Illusion

by C. L. Roman

  She laughed, a breathy, exhausted sound. "It's a good thing I don't do it often then. Once in what? Three thousand years? Not a bad..." Their voices, light and affectionate, faded from his hearing and a ripple of light pressed against his closed lids. He was alone and the warmth crept in on him, cocooning him in a healing caress. In a moment, he no longer felt it, or anything else.

  "I told you. I do not really know the man. I only know that he is dangerous. He kidnapped me and when I got free of him, he chased me." Gwyneth took a sip of the coffee they had provided and sat back in her chair. The coffee maker on the tiny refreshment stand and one table would have made the twelve by fifteen space crowded. Walls of an antiseptic green and the additional clutter provided by a conference table and chairs made it claustrophobic.

  "You said he was a terrorist." The police detective matched her posture, leaning back to level a stare over his own coffee cup.

  "He certainly uses terror and any other tool he can to achieve his goals."

  "And what are those goals?"

  "Safety for his children, power for himself, or so he said." Gwyneth shrugged. "The same goals many of us have, but he is not so careful of how he achieves them."

  "And how do you know this?"

  She blew a frustrated puff of air through tight lips. "He kidnapped me," she said, leaning forward to slap her palm down on the table. "He tried to sell me to some foreigner."

  The detective grimaced. "I understand how frustrating this must be, but look at it from our perspective. You don't exactly look like a kidnapping victim and we only have your word..."

  "Why would I lie?"

  A knock on the door interrupted them and a uniformed police officer stepped inside. Rounding the table, he leaned close to the detective and whispered a short message.

  "All right," the detective said to the officer. "They think they've located your Mr. Lokstrum at his apartment. We'll need you to come with us to the station and identify him."

  "He is not my anything," Gwyneth said. "But of course I will come and identify him." She stood and followed him from the room, the officer trailing behind.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Conroy let his head sag as if he were still unconscious. Moving only his eyes, he took in what he could of his surroundings. It was cold and there was a sharp tang of pine underneath the copper stench of blood in the room. A scarred wooden table and mismatched chairs were the room's only furnishings. Julia's limp form lay under the table, but he knew her body was still there. All he had to do was turn his head to see it.

  The floors were tile here, but the walls reminded him of the Linkin' Logs he had played with as a child. The single window showed a black night sky ringed in evergreens. How had they gotten so far from DC in the space of a few breaths?

  Heavy footsteps paced across the floor and set a bucket down against the wall. The deformed visage of the monster thrust into his field of view.

  "I know you are not asleep. I heard the change in your breathing and I can feel your heart racing with your fear." Surt gripped Conroy's chin and forced his head up. "Now we will begin again. I want nuclear bombs. At least a megaton each and I want the launch codes. Where can I find them?"

  "Have you ever considered buying a tooth brush? You'd be much more popular if you did."

  "Tell me!" A savage backhand accompanied the command, adding to the collection of cuts and bruises already on Conroy's face.

  Fresh blood poured from Conroy’s cheek, inside and out. He spat a glob of bright red on the dirty tile floor. "Do that again and my problem will be solved," he whispered.

  "Because you will be dead? Oh no, I am very careful. I could kill or eat you, but I don't." The demon paced, circling the Admiral's chair in slow, measured steps. "Jotun was wrong about me. I have self-control when it is needed. You will not die yet." Surt grabbed his hair and jerked his head up until they were nose to nose. "But your wife, she is another story, yes? And don't forget your son. Such a good boy. Too bad his father doesn't love him as much as he loves his creator-forsaken country."

  Conroy strained at his bonds, the flesh at his wrists and ankles whitening, then flushing deep red as he relaxed again. "If we were forsaken, another man would have the information you want. One who would willingly give it up for a price. I am not that man."

  "How sad for you." Surt gripped Conroy's leg just above the knee and drove his talons into the man's thigh. Conroy screamed, straining away from the pain.

  The demon pulled his claws free and wiped them on his victim's shirt. "When I get your wife here, I will begin by stripping her naked. I like pretty women, especially virtuous ones, like Caroline."

  Using every ounce of strength he possessed, Conroy lunged at Surt. His teeth snapped closed a hair's breadth from the demon's throat and Surt stumbled back, swearing.

  "You are insolent," he shouted, and delivered another fierce backhand. Off balance from his lunge, the Admiral spun around and crashed onto his side. A sharp crack resounded in the cold air as wood met tile. Surt grabbed a handful of Conroy's shirt and hauled him upright, chair and all, setting it back on its legs. The chair groaned, but held.

  Conroy's vision blackened, his consciousness fading. Muttering threats and imprecations under his breath, Surt picked up the bucket and emptied its frigid contents over Conroy's head. The man woke up sputtering, his skin stinging, ribbons of spent blood streaming down his cheeks like scarlet tears. A swipe of Surt's claws opened new wounds across Conroy's chest and fresh blood stained his tattered shirt.

  Conroy arched against his restraints, a gurgling cry trapped in his chest, his jaws locked against its release.

  "You will tell me, or I will go and get your wife and child. I will bring them here and they will never leave alive."

  "No, you will not." Jotun appeared in the kitchen door way, sword drawn.

  "What are you doing here?" Surt asked, turning to face him.

  "Stopping you. Whatever my mission, it does not include allowing you to prey on humans."

  "We are no longer partners. I go my own way." Surt’s tongue flicked out, moistening dry lips. "How did you find me?"

  "Where else would you go? You are crafty, but you have no imagination. It was not hard to guess where you would take your latest victims." Jotun's skin took on a haze of golden light. "I told you what would happen if I ever chanced to look upon you again. You would have done well to head my warning."

  Surt cast a glance over his shoulder at Conroy, who grinned up at him. "You should run," the admiral said.

  A low laugh rasped in Jotun's throat. "It is far too late for that." He lunged at Surt, Hamar held before him to pierce the demon's belly. With a cry, Surt rolled aside, slashing wildly at his opponent as he fled.

  The demon jumped over the table, putting it between himself and Jotun. "I am fulfilling my mission," he screeched.

  "What mission is that? To fill your belly and then destroy everything in your path?"

  "To create a kingdom for myself."

  Jotun's mouth dropped open. "You are as mad as Ouroboros. More so. He, at least, never tried to hurt anyone but himself."

  "I want what was promised to me."

  Jotun snorted. "By who?"

  "By the Star of the Morning. Our master promised us kingdoms on Earth if we followed him. No rules. We were to be demi-gods. The humans were to serve us."

  "Your master lied." Catching the edge of the table, Jotun slung it aside and lunged at Surt. He brought Hamar in an overhand blow, carving fire from the air. Surt got his blade up, parrying. The swords clashed and sparks shot from the steel where they met. Lowering his head, Surt rammed his shoulder into Jotun's gut and the pair went down. Surt landed on the angel's chest with both knees, plunging his sword at Jotun's heart. Hamar swept the blow aside, and Surt's sword pierced the stone floor with a grating squeal.

  Jotun punched the demon in the mouth, splitting his ravaged lips and knocking him to the floor. The combatants leapt to their feet, and steel rang as they traded blow fo
r blow. Slashing, stabbing, his blade a lethal tongue of flame in his hand, Jotun drove Surt back until he slammed into the wall. Breathing hard, the demon gulped and parried another strike. With a last burst of speed he twisted aside, evading Jotun's thrust with a second step.

  "Fly from me and I will follow and cut you down from behind," Jotun promised.

  "Not if you want him to live," Surt said, and his blade flashed red, grazing Conroy's upper arm. The demon ran, smoke pouring in around him as he disappeared into the Shift.

  Blood pulsed from the wound and Jotun paled as memory screamed along his nerve endings. Another man wounded, the ground around him soaked in blood. Another enemy disappearing into the Shift. He shook his head and closed his hand around Conroy's wound. With an effort, he ignored the shards of memory dancing just out of reach behind the haze of pain in his head. In a few practiced movements, he had ripped a length of cloth from his tunic and used it to bind the wound.

  "How did you know..." Conroy's voice trailed off, but his eyes were open.

  "Surt is a creature of habit." In a few practiced strokes he cut the ropes away. "Where else would he go with a victim, than to where he had taken them before?"

  "There have been others?" His eyes drifted closed.

  Jotun frowned. "Do not be concerned." He lifted the Admiral and headed for the door. A last look at Julia deepened the scowl. "I promise, the two of you will be his last."

  Launching himself into the air, Jotun headed for the nearest town with a hospital. A fleeting memory of carrying another human this way teased at his consciousness, but he ignored it, focusing instead on his current burden. Conroy's face was dead white, his body inert.

  "Conroy?" Jotun gave the man a gentle shake but there was no response. Exerting every sinew, he flew faster and within a few minutes he was setting down in a dark parking lot. His feet barely touched ground before he was sprinting for the door. "Help," he shouted. "Medic!" His voice boomed across the sparsely populated lot like a detonation and the doors of the small hospital burst open, spilling nurses and orderlies into the cool air.

  An older woman, solid, gray haired and clearly in command, turned and shouted over her shoulder, "Get a gurney out here." She bustled toward Jotun. "What happened?"

  "He was attacked. He has much bleeding."

  "I can see that." Seeing the awkward angle of his right hand, she clasped Conroy's uninjured wrist and monitored his pulse for a few seconds. An orderly ran up pushing a gurney. "Lay him down," she said. "Let's see what we've got."

  Jotun laid the injured man on the stretcher and backed away, allowing nurses and doctors to fill his space. When the nurse turned back to ask him another question, he was gone.

  Gwyneth followed the detective out of the hospital and, at his direction, climbed into the back of a dark blue sedan. The detective piled in next to her and a uniformed officer got behind the wheel. Reversing neatly, he took them onto the New York City streets.

  Why are we going with them? Sena's voice whispered in her mind as if afraid of being overheard. Knowing it would sound odd if she replied aloud, Gwyneth decided to try responding in kind.

  I cannot just disappear. I would look guilty. Gwyneth snapped her seatbelt in place and settled back.

  Then how are you going to get away?

  Gwyneth smiled, relieved that she was able to communicate this way. The same way I did last time. I'll wait for an opportunity and take advantage of it.

  Sena's thoughts were dry as parchment. Right. Look how well that worked out.

  Squirming in her seat, Gwyneth fought back a shiver of apprehension. I have better help this time, she thought.

  Can't argue with that, Sena responded. Jumping around so much is tiring. If we don't have to use the Shift, we shouldn't, but if it’s the best option, we will. I'm going to rest awhile. Let me know when you need me.

  Gwyneth stared out the window at the passing traffic. It seemed inexpressibly odd that all those people on the street — theater goers, businessmen, shop keepers and shoppers — were all going about their business, and none of them realized that the supernatural world surrounded them, passing among them, touching them in ways they would never recognize or understand.

  They pulled up to a stop light and the detective turned as if to speak, but he never got the chance.

  Gray smoke and the acrid stench of sulfur filled the car. Surt sat with his claws around the man's throat. The demon grinned at her and twisted his hand, snapping the human's neck with and awful crack.

  Gwyneth screamed and the officer whipped around in his seat, drawing his Glock in the same movement. Surt didn't even turn his head. He punched left and the officer's head impacted the steering wheel with a meaty crack. Surt grabbed Gwyneth's arm and kicked the car door open, shoving her into the street in front of him.

  She raked her nails over his face, then doubled up her fist and slugged him repeatedly until he slapped her, rocking her head sideways and busting her lip. Blood sprayed from the wound and gray smoke surrounded them as they entered the Shift.

  Mustering every ounce of strength she possessed, Gwyneth slammed the heel of her hand upward into Surt's unprotected face. The snap of breaking cartilage resounded through the frost-thick air of the Shift.

  "Bitch!" he screamed, and shoved her to the ground. In the distance, pin points of light spun, orienting on the pair.

  "You murder two men right in front of me. You attack me and expect me not to fight back?" Gwyneth shot to her feet, arms outstretched.

  Surt pulled his sword and stepped toward her.

  Run. Sena's voice fluttered urgently in her brain and Gwyneth needed no second urging. She raced into the mist. I can't help you against him, Gwyneth. You have to call for Jotun.

  Now you want me to find him? Besides, how will he hear me?

  Better the angel you know than the demon who definitely wants you dead. He will hear. Call to him.

  In another step, it was too late. Surt was on her, his talons raking down her back, leaving jagged, bloody furrows in their wake. Gwyneth screamed and fell. Grabbing her hair, Surt jerked her upright and shook her until she flailed like a rag doll.

  "You are the reason he failed me. Because of you Jotun abandoned our mission."

  Agony spread in blood-soaked paths along her spine as she planted her feet. She grabbed his tunic with both hands "What mission?" she asked. "Jotun was injured in the Shift. He had no mission except to get us to safety." She brought her knee up into his crotch, but he twisted aside and shoved her away from him. She fell into the mist.

  "Safety? He wanted you safe?" Surt's eyes narrowed and an evil grin plucked at his lips. He reached for her and she scrambled back. His hand closed on warm, empty air. Deep light rose behind him. Surt looked over his shoulder at the hovering lights.

  Get us out of here Sena.

  The thought-voice cracked with fatigue, but Sena responded instantly. With pleasure.

  Gwyneth crab-walked backward and the Shift opened beneath her. She tumbled through the opening and watched it seal closed behind her, warmth and sunlight caressing her skin as she fell. Arms and legs flailing, Gwyneth landed hard, her breath expelled from her lungs by the impact. She lay still a moment, feeling every inch of torn flesh and aching muscle. There was soft grass under her, but even that was torture on her overloaded senses.

  I'm sorry for dropping you like that. So many trips through has my aim a little off.

  "Don't worry about it. You got us away from that —"

  The air split apart, pouring smoke, and the nightmare walked through.

  "Did you think it would be so easy to escape me?" He swung, his fist smashing against her cheek in an explosion of pain.

  Gwyneth rolled over, gasping, struggling to gain her feet and his boot caught her in the mid-section, lifting her from the ground and tossing her several feet. Her sight went gray around the edges.

  "How are you able to pass through the Shift?"

  Her breath came in short, agonized gasps. "Wouldn't
you...like...to know?"

  Sena? Help me.

  Too many trips. The imprisoned angel's voice was ragged, exhausted. And he'll only follow us again. You need help that can fight back. Call to Jotun or at least pick up a rock.

  Surt pounced, his talons encircling Gwyneth's slender throat with cruel precision. She struggled, scrabbling at the ground for anything she could use as a weapon, and found it. Her fingers closed around something jagged and hard. She slammed the object into Surt's temple and he dropped her, but the reprieve didn't last long. In seconds he had her again. She kicked at him, scratching at the hands that cut off her air. He held her at arm’s length and tightened his grip as dark blood streamed from his nose and the new wound on the side of his head. Black spots danced along the edges of her vision and she fought harder.

  Surt snarled at her. "I will toss your broken body at Jotun's feet and laugh as he realizes his failure. But not until I have had a little fun." Surt reached for the neckline of her dress and yanked. The sound of ripping fabric filled her fading senses and darkness closed in on her. "And after my fun, while Jotun is distracted by your bloody corpse, I will find Conroy and take from him what he prizes most. Then he will give me what I want and I will rule my own kingdom."

  "No," Gwyneth opened her mouth around the word, but no sound came out. Jotun, please beloved, help me. The plea fountained from her soul into the aether as the world crashed into darkness around her.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Streaking through the skies of rural Maryland, Jotun banked hard left over the Conroy's ranch house. Without warning he felt a hard, interior pull in his chest and Freya's face appeared in his mind. His pulse jerked and he plummeted toward the ground, flaring his wings at the last minute to brake and soften his descent. Still, his boots carved twin craters three inches deep into the hard soil. Freya's image wavered before him and his gut clenched. Heat arced through his chest, constricting his breathing and a sharp pain flared along his ribs. He heard her.