by LE Barbant
Willa didn’t understand everything he was saying, but she fell into his big, fluffy belly and held it tightly, wishing that ‘someday’ would come soon.
****
Willa winked at the voiceless mercenary.
Tim was furious.
She could read anger all over his face, but her ruse kept him from sacrificing himself for her. That ransom would be swift, and Willa knew they needed time.
She only hoped she could buy some.
Stepping up onto the podium, Willa stood just inches above the audience. The young girl, Tim’s “warden” sat off to the side—observing the proceeding although not as a voting member of the jury. Willa knew that not all in the Guild believed what the Grandmaster preached. She only hoped that there were those in the Twelve who shared the girl’s compassion and willingness to listen. Willa’s plan rested on that assumption.
She glanced at her grandfather who seemed to be taking joy in the fact that he just condemned a man to damnation.
We’re screwed.
“Thank you, Master Weil, for the rousing accusation and limited view into the psyche of a man fighting for his life. Time may be short for my friend, so I will keep my comments concise.” Willa paused, looking at Tim, and letting the full weight of her words sink in. She noticed the distaste on the Grandmaster’s face. Tim struggled against the silencing spell. He still intended on sacrificing himself for her. Both of them were playing the martyr, but Willa held the upper hand—at least for the time being. Her comments would need to be short-lived since so was her magic.
“Like most of you, I am also a part of the faculty. We all know brevity is not our strong suit.”
Her jab at the professors among them garnered some laughter from the crowd, which surprised her and granted courage.
“The things Edwin Weil said about Tim Ford are, as far as I can imagine, true. But there are two things I will put before you for consideration. First, just like any of us, this man has made a multiplicity of decisions over his life, a life lived in the face of a hard world. Some of his actions were truly bad. But even the good Master Weil has a laundry list of unorthodox acts made before he joined your fold.” Edwin’s smile waned a little. She was on the right track.
“The human among us err, especially when placed between two bad choices. No one knows hard decisions more than Tim Ford, and none are more contrite for their mistakes. I have made my own. They are of no secret here at the Guild. I regret some of them. Others might prove me guilty, yet I would make them again.
“But to judge a man for his weakness while ignoring his strength is a failure on your part. As I tell my students, context is key. Tim Ford has also given self-sacrificially. He has put himself in harm’s way time and time again for the sake of others. And when stricken with an abnormal desire for aggression, he did the only thing he could: focus that drive on the evil that lives among the good people of Pittsburgh. For that, some would call Tim Ford a criminal, others a vigilante, still others, a hero.”
Willa paused and drew a long, slow drink from a stainless steel bottle. Her heart was racing like a grad student teaching her first class. “I’ve learned some things about the Guild over the past few days. Master Weil has done what he could with his obstinate granddaughter. One thing I’ve learned is that the Guild prizes due process. Everything Weil has said might be true, but it holds no weight in this hearing. Mr. Ford’s alleged crimes in the field overseas and in the alleys of this fair city are not issues of magic. Let the civil courts handle this, if they will. Our question is one concerning the magical arts and the accusation of Ford being an abomination.”
Several of the Twelve whispered to one another. Willa wondered if it was in affirmation or not, but she was pleased with her move, nonetheless.
“This then brings me to my second point. Tim Ford was enhanced by a serum that was born of the consummation of science and magic. That is why we are here, is it not?”
Heads nodded throughout the barn turned courtroom.
“OK, then. We find ourselves at the heart of the matter. Some of you find such a fusion abominable, but here is all I would say: Tim Ford was unconscious when the chemist and I created the serum and used it to save his life. He was ignorant of our intent and there was no act of volition on his part.” She paused. The room was silent. “Due process? You pride yourself on this? If you do, then I demand justice of your process. Where there is no intent, and no action, there is no guilt. If Ford is punished for the works of my hands, for the work of your colleague, an innocent will be punished, and his blood will soil the robes of everyone in this room.”
A clamor broke out amidst the masters, but Willa continued unimpeded.
“If there is an abomination in this room, it is not Tim Ford.” Willa caught her grandfather’s gaze. It was filled with horror. “It is me.” She yelled over the tumult. “You want to destroy a soul? Then here it is.”
Willa pounded her chest.
“Come and get me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Your work is making quite an impression, Rex.” Crane threw the newspaper onto the coffee table and eased back into his threadbare orange armchair. “They’re calling our Blackbow friend’s escape the crime of the century. It seems the authorities have no explanation as to his mysterious disappearance.”
Rex stood, arms crossed, in the tiny house. His massive frame filled up half the room.
“I doubt if Reznor himself even understands it. But we didn’t hire him for his intelligence. Granted, he was the smarter of the two. His suit has been repaired, with a few modifications.”
Crane picked up his tea and took a long sip. “Good. The fools are storming the compound as we speak. The end is near. I only wish I could be there tonight to see it happen.”
The old man’s eyes sparkled, and Rex hoped that the man’s enthusiasm wouldn’t cloud his judgment. Over the years, Rex had seen too many battles lost due to passion or hubris. He wondered if the man suffered from both.
“I’m ready. But how can you be so confident things will turn violent?” Rex asked. “They’ve ignored your advice and opted for stealth. And with the speechwriter and the freak there, they might just pull it off.”
His past dealings with the group had afforded him more respect for them than Crane granted. They were inexperienced, and the historian’s moral commitments gave them a particular disadvantage. Nevertheless, they were powerful and he knew an easy victory should not be expected.
The old man smiled. “Just because Rita got the upper hand on you doesn’t mean she’ll be so lucky against the Guild.”
Rex unconsciously rubbed his neck. The wound had healed quickly, as they all did, but the memory of Rita’s teeth in his throat would not be soon forgotten.
“And besides,” Crane continued, “her presence works in our favor. The historian has retained his moral boundary. He’s surprisingly weak, even with the power that is coursing through his veins. At least the fish isn’t afraid to act in accordance with her nature. She leaves a trail of blood wherever she goes. If fate is with us she’ll spill some of the Guild’s.”
Rex cringed. Talk of “fate” always brought him discomfort. He had been around long enough to know that fate is made, not hoped for. But he would play the man’s game, at least to a point. Crane was an important part of Rex’s work. Deferring to the old man’s self-importance was a crucial part of his own play. He had acted the part before with the Alarawns and would do it again. But his façade of subservience required times of disagreement to be believable.
“I still think this charade is unnecessary. You place too much trust in your manipulation. And we’ve invested too much time and energy into controlling these assets. Fate is fickle. It sometimes misses its mark. But my hands,” he raised a fist, “my hands rarely fail.”
“For as old as you are you’re surprisingly naïve,” Crane said with a yellow smile. “If you use your mind there’s no need to get your hands dirty. My man will be there to ensure things go our way.
Tonight is the spark. After that, bias and stupidity will do their job. The dominoes will fall, Rex. You just need to be there to clean up the mess.”
“As I said, I’m ready. But I don’t mind getting my hands dirty. Maybe you’ll experience that satisfaction yourself before this is all over.”
A crooked smile faded from the man’s face and left his countenance as serious as death.
“You might be right. I’ve waited long enough.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The old pickup rattled down I-79, heading north, away from the city. The driver kept it just under the speed limit, due more to the vehicle’s mechanical limitations than caution. Traffic was sparse and they made it to their destination in under forty minutes.
Several winding miles off the exit sat an old abandoned gas station. The driver swerved into the lot and parked behind the building. A single flickering halogen attached to the side of the wall was the only operating vestige of its past life. Otherwise, they were surrounded by pitch black. The passenger wondered exactly how long the lights might stay on. Perhaps they would last through the apocalypse.
Rhett Johannes stepped out of the truck.
Thick gloves and a long, expensive pea coat covered his regular uniform—a tailored suit with a perfect tie to match. The crisp night air tickled his lungs. He took in the country starlight—looking relaxed as if he were going to a show in the city and not about to storm a heavily fortified compound.
Composure was his armor, and he donned it for every battle.
Elijah Branton, his partner in crime, slid from the driver’s side. They had traveled in complete silence, Elijah gripping the wheel like a driver in the Indy 500. But Tim Ford’s old pickup wasn’t designed for racing. The historian wore sneakers, black sweat pants, a thick gray sweater, and dark ski mask rolled up awkwardly on his forehead: a mix between a cross country runner warming up before a meet and a first-time bank robber.
Even in the cold November air, Rhett could see sweat gathering on Elijah’s forehead, a reminder that the majority of the man’s conflicts consisted of academic conferences and intense board game nights. Trying to calm him, Rhett offered a grin. “We’ve got this.”
The historian nodded back with hesitation. “Yeah. I know.”
They untied a tarp covering the truck’s six-foot bed. Beneath the blue plastic and a layer of thick blankets lay a monster from a B-list monster movie and a young girl who looked like she’d been swallowed by a jungle gym.
Rita jumped out of the bed and sniffed the still air. After a quick lap around the abandoned gas station, she turned to scout the woods behind them, searching for unwanted company. Rhett was grateful to have her abilities on call, but she still unnerved him. He was glad his own abnormalities remained hidden from common sight.
Elijah flipped several switches near the base of the girl’s suit. A soft hum was accompanied by blinking lights, which communicated in a foreign tongue. Two minutes later the suit went dark. Skylar sat up, a faint whirring sound accompanying her movement.
Her face beamed as she pushed herself off the frigid steel. Chills ran down his spine as he watched the wheelchair girl find her legs again. He thought of Paul and the accident. Skylar had been paralyzed at nearly the same age that the Johannes brothers had their own brush with death. Once inch in either direction and they could have ended up in her shoes. Rhett checked his cell phone one last time. He hoped that Paul might have some insight into their plan to free Tim and Willa, but the older twin hadn’t been at their apartment for days. He thought of Paul’s haunting note then forced it from his mind. Rhett needed to focus.
Without a sound, Rita rejoined the group and nodded to Elijah before giving the girl a once over.
Skylar took a step back from the creature. “Rita, I’m fine, really.”
Rhett imagined a smile tugging at the corner of her lipless mouth. He looked back towards their anxious leader. “So, are we gonna do this or what?”
Elijah exhaled, resigning himself to their task at hand. “Everyone knows the plan right? Quick in, quick out. There’s no way we could take them in a head on fight, so stealth is our greatest strength here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small earpiece. “Is everybody’s equipment working?”
They took a minute to check their gear—gifts from Sylvia. Rhett didn’t like the idea of others listening in on his work, but Elijah insisted that they remain in communication at all times. He considered a joke to lighten the mood but kept the sass to himself. Elijah looked like he could lose it at any minute.
If things go south, we might need the History Hulk to pay a visit.
Elijah looked over at Skylar. His grim face did little to rally the troops. “Skylar, how far are we from the compound?”
Skylar closed her eyes. When she reopened them, Rhett could see a faint blue light emitting from the large glass lens covering her right eye. “It’s just over a mile.” She jutted her chin toward the bushes then, remembering that she could use her arms, pointed the way.
“That’s some fancy monocle you’ve got there,” Rhett said. Even in the dark, he could see her blush.
“Thanks.” Her voice, barely a whisper, sounded loud and clear in his earpiece.
Elijah took a step toward the woods. “Let’s do this. Rita, why don’t you, um, take point. I’ll follow with Skylar, and Rhett you bring up the rear.”
Rita darted silently through the trees, but Skylar and Elijah made enough racket for all of them. Skylar’s movements were awkward as if an amateur puppeteer was pulling her strings. Fallen branches snapped loudly under her heavy steps, and hidden roots almost sent her reeling. But the foreign movements couldn’t keep the smile from her face. The broken girl was enjoying every moment of her newfound freedom, and Rhett loved to watch her. He kept thinking of Paul. Rhett wished his brother would meet them—meet her. He’d like the kid.
The mile hike took them nearly forty minutes. By the time they came upon Rita crouching behind a large overturned tree, the three were panting heavily in each other’s ears.
From their vantage point, Rhett could see the compound. A large, century-old barn took center stage. Despite its age, recent construction had evidently gone into the building, offering new life and adding several large additions. Bright yellow machines sat in a drive nearby. An enormous farmhouse stood adjacent, looming next to the expanse of a sleeping cornfield.
“OK Skylar, what do you see?” Elijah whispered.
A faint light clicked on again behind Skylar’s smart glass. Instead of blue, this one was red. A moment later the light turned to green.
The young girl would someday be quite an asset in a fight. Rhett had seen what those suits could do against Tim Ford, and that guy was tough as nails. But the Blackbow mercenaries were trained killers. Skylar’s awkward hobbling through the woods proved her inexperience. Even without the capacity to fight, the girl had already proven invaluable. He promised himself she would leave in one piece.
Paul’s words ran through his mind again. Bloodstained robes. Blue eyes, gone dark forever.
“I can’t really make out much in the newer building, but I picked up a large heat signature coming from the barn. I’m pretty sure there’s a lot of people in there. As far as I can tell there’s only one guard outside.” She pointed towards a corner of the building, opposite the barn. “There.”
Rhett could just make out a robed figure standing in the splash of a floodlight.
“OK, that looks like our man,” Elijah said. “Rita, you’re up.”
Rita stood and unclasped her yellow raincoat. It dropped to the ground.
It was Rhett’s first experience with their fishy friend disrobed. Her legs were surprisingly long for her short frame and they bowed outwards slightly. Pale scales covered her body in place of skin, adding a strange texture to her form. Rhett fought the urge reach out and touch them. While revolting, he also found a certain beauty in the figure standing in the moonlight. She was perfect and perverted all at once.
Then she was gone.
Rhett could hardly follow her movements. Her speed was uncanny even with her body crouched low to the ground. Choosing a wide route from their position, she arced to the left of the building. Slowing, she approached the unsuspecting guard. He watched as she crawled closer, slinking smoothly through the grass. Although she was on Rhett’s side, the perfect hunter terrified him. She paused a stone’s through away from the motionless robed figure. Rhett kept his eyes open wide, afraid that if he blinked he would miss it.
He wasn’t wrong.
She leapt.
The guard turned, but Rita was on him before he could make a sound—her clawed hands extended.
She dragged the figure out of sight.
Rhett felt queasy watching the limp body being pulled into the dark—the predator bringing its prey back to its cave.
Rhett held his breathe. Nothing broke the stillness of the night.
A twig snapped, and he nearly shit himself. Turning, he saw Rita squatting behind them. A long robe was draped over her arm.
She threw it at Rhett’s feet. “There you go.”
“Holy shit Rita that was awesome.” Skylar’s eyes were wide. Rita sat down next to the girl and remained silent.
“Um, did you…is he dead?” Elijah asked, exhibiting his own discomfort with how easily Rita dispatched the guard.
“No. Not yet at least. But he shouldn’t give us any problems.”
Elijah fell quiet.
Rhett knew the historian was their moral compass, wrestling with the ambiguity of what they all just witnessed. He squeezed his friend’s arm and nodded without a word, then went to work. He took off his jacket, carefully folding it and rested it on the log. He replaced it with the dull red robe. A little long, but it would serve its purpose. His own heart rate increased, but as always, he chose not to display any hesitation.
