by Michael Rigg
Such incidents were typical among New Yorke's ignorant, but not tonight. Not anymore.
A few New Yorkers commented on the city's rare earthquake late that afternoon. The ground rumbled and people screamed and headed for doorways. Horses whinnied and dogs howled, but the tremors soon subsided without incident. Still, many were anxious to read tomorrow morning's paper, to see what had happened. In shuttered bars a few stories above the streets, some would debate the disturbances, claim that it must of been an underground explosion of some kind, a gas main perhaps, or a steam propulsion line. Bartenders would tap their gas lamps and turn their water off and on to prove their argument that the city was still rolling on without a loss of service.
Only... there was an explosion below the surface of New Yorke, though it had nothing to do with power, transportation or even tectonic activity. The wrath of one woman, captured and tortured by the King of Ghouls, had exploded throughout the various levels of Yorke's undercity with a roiling vengeance.
Now Pandora walked the darkened streets alone, her fingers crossed, the torn and filthy white gown shushing and whispering around her thin frame as her bare feet padded down Wall Street toward the Center of Trade towers. She didn't feel weak or tired despite the explosive ripple that poured out of her body three hours ago. She didn't feel the icy late September chill as it bit her through the thin dress where it actually covered her pale skin. Instead, she felt energized, renewed, young.
Because she was.
When the hungry ghoul released her hand from the leather and metal gauntlet, Pandora crossed her fingers and unleashed a primal scream of rage that echoed through the subway tunnels and vibrated the flames in the lamps on the upper levels. What some people would later chalk up as a rupture in a steam line was actually the fury of a witch as she uncoiled her anger and hatred and directed it not at the particular ghoul who had taken her with his syrupy voice; she directed it at every ghoul, everywhere.
As a result, the underground shook with the rippling current of magic and every ghoul in a two hundred mile radius suddenly dropped dead as their hearts literally exploded within their withered gray rib cages.
Pandora continued to scream, continued to throw out her rage and fury even as she felt the seed the ghoul planted inside her squirm and grow. She shriveled at the memory of Teivel Hearse thrusting inside her, and as she unleashed her attack she felt his DNA mingling with hers, clinging to the very core of her soul and refusing to let go.
Still. Thousands of underground dwellers died at her whim, and all within seconds.
Hours later she found herself walking barefoot down the middle of New Yorke's deserted streets, wondering at first if she had killed everyone. Only the high rise lights and flying machines told her she wasn't alone. She had done what witches never do. She had taken lives. Countless lives. Yet she still lived. She hadn't fallen into a coma. She hadn't died from her rage of slaughter.
In fact, she felt vibrant, more alive than ever. Actually healthy.
She looked at the back of her dirty hands and noticed that her skin seemed tighter, her hands not as big. Maybe it was because she was famished, starved for however many hours the ghoul had her staked to the gravel in the subway alcove. Passing a blackened window that wasn't shuttered, she peered at her dim reflection in the glass. Though her face was dirty and her eyes were sunken, she saw the Pandora she once knew, younger, her hair long and lustrous, black and shiny in the distant overhead lamp light. She gasped and leaned closer to her reflection, wondering where the twenty seven year-old Pandora went. Though her reflection was younger, it wasn't her teenage self either. She was somewhere in between.
And there was something else, too. Pandora felt her heart beating, felt its measured cadence even when she calmed herself or ran down the street. The beat remained steady, unwavering, strong. Her vision was clear, her thoughts clearing up by the minute.
"I'm immortal," she muttered.
Something in the magics she cast not only destroyed all the ghouls in New Yorke, they imbued her with their power—or so she thought. Pandora had no idea that the hybrid ghoul-witch planted in her womb had something to do with it. Yes, she was immortal, but no, it wasn't because she had taken thousands of lives as the wives' tale of the ghouls goes.
Pandora continued her trek down the middle of Wall Street toward the Trade Plaza, and with each step she grew more clear in her thoughts and what she needed to do. Her first thought had been to find Teivel Hearse and physically tear him limb from limb, but now she was thinking clearly and knew it wouldn't be that easy. She remembered the vision of her father dying in a dogfight, but she couldn't be sure if it was a nightmare or reality. Though, as time ebbed, she could feel more of the truth settle within her. She would have to find Bryce or someone who could help her make the best of....
She stopped and looked to her left, at a shuttered clothing store.
Turning, Pandora hurried into a side alley. She stepped over the corpses of two ghouls who died while fighting over a dead alley cat. She found the back door of the shop and held her crossed fingers toward the lock on the door. It snapped and the door swung open wide at her whim.
Stepping inside, she felt for the light switch and flicked it on. Gas hissed through the lines and flames flickered to life in the back room of the store, an office of some sort. She turned the knob next to the gas switch and electric lights buzzed to life near a bathroom door and over the store manager's desk. Pandora turned and closed the door, then she set to work to get cleaned up and dressed.
She had a lot to do.
~~~~~~~
Over the Atlantic Ocean, Bradford Thorne paced in his windowless room aboard the Venture. His dark hair matted to the sides of his head as he fretted over his lose-lose situation. So, the ghoul could read his mind, knew his every thought, knew how he had schemed to take over the company and dispose of it in a public execution.
It knew, and it had found the lovely Miss Norris.
Of course, Thorne reasoned, there was no loss where Susanne Norris was concerned. There were plenty of other women in the city, some of whom may even fall under his spell as Susanne had. Still, he would mourn her when this was over. She showed promise. He only wished he had slept with her when he had the chance, really broken her will completely to his own. Then, had he known Hearse was going to kill her anyway, he might have done it himself so he could at least feel the rush of taking her life as he used her body.
No matter. There were bigger issues at hand.
He couldn't plot or scheme on ways to take out the ghoul, couldn't consider his alternatives or mastermind a plot, because that damn monster aboard his ship could see his every thought. Then it occurred to Thorne that he could use this opportunity to his benefit. If he convinced the ghoul that he would be a worthy mastermind and accomplice, if he dwelled on memories of his past successes and corporate dealings, if he concentrated on the many times he duped rival companies out of their riches, if he daydreamed about the women he'd killed and how their corpses would make delicious offerings to his new partner, maybe he could buy time. Maybe Hearse would let him live longer, even give him the power he so deserved and longed for.
After all, that's all Bradford Thorne ever wanted. Power. If Teivel Hearse could see his way clear to giving him just a small piece of the global pie they were about to take, he would be wealthy beyond his most ravenous desires. Thorne sat at his gilded desk and prepared a pen and paper. Then he set about making a list of his dastardly accomplishments.
"I hope you're listening to this, Mr. Hearse," he whispered with a rasp. "I certainly don't wish to offend you. I only want what is mine by rights," he added through clenched teeth.
~~~~~~~
Pandora looked at herself in the mirror of the shuttered clothing store's private bathroom. She had taken
her time finding the riding pants, boots and layered shirt and vest that fit her. She stripped and washed herself in the bathroom, scrubbing extra hard where the ghouls had touched her, scouring away the memories of their cold calloused flesh and their slavering maws. After washing her hair in the bathroom sink, she pulled it back and took the time to carefully brush it out before braiding it.
She wondered how old she was since becoming an immortal. Her eyes were still rich and dark, her olive skin tight, light and youthful, but there was a maturity about her that wasn't there a few days ago, back when she sprang to answer the loose threats from Imperial pilots like Max Cooper, back when she was a seventeen year-old "Sky Brat" as her fellow Confed fighter pilots called her.
She missed her flight jacket, but made do with a plain black leather jacket with a fleece collar like the Imperial pilots wore. That was better because she wouldn't attract attention like she would while brandishing the Confederate patch and her intimidating row of bomb strike chevrons. Pandora sighed and looked down into the sink.
She thought about her father, but she didn't shed a tear this time. She knew he was dead. She'd been feeling it since emerging from the dark tunnels of the undercity. They had said their good-byes after she resurrected him. There was a bridge that had been crossed between them while they talked on those few hours of borrowed time that gave her a feeling of humble satisfaction. She knew her father loved her, and now she knew he was with her mother in heaven, looking down on her and praying for her to do the right thing, to use her magics for the Ultimate Good.
When this was over, she would erect a statue in her father's image, a monument to his memory and the bravest man she had ever met, even braver than her friend, Captain Landry.
Bryce.
Pandora chewed her lower lip as she hurriedly extinguished the lights and put everything back where she found it—with the exception of the clothes she had stolen. She left the tattered white wedding gown in place of that. Maybe the owner could sew and clean it up and sell it for the price of her new clothes.
She pushed her way back into the alley and crossed her fingers at the door. The locks snapped into place. Then she turned and started back toward the street, reaching out with her mind, fingers crossed, to locate Bryce.
Bryce, if you can hear me, we're in trouble. A ghoul has taken over Thorne & Wolfe. They plan to take Atlantis, and I'm pretty sure they know about your friend Alice, too. If they locate her, they'll snatch her. I know it.
She concentrated those thoughts over and over as she made her way to a tower lift that rose to an elevated sky port where a cluster of kites and aerocars sat parked. She hurried her pace, but suddenly stopped when a thought intruded that wasn't her own.
Pandora? Pandora, is that you?
Bryce!
Pandora! I'm hearing you in my mind. How? Where are you?
I'm in New Yorke. I'm... I'm all right. Daddy... Wilco's dead.
I know, sweetheart. I'm very sorry. Wilco was a—
We don't have time to mourn, Bryce. Listen. Thorne & Wolfe is under the leadership of a very powerful ghoul. He means to get Alice. He knows about the key-thing and he knows he needs her.
She's safe. She's right here with me just outside of Richmond. We were going to come find you.
No! No, stay where you are. In fact, get the hell out of there, now! Find a way to get back to Seven Orchards! I'll meet you back at the estate.
You're certain?
Yes! He'll kill you and use her. You have to run, Bryce. Run!
Then she heard no more of his thoughts. She imagined Bryce would spend a few moments trying to convince Alice that he had actually talked to her—and he'd have to convince that stodgy witch-hating butler of his that he somehow knew they had to flee. Pandora glanced at the ornate bronze clock suspended near the gate to the sky port lift. She gave him about an hour before they were underway. She only hoped nothing would stop them.
As Pandora approached the gated lift she found a new problem to contend with. The lift was surrounded by bright spot lights that shone out in all directions. Barbed wire and spiked blockades preceded the heavily armed Imperial soldiers who took shots at anything that moved. She'd have to get past them—without killing them—to get herself a plane or kite high above.
She looked up at the sky-rise platform and chewed her lip again. Then she crossed her fingers.
The lights went out. Then the lights went out on the guards as every man fell into a deep sleep and collapsed where he stood. Pandora took a deep breath and marched to the lift.
~~~~~~~
Thorne jumped when the knock came at his cabin door.
"Who is it?"
"Your partner," came the soft accent.
Thorne swallowed hard. "C-Come in, Teivel. It's un—"
The door opened and the ghoul stepped in. He had changed into a beige suit and black tie. He wore a silken beige top hat and brandished his cane with the hidden glass spear tip. For a ghoul, he looked rather dashing. Only his piercing red eyes and pale gray skin betrayed his vile nature. Showing off the outfit, Hearse removed the top hat and spun on a heel. "Well? How do I look? I sincerely hope I am the epitome of Thorne & Hearse fashion."
Thorne swallowed again and nodded. He placed the pen down on the paper and sat up straighter. "You look fine, Teivel."
Hearse smiled thinly. "Good, good." He drew a quick breath and turned a serious glare toward his human partner. "I want you to know that I just alerted Admiral Terrace and General Gehrels." Thorne waited for something further, but Hearse only stood there, smiling, his hands clasped in front of him where he held his hat and cane. "Alerted him, sir...?"
"I have the location of our dear mystery woman, the key to all this Atlantis nonsense. She'll be with us within the hour, just in time, I'd say for the grand opening of your new acquisition."
"M-My?"
Hearse nodded with a cold smile on his face that made his red piglet eyes flare. "Oh, yes. Atlantis is yours, my dear friend." He waved at the paper on which Thorne had been making his list. "No need for all of that. I know what you want and how to get what I want out of you. You show a great deal of promise, my friend, and I intend to give you all that you desire. After all, why should I be so greedy? I have a lovely wife, a son on the way, and command of all the ghouls of the Empire."
Thorne attempted to hide his cringe. He asked, "Atlantis is mine?"
"Well, the riches are yours. The property is yours. There is only one thing that I want from Atlantis."
"Wh-What is that, sir?"
"Knowledge."
"Knowledge?" Thorne frowned as he let himself relax. He sat back in his throne and steepled his fingers against his lips. "Knowledge of what, if I may ask?"
Hearse's smile became a sneer. "Why everything, of course." He leaned his cane against a wooden African statue and placed his top hat upon the statue's head. Thorne eyed the glass cane, but Hearse ignored his folly-filled thoughts and continued. "You see, my dear Bradford, I just received word that my lovely bride has done me a great disservice. She has dispatched all my kinsmen in Yorke, escaping our honeymoon suite and butchered every last man of my clan. “However, she is not without her charm. She means to deliver the mystery woman to us."
Thorne frowned. "You see this in your mind? And what do you mean she dispatched your kins—"
"She killed all the ghouls in New Yorke—And, no, before the thought even enters your mind, be warned that she is no match for me. She carries my child and, because of the hex within her womb, she cannot kill me. If she does, she dies." Hearse shrugged. "But, yes, I can read her thoughts as easily as I can yours. It seems..." Hearse paced close to the desk and offered a fake embarrassed smile. "It seems my bride was a bit displeased with me. All work-work-work, you know. She would rather
I be home with her." He waved an idle hand. “You know how women are. They only want to please their men and toil to make us better than we are. My lovely Dorothea is one such person.” He nodded to Thorne as though his next comment actually meant something to the human. “Oh yes, I know her name.”
Thorne only stared at the inhuman as he spoke of very human things with a mocking tone.
Hearse drew a deep breath. "At any rate... Terrace has been alerted and he has contacted General Gehrels with the coordinates I had given him. I expect there to not be any problems. And I, for one, will be most delighted to see my lovely bride again."
Thorne narrowed one eye. "I'm sure you will, sir."
Hearse clasped his hands behind his back and resumed pacing as he addressed his human partner. "Here is what I propose, my dear Bradford. First, we greet our friends as guests and treat them to every luxury. Of course we will need to separate the mystery woman from the rest of them—"
"Rest of them?"
Hearse raised his eyebrows. "Oh, didn't I tell you? That Confederate soldier boy you're so fond of worrying over is with her. Um..." Hearse snapped his fingers a few times.
"Captain Bryce Landry."
"Yes, that's him. He and his manservant, the woman, and of course," The ghoul smiled showing his pointed teeth, "My lovely bride." He sniffed."We'll have to separate them immediately. No need to have an ongoing fuss. We just nip it in the bud immediately and all will be fine. I'll handle that, my dear Bradford. You won't get your hands dirty."
"How will you—?"
"Yes. My wife dispatched over 1,500 ghouls in the city and you're wondering how and why I would bring her out to the fleet, and how I could possibly contain such power. Not to worry, my good man. She is my wife and she will obey as I command."
