Wind Runner: The Complete Collection

by Edmund Hughes

  How much more will she remember? And will it change her when she does?

  They left the apartment and headed back toward the bar they’d seen earlier. It was a cloudy night, and some of the fog had descended to ground level. Rose wore a baggy hooded sweatshirt and kept the hood up and her hands in her pockets, concealing her skin everywhere but her face.

  At Rose’s advice, Malcolm wore a long sleeve t-shirt with sleeves baggy enough to keep his stabilizer concealed. He hadn’t considered how a monster bar would react to a champion showing up uninvited. There was also the risk that one of them might recognize his face from the media coverage, but there wasn’t much either of them could do about that.

  Malcolm slowed to a stop as they neared the bar, trying to get a sense of the place from what they could see outside. Terri’s Tavern had a single bored looking bouncer, a big black man with rippling muscles. He was wearing sunglasses at night, and Malcolm knew that it wasn’t in solidarity with the 80s hit song.

  “Come on,” he said to Rose. “Let’s give this a try.”

  He walked across the street confidently. Rose had her arm looped through his, but she kept her face angled diagonally toward the ground. Malcolm nodded to the bouncer as he drew near and acted as though he had every right to head straight down the stairs.

  “Hold up,” said the bouncer, in an impossibly deep voice. “Members only.”

  “Uh…” Malcolm fumbled for an excuse. Rose lifted her head up and pulled back the hood, and the man’s expression changed instantly.

  “Oh,” said the bouncer. He brought his sunglasses down slightly, and Malcolm saw glowing red irises behind them. “Never mind. He’s with you?”

  “Yeah,” said Rose.

  The bouncer eyed Rose up and down, trying and failing to be subtle about checking out her body.

  “Yeah, er, you both can go right on ahead, then,” he said.

  The bouncer grinned, and Rose pulled Malcolm forward. They headed down the stairs and through the door at the bottom.

  CHAPTER 27

  Terri’s Tavern was a cozy place, and a little larger than it looked from the outside. The floor was polished wood, and lightbulbs hung from the roof in imitation lanterns. There was a bar, several sitting tables, a pool table, and a jukebox. And about a dozen monsters milling about.

  Rose pulled off her sweatshirt and hung it on the coat rack. No sooner than it had left her shoulders did someone whistle from off in the corner.

  “Oh, who is this?” called a man’s voice from the corner. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

  Malcolm tried to keep his anger in check as he saw Rose scanning the room for the offender. It was a demon sitting at one of the tables. His hair was an odd shade of orange, almost the color of cheese whiz, and he had a more impressive physique than any human Malcolm had ever seen.

  It wasn’t just that the demon had bigger muscles than an ordinary man, but it was that he had more of them. They were stretched over one another, as though instead of growing, another layer had been added. The demon wore an A-shirt for good measure, and waved to Rose with one of his powerful arms.

  I could totally take him.

  Rose shrugged and raised an eyebrow at Malcolm.

  “It’s as good of a place to start as any,” she said. “At least we know he’s willing to talk.”

  “I somehow doubt he knows anything that’s going to help us,” said Malcolm.

  “We don’t know that for sure,” she said. “Come on.”

  She took him by the arm and led him over to the muscle demon’s table. The demon was far less subtle about checking Rose out than the bouncer had been, making appreciative noises as she drew closer.

  “Where have you been all my life?” asked the muscle head.

  “Right.” Rose rolled her eyes. “I’m Black Rose, this is my friend Malcolm. Can we ask you a couple of questions?”

  “Bicep,” said the demon, his attention completely on Rose. “You can. But you’ll have to let me buy you a drink first.”

  Urge to kill… rising.

  “Hey, buddy, that’s the oldest line in the book,” said Malcolm. “We’re just here looking for somebody. Do you mind being cooperative?”

  Bicep stood up, smiling as though he’d been hoping for a fight that night. Rose cleared her throat, set a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder, and leaned in close enough to be heard at a whisper.

  “Let me handle this. Go hang out at the bar for a little bit. This guy is clearly drunk. I’ll be able to get him talking easier if I’m by myself.”

  Malcolm gritted his teeth. He knew that she was right, and forced himself to keep in mind why they were there.

  “Alright,” he said. “Just… be careful.”

  Bicep saluted him as he walked away. Malcolm sat down at the bar, fighting the urge to stare at Rose and the muscle demon openly.

  She knows what she’s doing. I’m being ridiculous.

  Someone sat down in the stool next to Malcolm. He glanced over and saw a woman who looked like she’d stepped out of another century. She wore a huge, frilly pink dress, low cut enough to expose a generous amount of cleavage. Her blonde hair was long enough to be unwieldy, and hung in a long braid over one shoulder.

  “Hi,” she said. “Buy me a drink?”

  “Uh…” Malcolm shrugged. “Sure.”

  He waved to the bartender, a short, chubby brunette with glasses. She hurried over, smiling as she pulled mugs down to set in front of them. Malcolm wasn’t sure if he was surprised by the fact that she didn’t card him.

  “What’s your name?” asked the woman.

  “Malcolm,” he said. “What’s yours?”

  She reached over and poked him in the shoulder. Malcolm felt a sudden surge of power. He looked down at himself and saw that he was now dressed in a full suit of armor, though he couldn’t feel the weight of it.

  “Fantasy,” said the woman. “Do you want to save the princess tonight, Malcolm?”

  His shock must have been fully evident on his face. Fantasy grinned back at him, and the bartender let out a few chuckles from where she stood nearby.

  “She’s an illusion spryte,” said the bartender. “And she’s used that line before, many times.”

  “Scribe!” snapped Fantasy. “He’s pretty cute. Let me work my magic.”

  Fantasy set her arm on Malcolm’s shoulder again, and suddenly there was a dragon behind her, snarling and snorting tufts of smoke out of its noise. Conveniently, it was small enough to fit within the bar, and coordinated enough to not bump against the roof or into any of the patrons.

  “Oh, no!” cried Fantasy. “It’s the dragon that hungers for my blood! Please, Malcolm! You’re the only one who can save me!”

  Malcolm felt a little uncomfortable, despite knowing that it wasn’t real. It was hard to completely ignore an apparent threat through logic and reason when every other instinct in him recognized it as a danger.

  “That’s… quite a show,” he said. “Can we just talk normally, though?”

  “Oh… that’s no fun.” Fantasy rolled her eyes and waved her hand. The dragon and the suit of armor disappeared.

  “The dress is real?” Malcolm reached out and poked it with his finger.

  “The dress…” Fantasy took his hand and shifted it to her breast. “And these…”

  “Okay, hold up,” said Malcolm, pulling his hand back. “Look, I’m here with somebody. We just came to ask around for some information.”

  “I think the ‘somebody’ that you were here with is now with somebody else,” said Fantasy. “So why not be with me?”

  Malcolm scowled and looked over at Rose. Not much had changed since he’d left the table, but Bicep had slid his chair around next to hers. He was telling her something, animating whatever it was with arm gestures that showed off his muscles.

  “Bicep is a rogue,” said Fantasy. “He calls himself a strength demon, but he’s really more of a testosterone demon. Fun for a night or two, but… everyone needs
variety.”

  She slid to the edge of her stool, pushing her leg against Malcolm’s. He took a sip of his beer, hoping that the alcohol would help him focus, but knowing it would probably do the opposite.

  “I’m looking for somebody,” said Malcolm.

  “So am I.”

  “Not… like that,” he said. “Have any new monsters come through here lately?”

  Fantasy glared at him.

  “Monsters?” she said. “What are you, a fucking champion?”

  Malcolm almost nodded before catching himself.

  “Sorry, slip of the tongue,” he said.

  “You can slip your tongue anywhere you want.” Fantasy slid her hand up his thigh, and it took a force of will on Malcolm’s part to push her hand away.

  “I’m looking for a demon,” he said. “One with fire, or explosion powers. Seen anyone like that?”

  Fantasy shrugged.

  “Maybe,” she said. “Why don’t we talk about it in the morning?”

  Malcolm ran a hand through his hair. He looked over at Rose to see if she was having any better luck. His heart caught in his throat when he saw that Bicep had a meaty arm around her. She was listening to what he was saying intently.

  “He’s going to have his way with her,” said Fantasy. “So why don’t you have your way… with me?”

  “No,” said Malcolm. “I trust her.”

  No sooner had he spoken the words did Bicep make his move. He groped at one of Rose’s breasts and leaned in whisper something in her ear. The bar was dim, and tendrils of darkness shot out from the nearest corner to their table, firmly disentangling the muscular demon from Rose. She stood up, pointed a finger at him, and then walked over to Malcolm.

  The look on Rose’s face when she saw how close Fantasy was sitting to him was an echo of Malcolm’s own recent feelings. She folded her arms and looked at the other woman squarely.

  “Malcolm,” she said. “Have you made friends with a new spryte?”

  “Uh… Rose, this is Fantasy. Fantasy… Rose.”

  “A pleasure,” said Fantasy, seeming undisturbed. “You know, I have a big bed back at my place. Perhaps the three of us…?”

  “Enough, Fantasy,” said the bartender. “You’re as bad as Bicep. These two aren’t here to play games. Why don’t you give them some space and let me talk to them for a bit?”

  “Scribe!” said Fantasy.

  “If they’re at all interested, they still will be after. Don’t be clingy.”

  Fantasy sighed, lifted her skirt, and then headed off to another corner of the tavern. Rose took the stool she’d been sitting in, smiling first at Malcolm, and then the bartender.

  “Thank you,” said Rose. “And we’d be very interested in having a chat with you, miss…?”

  “You don’t recognize me, do you?” said the bartender.

  Rose looked surprised. The bartender grinned and set a mug of beer down in front of her.

  “I’m Scribe,” said the bartender. “We’ve met before.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Malcolm watched as Rose slowly shook her head, her expression shifting into confusion.

  “Do you mean… before I became a spryte?” she asked. “You knew who I was?”

  “No,” said Scribe. “You come in between each of your episodes.”

  “Each of my… episodes?” asked Rose.

  Scribe laughed, and Malcolm felt a little angry at the chubby woman for being so flippant.

  “The last one must have done a number on you, huh?” said Scribe. “Yeah, between each of your episodes. Most demons and sprytes have a couple per year. You know, when you lose yourself completely. Start destroying things, killing people. Getting wild.”

  “And that’s… happened to me before?” asked Rose. “I mean, I knew something happened to my memory, but…”

  “Each time it happens, you start over from square one, maybe with a few scraps of memory, maybe not.” Scribe shrugged. “It’s happened to everyone in here. It’s happened to me, even. Sucks to lose business at the tavern when it does.”

  “Wait, how do you know all of this, then?” asked Rose.

  Scribe nodded, smiling as though she’d been dying for Rose to ask the question.

  “I’m a language spryte,” she said. “I keep a journal, and always remember about it after each episode.”

  “Keeping a journal…” said Rose. “That’s genius.”

  “Yeah, you’ve told me that before,” said Scribe. “You’ve even tried it yourself, before. A bunch of the others in here have, too. It’s all in my notes. Unless you’re particularly persistent about keeping it and making it a part of your life, you just forget about it during the episode.”

  “Can I read these notes?” asked Rose. “At least… the ones about me.”

  Scribe’s frowned, furrowing her brow and giving a small shake of her head.

  “I don’t think you’d want to,” she said. “And I have a policy against it. For my own safety.”

  Rose closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Malcolm reached over and set a hand on her shoulder.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “There has to be more to it than that,” said Rose. “These… episodes of chaos. They must be linked to something. To sprytes and demons overusing their powers, or…?”

  “That’s what made you a spryte in the first place,” said Scribe. “Now that you are one, it’s kind of like being unhinged. Like a kid that takes too much LSD and ends up seeing delusions for the rest of his life. There’s no going back.”

  Rose drained her mug of beer. She held up a defiant finger, as though using it to counter what Scribe was saying.

  “I don’t believe that,” she said. “And I don’t think you do, either. Why would you have an exclusive bar for sprytes and demons if you had to worry about them snapping at any time?”

  “Because there’s good money in it, and I’m business minded,” said Scribe. “The Champion Authority isn’t very active in small towns like Vanderbrook. When our people flee the big cities where the champions have control, they come looking for places like this.”

  “This is all just conjecture,” said Rose. “You don’t know for sure that there isn’t a way for us to live without having these… episodes, or whatever you call them.”

  Scribe started laughing. She shook her head slowly, and waved a finger at Rose.

  “We’ve had this conversation before, almost verbatim,” said Scribe. “It’s all in my notes. I write everything down. The reason we have episodes, the reason we became like this in the first place, is because of who we are. Our habits, our personalities… those don’t change, Rose. That’s the trap.”

  “How can you believe that?” snapped Rose.

  Scribe shrugged.

  “They call us monsters,” she said. “Me? I think we’re just unlucky. When normal people without powers become ‘monsters’, there’s only so much damage they can do. We’re just better at it than they are.”

  Rose glared at Scribe. She was about to say something else when a heavy hand settled on Malcolm’s shoulder and lifted him roughly off his stool.

  “You aren’t a fucking spryte or demon,” said Bicep, holding him aloft. “I figured as much when I first saw you, but Bender says he recognizes you from the news. You’re a fucking champion.”

  The bar went silent. A few other demons stood up. Malcolm thought that they were going to help break the fight up, but only until he saw their faces.

  Uh-oh. I don’t think they take kindly to champions sneaking into their space.

  “Let him go!” Rose pulled a couple of tendrils of shadow and tried to loosen Bicep’s grip.

  He was stronger than he looked, which surprised Malcolm, and kept his hold. Another demon, a green skinned man with a long tongue, snuck up behind Rose and seized her by the arms.

  “Hey!” shouted Malcolm. “Enough!”

  “You don’t get to say when it’s enough!” snapped Bicep. “And besides, she’s one of us. When
I’m done with you, I’m going to show her what she’s been missing out on, whether she likes it or not.”

  Malcolm grabbed onto Bicep’s wrist with his free hand and felt the sudden, familiar tingle as he absorbed his power. The sensation spread through his entire body, and over the course of about five seconds, several hundred new muscles burst into existence under his skin.

  It was enough for him to rip out of all his clothing but his boxers, like Bruce Banner turning into The Incredible Hulk. The stabilizer was still on his wrist, stretching slightly to accommodate his added bulk and probably sparing his life. Bicep stared at him in disbelief. Malcolm was taller now, too. His feet reached the floor, and his eyes were level with Bicep’s.

  “Fuck you!” shouted Bicep. He tried to twist Malcolm to the ground. Malcolm slammed a shoulder into him, reaching out for the wind at the same time and throwing in a gust for extra power.

  He flipped Bicep around, slamming him through a bar table. The green demon holding Rose tried to get an arm around her neck. Malcolm roared, feeling a sudden surge of bloodlust, and slammed his fist past Rose and into his head.

  The green demon sailed across the bar, slamming into a brick wall and sliding down to the ground. Malcolm whirled, preparing to attack anyone else stupid enough to try him. Scribe jumped out from behind the bar, holding her hands up in the universal sign of surrender.

  “Please!” she said. “The fight’s over! Please, don’t break anything else!”

  “Where is the heat demon?” asked Malcolm. “Tell me!”

  Why am I so angry right now? Is that part of this dude’s power?

  “Hothead?” asked Scribe. “He just got into town a day or two ago. He was only in here for a minute. I swear, if I see him, I’ll get in touch with you! Just call the bar later and give me your number.”

  “Malcolm…” Rose set her hand on one of his extremely muscled shoulders. Malcolm set his on top of it, and felt a surge as he absorbed her power in place of Bicep’s. He shrank back down to his normal size, feeling ridiculous in only his stretched-out boxers.