by LE Barbant
Tim grinned. Chem realized the man wanted his counsel as much as he wanted to give it. “Low energy. Everything that was sore before is even worse now. I can hardly move. But the damned strangest thing…” He trailed off.
“What?”
“You ever try quitting something, Chem?”
“Like my teaching position?”
“Nah, man. I mean like a habit or addiction or something. I tried to quit this stuff once,” Tim pointed to the bump on his lip—the place Copenhagen called home. “That withdrawal was the worst. I was tense all the time, yelling at people and shit. Not to mention I got really nervous about things, unsettled. Finally, I thought I’d risk cancer just to feel normal again.”
“OK…”
“That’s how I feel. Like I’m going through some serious withdrawal.”
Chem jotted down notes as Tim talked, then scratched his temple with the graphite tip of the pencil. “Interesting,” he said, mostly to himself.
“That doesn’t sound great,” Tim said. “Does it?”
“Not sure. Mind if we juice you up again?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Chem drew more of the compound into a clean syringe. He hoped Willa’s magic remained in the virgin solution, but he was working in uncharted territory. There were no peer-reviewed papers on enhancing chemical reactions with magic. Starting a stopwatch on his phone, he pushed the needle into Tim’s arm and slowly depressed the plunger.
“Let me know when you start feeling something.”
Tim laughed. “I already do, Dr. Strangelove. Unless it’s in my noggin.”
Chem wrote down a few more things and turned back to the microscope. “Could be a placebo. Keep me posted.”
“Will do.” Tim stood to leave, then nodded behind Chem. “You have a visitor, Doc.”
Chem turned, finding Rita positioned behind him in her yellow raincoat. He swallowed hard and took a step back.
“Damn, girl, I’m going to put a cowbell around your neck.”
Rita said nothing. She pressed a jet-black jump drive into his palm, then retreated into the shadow. A chill ran down his spine as her scales brushed the back of his hand.
Chem raised his eyebrows. “What’s this?”
“A thank you for rescuing me.” Her thin mouth turned into something unrecognizable—almost a smile.
“This is all of it?” Chem asked, lifting the drive to inspect it.
“The only copy.”
Chem reached out and grabbed Rita’s shoulder. He squeezed her arm, encased in the rubbery jacket. “Thanks.”
Without a response, Rita pivoted toward the basement window.
“Oh, and Rita…”
She looked over her shoulder.
“They made me save you.” Chem winked.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
In February, the Steel City was shaken to its core by an alleged battle waged in the shadow of the iconic PPG Tower. The incident forced us to question what we know about our world, required us to confront dark parts of ourselves and our city. Worst of all, it made us feel afraid.
Many of us have walked in terror since.
And during this season of trepidation, we searched for help. We needed a leader, and we found one in City Hall. Our citizenry looked to the strongest man we could find and listened to old sources of popular wisdom, in hope of a return to normalcy, a reclamation of the status quo.
But this new normal resembled the worst of the old. Deceit trumped truth. Fear and hatred divided us when unity ought to have been our response.
From the crucible of fear, pain, and loss, we emerged weaker than ever.
We abdicated our moral responsibilities as citizens and gave up our freedoms in order to find revenge. We became the very monsters we feared. Mayor Dobbs, desperate to improve his chance at reelection, fabricated a fictional thriller starring powerful creatures who threatened to destroy our city. But this story, which we’re all too familiar with, was a sham. With high-tech puppetry and old-fashioned smoke and mirrors, Dobbs and his lackeys put one over on all of us.
It was a deception ripped from Oz.
But this myth came at a cost. Very real blood was spilt in order to keep the lie going and eventually, the monster turned on its master—the man behind the curtain—and Dobbs paid the ultimate price for the power he sought.
Might the fearmongering of Dobbs, and of any leader that dares heighten fear of the other for the sake of their own advancement, remind us of who we really are and warn us of who we are all able to become.
Monsters exist.
But they exist only within our own hearts.
Willa finished reading out loud and closed the lid to her laptop.
She winced as she leaned to place the computer off to the side. They’d considered the ER only for a moment; explaining the wound would reveal too much. Chem showed extra care removing the bullet, but her entire shoulder still ached.
“And that’s it,” she said to the historian, who was settled into the couch. “No mention of us. She cast the blame for everything, even what happened last year, all at Dobbs’ feet.”
Elijah only nodded. Willa wondered what it meant.
She was not the only one suffering from the battle in City Hall. Elijah’s face was still spotted with carmine splotches of dried blood. She imagined only some of it was his. Nasty blisters covered his hairless arms. Gray tufts had formed over his temples, a new mark of the transformation.
The turning took its toll.
She leaned back. Every muscle throbbed, testifying to the reality of the events of the previous day. Without the physical evidence she might have believed it a dream.
“How do you feel?” Elijah asked.
Willa expected judgment, but his soft eyes told her it wouldn’t be found in him—not on that day.
“Empty.”
“Empty?”
“Yeah. I mean, I’m fine. But I feel something less than what I expected. Maybe I need some time to understand what the hell happened to me—what I did.”
Elijah let the comment hang in the silent room.
Willa continued. “I feel mostly sad. I didn’t expect that. I’ve been planning for Dobbs’ death for months—even before I knew who it was I hated. Now I just keep thinking of my grandfather.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s strange,” Willa said, stroking Cat, who had occupied her lap. “Last year, before he died, he told me that using powers to change the world changes us instead. I thought he was a madman. Now, I know he was a sage.”
“Maybe he was both.”
“Hmmm?” Willa looked
“The madman,” Elijah said. “Sometimes he’s right. It was another madman who said, ‘This tremendous event is still on its way, still wandering; it has not yet reached the ears of men.’ It might not quite count as poetry, but there’s power in those words. Even though Jillian covered for us, the world has changed. Maybe it takes a madman to see it.”
Willa stared at him and waited for the historian to continue. She pictured him standing in front of a chalkboard.
“I’m not saying that everything your grandfather said was gospel. I’m sure it wasn’t. But I imagine he got a few things right along the way. It’s like the academy. When we become a disciple of a certain thinker, we hang on every word as if it’s the capital-T truth. But they’re human. Fallible. We have to take their wisdom with a grain of salt.” Elijah paused and looked at an invisible dot on the wall, then turned to Willa. “Everything is changing. But not all change is bad. We need to guide this evolution.” A faint smile rose on the historian’s lips. “Funny she mentioned the crucible. I was lecturing last week about crucibles.”
“In the mills?” Willa asked.
“Yeah. The crucible is a place of extreme heat, hot enough to melt down the iron ore and burn off its impurities. But it also keeps the molten steel from running wild. It’s a tool for change: powerful, dangerous, but safe when guided by a wise technician. That’s where Pit
tsburgh is now, in the crucible.” He paused again. “Maybe we can control the environment, maintain it until it’s ready.”
Willa started to reply but paused, hearing footsteps coming down the hall. Rhett entered the room and leaned against the doorjamb.
The poet scowled at him, then turned away. It would take time before she forgot how easily his manipulation worked on her.
Elijah stood, leaving the confines of the La-Z-Boy chair with a grunt. “It’s okay, Rhett. Come on in. We were just catching up.”
Rhett sat easily in the uncomfortable folding chair against the wall. The man’s composure pissed her off. His crisp suit and perfectly sculpted hair stood out in stark contrast to the beat-up academics recovering in the living room. They had been through a war; he looked like he’d just returned from the spa.
Willa looked him up and down. “What was up with your journalist?”
“Jillian?”
“Yeah. I just read her post.”
“Thought it was really good, myself. Artful, even—I mean, for a blogger.”
“Seriously, why did she lie for us?” Willa asked.
“Did she?”
“She was there. She saw what happened, yet she didn’t write about me or Elijah or Tim or Rita. Her story wasn’t true.”
Tim laughed. “Depends on your perspective, I guess. She told a version of the truth, just shaded some of the nuance. You know, like your girl Emily, ‘Tell all the truth but tell it slant.’”
“Impressive,” the poet said. “But don’t forget, ‘The truth must dazzle gradually, or every man be blind.’”
Elijah had been trying to stay out of the conversation. But Rhett’s last point piqued his curiosity. “But what did she gain by it?”
“Of course, the historian would ask that.” Rhett rubbed his hands together. “Let’s just say that I convinced her that writing about you would not be good for anybody. Us or her.”
Willa shot out of her chair. Every muscle screamed, but she ignored them. “You can’t just force people to do what you want, Rhett.”
“Easy there, Professor. I’m not sure you’re the one who should be lecturing me about ethics. I saw your moral compass scatter a man’s brains against the wall.” He leaned over and picked up Cat, who had jumped to the floor after Willa’s outburst. “And I didn’t force her do anything. I just asked her to trust me.” Rhett winked at Willa.
She paced the room, imagining what his nose would look like if she broke it.
He continued, ignoring her brooding. “Anybody can influence people. And I’m one of the best. But no one can subvert the will completely. Part of her wanted Dobbs to take the fall. I simply gave her a nudge in the right direction. Listen, you and that guy,” he jutted his chin at Elijah, “you two have powers, and nobody asks you to justify them. But I’m good with people. Do you want to use that to our advantage or are you going to let another personal grudge get in the way?”
His words stung worse than her wounds. Willa stopped her pacing and collapsed back into the sofa. Elijah kept his eyes trained on his feet.
No one made eye contact for what felt like forever. The silence was uncomfortable, but Willa didn’t want to be the one who broke it.
Finally Elijah did. “What’s coming next? You said your brother can feel things, that he’s influenced by the future. So, what do we do now?”
Rhett rubbed his face with his palms, sighing into their creases. “I haven’t seen Paul in a while. Sometimes, well, sometimes I don’t know what to make of him. He’s here one second and gone another. He doesn’t seem to get attached to things like I do.”
“Can we meet him?” Elijah asked.
“Maybe. But only on his terms. His abilities are quite impressive, but I don’t think we should count on them, I’m sad to say.”
Elijah sighed. “Well, it would be nice to know what to expect, how to prepare. We’re flying in the dark with all of this.”
Cat collapsed in a fit of purring as Rhett continued to pet the creature. “I think we can take a page from your book on this one, Professor. If we want to know what’s coming down the road, then we should probably look to the past. Sooner or later, it’s going to repeat itself. And when it does, we’d better sure as hell be ready.”
EPILOGUE
Boxes of cheap liquor lined the concrete walls of the dark, dank room. A moldy smell emanated from somewhere in the ceiling, probably connected with the dark water marks covering the drop tile. It didn’t bother him. Years of luxury hadn’t softened his resolve, and this place reminded him of home; though, he barely remembered where that was.
Other than boxes of booze, the twenty by twenty space held two tattered, mismatching recliners and an old school television, with a screen hardly big enough to justify its existence.
Cheering garbled out of the tiny speakers. “No, no. Thank you,” a young man crooned to the crowd which snapped to attention at the sound of his voice. “This isn’t about me, it’s about you. It’s about Pittsburgh. Now, some say I am standing here on this stage only because of the terrible things that happened to Mayor Dobbs. That’s hard to say. As a community we mourn his loss. But today is not a day to look to the past. No, it’s time to look toward the future. It is a time to dream and imagine all that Pittsburgh can be. Today is the first step in a long journey toward a better tomorrow.”
Rapture took over the crowd.
The man in the storeroom looked past Kinnard and narrowed his eyes at a familiar figure sitting on the platform behind the new mayor. The speechwriter was good looking—the finest on the stand. He smiled and clapped his leather driving gloves along with the crowd.
Rage took over, and the large man swung a granite fist at the screen. The tube television exploded, sending sparks through the air.
“Rex, this isn’t like you.”
The bald man spun and faced the sound of the familiar voice. He tilted his head, satisfied with the cracking of his neck. Composure always returned quickly, though he was embarrassed about losing his cool in front of the man.
He ignored the small trickle of blood making its way down the back of his hand.
“Dobbs was our best shot,” Rex replied. “I’ve been working this angle for years. A lot of resources were poured into that corpse, not to mention the tech program. It was in its final stages, nearly perfect. But that bastard got impatient. Power hungry.”
“Come on, Rex. We’re all power hungry, aren’t we? Dobbs had a pulse, just like you and I. We should have seen it coming.” The man smiled. His aged frame was bent, but Rex knew there was a power in the bag of bones that most would never recognize. The old man was time-tested like few others. And while many considered him a coward, Rex knew his power—or at least he thought he did. Experience had cautioned him when it came to those like his companion.
“Dobbs was weak,” the old man continued. “He could barely hold onto what little power we gave him. His foolishness might have cost us everything. If the magician was less hateful, she could have taken her time and gotten some real information from him—information about us. Think of the consequences. We should count it as a blessing that the man was weaker than we expected.”
“I never pictured her as the killing type.”
The old man smirked, “She wanted to kill you. Is your memory that short?”
Rex’s large eyes became vacant. He recalled the fight at the PPG Tower.
A smile crossed his face.
“No,” he said. “I’ve faced killers. She isn’t one of them, or at least she wasn’t in February.”
“Well, I pushed her in the right direction then.” He smiled, sending a chill down Rex’s spine. “She was Plan B all along, and now that we've seen what she and her friends are capable of, I'm glad we're taking this path. Under my influence, she’ll be the perfect weapon. This might work out better than we thought.”
“Then what's our next move?” Rex asked. The man’s confidence eased Rex’s fears, but the plan had changed and he required orders.
“Ever been to China, Rex?” The man’s smile remain on his waxen face. “You’re going for a brief visit with our old colleague, Mr. Fong. The last time we spoke, I sensed some hesitation on his part. Help him remember his loyalty.”
Rex wrung his hands and cracked his knuckles. “I'm sure that can be arranged. What’s your move?”
“Things are advancing rapidly. I need to arrange a meeting with our friend on the inside to let him know that the final initiative is now in effect.”
Rex nodded, then glanced around the room. “Why do you always insist on meeting here? There are far nicer places.””
The smile melted from the man’s face. “This is where it began, all those years ago. He brought us here, convinced us we could be heroes. Convinced us of our powers. Edwin was intoxicating. We were all drawn in. But he was a damned fool. He reaped what he sowed. He was weak.”
“He had power over you, Dr. Crane.”
“Yes, he did for a time.” A scowl spread across Mallory Crane’s face. “But he’s dead. And I’m going to use his granddaughter to destroy everything he worked so hard to restore.”
The old man stood and limped to the door. Looking back at Rex, he said, “Once she has fulfilled my plans…. she’s all yours.”
****
Heroes,
Thanks for reading The Crucible. We’re glad you’ve come along for the ride.
The Casting is next, so keep reading to find out what happens!
Sign up here for updates from the authors. If you join their mailing list, you’ll receive Willa’s Spellbook for free.
This is a REALLY cool companion to The Catalyst. It includes the spells that Willa is studying and her reflections on poetry, life, and the events of the book. Chris and Lee have been calling it the director’s cut.
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