by Ryan Attard
The trio of manticores hissed and yelled again, before going silent.
“Move!” Greg yelled.
Both of us threw ourselves in opposite directions, just as the smaller manticore on my side stabbed with its tail. The stinger met the crate instead and reduced it to smithereens.
The tail came round again and I ducked. The manticore leapt at me, claws raking. I slashed with my short sword, emitting a beam of blue energy that caught the beast at the side and sent it tumbling. At the same time, the bigger manticore stabbed at me, its stinger barely nicking my thigh.
“Son of a bitch!” I roared. The pain sent me tumbling to the ground. A large patch was torn off my pants, with my skin sizzling and blistering.
Note to self: avoid manticore venom.
My healing magic kicked in, repulsing the effects of the poison, and I threw myself along the ground, skidding away from a second manticore attack.
“Run for it,” I yelled at Greg.
“Right behind you.”
We both took off just as I felt a manticore pounce after me. It slammed against one of the shelves, denting the aluminum skeleton and knocking most of its contents on the ground.
The larger manticore leapt into the air and landed on top of another shelf, silent and nimble as a cat, while its smaller cousin shook itself from its daze and bounded after me.
I pulled my gun and fired. Bullets tore into the manticore but did not stop it. I poured as much magic as I could into the gun while still maintaining my run, and fired again. This time the manticore faltered.
I heard a trumpet-yell above me and dodged, just in time to see the big manticore’s stinger pierce the space my head occupied a split second ago. It roared and reached at me with its paws. I dodged and swiped Djinn at the shelf, slicing through the legs. The shelf toppled over me, sending the manticore over like a catapult.
Trapped, the smaller manticore shook its body and pressed on, slipping in between the narrow space I had created. I had to watch out for that tail swinging around but the damn thing was faster than I was. I could feel its snarling breath getting closer and closer, hear the claws tear at my leather coat as it swiped and missed.
I half spun and fired.
Even in the closed space, the manticore managed to dodge two of my shots, while simply shrugging of the rest. I thrust Djinn forward and hooked my finger inside the ring-shaped cross guard, channeling magic. The blade glowed azure and elongated, shooting out like a spear.
The manticore tucked its body impossibly to one side as Djinn shot past it. Sparks flew as the blade met the aluminum shelves. The manticore clawed at the weapon and moved closer and closer to me, claws and teeth at the ready.
“Dodge this.”
I extracted my finger from inside the ring and released all the magic I had channeled into a single blast. The azure blade exploded, taking with it both myself and the manticore, as well as blowing up every shelf around me.
I was thrown backwards, shot from in between the shelves and slammed into a garage door, sending a loud sound echoing throughout the warehouse, and possibly the entire state of California.
But I had survived.
The manticore had been reduced to an abstract painting plastered on the wall and I was here, still alive and kicking.
The larger manticore hissed and roared, its trumpet-like voice punching me in the stomach like the bass in a dance club.
I scrambled to my feet and began backing away.
“Good manticore,” I began, trying to placate the giant monster that was making its way towards me. “There’s a good lion… mutant… thing.”
The manticore did not appreciate my efforts in the slightest.
It pounced. I dodged and came face to face with its tail and that giant stinger. I raised my short sword just in time to deflect the appendage but the force of the hit sent me stumbling backwards.
Out of nowhere, a stinger shot towards the manticore like a missile. It struck the side of the beast and sent it roaring backwards. Greg stood on the opposite side of the warehouse, with a dead manticore at his feet, dagger broken off inside its head. Blood drenched his hands from where he had torn the stinger off, and he now pulled out a pair of curved daggers from his person.
The manticore took one look at the Kresnik and bolted towards him. Greg dodged and slashed at its side but the beast simply shrugged it off. It leapt on him, throwing him on the ground, claws digging into the Kresnik. The tail went high, stinger quivering, ready to impale the manticore’s prey.
I charged Djinn with magic and swung, sending a crescent-shaped arc of energy at the manticore, throwing it off of Greg. Closing the distance, I followed up my strike, hacking into the monster.
The manticore roared and snapped its jaws at me. I backed away and the stinger came down, stabbing once, twice, thrice.
Djinn was sent flying from my hands.
The stinger plunged into my shoulder and came out my back.
Pain flooded my body as it seized up and I couldn’t move a single muscle. I saw black shadows leaking from the wound as my powers took effect, protecting me from certain death. I fought against the pain and held fast as the manticore struggled to extract its tail from inside me.
I reached down and grabbed the first thing that I found: a sharp length of aluminum, torn apart by my earlier blast. I stabbed the metal stake in between the tail segments until I saw the tip emerge from the other side. Yelling with effort, I grabbed the stake with both hands and twisted, separating the segments and ripping out flesh. The manticore screamed as it waved around its severed tail, blood raining everywhere.
I tore the stinger from my shoulder and grabbed the manticore by the mane at the back of its head.
“Let’s see how you like it,” I snarled, as I plunged the stinger into one of its ugly glittering eyes. Black blood exploded from it. The manticore went wild and lunged onto me, its claws ripping into my back and shredding clothes and flesh.
But I barely even registered the pain.
I extracted the stinger and stabbed its other eye, before pulling its head to one side and plunging the stinger inside its jaw. I felt the manticore sag and fall on the ground, in a puddle of its own blood.
I kept stabbing it over and over again, blood spurting upwards and onto me.
Finally, my body gave out and I tore myself off of the beast. Its claws were still attached to my back and the act of pulling away tore entire chunks of flesh. I reeled back and found myself lying on the ground. Djinn lay just a few inches away. I reached out for it, claiming back my weapon.
Greg took a step towards me.
The doors and windows on each side of the warehouse exploded and dozens of men dressed in back from top to bottom entered wielding assault rifles.
“Don’t move, don’t move!” one of them yelled as they turned their weapons at me and Greg.
The Kresnik slowly raised his hands, still holding the daggers.
Meanwhile, I was still curled up in pain, just as two of them tore Djinn and my gun away from me and turned me over. I tried fighting back, only to have someone press their knee on my shoulder wound. One of them tied my hands in zip locks and they hoisted me to my feet, before dragging me and Greg out of the warehouse.
Chapter 17
The car ride to the main Ryleh Corp building lasted only a few minutes.
I was still writhing in pain, surrounded by men in black, while Greg sat in another SUV, most likely in a similar situation.
The SUV stopped abruptly and the doors slid open. Rough hands grabbed me and dragged my hunched figure all the way inside. Greg was putting up some resistance. They tasered him and pulled him along, throwing the both of us inside an elevator, all the while sticking their weapons in our faces.
Even in my state I recognized the make and model — I had seen these weapons before, in the hands of my sister’s enforcers. In fact, these men could have been those same guys: same outfits, same training, same weapons.
Soldiers trained to dea
l with the supernatural.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened, revealing a penthouse with neat marble floors and modern art decorations. The soldiers escorted us to a large silver door, sleek and elegant, opening it. Greg and I were made to sit down in front of an ostentatious glass desk, spartan except for a few chrome and black knickknacks. Behind the desk, a leather chair was swiveled around so that all we saw was the back.
Like a cheesy villain, the chair spun around, and Alan Greede smiled at us.
“Hello there,” he said with a smile.
I snuck a look at Greg but the Kresnik held his gaze steady on Greede, studying his every move.
“So nice of you to join me,” Greede continued. He fiddled with a ring on his finger. “I understand you broke into one of my warehouses tonight.”
He looked at us intently, as if waiting for one of us to say something in our defense. When we remained silent he sighed. “I suppose you might be asking yourselves why you were brought here and not handed over to the police.”
I let out an involuntary gasp as another wave of pain washed over me, earning me a look from Greede.
“Sorry about that,” he said with a half smile. “Suppose I should have put a sign at the entrance: Beware of the Manticores.” He tapped a button on a big black landline phone. “Denise, can we have a giant sign put on warehouse three that says ‘Beware the Manticores’?”
His secretary’s voice cracked through the speaker. “Sure thing, Mr. Greede.”
Greede looked up from his phone, a big grin on his face. “I love being rich,” he said. “You can get away with pretty much anything.”
“Including smuggling the Necronomicon?” Greg spat in his direction.
Greede raised an eyebrow. “Wow, so you do talk,” he said. “Honestly, I pegged you as more the strong-silent type of guy. If anyone was gonna run his mouth I thought it would be this guy.”
“Give me a second,” I replied, gritting my teeth as my magic burned through the manticore’s venom coursing through my veins. “Be right with you.”
Greede waved me away. “No, please, take your time. It’s a wonder you’re still alive after that, anyway.”
“Where is the book?” Greg asked.
“Straight to the finish, huh?” Greede grinned at me. “This guy must be a real hit with the ladies.”
Greg balled his fist, ready to pounce on Greede, when the latter gave a sharp head motion. Soldiers — who were standing still and silent a few feet away inside the office — raised their weapons in unison. Greg froze and receded, and Greede smiled. The soldiers lowered their weapons.
Greede sighed and placed both hands flat on the table. “So, where were we? Ah yes, the book. That damned book.” He let out a bark of laughter. “See what I did there? Damned book — ‘cause it’s actually damned, you see?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t quit your day job.”
“Why would I?” he retorted. “I have everything I ever wanted and some I didn’t know I wanted. The Necronomicon is just one item on a huge list.”
“You don’t know what you’re messing with,” I said.
“Au contraire,” he replied, “I know very well what I’m dealing with.” He splayed his fingers dramatically. “Magic.”
“Then you’re an idiot,” I shot back.
He raised an eyebrow. “And yet I’m not the one in deep doo-doo, now am I?”
His snickering made me want to reach over and punch him in the face, but the zip locks on my wrists held fast.
“Do you honestly think you can control what’s inside that thing?” I asked. “It’s a Book of the Dead, you moron. What do you think is gonna happen the moment you start messing with it? Zombies and ghosts don’t buy whatever snake oil you’re selling over here, so that ain’t gonna help with your goal of world domination, now is it?”
Greede leaned in closer, staring at me with those black, soulless eyes.
“Who said anything about ruling this world?” His smile turned sinister. “Do you take me for a fool? I researched that book, I know it’s more than just a Necromancer’s wet dream. No, Mr. Ashendale, I do not want to rule. I want chaos. And power. And maybe unlimited jelly doughnuts. But mostly the chaos.”
“Why?”
He grinned. “Because it’s fun. And because I can. We live in a rather boring world and I just wanna make it a little more… exciting.” He leaned back into his chair. “Really, I’m just being altruistic here.”
This guy was crazy.
Not the kinky, quirky kind of crazy; the real kind. The kind that sought death and destruction simply because it amused them, the kind to snuff out lives just because they can.
And, with access to magic, there was fuck-all anyone could do to stop him.
Now it all made sense: the lax security at the warehouse, the blatant stealing from Greg’s church, the sociopathic honesty. He knew he was unstoppable, and was daring us to do something about it, just so he could watch us squirm. He wanted us to enter the warehouse and get mauled by the manticores, he wanted Greg and Gil to come after him, to seek out a challenge just so he could beat them down.
My sister and Greg were all about methodology and toeing the line, but I saw the real solution. I had dealt with his type before, with a guy named Crowley who had hunted me when I was a kid.
There was only one solution here: Greede had to go, right here, right now.
With one swift motion I pulled my bound hands into my chest, snapping the zip locks. Greede’s eyes widened in shock but he was too stunned to react.
I reached across the table, grabbed a box cutter and fistful of his hair. The soldiers snapped their guns in place, just as I pressed the box cutter to Greede’s neck and drew a single drop of blood.
“You move, he dies,” I barked at them, all the while glaring into Greede’s face.
He waved his hand, signaling his men to stand down lest they kill him in the crossfire.
“Last chance, Greede,” I growled. “Where’s the book?”
“You’re making a mistake.”
I pressed the blade even further. “Wrong answer.”
Even in his situation, Greede managed to smile. “Too bad. Also…”
I felt something scalding hot press against my hand and looked down. The box cutter’s blade began bending sideways, liquefying.
An invisible force squeezed my entire fist. I fought back but the force spread all the way across my body, slowly pushing me away. My back pressed against the chair, hands at my sides while shards of the box cutter bit into my palm.
Greg made a move, only to be met with the same force I was under.
Greede snapped his fingers and two strands of violet light emerged, elongating and wrapping around me and Greg, binding us to our chairs. I struggled but the magic bonds held fast. I saw Greg similarly struggling and the spell held fast even against his Kresnik strength.
I snapped my gaze at Greede who sat back down, running a hand through his hair.
“Bet you didn’t see that one coming, huh?” He grinned at the two of us. “But that handcuff thing…” He imitated my movements, sharply pulling his clasped hands towards his body and grinning like an idiot. “I gotta remember that one. Did you learn that on Youtube?”
He shrugged and signaled one of the guards. The soldier brought over our weapons, setting Djinn and my gun in front of Greede along with Greg’s knives and disassembled spear still in its carrying case. Greede raised his eyebrows at the sheer number of Greg’s blades.
“Damn,” he said, picking one up and looking at the Kresnik. “You must have some serious issues.”
Like a curious child he fiddled with the spear’s case, opening it, and peered inside. “Oh, look at that. You could really poke a sucker with that thing.”
He looked at us, clearly expecting some sort of reaction from us and peered at Djinn without touching it.
“Hell-o.” He leaned in over the short sword, sniffing it. “You’re an interesting piece of work.”
&n
bsp; I realized I was holding my breath. Djinn had a long history, being an heirloom from my mother’s side, a powerful tool used in countless acts of magic. Even without the essence of the jinn inside of it, the weapon was a formidable magical tool.
And the thought of Greede touching it made me sick to my stomach.
“Old, powerful,” Greede went on, before looking at me. “Would you mind if I borrowed this for a while?”
I glared at him, but that only made him laugh.
“No, no,” he said. “On second thought I’d rather not.”
He leaned in towards the short sword and whispered, “Can you hear me in there?” He turned his head, pretending to listen to the sword, while at the same time grinning at me. “Nope, nothing. Poor little guy must be shy.”
He moved onto my gun and pulled it out. “How the hell do you aim with this thing?” he said, as he pointed it at me and closed one eye. “Seriously, what are you compensating for?”
He set the gun down and inhaled sharply.
“Here’s what I’m looking at,” he said, suddenly serious. “Both of you have exactly zero chance of taking me on. In fact, if I wanted, you’d both be dead right now. But fact of the matter is, the Necronomicon is out there, scurrying about, causing all sorts of naughtiness. And while I encourage that sort of behavior, I really want that book. So here’s the deal: both of you walk out of here, unharmed.” He smiled at me. “Relatively.”
The purple light binding us to the chairs dissolved and suddenly I could move again.
Greede pushed our weapons towards us. “Go on then. Shoo. Go save the world or whatever it is you hero types do.”
Greg snarled. “Why?” he asked. “What do you get out of this?”
“The Necronomicon, of course. Haven’t you been paying attention? Or is this a language thing?”
“I will never give you the book, Greede.”
“You won’t,” Greede said, “but that doesn’t mean the book won’t end up in my hands anyway.” He chuckled at our bewildered expressions. “Call it destiny, call it fate, call it me bribing some fat cat in a suit. Point is, whatever your course of action, that book will inevitably end up in my hands, regardless of whether you go stop the bad guys or not.”
