, in the few weeks since she'd been assigned to their squad she hadn't once tried to use her powers to control him.
"That is because I am not here to control you, Logan Westin," Jess yelled at him as their feet touched the ground. He stiffened and narrowed his gaze at her. He hated when she read his thoughts. "You are projecting your thoughts to me. I simply hear you."
Logan gritted his jaw and checked that the other two agents were clear of the ropes. The Black Hawk's powerful blades sent dust and dirt flying, pushing against the surrounding brush, as if an invisible hand swiped them away. Logan peered up and raised his hand, drawing a circle above his head with his forefingers. The pilot got the message and the bird rose into the sky, circled the clearing once and flew off, the sound of its engine fading as it disappeared from sight.
Saleem emerged from the bushes in front of Logan, and the team converged on Logan. He glanced at the buried building, noting the smoke rising from between darkened openings, noting that the temple had been built backing into a gigantic rock, counting the visible exits.
"Let's get moving, go slow. Jess, can you sense anything?"
Jess gave him a grim look. "The way is clear. But be careful. The energies are negative."
Logan nodded. Jess was always stingy with words. He motioned for the team to move out and glanced over at Sandi as she hurried toward the mouth of the cave-like temple. Sandile Dube's magyk gave her control over the movement of things. She'd come to them from a Zulu tribe in Southern Africa, the strength of her power something Omega could not ignore. Now she trained eyes darker than pitch at the temple, moving sure-footed and graceful until she hunched beside a fallen column which had once flanked the low-roofed entrance.
The steady beat of a drum drifted toward them from the depths of the cave, and Logan pointed forward. He slipped into the temple as the team advanced behind him. They moved silently through a wide room, well lit by sunlight streaming through the pillared entrances along one end of the room. He ran forward lightly, avoiding the broken flagstones where roots and weeds pushed through and shattered the stone flooring. The room faded into shadows and the drumbeats grew louder.
Five wide stone steps led down to the main area of worship and Logan squinted through the smoke at the far end of the room. A stone altar lay at the center of the cave, directly beneath an opening in the stone roof. Clear sky could be seen through the opening. Four men stood to one side, concentration and smoke twisting their features. They were mere boys, acolytes of this newly born warlock. Mik sank down beside Logan as they reached the point just before the end of the shadows.
Two men stood guard at the foot of the altar, their backs to Logan and his team. These men too were unhealthily thin, their faded, tattered trousers hanging loosely on their hips.
The altar was occupied – a young boy, the bones of his ribs protruding from his emaciated frame – lay supine and anesthetized with shock. He was likely one of the many missing youths from the nearby village. The child let out a moan of shock. He pushed himself up on his elbows, his arms shivering with the effort. He stared at his chest with wide horrified eyes. Bright red blood streamed from a ten inch slit in his chest; the handiwork of the shaman who stood beside the altar, bloodied dagger still held aloft, his eyes rolling back in his head as he chant
ed to the rhythm of the drums.
Logan frowned as he concentrated on the gathering. He used a controlled burst of magical energy, keeping the flame to the minimum, allowing the energy to flow. The blast buffeted the two guards hovering over the boy, slamming into them so they stumbled away, leaving the boy unguarded. Logan watched the boy while Jess approached the shaman, whose face now bore a striking resemblance to a terrified meerkat. His hands glowed and an iridescent globe of energy sputtered between them.
As soon as the ball of heat left the shaman’s hands, it fizzled into nothing. Unfortunately, he'd reacted to Logan's actions without consideration to Jess's proximity to his magical overflow. She was buffeted by the power and scowled. But she didn't take her eyes off the shaman who'd been sent off balance by the clash of the two energies.
Logan was distracted from his observation of the young boy what with the shaman’s attempt to blast him to Hell's Gate. A quick glance back at the altar confirmed to him that his intuition was as remarkable as his magyk. The boy, no longer a mass of quivering fear, was standing a few feet away from Logan, eyes fury-bright, lips curved on a sneer of malice.
Logan watched, almost in wonder, at the undulating arc of magical energy now spanning the arms of the boy.
“Sacrifice! My ass! He's the friggin' warlock, not that scrawny pleb!”
Logan ducked the first of a wave of energy missiles, kicking himself for missing the signs. The shaman had been attending the boy, not restraining him. His moan, one of frustration, not fear. And the horror in his eyes was due to the botched ritual, not the gaping wound in his chest.
Logan threw himself behind the altar. Landing sprawled and spread-eagled on the dusty ground, he found himself gazing into the staring, lifeless eyes of the donor of the warlock’s heart. Logan's rough landing jarred the body of the child and his head fell to the side, face-to-face with Logan's horror-stricken one. During his final moments the child had shed what would be his final tears. Logan's gaze followed the clear liquid as it pooled at the edge of the eye. As it swelled, dammed by his eyelid until the pool of tears became too large to contain it. The tear slipped over the edge of his eyelid and ran down to his hairline just above his ear.
