It all came flooding back. For the first time in days, Heinrich could feel his Power burning hot, and despite his injuries, he felt very good. He had never been deprived of his magic before, and very much hoped that he would never have to do without it again. Oh, how I have missed you.
“What was that?” Sharps shouted, confused. Then he noticed the spreading nothingness and froze.
Filled with magic and anger, Heinrich stood up and spit out a wad of blood. “Now it is my turn.”
Sharps turned, surprised to see Heinrich still moving. He swung, but lurched as his fist flew cleanly through his target as if Heinrich was made of smoke. He struck again, but it was like attacking the shadows. Sharps’ eyes grew wide. “Oh shit.”
Heinrich was a Fade, and as such, could make his body insubstantial enough to pass through solid objects for a brief time. He could also take someone else with him. He made himself solid again, reached out, grabbed Sharps by the throat, then Faded them both. Sharps thrashed as they began to sink into the floor. Heinrich let go, and then altered himself just enough to step out of the ground before becoming solid again.
Sharps screamed as the molecules of his feet and ankles fused with the earth.
It was a terrible way to go, with all of those severed nerve endings screaming, trapped, while some horrific darkness came to eat you, but Heinrich wasn’t feeling particularly charitable. “Good day, sir,” and then he hobbled out the door.
Deych had barely made it into the hall before the explosion had gone off overhead. It appeared that a large chunk of the ceiling had fallen and struck him down. He was stunned, but alive. Heinrich grabbed Deych by the collar and dragged him away. Sharps kept on screaming incoherently, jerking his frozen legs, and windmilling his arms helplessly.
Heinrich got Deych ten feet down the hall, then slapped him until he began to stir. Deych had been hit pretty hard by the debris and it took a moment for his eyelids to flutter awake.
Talking was very painful and Heinrich wondered if they’d managed to crack his jaw. “The attack you are framing us for. Where is it?” Deych looked back at the darkness. It had consumed most of the cell and its edge was spilling into the hall behind them. It was growing faster now. Sharps’ screams grew more desperate. “Where? Or I feed you to it!”
“There’s a gathering on the mall. Antimagic people are camped out there for a big protest,” Deych stammered, unable to take his eyes off the darkness. “There’s a truck bomb on the other side of the river. We’re going to blow them up.”
Heinrich’s face hurt too much to smile. It made a sick sort of sense. If the Grimnoir were truly as evil as Bradford Carr was portraying them as, then obviously they would strike directly at their political foes in the most craven and cowardly way possible. The backlash against Actives would be terrible.
“I told you! Let me go! Let me go!”
Heinrich stood up and took another look at the vortex. Now that it was free of the cell he could see that it was uniformly round, with a center that must have begun in the other cell, and it was getting bigger by the second. Francis must have created some sort of spell to destroy the nullifiers, but he wondered if creating a black hole had been part of the plan. It would be interesting to see when it would stop growing . . . Maybe a better question would be if it would stop growing.
Sharps’ screams stopped abruptly as the nothingness reached him.
“Flee, you fool,” Heinrich spat at Deych.
Sullivan Spellbound
Chapter 19
I speak to the just people of the South. You charge that we stir up insurrection among your slaves, and more insidiously, amongst your slaves with dangerous magics. We deny it. Where is your proof? Harper’s Ferry! The mad wizard John Brown was no Republican. Despite this slander, we will strive to keep harmony in the Republic. Yet if our sense of duty forbids this, then let us stand firm. Let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith, let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it.
—Abraham Lincoln,
Speech at the Cooper Institute, 1860
Mason Island
FAYE COULD HEAR the gunfire and see the occasional flash through the trees. She checked her head map for the fiftieth time and found that her magic still wouldn’t work against the island’s defenses. Faye, Whisper, and Hammer were sitting in a car parked just north of where the bridge reached land, watching the island.
“We’d best get ready,” Whisper said as she glanced up and down the Washington side of the shore. Lights were now on in many windows and people were coming outside to see what the commotion was. Soon the police would arrive, so Whisper would set the bridge on fire to make a mess of things and then they’d have to skulk away.
That was really making Faye mad. Somewhere on that island, Francis and a bunch of her friends were in danger, and she couldn’t do a darn thing about it. Here she was, one of the most powerful Actives anybody knew of, with a perfectly good automatic shotgun, bandoleers full of buckshot, a .45, and a great big stag-handled stabbing knife, but with nobody to use any of this useful stuff on. Since Sullivan had said the island was muddy, she’d even worn pants. Faye was ready to get to work.
Suddenly there was a huge flash of light on the island. It was so bright that it was almost like looking into a photographer’s pan of flash powder when it went off. It took a second before they heard the loud whump that was then followed by an ominous rumble. An orange glow began to grow behind the trees, obviously a fire, and Faye could see the smoke curling slowly in front of it.
“What in the world was that?” Hammer exclaimed.
“I don’t know.” Faye checked for the fifty-first time . . . only this time her map could actually reach the island. There were a few smaller bits that were all blurry on the periphery where some of the other little Dymaxions were still working, but the great big one was off. There was something else really weird going on, a confusing circle that seemed to poke a hole in her head map, but other than that, she was good to go. “All right!”
“Faye, can you—” Whisper turned, but Faye was already gone.
Crow was thoroughly enjoying himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun. The Grimnoir had shot him hundreds of times, but it didn’t matter. A Summoned was given form in this world by gathering up stray matter and coalescing it into a physical body. The smoking substance that most referred to as demon’s ink bound the creature’s essence to this world, and in order to banish the creature, the created body had to be battered to the point until most of that essence had escaped. On a form as resilient as this one, that was a very difficult task.
Sure, this wasn’t exactly what the Summoned had looked like back when it had been a real, living, breathing being on its own world. With some effort he could make the bodies appear completely human, or he could set them free, to take on a more familiar form. Crow knew that the Summoner’s subconscious played a role in how the creatures appeared here. He didn’t want to think too hard about why his always tended to look so evil. He figured it had something to do with all those hellfire-and-brimstone sermons he’d had to endure as a child.
The bullets felt like beestings. The Grimnoir were falling back through the trees, each one pausing in turn to stop and futilely shoot at him as their friends ran by. Let them run. It made the chase more rewarding.
However, one of them wasn’t the running type. “Get to the boats,” Sullivan ordered the others. The Heavy stood in the middle of a path, slamming another magazine into a funny looking rifle. “I’ll slow him down.”
“How do you figure you’re going to do that?” Crow laughed. The monster in the back of his shared mind was screaming for blood, but he told it to shut up. This stupid Heavy had embarrassed him, made his life difficult, and was one of the backbone members of his enemy’s Society. He had a reputation for being especially tough, so Sullivan’s death would demoralize the rest. Crow wanted to enjoy this.
Sullivan didn’t waste time with talking, he just shoul
dered the machine gun and fired. Crow felt the pulsing impacts as the bullets tracked up his torso and into his face. There were no organs inside a Summoned, no bones to break, no weak spots to exploit, just a shell filled with hate, but Sullivan’s bullets were spilling precious ink. The flaming blood set the brush on fire and Crow’s body was wreathed in smoke. Every drop spilled made the body weaker, and though he still had plenty to spare, it was time to end this nonsense before any of them escaped. So Crow covered the ground in a few huge steps, swung a claw, and knocked the gun away. Sullivan jumped back and scrambled to draw his sidearm. Pathetic. It was like human beings moved in slow motion. Crow simply lifted one gigantic foot, placed it on Sullivan’s chest, and shoved him back. Crow didn’t even push hard, but the mortal still flew ten feet through the air to splash into a puddle.
“This isn’t even fair,” Crow said. “You know, some of my men are taking your buddies over to the Capitol for a little show right now. Maybe I should keep you in one piece? Use you the same way? What do you think?” Sullivan got to his knees, lifted his pistol, and shot Crow in the mouth. “Ah, never mind then.” Crow leaned over and backhanded him.
Sullivan slid through the mud until he hit a tree. That stopped him solid and the Heavy cried out as something broke inside of him. Playtime was over. Crow reached down, stuck a claw through Sullivan’s bandoleers and hoisted him into the air. He had never tasted the blood of a Heavy before, and as he pulled Sullivan’s throat toward his mouth, he wondered idly what it would taste like.
THWACK!
One of Crow’s legs went out from under him and he was falling. Something had hit him on the back of the knee and levered him right down. Sullivan went rolling away as Crow tore through the branches and landed in the mud.
A man was standing there, holding some sort of metal club. He raised it overhead and shouted a war cry in a foreign language. Japanese? Crow lifted one gigantic forearm and easily blocked the club, but the spikes ripped holes in his shell to let out the precious smoke. He was fast, but no normal human was as fast as a Greater Summoned, and Crow easily knocked the man across the trail. “You Grimnoir don’t know when to quit.”
The Oriental hit the ground hard, but he got right back up. Crow could admire the tenacity. “I am no Grimnoir!” He lifted the club, roared, “TOKUGAWA!” and charged.
Imperium? Sullivan was making all sorts of strange new friends. No matter. This guy could be First Iron Guard, but he wasn’t shit without magic against a demon of this caliber. Crow spread his claws wide and prepared to eviscerate the Jap, and then for a split second, it was as bright as day.
The explosion startled him as it seemed to rock the whole island. Crow instinctively turned in time to see orange flames boiling up over the OCI compound. The air pressure seemed to change and he felt his own connection to the Summoned’s body strengthen. The Dymaxion!
Crow turned to finish the Jap, but he wasn’t there. Instead, the Jap had leapt high into the air and was on the way back down. Brute! Crow tried to get out of the way, but it was too late. The spiked club slammed into his shoulder with a blow that would have pulverized bones if he’d had any. He managed to slash his claws across the Jap’s chest as the club came back around. The spikes pierced Crow’s chest and sent him reeling, but the Jap spun away in a spray of blood. Crow went after him. A Brute could not be underestimated. He had to eliminate the Jap quickly.
Only Crow couldn’t move. It was like trying to walk into a tidal wave. He couldn’t lift his arms. His feet sunk into the soft ground. The smoke pouring from his wounds suddenly came shooting out in pressurized jets and for the first time Crow felt the demon’s pain.
Sullivan! The Heavy appeared before him, covered in dirt, a grimace of concentration on his face as he hammered Crow with a multitude of extra gravities. The other Grimnoir were coming out of the trees behind Sullivan, guns blazing. Crow was frozen in a storm of lead. He realized they had a Mover as well, as rocks turned into missiles and tree branches struck like spears. A multitude of lacerations ripped through the demon’s skin, showering flaming ink everywhere. Crow tried to roar, but smoke poured from his mouth instead of sound.
The demon was screaming inside of its head, furious and confused at the treatment. Crow tried to force it back, but it was much harder that time, and he started to panic. What would happen if the demon took over while he was still inside? No. Focus. Get back! Luckily, the demon retreated before Crow’s Power.
The waves of gravity kept on crashing. The Heavy couldn’t possibly keep up that level of Power for long, and the second it let off, Crow would kill them all. Sullivan was wobbling. He’d been hit hard earlier and was feeling the injury now. Crow could sense the gravity weakening, and he managed to take a step forward.
Another Grimnoir rushed to Sullivan’s side and laid a glowing hand on him. Sullivan stood a little straighter and the pressure coming down on Crow increased. The Grimnoir had a Healer!
“On my mark, cut your Power!” The Jap was back. His shirt was hanging open and several deep lacerations were dripping blood, but a few of the Imperium kanji spells were visible on his skin, burning bright. The Jap hoisted the ink-soaked club as he gathered all of this awful Brute magic for a single shot. He closed his eyes and waited as the magic forces built until Crow could see the Power.
“NO!” Crow and the Summoned shrieked at the same time.
The Brute opened his eyes. “Now.” He bellowed as he swung, the steel club moving through the air with an inhuman speed. The crushing gravities fell away and Crow could move, but only for an instant before the impact.
Crow’s torso exploded into a black mist.
There was no brain inside the Summoned’s form, its intelligence was spread throughout the entire being. Crow’s consciousness was ripped into multiple pieces, but for a brief moment he could still see through the demon’s eyes as the horned head went flipping through the air. Then the Summoned’s connection to this world was broken and its spirit was sent hurtling back into the ether from which it had come.
Several miles away, Crow slammed back into his real body, pieces at a time. It was like a brilliant, jagged shaft of lightning drove through his skull and twisted. Crow screamed and convulsed, as he fell from his chair to lay twitching on the floor.
Crow was delirious from pain, but it was almost as if some of the savagery of the demon had returned with him. He wanted to kill these Grimnoir. He needed to taste their blood and snap their bones. His Power was burnt and scattered. It would take a minute to gather up enough to Summon again, but he’d destroy them if it was the last thing he did.
Desperate and delusional, Crow reached out for the greatest Summoned he had ever discovered.
The smoke gradually cleared. The forest was on fire; everybody had been splattered with burning demon bits, but Crow was gone.
Sullivan thanked the new Healer and pushed him away. Crow had pulverized him, but Dianatkhah had got him stabilized enough for the spells carved on Sullivan’s chest to handle the rest. “I’m fine. Save your Power for somebody who needs it more.” Toru was looking rough. He too had kanji engraved on him, and they were emitting heat and light as they pulled in Power to keep him alive. Crow had tagged him good, and the Iron Guard’s chest looked like somebody had slashed him with a pair of butcher knives. “Fix him,” Sullivan said, gesturing at Toru.
To his credit, Dianatkhah only hesitated for a second before moving over to put his hands on the Iron Guard. They might not like him, nor trust him, but Toru had just proved that he was mighty useful in a fight.
Diamond came running up. At some point one lens of his glasses had been cracked. “The compound’s burning. I sent Simmons and Mottl forward to secure the breach.”
“Good.” Sullivan did a quick head count. The rest of the knights were present. Ian wasn’t looking so good, but that was probably from the drain of having one of his Summoned destroyed rather than from any physical injuries. With the Dymaxion down, the tables had just turned in their favor. Dan Garre
tt had found Sullivan’s BAR and tossed it over. Sullivan caught the massive gun in one hand. “Let’s go.”
The knights moved forward. Sullivan paused long enough to pick up one bent half of Toru’s spiked club. He’d broken the solid steel bar against the demon. The one piece in Sullivan’s hand weighed twenty pounds. He held it up to show the Iron Guard. “Nice shot.”
The Iron Guard gave him a small nod. He seemed a little misty-eyed. “That was my favorite tetsubo. They will pay for that. Come. Let us kill these dogs.”
The broken chunk of steel landed in the puddle with a splash. Sullivan turned toward the burning compound. He figured that if the OCI knew what was good for them, they’d surrender now.
Francis had been dragged, kicking and fighting, up the stairs, down a corridor, to where someone else had pulled a burlap sack over his head, and then he’d been carried outside. He could tell it was outside because it was colder, stunk of smoke, and the gunfire was louder. There’d been some shouting between the OCI men to not wait for Heinrich, and then he was tossed onto something that, from the rocking and the sound of the water, could only be a small boat. An outboard motor had started, and then they were heading across the river. Francis didn’t even know which direction they were going.
He had struggled against the cords on his wrist, but an OCI man sitting right across from him had growled at him to stop. They probably didn’t want any rope burns to show up during the autopsy. Francis had tried to be more discreet when he went back to struggling. That had earned him a smack over the top of his head. “I got a .38 on you. Try anything stupid and I’ll gut-shoot you and roll you over the side.”
They’d been on the river for only a few seconds when a horrendous noise came from behind. Francis could even see the flash of light through the rough fibers of the hood. The boat rocked wildly as somebody fell against the motor.
Spellbound: Book II of the Grimnoir Chronicles Page 38
