Superheroes in Prose Volume Five: Magick with a k

by Sevan Paris

  Isn’t she just the slightest bit cold?

  “I say again,” Obi says. “Leave my store, Mysteek.”

  Mystick puts her hands on two gorgeously round hips, parting the black cloak to expose what little of an outfit she has. “I’ll leave when she comes with me, Obi. Tommy and I have invested a great deal in searching for her. She put him in the hospital you know.”

  I raise my hand. “Actually, I think that was me.”

  “But she was ready to kill him. Ember is too dangerous to be left unchecked. I’m not leaving empty handed.”

  Then place your hands upon your breasts—you’ll have two handfuls and then some.

  Obi squares his shoulders. “Ember is in my care and—”

  “And she can speak for herself.” Ember steps in front of Obi. “I already told Tommy how this is going to happen, Mystick. You can like it, hate it, or hump it. I’m not giving up this power until I find the right person to give it to. If I die in the meantime, that’s on me. If others die trying to force it from me, that’s on them. Or you.”

  Obi throws a quick glance my way and then looks down at the mortar and pestle in his hands. He begins to grind the contents as gently, as quietly, as he can.

  Mystick raises her head, sticking her chin out slightly. “Eldritch wasn’t the last Sayer Macabre killed He’s slain five more since then, three of which he absorbed. He grows stronger while our numbers grow weaker. I can only assume his next move is finding and killing more Sayers or Wards. Ember, you—the world—will be a safer place if you’re with me.”

  Obi adds another ingredient and then grinds a little faster.

  “You mean if the power is with you,” Ember says. “After you pry it out and give it to whoever you want.”

  “That was not my intention. But, like you, I will do what I feel must be done.”

  “Isn’t ‘dat all any of us can do?” Obi says, raising the mortar above his head.

  Mystick’s eyes widen. She raises her palms. “Obi, I’ve always liked you. But if you do this, if you send them to wherever you’re about to send them, know that I’ll do whatever it takes to find that location in your brain. Depending on how much you resist, there may not be much of you left.”

  Obi grins. “If I do not help this young ladee, ‘dere will be even less of Obi left.”

  He slams the mortar on the ground between us.

  There is a vibrating in my chest, in my eyeballs, and—I swear—my very soul. The wooden floor whirlpools in on itself and churns in glowing splashes of green, blue, and yellow. Mystick yells Ember’s name. Obi laughs.

  I look up—Mystick runs at us, boobs not bouncing somehow (maybe The View was right). A sphere of energy forms in each of her hands, surrounded by some funky symbols and words. And right when I think the Magicks in her hands are about to do something horrible, something that I’ve only had nightmares about, Mystick, the shop, Obi—and everything around us—completely disappears with a violent flash.

  ***

  After another burst of light, Obi’s Magick mortar dumps Ember and me in a grimy brick tunnel, lit only by flickering torches. The space is massive, at least five football fields wide and I can’t see the ceiling. It feels like we’re deep though. Like the weight of the very world presses on us.

  Ember stares at the ground, but doesn’t really look at it. Her chest heaves.

  I put my hand on her shoulder. “Obi knew what he was doing. And he wanted to help.”

  “What if I’m wrong?” she says. “What if—”

  “You’re not wrong. What’s our next move?”

  “But—”

  “You’re not wrong. What’s our next move?”

  She takes a deep breath. And nods. “We need to get this over with quick. Mystick can—she’ll find out where we went soon enough. And I can’t fight her. Nobody stands a chance against her except another Sayer.”

  Or another one like me. Or like I used to be.

  “What do you mean?”

  I’ll explain later.

  Ember’s eyes search the brick. “Superpowers … they don’t work like normal against a Sayer. Telepathy reads the next closest person instead of them. Energy blasts get deflected. Even Superstrength just doesn’t act like it’s supposed to. It’s like they get a cheat card. Even if you get your powers back, we need to be long gone.”

  I nod, again wondering why Ms. Mystick never came after me on Deathbot night. Also wondering why she didn’t come after me when I sent the video. If what Ember says is true—and there is no reason to think that it isn’t—M and I didn’t stand a chance against her.

  “Okay, so let’s make with the getting it-over-with already. Which way?” I say, gesturing into the blackness on either side of us.

  “Well—” she’s cut off by a gust of hot wind to our left. It blows back her hair, bright even in this low light. We look at each other as the force changes direction, pulling at us.

  “That certainly seems ominous,” I say.

  “Which means it’s probably Magick. The dark kind, like you only read about.” She ignites a katana in her left hand, throwing a little more light around us.

  “Are you being sarcastic? Cause, if so—not cool.”

  Ember’s glowing eyes, dancing with firelight like the torches around us, look into the blackness. “Come on.”

  We walk for what seems like hours, feeling the weight of everything—the slime covered brick, the torches that have stayed lit for who knows how long, the ceiling that we can’t see, and that wind. That damn, hot wind that keeps pushing and pulling at us. Its sound increases, like we’re getting closer to a pulsating waterfall. The torches don’t flicker in the slightest.

  Some faint snaps and pops under our feet abruptly stop us. Ember takes a deep breath and ignites another blade in her right hand, giving the room a little more light—just enough for us to make out the white and yellow objects on the ground. Some are slightly straight, like sticks. Others curve into recognizable patterns.

  Human bones.

  I back up and—with a sharp crack—step on a human skull.

  Ember looks at my feet and then her glowing eyes lock with mine, hard to stare at for too long in the darkness.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  She shakes her head and motions me forward, giving me just enough light to avoid stepping on more yuck. Just ahead are jagged and round shapes, just a little blacker than the darkness surrounding them. They’re taller than us and seem to go on forever. The wind is even louder, and has a tighter sense of rhythm to it.

  Ember drops a sword, letting its light fade. She grabs my hand, and weird things happen in my stomach. Things that haven’t happened since Reagan. She pulls me toward the largest object and I feel the source of the wind pushing and pulling at us. I let go of her hand and place mine on the object. It’s smooth and cold, like polished stone. But there are no holes. It’s like the gusts literally come from nowhere.

  “Here!” Ember whispers, pointing to the far side of the object. I didn’t even realize she had walked over there.

  “What is it?” I step closer.

  She wipes at dust and cobwebs. “Here is the inscription that Obi was talking about. The one you have to read.”

  I squint and read the inscription silently. “It’s in English?”

  She nods, glowing eyes bobbing in the darkness. “It must change for whoever is reading it.”

  “Wish my Spanish book did that. What does the inscription mean?”

  She takes a moment, processing it. “Maybe that Magick doesn’t pick me this time? That I’m choosing to do this, to be a Ward.”

  I nod, and place my hand on the inscription. It vibrates with each rush of air that passes in and out of it. I read it out loud: “For the first time, Fate did not make.”

  I step back, head suddenly swimming.

  It’s gone Gabe. Thank The Void, the energy is gone.

  I pull the necklace off, shove it into my pocket. M powers us up, replacing my skin and clothing with sta
rs. My glowing eyes fill the darkness alongside the flames from Ember’s irises. “Okay, so it’s your turn now. How do you destroy this thing?”

  “Thought I might try this:” She raises the sword above her head and holds it for a moment, allowing it to double in size. Its hum and glow furiously increase before she brings it clashing down onto the boulder.

  And nothing happens.

  Ember looks at me, with sagged shoulders.

  “Well, that was anticlimactic.”

  Suddenly, something yellow on the surface of the boulder joins us in the darkness. It’s the size of a basketball and casts a slight reflection, like a window. Ember raises her sword.

  Gabe, I’m sensing a life-form. Something massive. Of the we-need-to-run-away-from-it variety …

  A black, dagger-like pattern cuts down the middle of the yellow. It shifts to the right, towards us. The yellow narrows.

  It’s an eye.

  The rushing of air increases. It’s then that I realize it isn’t just air—it’s breathing.

  The object shakes and shifts, replacing its smooth grey surface with a red scaly one. It—or rather the head—pulls away from us and rises up … up … and up into the air. Two bursts of yellow and red flame briefly pour from nostrils forming at the end of a long snout. A rippled neck leads into a white, slightly sparkling belly. Muscles twitch and ripple under scales, stiff wings awkwardly stretch fifty feet away, and a growl rumbles from deep within the beast’s throat.

  All I can do is stand there. Even after all of the crazy things I’ve seen, all I’ve done … something like this is still beyond belief, beyond sick, beyond dope.

  The dragon snaps its horned head around, looking down at us.

  Beyond epic.

  Gabe … if we’re not going to run from the giant thing that wants to kill us, perhaps we should shoot it with our nifty Grav Blasts, yes?

  I raise my hand and fire a Grav Blast at it. It turns its head sharply and blinks and the blue energy exploding off its snout.

  And that’s it.

  Just a blink.

  A bubble ripples from a swollen belly all the way up its long neck. It lowers its head and extends an angry, tooth-filled jaw.

  A sea of roaring flame rushes at us.

  M raises our force field. Ember jumps in front of us, fiery shield raised. My foot hangs out from under her shield, and I yelp before pulling it back in.

  “How high is our force field right now?” I say, surprised at the pain in my foot.

  It’s maxed, Gabe. Whatever powers that creature’s flame … our field is no match for it.

  “This is all I have!” Ember yells over the gusts, blazing into her shield.

  The flames peter out, leaving nothing but the silence of the burnt and smoking brick around us. The dragon’s breath quickens and it paces back and forth anxiously, in a half circle. Its yellow eyes narrow as if its trying to figure out how it didn’t kill us.

  “Dragons, really?!” Ember says through a quick whisper. “We have to kill a dragon to get the Magick back?! Why didn’t Obi’s book say something about this?”

  The firelight dances across the shiny scales on the dragon’s belly and then I notice something on its chest: a bare spot, free of scales or sparkle. “Wait, the book did! That’s what Obi was trying to say: it’s not the Legacy of Token—it’s the Legacy of Tolkien? As in The Hobbit Tolkien.”

  Ember nods, seeing the bare patch on its chest. “As in Smaug. That means—wait, you think a Sayer read Smaug to life?”

  I shake my head. “I think a Sayer read something like Smaug to life. Something that would hoard Magick the way he hoarded gold.”

  “What kind of sick, twisted shit came up with this?” Ember says. “And how is a Ward supposed to kill it? I can’t reach that spot on its chest. It’s too quick, too big—”

  The dragon lets loose with another douse of flame. Ember raises her shield and keeps her head low. I stoop behind her, hands on her thighs. “And too goddamn deadly!” she says.

  “Where’s our closest route back to the surface?!”

  “HOW SHOULD I KNOW?” Ember yells, right in my ear.

  I’m sensing a thinner layer of brick and concrete one mile behind. We should be able to blast through there.

  My grip tightens around Ember’s waist and I fly backwards, careful to keep her shield between us and the scorching flames.

  “What are you doing?” Ember yells, wiggling. “I can’t kill it if I’m not in the same goddamn room with it!”

  Such a potty mouth.

  “Don’t you think they thought the same thing?!” I say, pointing to the Ward skeletons under us. “This thing will roast us in here. I’m faster in the air. So that’s where we need to be!”

  I flatten out and Ember twists onto my back. “But I can’t fly!”

  “You worry about swinging those swords. Let me worry about the flying!”

  The tunnel fills with the angry, terrifying screech of a dragon. I risk a look back: It flies through the tunnel, galloping on the very air itself. It turns slightly sideways, opens its jagged, toothy maw and the wink of another fiery gust flares from somewhere deep inside it. I bank right and roll left—the geyser of flames claw the wall, narrowly missing us.

  I pour on more speed, trusting M to tell me if there is a sudden turn. Ember tightens her muscled arms around my shoulders. The tunnel curves up.

  “How is he flying?” I say. “His wings aren’t even flapping!”

  “Magick! Has to be!”

  Its method of flight seems very similar to ours.

  “How is that possible?!”

  “With Magick, anything is possible!” Ember says.

  Ember, Tommy, that creature, even the device that Tommy used—all of them have that same sort of odd energy pattern. So whatever gave them their abilities is obviously connected in some way. But the dragon has something new: Its flight has the same sort of emissions we do.

  “Ramma Radiation,” I whisper, just so M can hear.

  Exactly. And I believe the dragon senses our Ramma Radiation as well.

  “The dragon wants me,” I say. “He thinks my powers are Magickal, and he wants to add them to his stash.”

  I believe so. But that also implies something else …

  “What?” Ember says. “How is—”

  Another gust of flame spreads over the ground under us.

  “Explanations later! Where can we get out of here?”

  “Why do you keep asking me that?!” Ember says.

  Just ahead to your left. There. M turns a section of the brick blue for me.

  “Hang on!” I slow enough to blow the total crap out of the wall with three massive Grav Blasts. Brick and concrete explode, bouncing off the forcefield M throws up around both me and Ember.

  The snowy streets of Prose open up in front of us. We’re hovering next to the Apple Street diner. An old man stares at us from one of the diner’s windows, cup of coffee frozen at his lips.

  “That thing may use Magick to fly,” I say. “But it breathes. It definitely has to do that.”

  The dragon roars from deep within the blackness behind us. The windows rattle and car alarms wail down Cheery Street .

  Ember adjusts her weight on my back. “Can we solve the mystery of the breathing dragon after you let me down?”

  People in the diner rush to the window, anxiously looking from me to the hole. They’re waiting to see what’s going to happen, what they can take pictures of, and what kind of story they’re going to have to tell people for years to come.

  Two glowing yellow dots appear, deep within the darkness.

  “Sorry, letting you down isn’t part of the plan that kills this thing.”

  “Well, what is the plan?”

  “Hold on. As tightly as you can.”

  She wraps her legs around my waist. The yellow eyes grow brighter and they bounce up and down, with the steady cadence of the dragon’s flight. Flames pour out of the hole …

  And we take of
f—straight up, sending a funnel of snow into the air.

  “M, keep the forcefield up, even if we don’t get hit!”

  What?

  “What?!” Ember says.

  “Just hang on!”

  The night around us brightens, light as day. I bank left—barely missing a fireball roaring into the clouds.

  What are you doing? We can fly faster than this.

  “I’m not trying to outrun it! I just want to lead it!”

  Then, in a move I wouldn’t have given the dragon credit for being able to do, it produces a massive burst of speed and extends its neck right at me. Its jaw closes on either side.

  We’re trapped inside the freaking thing’s mouth.

  The dragon shakes its head and works it jaws into five quick, furious chomps. Its teeth slide and bounce off M’s maxed out force field, filling the reptile’s mouth with arcing blue energy. Ember lets loose with a mouthful of swears that would make Major Mayhem blush.

  Know this, Gabe: I’ll leave you and take my chances with The Void before I let all that I am end up as this creature’s defecation …

  The dragon screams in frustration, and jerks its head away, sending us cartwheeling through the clouds of the night sky. It swipes a massive paw our way, barely missing us.

  I pour on the speed. Ember screams and we haul ass by the clawing, flaming, pissed off dragon—the clouds parting in our wake.

  Gabe, we won’t be able to stand much more of those attacks. The force coming out of the creature’s jaws is considerable.

  A chomp, I jerk right.

  Another chomp, I jerk left.

  The world curves away from us on either side. I slow and roll, looking back. Below us, the dragon rears back, puffs out its belly and lets loose with another jet of flame.

  Or rather it tries to …

  The dragon looks at its snout—the one that should be pouring fire but isn’t. Its yellow eyes bulge from its sockets, looking at me as if I’ve somehow betrayed it. Massive talons claw at its own throat.

  “Isn’t oxygen a bitch?” I say.