by Morgan Wylie
“Shit!” he said. He didn’t even need to lean into the doorway to smell it. Death.
“I hear whimpering,” Rylen informed. “Someone is alive in there. We go in slow and careful,” he told the boys.
Lucius nodded and Mather put his nose to the ground as he pushed open the door far enough for them to see inside before entering. What they saw hit Rylen in the chest like a sledgehammer.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
In the eerie silence of the night, the hushed creak of the door opening further in to the room was like nails on a chalkboard to their sensitive ears. Mather’s snout huffed out a sneeze. Dust particles illuminated by moonlight through the open door, floated carelessly through the air, unaware of the devastation beneath them.
Rylen’s heart sank. There were maybe ten bodies—people of all ages—littered haphazardly around the room as if they just fell to their deaths mid action.
“Wait!” Rylen announced sharply as he threw out his arm to prevent the others from entering. The wolf looked up at him curiously. Lucius remained looking forward. “You see it?” Rylen asked Lucius.
Lucius shook his head no. “I don’t know what it is, but I know something is there. I can feel it,” he said as he examined something in front of them.
“It’s poison woven into a spell. It is confined to this room, but if you walk in blindly, it will absorb into your skin and you’ll add one more to their count,” Rylen warned. Mather’s whine sounded more like a dog’s than what you might expect from a large wolf.
“I know. I’m looking for her, but I can’t see through the fog of this spell,” Rylen said squinting into the room. He saw the magic poison as a thick, syrupy yellow smoke, resting heavily on top of the bodies. The smell of decay and other rancid bodily scents permeated the air, causing Rylen to take a step back. He was used to death and even scenes more grotesque than this, but he recognized and even knew some of the people he could see. This made it personal.
“There in the back corner! Do you see, Rylen? There is some kind of raised spot where the poison isn’t touching.” Lucius said as he pointed toward the back left corner. Lucius had learned to direct his falcon eyesight with some of his shifting magic. It seemed he was able to cut through some of the fog of magic that way.
“What is…” Rylen paused as he pushed magic into his vision. “I see!” he said with a little hope. “Someone is using magic to create a bubble against the poison. But I don’t think they will be able to hold it off much longer. The bubble seems to be sagging, barely keeping it off the largest of their bodies. It looks like about five or six people are still alive. I can’t tell if Poppy is in there.” Rylen tried to get a better look but wasn’t able to, the vile fog was so thick. “I need to figure out how to release this magic.” Rylen took off around the corner of the building.
Lucius and Mather followed him around the back of the building, stopping at the spot where the bubble was inside. Rylen placed his hands against the exterior wall and closed his eyes, concentrating and mumbling something indecipherable.
Mather had placed his nose up against the building as well. Lucius looked at him with a confused expression. “What are you thinking?” Luc asked him. Then nodded, getting a telepathic response. “Good idea.” Lucius walked up to the wall and cupped his hand against it, leaning forward to speak into it. “If you can hear me, we will get you out. Hold on.”
Rylen looked over at him with an arched brow. Lucius shrugged. “Mather thought it might be helpful. I agreed.” Surprisingly, a slight muffled thump responded back at them from the other side of the thick wall.
“Well, then I guess they agree,” Rylen said with approval. “I’m not familiar with this spell. I can try to drain it and diffuse it.”
“What’s the other plan?” Lucius scowled.
“Well, we could see if they’re able to raise the bubble high enough so that we could break that window and haul them out… assuming he has enough strength to contain the bubble while we get the others out,” Rylen said with a sigh.
“We try that first,” Lucius declared. At Rylen’s expression, he said it again unafraid to back down against his long-time friend. “We try that first. Your safety cannot be compromised unless it’s the last resort.” Rylen frowned, but Luc continued. “It is my job to inform you of that. If you have an issue with it, release me from your service.” Lucius stared at Rylen.
Rylen stared back, neither one backing down though it was not a challenge; it was respect and Rylen knew that. “You’re right. We try the window first. Because what would you do without me?” Rylen added sarcastically.
Mather began sniffing around the edge of the building and went out of sight, but he could look out for himself. There weren’t too many supernaturals—let alone humans—that would take on a wolf, shifter or not.
Rylen waved over a few of the other team members he had at his disposal. “I need some kind of lift or boost to get me level to the window,” he directed one of them who scurried off in search of something. “Luc, tell whoever’s in there to raise his bubble to cover this window.” Rylen tapped the window so they would know which one as Lucius relayed the message. Again there was a thump for a response.
“Thump once for yes you can or twice for not going to happen,” Rylen added through the wall.
The other members of his team who were still in the shadows nearby, kept watch for anyone coming their way. They waited and listened, but no thump came to tell them if what they wanted to attempt was possible. The guy returned with a stable looking crate and placed it under the window. Rylen stood cautiously on the crate, testing his balance as he rose to the level of the window. He turned to the guy who retrieved it and gave him a thumbs up. The man nodded and took a step back, awaiting further orders. Rylen wiped years of dirt and grime buildup from the window in several passes with his jacket sleeve. It was still pretty foggy from the inside, but he couldn’t help that from outside… or could he? Rylen placed both his hands on different sections of the window. He focused his magic on the window, sending it into and through the glass to rest on the interior side. Slowly, he moved his hands in a wiping motion, pulling the interior filth like a magnetic force with his hands to the edge of the window. Looking in, he could see the small group gathered under the bubble. They appeared all right for the moment. He tapped on the window, a couple of them looked up at him with a mixture of fear and hope in their shimmering, red-rimmed eyes. A young man was in the middle, sitting cross-legged with his hands open to the ceiling. If one didn’t recognize magic, it would appear he was simply meditating. Meditation was a similar practice, but magic could take even more intense focus. The guy looked up at him briefly, his facial features were strained and tight with exhaustion and stress. Magic should flow naturally, but there were times when it taxed you, pulling everything from within to aid its cause. The guy wouldn’t be able to hold it much longer. Rylen made a raising gesture with his hands. The boy nodded and closed his eyes. The bubble began to rise little by little, but then faltered. For every couple inches it would rise, it would in turn fall one. The young man’s chest heaved, his breathing labored. Sweat dripped like a leaky faucet down the sides of his face and collected in the center of his chest. His hands tremored with the strain.
“This isn’t working. He’s not going to make it,” Rylen said to Lucius.
“Can your magic aid his?” he asked back.
“I’ve been trying, but the poison keeps mine from entering and joining with his,” Rylen said with extreme frustration.
“What would happen if we just broke the window? Would the poison fly out?” Lucius asked deep in thought.
“Nothing. It would be just like when we opened the door at the other end.”
Lucius held up a finger and tilted his head, listening. “Mather said he thought he picked up Poppy’s trail near the building we saw that man go into. It’s faint, but there.”
“Tell him to keep looking.” Rylen paused while Luc communicated with his brother. “I’m goin
g in. There’s no other option I can see to save these people.” He looked at Lucius willing him to have alternative. After a moment, Lucius reluctantly nodded.
Rylen touched the comm at his ear. “Rylen to Enock.”
“Go for Enock,” came the instant reply.
“We’ve got a situation. Lucius is in charge on this end. You give the word to Vi when Luc tells you.” He knew by saying that over the comm that everyone involved would acknowledge the shift in command.
“Roger that,” Enock responded.
Rylen jumped up on the crate and knocked on the window. The boy looked up at him. He looked as if he could collapse any second. “Hold on, I’m coming!” Rylen shouted not caring if anyone heard them anymore. He was pissed. He threw his earpiece to the closest guy to him and ran around to the front of the building.
“Don’t be the hero, Rylen,” Enock added a second later, but Rylen didn’t respond. After a moment of silence, Enock’s voice came through the comm again. “Do you need backup? Rylen?”
“He’s offline, Enock. Wait for my word,” was all Lucius said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Standing outside the entrance of the door, Rylen closed his eyes and took several deep, cleansing breaths. He knew he had to take the time to ask his magic to guard him—protect him from dangerous and truly dark magic. Rylen pulled from his pant pockets the satchel filled with the earth of his ancestors along with the feather of white signifying, in this case, protection and purity—since he himself was not pure, he had to have something that was. Holding one in the palm of each hand, he held both hands out to his sides, creating an arc of safety circling around him. In some cases, there might need to be words or spells, but this was a simple, but powerful, protection spell and didn’t need more. The vibrations of his magical energy slowly began to radiate out from the center of his body in two directions, gaining speed as it went. One moved down through each leg down to his toes and the other shot up into his torso, down each arm and simultaneously up into his neck, filling his head to the very crown. If he didn’t protect himself, the poison could kill him—it may very well take him out anyway for all he knew.
Lucius stood at his back. The others on his team did as well, but they faced out toward the street with their weapons ready in case they were needed—a familiar routine, one they understood and undertook seriously.
With nothing more to do, Rylen nodded to Lucius who gave a nod in return. No mushy stuff required. The nod conveyed everything they needed and wanted to say to each other, should the worst happen. Rylen stepped through the doorway into the thick, syrupy essence of the toxic spell.
Step by step he slowly shuffled further into the room, seemingly unaffected by the poison. The large room was scarce of any furniture or belongings, a casket to confine its condemned. Windows, boarded or lined with black plastic, trapped the darkness and poison within while suffocating what slivers of light mistakenly found its way through the cracks and splinters in the wooden boards, lining both sides of the room to the back wall. Bodies haphazardly strewn about the room were a disturbing, sobering sight. The lack of blood near any of the bodies was a slight respite, but not much. This was pure evil attached to a deed under the heavy handed beliefs of a madman masked illogically with justice and freedom.
Scanning the room, Rylen took a quick count. After closer inspection, he found ten bodies on the floor and the five in the back corner clinging to life with all they had left. Fifteen in total. Fifteen too many, and yet he knew this was not all of them based on the reports he had heard. Fury shot through his core, causing his blood to boil. If possible, he was sure steam would be shooting from his nostrils. The unnecessary loss of life in this manner was unacceptable. Something about it wreaked with an underlying message. And that message, he was sure, was intended for him. He just needed to discover why.
Rylen’s gaze examined each of the deceased. Several were magic users he recognized from the streets, but a few were members of his clan—they didn’t live at the Lair and only checked in periodically. This was his fault, he should’ve kept a better eye on his people. Rylen didn’t have the time to waste to mourn the lost or collect their remains. He had to save the five not yet contaminated with the poison. He would return for the others if he was able. The old, worn boards of the floors creaked as he made his way to the center of the room. The five in the corner watched him with rapt attention, eyes wide with uncertainty and a dare to hope for salvation from an unlikely hero. Most, if not all, the magic users and supernaturals in the northwest area knew of Rylen and the PAC. His reputation for his ruthless, yet just, dealings always preceded him. He had been fair in Seattle—even mellow in his own mind—but before had been a different story. A story that molded and shaped him, but one he didn’t like to revisit. However, he was content to accept the fear it put in the hearts of others; it made his job easier.
The boy holding the bubble of magic was fatigued almost to a point beyond this world. The whites of his eyes grew as the irises rolled back into his head. Still, he held the bubble for the others, but he might himself be lost. Rylen’s breathing kicked up a notch. His time was running out.
“Can you hear me?” he asked the other four in the bubble who remained lucid. Heads quickly bobbed in response.
“Good. I’m going to remove the poison. As soon as it is gone, my friends outside are going to help you get to safety,” he looked at each of them to ensure they understood. Again more nodding. One of the girls—young, possibly only twelve or thirteen—gave him a look that carried concern.
“Don’t worry, it won’t be the first time I’ve died.” Rylen winked at her when her eyes grew wide as saucers.
He chuckled. It helped alleviate some of the growing tension he was beginning to carry in his shoulders and in his heart. “Remember,” he chided as he took a more solid stance, “do not leave the protection of the bubble until my friends say it is safe.” He looked back over his shoulder toward the open front door. “Lucius, as soon as you sense the poison is gone, get them out,” he commanded. “Ready?”
“I am ready,” Lucius responded, irritated at being asked. Rylen’s lips quirked into a small grin.
“So am I,” Rylen whispered with a heavy sigh under his breath.
Closing his eyes, he shut out everything surrounding him: the scuff of someone’s footwear along the wood floors, a whimper from one of the captives, a distant caw of a night bird flying overhead, the crickets’ songs in the nearby grasses, until all that remained was the inhale and exhale of his own breath and the beating of his own heart. Rylen extended both of his hands, palms up, out and away from his body. With one final exhale before he began, he ignited a spark of magic within the palms of his hands and held it there. Time seemed to stand still, extending the moment for what seemed to be far longer, but was truly less than a few seconds. He curled in on himself as he struggled to expel every last ounce of air from his lungs. Slowly…so slowly he began to inhale, to breathe the toxic, poisonous air, pulling it with the force of his magic into his own lungs. Sulfur permeated the lining of his nose and burned the back of his esophagus, and the rot of decaying flesh shot bile up the back of his throat. He swallowed to quell the disgust as death and decay left residue on his tongue. It was tedious magic, but after mere moments the air in the room began to clear. The very atmosphere in the building lifted. Eyes, wide with wonder, watched with awe and anticipation at what Rylen was able to do.
“Slowly,” Lucius’ voice penetrated Rylen’s mind as the fog began to weigh on his lucidity. “You’re almost there.”
Rylen paced his breathing. If he took too much too fast, it would kill him before he was able to remove it all and it would kill everyone in the room. He opened his eyes and stared directly at the young man who had been holding the bubble of clean air for the others to survive. Even if the boy didn’t make it, he was determined to hold on so the others would. So would Rylen. Staring at the boy reminded him of his younger brother. When they had first made their way through the
compound, he could have sworn… but no, it was not possible. His brother didn’t have the magic gene like Rylen did, he would have died long ago. His brother had saved his life and if he could save this boy, he would. He knew he would always be a monster, but for this boy who pleaded with his warm brown eyes for help… for this boy who sacrificed himself for the others to live… for this boy who was condemned to die simply because he was born with magic that he couldn’t help and wouldn’t if he could… for this boy, Rylen would remove all the poisonous magic that should have never been unleashed even if it meant his own demise.
Poison leached into Rylen’s body, he could feel it crawling under his skin as if a nest of spiders burst forth from their sack racing to explore their new environment. Each baby spider sought purchase of its first meal as it burrowed its fangs into his bloodstream, his magic growing weary from the fight for dominion over territory.
His face pinched, he continued to strain against the darkness awaiting him until it was done. Beads of sweat now poured out from his skin and streamed down his face. The pallor of his skin became chalky with a hint of a sickly greenish-yellow. Rylen’s still extended hands trembled, struggling to hold the magic open that was the entrance to the vortex sucking the poison out of the room. His knees buckled and he attempted to take a step forward to steady his balance.
“Rylen?” Lucius called out, but Rylen barely could hear him beyond the static in his head.
“Rylen!” Lucius shouted with a commanding tone. “It is clear.”
If Rylen heard him, it was too late for him to stop the magic on his own; it would see itself until he was finished. His back arched as the toxic magic occupied him from within seeking exit to complete the job it was created for. It was all the magic he had left to contain it within himself—until his magic destroyed the poison or the poison destroyed him. The latter seemed more likely. He let out a sound no man should express, the sound of internal torture, the result of toxic magic stripping the essence of who you were created to be and who you had become from the very magic that formed you, devouring it as it spread.
