He blocked the library doorway with his body after that. "Fight me!" he snapped. "Fight me, or give in to me; either way, I'm going to kill you! I'm going to win!"
"Screw that," I said softly. There was blood on my hands, on my shirt; it was warm where it seeped through the fabric to touch my skin.
If I didn't try, I knew I'd be lucky to get the blood off in this lifetime.
So I fought.
No. That wasn't right. I tried to fight; I threw punches and kicks, and I used my speed and my strength, and it wasn't enough.
It just... wasn't... enough!
I had to spend too much time watching for the trident. I had to block that above all else. I didn't even think that the King had other weapons, even though I knew -- even though I'd been taught -- that he was much more dangerous than I could ever imagine.
He threw a punch at me; I ducked under it, spinning and driving a back-fist strike against his ribs. It was like punching a rack made of iron bars, but I didn't have the time to indulge in the pain. I grabbed his arm and yanked down, hip-tossing him over to thump on the linoleum. My follow-up was to try and stomp on his face, damage his body enough that he'd have to leave it, but he caught my foot and sent me off-balance even as I went to drive a kick into the side of his head. I hit the floor and scrambled up to my knees, moving so fast that I was practically floating as I straddled his waist. I brought my hand back, intent on smashing his face through his brain and into the building's foundation.
But I forgot to defend myself, and as fast as I was, I'd neglected the fact that he, too, was pretty damn quick.
I felt the blood before I felt the knife; wet heat spread along my side, and then I saw the glee on the Dark King's face, and then my pain receptors flared to life. I cried out, clutching at myself, but the blade was already out and he was aiming for my chest with the second strike. I swiped away, feeling lucky that I took the slash on my arm. I pushed to my feet and stumbled back, out of reach, my vision going blurry and dark around the edges; he must have hit something important.
I caught a glimpse of men in black-and-blue uniforms as I fell backward, hitting my ass hard on the floor. The King levitated himself to a standing position, advancing on me.
And then the hallway erupted with that peculiar boom-crack that meant someone was shooting a gun in an enclosed space. One, two, three, and even more shots hit the Dark King, and he too fell, landing on his knees. When he smiled at me, black blood stained his teeth.
"This isn't over, girl," he hissed. "You're going to die. Soon."
He made a complicated twist with his fingers and a cloud of smoke surrounded his body. When it cleared, he was gone.
A couple of seconds later, one of the police officers was kneeling beside me, his hand pressed to my side. I knew I was bleeding all over him, and he didn't have a glove or anything, and he was risking his life to make sure I didn't die. "Thank you," I whispered. "I'm... I'm sorry..."
"Nothing to be sorry about," he said. I thought he was smiling, but it was hard to make out. I wasn't sure if I was crying, or if I was about to lose consciousness. "Will you be all right? I've heard you can heal--"
He must've seen me nodding because he stopped talking. "Just need a little time," I said. "Hurts though."
"The paramedics are coming. You just have to hang on."
I shook my head at that. "Help the others," I said. "I'll... I'll live."
"I hope so." I blinked a couple of times, enough to see his brown eyes staring down at me. "You need to live. To save us." With his free hand, he made the sign of the cross. "I don't know if that was Satan--"
"It wasn't--"
"--but I will pray for you anyway."
"Th... thanks." I took a slightly deeper breath. Some of the agony in my side had subsided; I felt a little woozy from the blood loss, but I had enough presence of mind to take the officer by the wrist and gently pull his hand away. "Am I still... bleeding?"
He touched the wound -- I hissed -- and then shook his head. "A miracle," he said.
"No. You guys are the miracle. Without your help, I'd be dead." I paused. "Help me up."
Once I was on my feet, fully supported by the police officer, I started hearing applause. Applause that grew in volume as more people crammed into the far ends of the halls, trying to see what had happened. Whistles, cheers, shouts, all for me.
And I'd lost. I'd lost! The Dark King beat me, and I knew it, and when he came for me again, I'd die.
Fuck.
But no. These people needed a symbol. They needed something positive. Me saying it was all about the police officers wouldn't work; I'd learned that already.
So I stole something from Terminator 2: I held up one hand, curled my fingers into a fist, and gave them all the thumbs-up.
The cheers grew, and as they did, I pulled away from the officer and tried to walk as normally as possible into the library. There was a back way out, I knew, and I needed out. I needed to find the Professor.
No. That wasn't right. I needed my mom and dad. I needed someone to hold me and tell me that everything would be all right; I needed someone to tell me it wasn't my fault that I didn't win.
I pushed open the library's fire door. The siren went off, but it wasn't really a siren. It was more like a ringing noise. Like a--
I jerk awake, splashing room-temperature water out of the tub and onto the floor. My phone, sitting on my nightstand, is making that annoying old-style phone sound. I gave that ring to the Professor, and to the number Dr. Colibri gave me, so that when I heard it I'd be annoyed enough to pick it up right away.
This time, though, I let it go to voicemail. With one foot, I flip the drain switch to let the water out of the tub, and as more of me gets exposed to the warm, still air of the bathroom, I get slowly to my feet. When I reach for the towel hanging on the rack, though, I feel a twinge in my left side. The candlelight isn't bright enough for me to see, so I flip the light switch, take a moment to let my eyes adjust, and then turn that side toward the mirror.
The old, almost-totally-faded scar that the Dark King's knife gave me, all those years ago, is surrounded by fresh, purplish bruises.
"It was the dream," I decide after poking at the marks for a few seconds. "Had to be the dream." I wrap myself in the towel, blow out the candles, and then go out into the bedroom. I briefly consider another form of stress-relief, but after that dream, I'm just not in the mood. Even though it's been a while.
I've had that dream before. Not quite so vividly, but yeah, I've dreamed that first fight. This time, though, it's much worse. This time I feel the dread, the sensation that something is coming for me, that something is going to kill me, and I feel it more strongly than... well, than since the first time I fought the Dark King.
I grab my phone and let myself fall backward onto the bed, staring at the spinning blades of the ceiling fan. In this position, the bruise on my side hurts more than before, probably because of how my body is bent, and I roll onto my stomach, pulling the phone into view.
The voicemail is from Dr. Colibri, and the phone has thoughtfully transcribed it for me so I don't have to call in and check it.
Get to my office as soon as you can. Something is coming.
"Something" my ass. It's the Dark King.
He's back.
"Shit."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
END OF DAYS
+++++
When I arrive at Dr. Colibri's lab, she's not alone. The Professor is there, as I expected, but so are four black-suited goons. I think, but am not sure, that two of them are the same guys who invaded my apartment on Saturday night. This time, though, they don't give me any trouble; they're sitting peacefully on the floor around a...
Am I really seeing this?
"Is that a magic circle?" I look hard at the Professor. "Where were those the last time?"
"Around," Dr. Colibri says shortly. "We're in totally new territory here -- we've never had someone around long enough for the Dark King to rise again."
/>
"I still want to know who this royal 'we' is," I say. I look at the goons again. They seem to be caught in some sort of trance, so I ignore them and go to stand by the Professor. "It's him, isn't it."
He nods. "He must be massing his power at this point, because you're not throwing up all over the place." I press my hand to my diaphragm. "Are you all right?"
"I'll live. I'm more worried about what's going on out there." I look more closely at the screen the Professor is watching. "What are these? Incident reports?"
Another nod. "Little pockets of activity. Nothing that would trigger you -- this is more like evil residue bubbling up to the surface."
"Can you check my old high school?" The last time around, my first big failure happened there. It wouldn't surprise me if the Dark King went back hoping for a repeat. "Anything there?"
"No," he says after a moment. "It's mostly north of here. But the worst is-- Andrea!"
He catches me as I go to my knees, clutching my stomach. Dr. Colibri is there a moment later with a trash bin, and just in time, too.
I really hate this part.
My stomach is completely empty by the time I take to the sky. Good thing, too, because I still feel the burning in the back of my throat, and I'd be spitting all along the highway I'm following if I had anything to spit.
The Professor's screen had shown a massive flare-up of activity in Cherokee County, at one of the epic mega-churches that religious people in this town seem to like. Not that I need the address, what with the ache in my stomach and the tingle -- almost a burn now -- in my throat telling me where I should be going.
At least I feel a little more like myself. The singlet is a tight around my middle and waist, and I'm definitely not wearing the right kind of bra for fighting evil, but I didn't have time to stop off at home for something with more support. At least the rest of the suit fits -- apparently the Professor kept a couple of my old ones as mementos, which is a weird sort of creepy that I'm going to want to talk to him about later -- and feeling the stretchy material against my skin is more comforting than I expected it would be.
Plus, I have one of the good masks, the one that keeps the wind out of my eyes. I don't know how Superman ever flew anywhere with the sheer amount of particulates in the air. Maybe he had a third eyelid they wrote out of the script? I really don't know.
It takes about ten minutes to get to the church. I bet I could've flown faster, but honestly, I don't have a burning desire to face the Dark King again. I know I have to, but I don't want to.
Would've appreciated some backup, too, but apparently that's not allowed.
So, just like last time, just like the first time, I'm alone.
The main doors to the church are broken off their hinges -- do bad guys not believe in doors? -- and I step in, swallowing hard and steeling myself. I expected to find security guards or whatever kind of people work at a church during the day, but it's disturbingly empty in here. At least I don't burst into flames; I'm definitely not a religious person, and my parents weren't either, so other than fighting evil I have no experience with churches. But if God is real, then He or She or It apparently is okay with my superpowers. That's a plus.
It doesn't quite offset what I see in the... sanctuary? Is that what it's called? The big room where people pray on Sunday mornings -- I'm going to call it a sanctuary. Anyway, about fifteen people are seated in the pews, staring at the altar. I walk in, half-expecting the doors to slam shut behind me like in a horror film, but -- I take a quick look around -- once again the doors have been torn off. A thought flits through my mind -- maybe I'm fighting the one who knocks -- and I have to stifle a chuckle. Besides, I shouldn't be laughing. Fifteen people, seemingly stuck to their seats, are all mesmerized by the nothing that's up on the altar.
I get to the front pews and look up. The acid taste, which I've been trying my hardest to ignore, is worse than ever now. The tingle in my neck is fighting it down by spreading cool prickling through my throat, but it's not helping as much as I'd like.
The taste gets worse when the nothingness coalesces into a smoky figure. Two arms, two legs, one head. Black smoke, but in the depths I see flashes of red.
And his voice. Oh, how I wish I believed in something so I could say "oh my God" and mean it when I hear his voice.
"Hello again, Alexandra. It's certainly nice to see you again."
It takes a several seconds and a couple of deep breaths before I find my voice. "The feeling's mutual, my lord." Better to butter him up; the longer I keep him talking, the less likely he'll be to kill these people. Really wish I'd thought of that when I fought him all those years ago, but I guess we live and learn. "How have you been?"
"Oh, just wonderful." A tendril of smoke stretches out and heads straight for me; I fight the urge to run and let it stroke my cheek, just below the edge of the mask. It's like pressing my face against a handful of thumbtacks. The pointy side, not the round side. "Especially after you killed me the last time."
Without warning the tendril goes hard and slaps me. It feels exactly like being slapped with that same handful of thumbtacks, and I reflexively bring my hand to my cheek.
No blood. Well, at least that's something.
"It's our destiny," I say. "We fight, one wins, one loses."
"I'm tired of losing." The tendril returns to the main body of the King's smoke form. "I really thought I had you," he says. "All three times. But somehow you pulled victory from the jaws of defeat."
Clichés? Really? Is that what he's been reduced to? "I won't apologize," I say, concentrating, floating myself up onto the altar to face him. "Let them go," I offer, "and we can end this now."
The Dark King's silky, drawling laughter is just as awful on my ears as I remember; I have a feeling he's doing something to my brain with it, but I've never been able to prove it and I don't want him to hang around long enough to do an experiment. "Perhaps I don't want to end it now," he says. "Perhaps I want you to suffer a little, Alexandra."
"There's no need to draw it out." I'm getting a little more confident every time he doesn't try to kill me; I take a step toward him, knowing I can't hit his smoke-form -- it's smoke, after all -- but also knowing that at some point he's going to have to turn solid if he wants to kill me. "I'm going to win again, just like the last time. Accept defeat gracefully."
Another one of those laughs. The smoky figure slides backward and becomes more distinct -- still not a body I can punch or kick, but the face is clear enough for me to make out the King's saturnine features. I can see how religious people would see him as Satan, but he swears he isn't and the Professor's teachings back it up. "Things are different now, Alexandra," he says. "I'm different now."
"Different how?"
The King's form paces around the altar a little -- it's big enough for that; this church is gigantic, and our voices are echoing as we speak. Like, a lot. "I'm sure your Professor friend has told you about the balance by now."
I nod. "If someone has the power, then you're brought forth, you and your minions from whatever crazy-ass dimension you live in most of the time. I have the power, so here you are."
He chuckles. "What a simplistic explanation, Alexandra." As he's pacing, he's describing a wide circle around me. Annoying, but at least he's not killing anyone. Yet. "I'm sure you must realize by now how much more power you have."
"Well, I haven't tested it or anything, if that's what you mean."
"You'd be surprised." It seems like he's becoming more solid with every few steps. "I can feel your power, you know."
"Can you?"
"Yes. It's..." In an instant he's close enough to sniff me; the sharp smoke of his breath scrapes along my neck, just for a second, and then he's out of reach again. "Intoxicating."
"Great. You're going to get drunk off me. That sounds like fun."
I can practically hear his nonexistent teeth grinding. The Professor didn't teach me that trick; I learned it from Buffy: piss off the bad guys and they'll make mistakes
. I realize that's a television show and this is real life, but it worked just fine when I was in high school. Even against the Dark King himself. "I'm not going to do anything to you," he finally says.
Okay. That's a surprise. "You're not?"
"No. Because if we fight, then you can win. But if I don't fight you, then I can keep calling up my... what did you call them, my minions?" I give him a brief nod and prepare to launch myself into the air, to escape whatever he's going to summon. "I keep calling up my minions, and I make you fight all of them, and then you're so tired at the end that I can end you like that!" He snaps on the last word -- I have no idea how a creature made of smoke can snap his fingers, and I don't care. "So, what do you say?"
"I say you're stalling for time," I tell him. "I say you don't have all your power back yet, or else you'd already be fighting me. You're too proud not to."
"You may be right," he says. "Or I may be putting my energies toward a better use than becoming fully corporeal." He spreads his hands and the altar begins to rumble. "I'll see you soon, Alexandra." I could swear I catch a wink as the smoke that is the Dark King's body splits into four pieces and slams into the carpeted altar like grayish-black lightning bolts.
I keep my feet -- I'm strong enough not to be knocked down -- but it's a near thing, because the moment the first Horseman rises from the King's pocket dimension, I know I'm in deep shit.
Last time around, the Horsemen were the Dark King's last line of defense before our final battle. They're not really the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, but from what the Professor told me, the mythology was too good for the Dark King not to borrow. Causing mayhem is almost as useful to him as actually hurting people, because it makes the people hurt each other without him having to do anything at all.
Last time around, the Horsemen were nearly impossible for me to defeat. This time, they're going to be even more powerful.
After The Apocalypse Page 19
