by Ilana Waters
I stood in front of the door, feet shoulders’ length apart, fingers splayed out at my sides. I called every ounce of magic I could into my body and waited for Merula to make her move.
I shouldn’t have waited so long. Before I could blink, she tore off a piece of the railing, one end as sharp as a dagger. She flung it at me, nailing me to the wall through my shoulder. I screamed in pain while Merula lunged for me. With my free arm, I pushed air up from the bottom of the walkway, which caused the metal to buckle and trip Merula, sending her sprawling backwards. While she jumped back up, I managed to wrench the broken railing out of my shoulder and hold it before me like a makeshift sword.
“Get him!” I heard one of the vampires cry.
“I can’t!” said another. “He’s too powerful.”
At the same time, I heard George say to Arthur, “Shoot at her—are you mad? They’re moving too fast. I might accidentally hit Josh!”
Merula was back on her feet and smiling at me again, panting. I was breathless as well, my shirt soaked with perspiration and blood. Her torn dress and wild hair made her look even more like the animal she was.
“You really should quit while you’re ahead,” she said, fangs fully visible in the magic lights. “Forget about that frumpy witch and her past-his-prime husband. If you leave now, you can still make it out of here alive.”
“And I suppose we’re just supposed to let you and your deranged master take over the world, killing and ravaging as many mortals as you like?” I said. And Abigail isn’t frumpy.
Merula let out a laugh so cynical, it made me wonder if she had ever been human. “Why do you care so much about mortals? They’re so . . . common.”
“And apathy is supposed to make me think you’re special?” I spat. “Beautiful? Powerful? I’m unimpressed. People who don’t give a damn are as common as they come. There’s no passion there, no drive, no heart.” I made sure to look her up and down before I said the last bit. “Face it, dear: your kind are a dime a dozen.”
I guess she didn’t approve of my sentiments, because she snarled and lunged for me again. I parried with my railing-sword, but not before she managed to scratch me across the cheek—hard. The nails of vampires are often a little longer—and certainly stronger—than a mortal’s, and Merula had filed hers to razor-sharp points. The warm rivulets dripping onto my shirt meant she had drawn blood, but I knew that anyway. It felt like there were trails of fire across my face.
As I pulled back, I saw more blood on the railing-sword as well, so I knew my thrust had connected. However, Merula had much better healing powers than I did, and wasn’t about to let what amounted to a hole in her dress stop her. I reached out my hands and pushed as much air as I could at her, but she was on the warpath.
Like a woman determined to conquer a hurricane, she kept coming towards me with her hair, dress, and necklace blown back. I clenched my teeth, and my muscles ached from trying to hold her off. But she got close enough to tear the sword from my hand, turn it around, and with a quick upward thrust, stab me in the lung.
Oh dear. An air mage isn’t much good if he can’t get any air in him. My eyes bulged as I gripped Merula’s shoulder. I had no choice but to stare into her hateful, triumphant smile. Breathing suddenly felt like inhaling acid, and the world around me started to go wavy.
I thought she would sink her teeth into me then and there. Instead, she picked up my body and hurled it at the floor. I tumbled over the railing, but didn’t have time to make a cushion of air that would catch my fall. The floor came up impossibly fast, and I heard the sickening crack of what I believed to be a rib.
My only saving grace was that I landed next to the drum that George and Arthur were behind. They each grabbed one of my legs and dragged me back. Merula attempted to follow, but by then, George and Arthur were already shooting flaming arrows at her. She stumbled backwards and fell over the railing, behind the drum where the rest of her brethren waited. Unlike me, she easily landed on her feet.
“Joshua! Are you all right?” cried Arthur.
“George, the fire,” I gasped. I waved my hand to the walkway where the arrow and bolt were burning holes in the wall. “You have to put it out.”
George’s brow was furrowed with concern as he looked at me, then at the walkway. “I’m not as good with air as you are, but I’ll try,” he said, and concentrated hard on the flames.
“Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll live,” I said as he helped me sit up. I tried to will a little magic to heal me, but it was hard enough just to keep breathing. “There’s some earth in my duffel bag. Find it for me, please.”
Arthur rooted madly through the duffel, finding supplies and throwing them to the side. Finally, he withdrew a leather pouch and shook it. “This it?” he asked, holding it out to me.
“Yes, thanks.” I leaned against the wall and opened the pouch. Since I’d landed with my torso facing the ground, the side of my forehead was also bruised. If I’d been a mortal, the fall would definitely have killed me. I reached into the pouch and clutched a fistful of dirt, willing the healing power of the earth to go through me.
I clenched my jaw as I felt the searing pain of the holes in my shoulder and lung closing, the cracked rib fusing over the latter, the skin pulling itself together. I let my fingers relax and took them out of the bag, which was practically empty now. The other injuries would have to wait.
“Okay,” George panted. “I got the fires out.” Now he was perspiring, too. At any other time, I’d have teased him about his lack of ability with air. “You look like hell,” he said to me. “Don’t ever scare us like that again. Is it okay if we do things my way now? I mean, if you’re finished dancing with Merula and all?”
I looked daggers at George, but nodded my assent. Swiftly, he pulled something out of his duffel that looked like a small cell phone with wires on it.
“My own design,” he said proudly.
I raised my eyebrows and nodded. “Better than a stick of dynamite.”
“Ah, what does that do, exactly?” Arthur asked.
George grinned. Then he peered around the corner of the drum, but not far enough for the vampires to see him. With his eyes fixed ahead, he stuck the other hand into the duffel and pulled out an old T-shirt, which he balled up in his fist.
“Because if that’s what I think it is,” started Arthur, “shouldn’t there be a button you press to set it off—”
Arthur never got the chance to finish. In one sharp movement, George flung the T-shirt out, far and high. A male vampire—one we’d seen in the mirror from Abigail’s locater spell—sprang towards it. Too late, he realized he’d been fooled; the T-shirt did not contain any of us. But by then, George had already tossed his “cell phone” at the vampire. A keenness gleamed in his small eyes. He stared at the device and blinked hard once. It exploded into tiny pieces, taking the vampire with it.
Arthur’s jaw dropped. So did mine. The vampires were screaming and cursing from behind their drum, some trying to come out to kill us, others holding them back in fear. George was laughing like a maniac. He rolled on his back, clutching his stomach while hooting and pointing. It took him several minutes to calm down.
Arthur looked at me. “Your friend’s a little, erm . . .”
“Just be thankful he’s on our side,” I said. Although at this point, I hated the vampires so much, I’d have laughed, too, if it wouldn’t have been so painful. I suppose now is not the time to remind you, dear reader, of my infamously low pain tolerance.
“Nasty trick,” Rattler called. “But you won’t be laughing if you make it out of here only to have to deal with Ferox later. Because then, I promise, your death will not be nearly as quick as our friend’s.”
“You should be concerned less with your master than with your so-called captive,” George shot back. “I certainly would be.”
“The one who’s half-dead? You’re more afraid of Aurelius than you are of us?” Rattler said. “Of Ferox?”
“I’m sorry, you
did meet Titus Aurelius, yes?” said George. “He is the thing scary things are scared of.”
“Apparently not these ones,” I said.
Suddenly, there was a noise above us, and the door overhead began to open. Slowly, the body of Titus floated out. He seemed to be breathing, but they were short, shallow breaths. Abigail quickly followed, the magic in her hands gently guiding Titus down the steps. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one who saw them.
“Mother! Father!” I cried. “NO!”
Chapter 12
“Quick!” I screamed to George. “Throw a shield over them!”
George clenched his teeth, closed his eyes, and held his palms out facing each other. Soon, there was a ball of fire between them, which he flung between the steps and the vampires. As it traveled, I gathered air from the room around it, making it big enough so that any creature would think twice about trying to get through. Even though controlling air now caused searing pain in my injured lung, it seemed to work. The vampires couldn’t get close enough to reach my parents. Instead, they snapped and hissed at the fire, making low, angry growls.
Abigail’s eyes bulged as she realized what was happening. But seeing George and me controlling the fire, she also knew it wouldn’t touch her. She moved cautiously down the stairs with Titus. I could see her chest rise and fall sharply, and was certain she could hear the animal sounds of the vampires only a few feet away.
Finally, she made it behind our drum, laying Titus down along the wall. His eyes were closed, his skin and lips paler than I’d ever seen them. This is what he’d be like as a corpse, I realized. On the day he eventually dies. But no—this was not that day. And if I had any say about it, that day would never come. I looked at George, and we gave the ball of fire one last push. I was hoping it would take out a few vampires, but it only managed to drive them back behind their own drum. They scrambled away, screaming the foulest and most unseemly curses about what they’d do when they caught us.
“Mom!” I flung my arms around Abigail, and she did the same to me. “You made it!” Then I stopped hugging her. “Why didn’t you wait until the coast was clear before coming down the steps?”
“I heard an explosion, so I assumed it was George and that the coast was clear,” she said. “How was I to know the vampires survived the blast?”
“However misplaced, your lady flatters me with your faith in my abilities,” said George. Hand over his heart, he made a half bow.
“And insults me with her lack of faith in mine,” I said. “How did you know I wouldn’t be the one to do them in?”
“I suppose my skills with a crossbow don’t fit into this conversation,” said Arthur, more to himself than anyone else.
Abigail threw her hands out to the sides. “Boys, must we really discuss this right now? I just want us all to get out of here alive. I don’t care how it’s done. And by the way,” she said, surveying our various injuries, “you all look awful.”
“Thanks,” we replied in unison.
“Did you run into any vampires while you were up there?” I asked.
Abigail knit her brow. “You mean besides your father? No. I thought they were all here with you.”
“They are, but there were more than we thought,” George explained.
“How many more?” Abigail asked.
“Two more than expected, which makes five in total,” replied Arthur.
“Oh, balls!” she said.
“So where did you find him?” asked George, jutting his chin towards Titus. We all gathered around and stared at him uneasily.
“Exactly where you said he’d be: in a supply closet,” Abigail said. “Still chained to a chair in the dark, thanks to those bastards.”
“No trouble getting the chains off, I hope?” George asked.
Abigail rolled her eyes. “For an earth witch? Come on now. You know everything that comes out of the ground is my purview, including metal.”
George and I leaned against the back of the drum, trying not to slump to the floor in exhaustion. The last spell had really taken it out of us. George tugged at his collar. I ran my fingers through my hair, not knowing if the wet stickiness I felt was sweat or blood.
“I don’t understand . . . why didn’t you do that ball-of-fire thing before?” Arthur asked us.
“Because it drains us of magic and energy,” George said. “Besides, we can’t just block them indefinitely. We need to kill them.”
“Why not just set them on fire, then?” asked Arthur.
“I can’t set things on fire that I can’t see,” George said. “And they don’t come into view long enough. I could detonate another explosive, hoping it would kill them. But without the element of surprise like I had before with the T-shirt, they’d just leap away.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “We need a strategy. What does the general’s son want to do?”
I was about to say that all the general’s son wanted to do was procure a warm bath and some narcotic painkillers. Then my head snapped up. “Wait. I have a sort of combination idea. Halfway between a shield and something fiery.”
“Go on,” Abigail said warily.
“Can you make crisscrossing beams of light?” I asked George.
“Of course.”
“Excellent. Can you make them invisible?”
“Sure.” George shrugged. “That’s easy.”
“Good. I want you to do that, a drum or two away from where we are. Say, in front of the vampires’ drum, and as wide and as high across as you can.”
“All riiight,” said George. He turned to one side of the drum without peeking beyond it, holding his hands out and taking deep breaths for a few moments.
“Okay.” He turned back to us. “It’s done.”
“Great. Now can you make it really, really hot? Hot enough to cut through steel?”
“I can try,” George said. Again, he turned and lifted his hands. I could feel the fire magic spreading beyond us, but even if the vampires felt it, they wouldn’t know for certain what it was. I could tell George was having a hard time; no witch’s magic is inexhaustible.
Still, his eyes lit up the way they always did when he played with fire. I’d been right when I told Arthur it was a good thing George was on the side of, well, good. I can only imagine the fate of the world if a witch of his caliber turned dark.
“Now what?” Arthur asked. Abigail folded her arms and looked at me sideways.
“Now I bait them,” I said. And before anyone could stop me, I stepped out from behind the drum.
“Now then, you satanic reprobates,” I said loudly. “It’s clear we’re almost finished here, or at least you are. Why not come out quietly, without a fuss, and we’ll do this in the least painful way possible, eh?”
A male vampire—either Cronin or Grendel—peeked his head out from behind the drum. Thinking he saw only me standing there with a target all but painted on my chest, he grinned, bared his fangs, and started racing toward me.
The invisible beams instantly cut the vampire into pieces. It happened so fast, it looked like a chef dicing vegetables. Blood was everywhere. It was brutally, gloriously effective. I’m typically not one for such gore—so uncivilized. But my father would have loved it if he’d been awake, though I’m surprised the outraged screams of the remaining vampires failed to rouse him.
“This is excellent!” I said, rubbing my hands together as I went back behind the drum. “I doubt we’ll be able to get any of them the same way again, but at least it’ll buy us some time until—”
Abigail tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the invisible beams. They were not only growing less invisible, they were also cooling off. George was staring at them as hard as he could, sweat dripping down his face into his beard. But it did no good; the beams slowly went from white to red to orange, and then to nothing.
“Oh dear,” I said. “I had been hoping to use our little fire net a bit longer.”
“I’m sorry, Joshua,” panted George. Now he was bent over, hands on
his knees, breathing hard. “But it’s too difficult to keep up.” He undid his bow tie so that it hung in two thin strands around his neck. Then he took off his cap, threw it on his bag, and wiped his forehead with one sleeve.
Arthur took a bottle of water from his duffel and handed it to George. “But an explosion isn’t?” he asked.
George took a long swig of water, shook his head, and handed the bottle back to Arthur. “That only takes a moment. This effort is sustained. I’m afraid I just don’t have it in me right now. If only Titus were at his full capacity. Then we could take them out in no time.”
“Just you wait till we get our hands on you!” screamed Rattler. “You will beg for death! Do you hear me? BEG!”
“All in good time!” I called cheerfully, trying to mask my growing panic.
“Speaking of Titus, perhaps we should try to wake him up,” said Abigail. “You know, just to make sure we still can.” She knelt by my father’s side, calling his name and shaking him.
We all looked down at Titus. In addition to his paleness, there were the cuts and burns we’d seen on his chest and neck when Abigail did her spell in the mirror. Somehow, the injuries looked even worse up close. George knelt beside Abigail, cocked his head, and slapped Titus across the face. We all gasped.
“George!” cried Abigail, jumping to her feet and trying to haul him up as well. But with a determined look, George kept slapping Titus over and over. Then, just as he was about to go at it again, Titus reached up and grabbed George’s wrist mid-slap without even opening his eyes.
“Whoever is hitting me is going to live just long enough to regret it.” He opened his eyes and squinted. “I must be losing my mind,” he muttered. “You look exactly like George.”
“It is George, Father,” I said.
George waved at him with his free hand. “Hello, Titus! Glad to see me? Us? Well, mostly me.” Titus looked around, confused. He managed to sit up successfully, but groaned with the effort.
