by Sevan Paris
Mystick makes a gesture and the disk of light forms under her. She holds out her hand to Pink.
Pink looks at me and heaves out a sigh. “You sure can come up with some doosies, Garrisson.” She ignores the Sayer’s hand and steps onto the disk behind her. “Try not to die.”
Why start now?
Hieroglyphics suddenly spin around them and they rocket off in the direction of Macabre’s shrieks.
“Casa, can you put some kind of cage or something around those two buildings with those pencils?”
Casa nods. “But the Magicks aren’t going to last long against a Sayer that powerful. Probably going to be nothing more than a speed bump on the road to Armageddon.”
I look into the blood-red sky. “They won’t have to. When you get done, help Pink on the roof. And can that capture stick let things go too?”
Casa jerks his head in the direction of the F150. “Where do you think the truck came from?”
I look at the F150—I mean really, really look at it for the first time and instantly recognize it as the truck that was in the parking lot of the diner a week ago. The one that Tommy Rivers sent into the capture stick.
I hold out my hand. “I’m gonna need it.”
Without a word, Casa hands me the capture stick and then turns away, reaching into his coat pocket for the pencils.
“Just like that?” I say, stopping him. “You’re not even going to ask me what I’m going to do with it?”
“No time and I don’t have to. I’m seeing something in your eyes that I haven’t seen since this thing started.”
“Which is?”
“Focus.” Casa runs towards the building topped with a tentacled monster.
***
The blackness of space opens up in front of me.
Gabe, as with most of your plans, this one leaves room for a foolishly wide margin of improvement.
I pass Mars on my right and veer towards Neptune, fists in front of me. “Mystick told us there were others up here. And you know as well as I do that Sayers can’t lie.”
Oh, I’m not concerned about that part of the plan. As always, I’m more concerned about the part that gets us killed.
I stop to a hover above the rings of Saturn. Chunks of ice slowly spin under me as they meander their way around the planet. “You got anything better, for getting rid of Macabre or getting rid of these other things, now’s the time, dude.”
Silence.
“Thought so. Are you sure this is the spot?”
As I’ve said, I’m not certain I can detect them. I only—
“Do you THINK this is the spot?”
…. Yes.
“Then let’s do it.” I raise my hand, queuing M for a Grav Blast. A blue sphere of energy builds at the end of my fist, then shoots away. It streaks between two large chunks of ice, right where M, based off very faint readings, thinks the first one will be.
“That was a pretty low powered blast, M. You sure that was enough to get its attention?”
Then … right above the serene rings of Saturn, space rips open, and out comes a tentacle.
It’s not GAINING their attention that concerns me …
The other tentacles sneak through, quivering and prodding, looking for the source of Ramma Radiation. It’s red eyes come through … then fall on me.
Now would be a spectacular time to leave.
I fly as fast I can, back in the vague direction of Earth. “It behind us?”
Like you wouldn’t believe.
I look back. The Sentinel rushes after me, tentacles twitching around it. The blackness surrounding it parts, showing a chomping beak.
“Man, that thing can move! Can we stay far enough in front of it?”
Not for long. It’s taking a significant amount of our power to maintain this velocity.
“We won’t have to for long! Just tell me where the others are!”
M does just that.
I make a hard right a Jupiter’s swirling red spot and fire another blast. Space rips open again. Another Sentinel falls in behind the first. By the time I’m at Mars, three are behind me. By the time I’m at the dark side of the Moon—the place where I saw the first one—nine are behind me. I fire another blast into the nest of the one that ate Dark Light. Ten are behind me.
As the atmosphere of Earth claws flames around my forcefield, I turn and point the capture stick at all ten of them.
As if they can sense the energies in the thing, and exactly what it can do, they slow with widened eyes.
Gabe, it’s now or never …
***
I re-enter the sky over Prose, trailing a sonic boom behind me.
The situation appears unwell for the home team.
It takes a few seconds to put together what’s happening …
What’s left of the enchantments protecting Mystick’s brownstone flicker away as Macabre’s tentacles shinny to the top, tearing away huge chunks of the roof. Two tentacles clench Mystick and Poet, thrusting them back and forth. Both Sayers fire Magicks at Macabre, but the energies are dimmer, slower. Macabre’s oily skin absorbs each blast with a burst of purple sparks.
Pink swings Ember’s fiery swords from the neighboring rooftop, nearly lost in the black tentacles twisting and writhing around her. She jumps over one, bats away another, and slashes through the tip of a third. A fourth circles around Ember’s ankle and yanks. Pink falls to her elbows and the tentacle drags her towards the roof’s edge.
Mariachi rides his treble clef right at Macabre, arm hanging limply at his side, busted guitar slung over his back. He raises his good arm and yells something. Yellow energy weakly zigzags at Macabre. It deflects off a tentacle, then shoots ninety degrees into the sky.
Macabre spins another purple fireball to life and hurls it. Mariachi raises the lip of the treble clef, absorbing the blast. But it’s still enough to knock the Sayer to the next roof over. He rolls twenty feet, smashing what’s left of his guitar, then remains still with his limbs at awkward angles. Pink slides right by him, desperately trying to slice at the tentacle cinched around Ember’s ankle.
Macabre grabs hold of Poet’s thighs. Her screams give way to shrills—and he breaks her in half with a thick crack and violent spray of red. He tosses her flailing legs one direction, her torso another.
He wraps a tentacle around Mystick’s waist …
When I finally get close enough.
My arms go wide, reaching out with two Grav Beams. The one on my right grabs Pink, stopping her slide off the roof. The other one yanks Mystick away from Macabre. He yells louder as I land on the roof of Wells Fargo next to Pink and turn, facing the monster’s red eyes.
Pink slowly stands. A triangular shield hums to life in her left hand. An eight-foot sword in her right.
I ease Mystick to the ground beside me. Most of the wounds on her face are healed, just a few puffs of swelled face around her cheeks and forehead.
“M?”
Whatever that Macabre creature did to the shapely Sayer has her out cold—but she’ll pull through.
Macabre screams at me.
Can’t say the same for us.
“And Casa?”
“He almost has those force fields in place,” Pink says, nodding at the purple walls of energy that crackle to life, surrounding the block. “It’s going to be close.”
I sigh, wheel around—and point the capture stick at Macabre. The tip glows yellow.
Macabre fills the rooftops with his awful noise of a laugh. Pink brings Ember’s shield a little closer to me. “The two of you intend on fighting ME now? With that?”
“You’re about to destroy the city and everyone in it,” I say.
Two massive lumps quickly rise on Macabre’s back. I think it’s a shrug. “Of course.”
“Then why are you surprised by me stopping you?”
“Oh, I’m not surprised by your trying to stop me. What surprises me is your absolute certainty that you will stop me.”
I step closer, tryin
g to keep the capture stick from shaking. Pink stays with me. “That’s because I saw inside your mind when you saw inside mine. I know what you are.”
He waves a tentacle in the space between the three of us. “It is of no consequence. I doubt you are in a position to understand what that truly means or—”
“You were a Sentinel,” I say. “I know what that means.”
Macabre flinches, just slightly.
You were made by The Council to hunt and destroy for them. To destroy things like the ‘familiar entity’ you saw inside me. But Mystick changed you, put Magicks inside you. Which means you give off the same kind of energy that I do. Energy that the Sentinels’ track.” I raise the stick, pointing the glowing tip right between his eyes. “So guess what I’ve just used this stick to—”
Macabre’s tentacle cracks through the air like a whip, smacking my wrist. Pink raises Ember’s shield a second to late—the capture stick clatters to the far corner of the roof.
“DO YOU THINK ME A FOOL?” Macabre says. “That I’m going to let some boy and his alien sidekick stop me?”
SIDEKICK?
“I am no mere Supervillain, desperate for paltry exchange! I—AM—MACABRE! I do not merely possess Magick! I was born—perfected—through Magick! And you have the audacity to use those very Magicks in a vain attempt to stop me?!”
“Oh, it’s not meant to stop you,” I say. “Just distract you.”
The horrible screeching sounds of ten Sentinels fill the red skies above Prose.
Macabre’s eyes widen and look up.
“See I never put those things in the stick. Truth be told, I don’t even know how to use the stupid thing.”
Macabre looks back down at us. “But that’s …”
I shrug. “Magick with a c, bitch.”
“NO!” Macabre’s tentacles gallop him off the edge of Mystick’s brownstone. His Magick’s carry him twenty feet before Casa’s Magickal walls stop him. He slams into one, sending purple ripples away from the point of impact. Macabre roars, rears back, and slams into the wall again. It bows and then shatters outward, freeing Macabre …
And then the Sentinels are on top of him.
Four of them wrap their sinewy tentacles around Macabre’s limbs. Macabre twists, slinging one of them into a building. It quickly rejoins the other nine and vanishes into the blackness surrounding him, filling Atlantic Avenue with the sound of chomping beaks and his wretched squealing. Macabre’s eyes widen for a moment before the red light goes out and then—after one collective yank—the Sentinels fly out of the pitch, each holding a huge twitching chunk of Macabre. They shove everything into their mouths, biting and chomping until their is nothing left. The blood red sky over Prose fades, giving way to the lighter colors of dawn.
The Sentinels turn as one, looking right at me, twitching their tentacles. Pink dashes to the right side of the roof.
And then the plan turned foul.
“No, we’re good, M. Just power us down.”
…. That’s your plan?
“Just do it; you’ll see.”
The cold rushes across my skin as M changes me back into Gabe Garrison.
The Sentinels hover closer, tentacles eagerly whiping back and forth.
I’m waiting …
I back up. “That should have worked. We’re us now. I mean … I’m me. No more Ramma Radiation for them to lock onto!”
That’s your plan? You idiot! The ALREADY ‘locked onto’ us when we flew around the solar system. Just because they gobbled down that monster, doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten about us!
The Sentinels hover even closer …
Do something!
“I don’t know what to do?!”
“I do …” Pinks says from behind me. She steps in front of me, whispering, and raises the glowing capture stick.
The closest Sentinel charges us, exposing its gaping hole of a mouth. Pink’s words quickly gain in volume and then finish with a rush. Yellow energy jumps out of the stick, wraps around the Sentinel, distorting and pulling him in, leaving nothing behind but glowing yellow ash.
The other Sentinels look at us with wide eyes.
She steps forward and raises the stick: “Do somethin.’ ”
They turn and run … or rather they try to.
Pink unleashes the Magicks of the stick on all of them. They scream and grab onto anything they can—buildings, street lights, each other—but it’s no use. The yellow energy wraps around them, elongates them and then gives them just enough time to give a final, collective wail before being sucked in with a Magickal churn. More glowing ash falls to the snow clumped streets.
She turns her glowing pink eyes on me. “You alright?”
“Yeah. But how about you? I mean, you were the one all chained up like Leia in the gold bikini and everything …”
She grins. “Shut-up.”
Mystick limps up behind us, looking at the falling ash. “What happened?”
“We won. Macabre’s dead.” I point at the stick. “And the other Sentinels are in there.”
Mystick lifts her chin. “Given your knowledge of that species, I suspect there is a great deal more to it than that.”
I turn to completely face her. “Well maybe if you would’ve brought us in on this in the beginning—”
“You would have … what?” Mystick looks at Pink. “Ran away?”
“Duh!” Pink says through Ember’s lips. “You were trying to kill me!”
“We would have trusted you enough to tell you this,” I say. “So that maybe—just maybe—we could have beat him without …” I point in the direction of the blood dripping from Mystick’s roof.
The fire door opens behind us and out walks Casa.
Mystick narrows her eyes at him for a moment before returning her attention to us. “And now? What do you intend to do with the capture stick?”
Pink still holds it in Ember’s right hand. I reach over, gently pull it away from her, and then toss it to Mystick.
She snatches it out of the air with a raised eyebrow.
“Seriously?” Pink says.
“With all of those Sentinels in there … there’s just too much power in that thing now. It’s going to be a lot safer with her than it will be in my sock drawer.”
“Uh, but she just tried to kill me to death and stuff?” Pink says. “And she just gets to walk away from that? With that thing?”
“Uh, she is a Sayer?” Casa says, mocking Pink’s tone. “What do you intend to do? Lock her up? Kill her?”
Force some fashion advice on her?
“She knows the dangers associated with the Sentinels,” Casa says. “It’s not like she’s going to make the same mistake twice. And besides, it will probably take a Sayer to free Braille without letting any of the Sentinels out.”
Pink seems to consider it for a moment and then shakes Ember’s head. “Whatever.”
Mystick’s hands go to her mid-drift. “It appears as though we are allies then.”
“Allies?” I say, remembering her words to me on the Michael Booth Bridge a week ago. “Not even. But it does give me something I can turn to my advantage if I need to.”
Mystick lets the silence speak for her.
After a few moments, she makes a vague gesture. A disc of light shimmers to life under her. She forms another one under Mariachi and—after pulling her eyes away from us—the disks carry the pair of them off into what’s left of Mystick’s brownstone.
There was no part of that which I did not thoroughly enjoy.
“Agreed,” I say. And look at Ember. Pink has her eyes closed, like she’s concentrating. “You can come out, Pink. Let’s share the good news with Ember.”
‘Good’ is a bit of a stretch …
Pink looks at me with Ember’s wide eyes. “I—I’ve been trying. Gabe … I think I’m stuck in here!”
EPILOGUE
“Hi, Gabe,” Ember says. “If you’re watching this, it means you found that other Magickal quarter thing in my
pocket. And that things went horribly South in one way or another.”
She rubs the tip of her button nose and takes a quick look, over her shoulder.
“I don’t have a lot of time, so I’m just gonna get right to it: I just heard Mystick say the words that you Magicked Pink with: ‘You can’t just ride around in somebody’s body whenever you like.’ Mystick then threw out the theory that maybe you’re in charge of who Pink can possess and who she can’t. But, given the vague nature of Magick, I thought that something else could be going on: what if the person she wants to possess has to give her permission … to be the one that ‘likes’ it?”
“The Magicks in these walls that Mystick put together are meant to kill Pink, and the bands to hold her but … if she’s inside me, she may have a chance. I know it’s a long shot, but if you can’t get here in time, I’m going to give Pink ‘permission’ to possess me. If it does work … Mystick won’t hurt me—or at least this body—unless she can pull out Eldritch’s Magicks first. Which she’s definitely not going to have time to do since she’s thrown down the proverbial gauntlet with Macabre.”
Ember cranes her neck, like she hears something in the distance. “But here is the catch,” she whispers. “The Ward Magicks that made me what I am … they trap Magick inside my body. That’s what makes it possible for a Ward to hang onto a dead Sayer’s Magicks. So there is a chance—a really good chance—that once Pink possesses me, she may not be able to leave. I’m not going to tell her this because the time it takes her to hesitate will get us both killed. There’s probably a way to fix this, Gabe, but if not …”
She takes a deep breath.
“I don’t blame you. I don’t blame Pink. I don’t even blame myself. This had to be done, and if you’re watching this it means we won. Just … get a hold of Obi. If there is a way to fix this, he’ll find it.”
“And Pink … this is my body—not yours. I don’t want to lose a pound, don’t wanna gain a pound. No guys, no girls. No bumps, bruises, no cuts. My hair stays the color that it is. And—above all—you keep Eldritch’s Magicks right where they are. They’re mine to give away—not yours.”
