by LE Barbant
“You want me? Is that what is? You can take me—leave the others out of it.
Brooke licked her lips. “Oh, I’ll take you…again. Maybe you’ll be more impressive this time.” She paced over to the man’s body. He winced and groaned. “But, I’m not giving up anything for you. I don’t have to.”
In front of Elijah’s eyes, her arm lengthened, transformed into a perfectly pointed lance.
“No,” Elijah yelled.
But his cry had no effect.
She drove the pick directly through the chairman’s eye. She withdrew it, seemingly amused by the blood dripping down her arm.
“Zkapat, kuhda,” the voice within Elijah screamed as he rushed her with everything he had. She raised her spear and struck his side. Piercing cold radiated through his body. But Elijah and the one within him wouldn’t stop. His legs churned. Like a linebacker attacking, he lifted her onto his shoulder and drove her—and himself—at the glass.
Time slowed.
The two-inch-thick plate glass gave way, shattering all around them.
The molten monster and the ice queen hurtled out of the thirty-eighth floor of the Pittsburgh Plate Glass Tower and into the dark February sky.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Shattering glass and screams replaced the skating rink fanfare. King looked up to see a shower of glimmering shards.
“Get down,” he shouted, shoving Marcus into the concrete planter.
Two figures flew out of the window and into the night sky. They were enormous. One glowed red and the other was shimmering black with a blue haze surrounding it.
A cloud of steam enveloped them as they fell.
“Ho-lee shit,” King said.
It was hard to tell where one body ended and the other began. They tumbled toward the ground in a constant melee—plunging toward the square. Onlookers scrambled to avoid the screaming missiles.
The monsters’ yells drowned out their cries.
The pair spun, sliding down the building’s sheer walls, smashing windows as they fell.
More glass.
More shrieks.
More confusion.
Then the world shook.
King stood motionless, still not believing. He rubbed his eyes. Everything in him shouted, “Run.” Instead he stepped toward the smoldering mess on the sidewalk.
Within ten feet of the carnage, the entire sidewalk was cracked. Glass-covered concrete crunched under King’s boots. The creatures lay in a hole of their own creation. He felt a compulsion to investigate the corpses of these fallen angels—or demons.
From two steps away, he saw them for what they were. The larger wasn’t really red, but a dark metal—with a fiery glow seeping through cracks in what could only be considered its skin. The other had the form of a woman, but large and jagged with frozen armor covering her body.
The molten monster lifted its head toward the sky and roared.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Papers, caught in a cold wind, flew in every direction.
Willa lifted her head with a grunt.
Where am I?
It all came back as she took in the remains of Brooke Alarawn’s office. She rolled and prepared herself for action, until she realized she was alone. Willa crawled to the smashed-out window and peered over the edge. People were running in every direction, away from the spot directly below her. Two figures, prostrate on the ground, were barely visible.
“No. Elijah,” she screamed into the wind.
Willa turned and ran for the exit.
****
Pushing through a crowd seeking refuge, Willa exited the PPG Tower.
Rounding the corner, she found Elijah and Brooke—or the creatures that they had become—engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Her mouth dropped as she took in Brooke’s form. Though thinner, she was almost the same height as Elijah. Her size was accentuated as dark clouds of condensation and frost surrounded her.
Her strength was surreal. The storm creature spun Elijah’s molten body and slammed him against the glass wall.
He looked like a kid boxer in the ring with a seasoned pro. Alarawn had him against the wall; she delivered blow after blow. Willa could see his surface ripple in response to her assault. Despite his bulk, there was no way he could sustain this kind of impact. Monster or no monster, Willa was witnessing the destruction of Elijah Branton.
Willa sprinted, positioning herself to the side of the fight. Her mind racing, she searched the small library of poems in her head hoping for something of use. Some were more reliable than others, most seldom worked in her practice space. She cursed herself for focusing her craft on peace rather than war.
She raised her right hand toward the fight, directing it at her friend. Recalling its effectiveness, Willa chanted the words of the poem she had used in the fight against Elijah. It had strengthened Sean; she prayed it would do the same for the creature.
“In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what winds dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?”
She smiled, awed—even in the midst of battle—at how a poem’s meaning could dramatically change.
The power emanated from her and toward the molten man. Elijah raised his heavy arms, and created a defensive stance.
Willa chanted on.
Frustrated with his renewed strength, Alarawn’s creature wound up for a finishing right hook. As her fist arced toward its target, Elijah dodged. The punch landed on the glass wall behind Elijah. It exploded into glittering bits. He countered with a quick but devastating uppercut. His large metal arms powered into Brooke’s ribs. Her body bent with the blow. Elijah grabbed the head of the creature and drove it into his alloy knee.
Willa’s chant continued. Her energy waned as she sustained the spell.
“That’s enough singing from you, darling.”
The voice preceded a blow to the back of her head.
Willa dropped to the glass-covered concrete. She turned, looking into Rex’s eyes.
“You’re one tough bitch,” he said. “Much stronger than that pup I killed last week.” A smile spread across Rex’s face. Blood ran from his freshly broken nose, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I’m going to kill you,” Willa said, through a grimace.
The hulking man laughed. “This is going to be fun.” He reached across his body and drew a jagged blade.
CHAPTER FORTY
The Uber driver had looked at Chem suspiciously as he dove into the car with the eighteen-inch monkey wrench. It was all he could find on his way out of the laboratory, with a little stop in the maintenance room. But it would have to do.
Chem swung the wrench with all he could muster. Adrenaline compensated for his physical weakness and he connected with Rex’s knife-bearing hand just as the goon reached for Willa. The knife rattled on the ground. Rex turned, shaking the pain from his appendage.
Chem’s forehead dripped sweat. Standing toe-to-toe with the brute, the chemist was four inches taller, but half as wide.
“Somebody else wants to be a hero?” Rex said.
“Better than being an asshole,” Chem replied, gripping the wrench more tightly.
When the police scanner had jumped to life about a disturbance at the PPG building, Chem had known exactly what was going on. He considered leaving the fight up to Willa and Elijah, but the thought was fleeting. Now he faced what would likely be his end.
Chem was determined to go down fighting.
He took another swing. This time, Rex caught the enormous wrench in mid-air. In one swift turn, he disarmed the chemist. Without hesitating, Chem grabbed Rex’s jacket and thrust his knee upward, targeting Rex’s crotch.
But Rex was unfazed. Smiling, the brute plowed his fist into Chem’s face. Bones crunched.
He dropped to his knees. The night sky faded. Before going completely black, he heard a voice.
“It’s my turn, bitch.”
CHAPTER FORTY-O
NE
We’re too weak.
Willa watched Rex drop Percy with one blow. Brooke had turned the tables again on Elijah. The three had done what they had to. Fate or chance had brought them to this point, and now their time was running out. Brooke’s power was too much. Rex was too experienced, and he fought with an inhuman strength.
If only I had practiced the art.
Willa considered using the strengthening spell on the chemist, but he was too far gone. Even with enhanced strength, the thin man stood little chance against the bodyguard. Rex was himself a monster.
Some other way.
Willa placed her hand over her chest and chanted a desperate verse, hoping for a miracle.
Four lines in, Willa felt a surge. It was a combination of strength, focus, and confidence. Everything came into focus. And she knew exactly what she needed to do.
Rex turned from the crumpled mass of Percy’s body just in time to see Willa crash into him. The sneer of victory melted from his face. She wondered if he knew—if he could read her strength.
She didn’t hesitate. Swinging wildly, her fists crashed into the larger man. She continued her poem, screaming the next lines:
“Her words did gather thunder as they ran,
And as the lightning to the thunder
Which follows it, riving the spirit of man…”
Rex was caught completely off guard by the poet’s sudden change. Her attack increased as her spell gained momentum:
“No sword
Of Wrath her right arm whirl’d,
But one poor poet’s scroll, and with ‘his’ word
She shook the world.”
Her final line coincided with a final push. Power surged from her hands. Rex went sliding across the concrete. The large man gained a knee. He stared at her, his eyes daggers.
“You think your fucking poems can defeat me?”
Willa slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were unwavering.
“Yes.” Without closing her eyes, she raised both hands in front of her. Connecting the tips of her forefingers and thumbs, she put Rex’s head in the middle of the little triangle. With confidence she spoke the word of a different poem; its power reverberated in the air around her.
“Thou from a throne
Mounted in heaven wilt shoot into the dark
Arrows of lightnings. I will stand
And mark.”
A patch of flame appeared in the triangle shaped by her hands. It grew into a cone. With a final shout, the cone shot from her hands and drove directly into the chest of Alarawn’s henchman.
His body flew, finally finding ground thirty feet from its point of departure.
Willa turned, running to the chemist’s side.
“You OK?” she asked.
“I’m doing a helluva lot better than our boy over there.” Chem stood, motioning toward Rex.
The poet smiled. “It’s nice that one of us specializes in something useful.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“Join me, Elijah,” the storm creature said. “Look at us. We are gods. If we join forces, we could do anything. We can right all of the city’s wrongs.”
Elijah leaned against one of the few remaining windows of PPG Place. He was nearly finished. Whatever Chem did to her worked far too well. Before he had the chance to consider her offer, a sound came from him. “Biezh do haaye.” Elijah rested his metal head against the building. Laughing, he said, “I’m not sure, but I’m guessing that’s a no.”
He had felt the “other” inside of him the entire fight. Now his new friend urged him on. The passenger apparently didn’t feel as badly as Elijah did—his resolve was certain.
“You’re a fool. We could have everything.”
“I’m just hoping I get my Subaru back.” He inspected his arms and legs. The steel layer no longer held its form.
The damage was clear.
“Have it your way,” Brooke said. Clouds gathered in the space above PPG Place. Lightning crashed around them, blinding Elijah. Hail began to fall, pinging off his metal.
Get up, you damned fool, a voice inside his head said. You can’t just lie there. This is your city.
“It’s not mine,” Elijah replied.
It is now.
The storm surged as Alarawn roared with blood-curdling laughter. Wind whipped around her, and she rose slowly off the ground. At the sight of Brooke wrapped in a tempest, the heat in Elijah’s body gave out; and his power went with it.
Elijah sank, his hands barely keeping him up.
Suddenly, a large monkey wrench landed in front of him, clanging. Elijah looked up and saw Willa and Chem come into view through the driving sleet.
Chem nodded, then began searching through a black doctor’s bag. Willa stood tall, her right palm extended in his direction.
“The Human Dress, is forged Iron
The Human Form, a fiery Forge.
The Human Face, a Furnace seal’d
The Human Heart, its hungry Gorge.”
Heat rose within his core. The red that showed through the cracks in his steel shell darkened. Smoke burned in his lungs.
She’s doing it, he thought. One last chance.
Then the voice returned. Vstát, Američan. Dej tu děvku peklo.
Elijah had no idea what the words meant, but they were precisely the pep talk he needed. Standing, he felt his power grow. Shielding his face, he walked into the hail and wind—heading toward their source.
Brooke Alarawn was so enraptured by the storm she was creating, she never saw the wrench coming. It landed with all the force Elijah had on the side of her shoulder. The tool clanged, as if he had connected with a steel utility pole. Nevertheless, Brooke dropped to the ground, stunned.
This was the historian’s only chance—if he indeed had one. He leapt onto her and straddled her torso. With his forearm against her throat he pushed. Her eyes went wide. For a moment he recognized her as Brooke Alarawn: his boss, his friend, and his lover. Struck by the revelation, he eased up just enough for her to land a right-handed blow on his wounded side. Elijah screamed, but refused to get off the creature.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Chem, squinting through the blizzard, crouched over his medical bag. His hands moved fast, but with a certain surety. The scientist in him was disgusted by the rudimentary estimations he was forced to make, but speed was paramount.
He poured the elements into a syringe and stood.
“Keep at it,” he screamed to Willa.
The magician, lost in her trance, didn’t respond.
Half-diving, Chem rolled within arm’s reach of the battle, just as Alarawn struck Elijah’s side.
Without missing a beat, the chemist lunged. A crack had formed at the base of her neck, just large enough for the hypodermic needle to sink through. Relief settled over him as it sunk into something fleshy.
Chem pushed the plunger.
The creature turned. Its eyes were those of a trapped animal. A frozen arm lashed out at Chem and batted him away like a fly. His body slid across glass and concrete.
Chem looked up.
This better work.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
On their feet again, the creatures exchanged blows next to the ice rink. Willa’s lips continue to move but her power was quickly slipping away.
The world became hazy and started to darken. No more power went out from the words. They had become impotent—or, more precisely, she had.
Slumping to the ground, Willa landed on her rear.
Elijah’s strength was slipping away.
The tables were turning, and Alarawn had the upper hand once again.
With one final swing, the storm creature connected with Elijah in the chest and sent his large metal mass flying. He slammed into the wall of the ice rink and continued through it. The metal body slid across the surface, leaving puddles in its wake.
The creature turned toward Willa. The poet-magician had nothing left. She lifted her arms in a poor attempt to cover her fac
e.
Less than five yards away, the creature’s gait began to wobble. Six more steps and Alarawn fell, directly at Willa’s feet.
“Elijah,” she yelled, running to the rink.
Through the mist, she came upon the historian’s body—not that of the molten man, but Elijah as she knew him. His naked, pudgy, faculty body was splayed out, motionless on the ice. Smoke seeped from a red scar on his chest.
As she approached, he turned and looked up. “Is it over?”
Willa bit her lip, and nodded. “We did it.”
Willa leaned down and took Elijah into a one-arm embrace, taking care with his wounded body.
“You run around naked more than any white guy I’ve ever met.” The chemist’s voice echoed around the eerily silent square. “Let’s get you out of here.”
The heroes limped, holding each other up, out into the littered grounds.
“It worked,” Willa said, looking up into Percy’s eyes.
“Of course it worked. I’m a damn genius.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Brooke’s naked body lay in the middle of the wreckage, a cast-off doll. A thin layer of ice encased her human form. Her frozen lashes fluttered. She watched as the three academics limped away.
She thought about Alarawn Industries.
She thought about Pittsburgh.
She thought about her family.
Cold coursed through her veins. It enveloped her. The transformation of her bruised body was painful—a pain she relished.
Alarawns never rest.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the square. Elijah turned and saw the creature walking toward them. At its roar all hope vanished. It was larger than before, its once symmetrical form jagged and monstrous. The ice was so thick that Elijah couldn’t make out Brooke’s face.
