by LE Barbant
She turned right and walked a quarter mile before noting a mark on the wall indicating that she had made the right choice. Soon, she would be in the place where she felt comfortable. Or as comfortable as she would ever feel in the world of the warm-blooded.
****
Rita rested on her heels, perched on a monstrous three-car, detached garage in Oakmont, a Pittsburgh suburb. The position offered her amazing visibility and kept her hidden.
Next door sat a modest home. Rita stared through the window of its second story bedroom. She told herself that her nightly vigil was for the family’s protection, to keep an eye out for trouble. But Rita also found comfort in their presence. It was one of the few things that eased her loneliness.
She watched as the mother, with some effort, lowered her child into bed. After a few minutes of gentle fussing and quiet words, she turned off the lights and shut the door. Rita observed this scene every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. She wished she could visit more, but maintaining a regular schedule was surprisingly refreshing. Going there provided companionship; the days off gave her something to look forward to. It was amazing how a little hope had transformed her life—almost as dramatically as the accident that first made her this way.
Rita eased herself off of the roof and landed without a sound on a soft patch of manicured grass. She paused, waiting a full three minutes before making a move. Caution demanded patience and, especially here, there was no room for error. Crossing the street, Rita stared up the gutter pipe. With webbed hands wrapped around the base, she gave it a pull. It wasn't the first time she had used the makeshift ladder, but she still distrusted it. Her body moved quickly up the side of the house toward the second story window. She slowly pushed it up, hoping for silent discretion.
Street lamps cast a dim light on the tiny room. Rita crept towards the bed, avoiding the loose floorboards along the way. Practice, along with her unique skills, made her as quiet as death.
Rita leaned over the bed and stared into the care-free face of the sleeping child. The peace with which she rested tugged at Rita’s heart. She reached a scaly hand downward and carefully swept a lock of hair away from her forehead. Rita’s touch stirred the girl, and her eyes fluttered open.
"Rita!"
“Shhh,” Rita responded, saliva escaping her narrow mouth.
The delight in the girl's voice elicited a smile. While Skylar was nearly old enough to drive, she still seemed young. Her disability, the result of an accident almost a decade earlier, gave her a fragile appearance, even though Rita knew the girl was tough as steel on the inside.
"Hey, Skye," Rita gurgled. "How are you?"
The girl beamed at Rita, then finally said, "Same shit, different day."
Rita’s large black eyes widened even further at the sound of cursing coming from the child. "Skylar," she scolded, feeling somewhat maternal.
Skylar winked. "You know, it's fine. Lonely, but OK. It's good to see you."
Rita’s scaled skin warmed slightly. "Thanks, kid. You too."
"Man," Skylar said, "I'm so jealous sometimes."
"Of who?"
"You, dummy."
Rita looked her own body over. Her brow knit over her black beady eyes. A gurgled laugh rose in her throat. "Always wanted to be a fish, huh?"
Skylar made a fish face with puckered lips and crossed eyes. If it were anyone else, the joke would have caused anger. But Skylar could say anything she wanted. The two laughed together.
"No, I mean your freedom. You can do anything. And you’re strong."
The temperature increased across Rita's surface. "You’re strong too. It's just different."
"Yeah, I know. I just want to be able to go out on my own, run, dance, and swim." The girl's face brightened.
"Someday, kid. Someday." Rita took in the room. It was designed more for an eleven-year-old than someone in her teens. It was pink and lacy with posters of American Girl dolls adorning the walls, clearly, the handiwork of an overworked single mom who hardly had time to do laundry, let alone redecorate.
"How's the project coming?"
While Chem was working on fixing Rita, Sylvia, Skylar’s tech-wizard mother, worked on technologies that would allow her paralyzed daughter a life that was a bit more normal.
Skylar tilted her head to one side, her version of a shrug. "Dunno. She doesn't talk about it too much. She said it’s coming along. But she got her old job back so she doesn't have as much time to commit to making me better.”
Rita blinked slowly. The recessed lids pushed drops of salty water down onto her cheeks. “Hang in there. Your mom is doing what she can.”
Footsteps echoed down the hall.
"I better go. Not sure if she would be too happy with me being here."
“See you soon?”
“Count on it.”
Rita slid out the window and shimmied down the drain pipe. Her webbed footsteps echoed down the deserted alley as she made her way back toward the river—her mind racing faster than her body.
Maybe there is a way I can help.
CHAPTER THREE
Elijah's arms, from the elbow down, immediately transformed. While he wasn't certain if the robed figures were there with nefarious cause, their entrance proved the kind of disruption that called for preparation. Molten steel oozed out from his pores and hardened as it cooled. He clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the burning pain that flowed from his chest. He barely noticed the smell of burning flesh.
"Magician Willa Weil," the tallest of the figures boomed, "by order of the Guild, you are commanded to come with us."
The man lifted his arms and lowered the hood exposing a long mane of pale blond hair and a jawline sharp enough for a comic book hero. His eyes were wide, bright, and filled with the confidence that only decades of experience could shape. The man pointed at Tim, the only one still seated. "That one, the abomination that you have created with your sacred gift, will be bound and transported to the Guild for appropriate questioning."
Willa's eyes narrowed as she took in the man's features. "Not today. Not ever. The Guild doesn't own me, nor can it make any claim to my friend."
The man stared for a moment of silence before laughter burst from his crooked smile. “Your ignorance betrays your inexperience. We make any claim that we choose. There is a fine line between a magician and a witch. It would be better if you came with us holding the appellation of the former rather than the latter."
Rhett cleared his throat. "Trust me, you don't want to do this. Why don’t we all just sit down and enjoy a drink?"
His words drew snickers from all three of the robed figures. "You think your mind tricks are going to work on us, rhetorician? We know of your deception. It's child's play, really—smoke and mirrors—only capable on the weak minded and inane."
Rhett slumped silently in his chair, his face flushed.
Steam rose from Elijah's arms as sweat streamed off of his fleshy body and onto his burning steel arms. He took a step forward, trying to look intimidating. "Why don’t you piss off before we throw you out?"
Attention turned to the historian. “Stay out of this, Dr. Branton, or you’ll be next on our list.”
Elijah squeezed his metal fist and took in the surroundings. The bar was filled with the defenseless, regular faces who were not just customers but also his friends and neighbors. They sat motionless, trapped by whatever spell the magical trio had cast on them. His mind raced, calculating an attack that would spare those uninvolved. He knew that if Willa were to help him change completely, he might bring down the bar on top of them. There had to be another way. "My friends are going nowhere."
The crooked smile faded. "They’re coming with us, regardless of what you do or say. We didn’t intend to fight you, but we are prepared to use force. So stand down. We do not have an issue with you or the alchemist,” he said, nodding toward Chem. Elijah could see him digging around in his bag.
"Screw you, Merlin. Have an issue with one of us, you have an issue with all of
us," Chem spat. He stood up, with a plastic syringe in its hand. He tossed it to Tim and yelled, "It's time.”
Tim grabbed it in mid-flight and immediately plunged the needle into his vein.
The effects were immediate.
In one move, he kicked the chair out from beneath him and vaulted the long wooden table. Grabbing a pint glass as his feet landed, he flung it like a fastball, its target the tall man’s face.
Elijah heard a single word and watched the glass shatter inches from its goal. The shards paused, then dropped benignly toward the concrete floor. Tim’s diversion worked well enough, giving him the split second required to ram his shoulder into the man’s torso, driving the magician’s back into an open spot at the bar.
“Ah, shit,” Elijah muttered.
With an arcing swing of his metal arm, Elijah smashed the table, leaving him feet away from one of the other robed intruders. The magician stepped back and the hood fell off exposing a woman who looked more like his Home Ec teacher from middle school than a magician-warrior. Her hair was shock white, which had a blue tint in the Voodoo lighting. A round face filled out by what must have been years of retirement. She smiled at his approach.
For a moment, he wondered if he could fight Mrs. Smithers’ magical doppelganger.
All’s fair, he thought as the grandmother’s first spell hit him.
CHAPTER FOUR
Willa swore as Tim dove headlong into what appeared to be the leader. She knew a civilian wouldn’t stand a chance against him, but Tim was no longer any mere mortal. She glanced at Elijah as he approached the female magician, arms raised in defense against whatever she was casting towards him.
She said a silent prayer then focused on the third Guild member.
The man was younger looking than Willa, and she hoped that his youth reflected inexperience, though she couldn't be sure. A tuft of dull red hair sprouted from the top of this head, thickly sculpted by some sort of hair gel. The sides of his head above the ear were shaved close, accentuating the hairdo. He looked like he should be wearing a lacrosse jersey, not a medieval wizard’s robe. A grin appeared on his face, like a child on Christmas morning.
"This your first dance, kid?" Willa asked, trying to throw him.
"I've been to a dance, but this is more like the prom. Been waiting quite a while to meet you."
Willa pushed a strand of black hair behind her ear. Dr. Crane had warned her that the Guild was watching their moves, so their visit wasn't a complete surprise. She had begun to study poems that might offer resistance to magic, but she never thought that she would need them so soon.
"Why don't you just join us?" he asked.
She swept her hand around Voodoo, showing off their favorite haunt. "We have a lot more fun."
Tim was somehow still delivering blows on top of the blond magician. She knew that if the mercenary could keep the man silent, he’d stand a chance. She could see Elijah in her periphery. He was still standing, which was a hopeful sign.
With a straight face, the young man replied, "Orders are orders, I’m afraid. And I’m sure this will be no fun at all—at least for you."
The magician closed his eyes; his lips started to move.
Damn.
Willa crouched, crossing her arms in front of her in the shape of an X. She had never defended against a spell before, Edwin Weil considered it a waste of time. But now, her hands shook as she considered her complete inexperience. Abstract considerations of such things could only go so far.
“And Life is Colour and Warmth and Light,
And a striving evermore for these;
And he is dead who will not fight;
And who dies fighting has increase.”
Just as his lines finished, Willa felt the warm blast hit her shield. It pressed for a moment and then broke through. His words struck her chest, something similar to the shock of touching an exposed light fixture. The world went black as her tingling body was tossed back over a table.
Chem’s voice brought her back to the room. “You OK?”
"Yeah," she said, struggling to her feet. "He's strong."
"So are we. Think you can freeze him for even a second?"
"Don't know. I can try."
Chem jutted his chin toward his leather bag and smiled. "Time to blind him with science."
Willa rubbed the soreness out of her chest and nodded.
"Let me give you a few extra seconds," Rhett said.
"Rhett, no. He's too strong," Willa cried. But it was too late.
The speech writer walked toward the magician with his hands raised. "Listen, pal. We should talk this out."
Willa heard the strong, young voice reply, "Don't waste your breath. We already told you your tricks don't work on us."
"I know, I know. But listen, let's think this through. What are you hoping to gain by all of this? You’re outnumbered, and there’s no way those guys are giving up easily." He nodded at Tim and Elijah. While Rhett held no power of persuasion over the mage, he had certainly drawn his attention. He took another step forward. “Why don’t we talk about this?”
The young mage scowled, “Move another inch and I’ll end you. You’ve seen what I can do.”
Rhett helped up his hands in surrender. “Easy guy, I’m no threat to you. It’s my reptilian friend you’ve got to worry about.” Rhett nodded behind the young man whose eyes widened in terror. Obviously, they had heard about Rita.
The redhead spun around to confront the new threat, but there was no one behind him. He turned back toward the rhetorician and right into Rhett’s incoming fist.
The punch landed squarely on the unsuspecting magician’s chin.
His head snapped back.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tim palmed the viking’s face with one hand, pinning his head to the ground. With the other, he landed blow after blow into the man’s ribcage. The tall man flailed but Tim barely felt the attacks. The mercenary had never fought a wizard before but he assumed that the normal rules of combat applied: if you’ve knocked your opponent down, keep them down. With Chem’s serum flowing through this veins, Tim’s fist packed a deadly punch. Magic or no magic, he knew the wizard couldn’t withstand his strength for long.
But as he wrestled with his opponent, a strange feeling began to spread up his arms. Moving slowly at first, it gained momentum as it crossed over his shoulders and into his neck. By the time it reached the top of his head, Tim knew that something had gone wrong.
He looked down at the man. The eyes that looked back at him were completely white.
"Shit," Tim screamed as an invisible force pulled on his hair. He struggled to keep his hold over the wizard but the power tugging on him was too great. His hand slipped off for a second, but it was just enough time for his adversary to make his move.
“Hoc dicens ferrum aduerso
sub pectore condit feruidus.”
A powerful force slammed into Tim's chest. He was lifted off the ground as if he had taken a blow from Elijah's metal fist.
Stars danced as he dropped.
He shook his head and pushed himself onto his knees. He could taste blood in his mouth.
"I should save the Guild some time and extinguish you from the earth, abomination," the magician said. "Luckily for you, we have our rules.”
"You won't win." Tim spat as he spoke. The man laughed.
"That's where you're wrong. We've been winning for millennia."
The man's lips moved, and everything went dark.
CHAPTER SIX
Chem watched as Rhett swung at the younger magician. The speechwriter’s gifts were not martial in nature. The wizard recovered immediately and with a word he dropped Rhett like a bad habit. Chem nodded at Willa, who didn't see him through her own focus. A vein stood out on her forehead, and he could nearly feel its rhythm.
“Bound in thy adamantine chain
The proud are taught to taste of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt befo
re, unpitied and alone.”
The robed warrior froze.
Knowing he only had a moment, Chem dove at the bewitched man, his tranquilizing syringe readied for attack.
But a booming voice filled the air, and Willa’s spell was broken. The young man, back in control of his body, spoke rapidly and Chem felt his legs go weak. He fell on his knees; the syringe clattered on the ground.
“That was foolish, alchemist,” the young man said as he moved toward Willa.
Chem tried to move, but his arm was weak. He fought the urge to vomit.
"Enough." The lead magician’s voice echoed through the bar. It was powerful, not only in tone and volume but in its effectiveness. Both parties froze, eyes locked onto the blond giant standing in the middle of the chaos. He held his side and blood trickled from his nose. "We are not enemies. But stay out of our way or next time we won’t be so gracious.”
"Touch our friends and we are enemies," Elijah said. His voice spread across the room, but otherwise, the historian was motionless. A force held them in place, and Chem wondered why the master magician hadn’t lead with this spell. It certainly would have incapacitated them, and it would have been cleaner too.
“It is the will of the council.” The man turned from Elijah and nodded towards his colleagues.
Several voices chanted in unison and a bright light filled the room.
When the light subsided, Willa and Tim were gone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The flickering street light did little to illuminate the building’s dilapidated exterior. Boarded up windows blocked any view inside, though from where he stood the dive bar could have easily been closed for years. But he knew better than most that looks could be deceiving.
He lumbered across the deserted street and pulled open the door.
A dozen or so drunken regulars with sunken eyes and lonely faces leaned on the bar. Heads turned, but no one said a word. The patrons had learned that it was safer to mind their own business. Crossing the smoke-filled room, he pushed through a door marked: EMPLOYEES ONLY. His shoes clung to the tacky floor, and he wondered when the last time a mop had met its acquaintance.
