by Phil Stern
“Tiffany! Duck!” Marissa yelled from behind.
Desperately throwing herself flat down on the bridge surface, the airborne-wielded club barely missed the back of Tiffany head. Passing mere feet over her now prostrate body, the attacking witch zoomed off with a maniacal laugh.
However, just as the old crone pulled up and began regaining altitude, a large, furry creature with a long straight tail flew out from underneath her dirty rags. Tumbling through the air, the rat landed right on Tiffany’s back, sinking it’s teeth into her shoulder with a delighted shriek.
Hostile magic instantly flooded Tiffany’s nervous system, nearly paralyzing her. Crying out in pain, the sorceress somehow managed to rear up just enough to desperately grab her earth stone.
The resulting pulse of pure earth fire did indeed blow the rat off her shoulder, the burning, writhing rodent flying off into space. But Tiffany’s general magical salvo also roared out in every direction, including straight down into the bridge itself. Eyes squeezed tightly shut, she was thrown ten feet straight up into the air by rebounding force of her own magic, the crack of bursting rock and roar of groaning, tortured metal dominating the immediate environment.
Once more, Tiffany’s training instinctively took over. Blocking out everything else, she now sent a comforting green pulse surging throughout her own body. Then, magically holding herself aloft, facing downward, the battered young woman carefully opened her eyes.
Shocked, the sorceress stared down through a freshly blasted hole in Orly’s Bridge. Even now, additional flagstones were crumbling off from the ripped, charred edge of the expanding gash. Clearly, the supporting arch underneath had also been damaged, with several large foundational stones and pieces of jagged metal majestically tumbling down towards the thin, muddy river far below.
Even as her brain was registering this horrific scene, a large rock impacted the back of Tiffany’s skull. As if from a great distance, she heard the triumphant cackle of a witch cruising directly overhead.
Instantly disoriented, the laser rifle slipping from her hand, Tiffany began to fall straight down through the hole in the intercontinental span. But just as she passed through the bridge floor, her body picking up dangerous downward velocity, a magical whip snaked out and wrapped itself firmly around Tiffany’s waist. Almost immediately jerking taut, the brunette found herself hanging about three feet underneath the bridge, helplessly watching her Coven Stick continue falling away to the ground below. By the time she remembered to magically grab at the weapon, it was already too far off.
Before Tiffany could even process this loss, Marissa had roughly pulled her back through the gaping gash in the bridge. Luckily she’d been yanked up with such force as to avoid being painfully dragged along the lip of the hole itself, instead whipsawed up and out several feet before being summarily hauled back over safe ground. Still, Tiffany landed in an ungainly heap, painfully banging her knee on a protruding flagstone.
“Stay here!” Marissa barked, her whip instantly pulling free of Tiffany and transforming into a sword. Nimbly avoiding the huge hole in the bridge, her fellow sorceress raced westward towards Barbara. Though it was hard to tell exactly, it seemed as if the Deputy Coven Leader had knocked out one of her antagonists while still wrestling with another.
Trying to rise, Tiffany’s injured knee instantly collapsed. Crying out in agony, she flopped back against the side wall, the fresh lump on the back of her head hitting flush on the hard stone. Wracked with pain and self-loathing, her brain throbbing uncontrollably, Tiffany’s deeper, simmering rage burst forth.
How much abuse were they expected to take? Now, along with seemingly every other magical creature in the universe, these filthy women were attacking the Coven? With the ruby organization always one step ahead of everything they tried to do, Tiffany and her sisters were obviously losing respect in many worlds.
Of course Tiffany herself made it quite easy for the old crones, dithering about while they waylaid her companions, including the woman she was charged with protecting. She’d been suckered, pure and simple, and now they were all paying for it.
Forcing her breathing to remain deep and even, Tiffany’s fury coalesced into a steely, vehement edge. Potent magic embracing her entire body, the powerful young woman’s skin now tingled with power. Reveling within her own intoxicating energy, she focused on a spare flagstone from the ruptured bridge haphazardly sitting ten feet away. With an almost sensual ease, the sorceress wrapped her energy around the useless hunk of rock, crushing it with a satisfying pop.
*****
Unlike many of her sisters, Tiffany rarely gave into this type of raw, visceral passion. After all, magically-fueled ferocity could be very dangerous for everyone involved. It was too easy to completely loose control, as she herself well knew.
Nearly a decade before, after her humiliation at the hands of the werewolves in this very dimension, 18-year-old Tiffany Smith had stewed about in a self-inflicted rage for two days straight. Barbara, sensing her near-hysterical delirium, had summarily whisked the neophyte sorceress off to Rasten. Within minutes she’d promptly pummeled one of the native, shape-shifting cats within an inch of his life. The bout had gone on much longer than it should have, Tiffany inflicting far more damage than necessary.
But how satisfying it was! To this day she could remember looking down at the utterly defeated Mepard, caught halfway between forms, lying bloody and broken on the forest floor. Fist still cocked, she’d yelled at their escorting unicorns to back off. This Mepard was hers! Why, if the miserable thing so much as twitched an ear, then she’d...
But a unicorn finally did knock her away, interposing it’s huge bulk between the berserk enchantress and the nearly-dead Mepard. Only then grabbing Tiffany by the shoulder, Barbara had spun the youngster about, her own eyes blazing pure green.
“This is your power, Tiffany! Your birthright!” Slowly nodding, Barbara held her eye. “The rage is true! You must feel it, use it. All these other creatures?” Dismissively, the older woman swept out an arm at the universe-at-large. “They are nothing compared to us! We have all suffered to become who we are! Now, we have the might, and we have the right! Never, ever forget that.”
Angrily slapping Barbara’s arm away, Tiffany had stalked off by herself, kicking the Mepard once more for good measure. Carefully trailed by one of the unicorns, she’d pounded about the magical woods for some time, cursing and raging. Several trees bore the brunt of the young sorceress’ fury, Tiffany’s slashing, sparking sword idly hacking off hunks of bark and low hanging limbs. Screaming at the sky, she’d peremptorily dismissed the concerned battle hawks as they tried to land nearby, the Coven’s avian protectors merely rising once more to circle at a safe distance.
But one can’t gallivant around forever in a magically-induced, self-righteous haze. Finally collapsing by the bank of a stream, the young, raw witch finally accepted the unicorn’s gentle nuzzle. Bursting into desperate tears, Tiffany hugged his comforting neck with all her strength, letting the equine’s natural magic commingle with her own. For some time they remained that way, Tiffany’s emotions pouring forth like water through a ruptured dam, the gentle unicorn coaxing her back into some measure of sanity.
Later on, recovering within her private Haven bedroom, still in the bloody, ruined jeans, Tiffany knew she’d gone too far. Passion was one thing. Luxuriating utterly within your inner storm? Quite another. Never again would she succumb to such dire emotions, inflicting her private rage upon the weak and innocent.
Tempering her power with hard-won skill and careful judgement, Tiffany had rocketed up the Coven ranks. Soon she was recognized as the very cream of the younger generation. Respected by all, her future seemed assured.
Sometimes, though, while drifting off to sleep, Tiffany would picture that broken Mepard. True, a young sorceress had to defeat at least one of the violent cat creatures, or else the entire pride would never leave her alone. But still, how had she ever lost control like that? As time went
on, it made even less sense. She’d never indulged herself that way at any other time, either before or since. Not even close.
Was there some loose, malevolent strand of her personality, waiting to burst forth again? Yes, she’d been very young, and her Mepard bout had been right after the disastrous werewolf battle. But those were only partial excuses. Was it possible that there was something really wrong with Tiffany, deep down? Might the same type of uncontrollable rage afflict her again one day, perhaps when there weren’t any unicorns to pull her back to sanity? The thought bothered Tiffany very much.
Four years later, dreaming of the incident yet again one night, she’d bolted awake with a scream. But this time, the distraught young woman finally realized the truth with searing, bitter clarity.
Barbara, standing back and watching the Mepard mauling, had actually enjoyed the barbarous display! In some bizarre, depraved fashion, she’d somehow gotten off on it! And sensing her mentor’s deep satisfaction with the protracted abuse...indeed, Barbara’s almost ebullient magical surge throughout...Tiffany had simply gone with the flow.
That’s why Tiffany had failed to rein herself in, long after the point had been made. Barbara hadn’t wanted her to! Not only had her early mentor failed to step in and curb Tiffany’s wild, violent excess, she’d subliminally egged her young charge on.
Still, no matter how much glee Barbara felt at the Mepard’s pain, it was Tiffany herself who had inflicted the damage. Filled with revulsion and self-loathing, she’d actually run into the bathroom and vomited.
Following this epiphany, staring at her own haggard face in the mirror, Tiffany Smith made a solemn vow. Never again would she surrender to her own inner demons. Or allow herself to be manipulated by others, on any level. She was stronger than that. Even for the Coven, she wouldn’t give up her basic, true self.
For clearly, there was a perversity in their power that went far beyond assisting the helpless and restraining the wicked. Barbara, and perhaps many others of her generation, were living proof of that. All the violence, the callousness, the men. It could harden anyone’s very soul, transforming even the purest of women into deviant, brutal witches.
Tiffany would never go down the same road. Ever. Power was one thing, abuse quite another.
But now look at her! Glancing around the almost ruined bridge, Tiffany nearly laughed out loud. By the stone, they were now the ones being abused! Without question, the broomstick flying biddies had viewed her initial gentleness as nothing more than soft, puerile weakness. Thus emboldened, they’d struck all the harder.
Well, there was a time for everything, even rage. And Barbara had been right about one thing, all those years ago. Immense might could be found within a sorceress’ inner pain, strength to be tapped when needed. In fact, this blending of magic and emotion had been key in defeating Lord Gensrow, her power flowing pure and true.
Yes, enough was enough. Idly crushing another rock, Tiffany instantly decided that none of these lunatics would escape this battle alive.
*****
Raising her grim visage to the sky, the infuriated sorceress saw two more hags puttering around on broomsticks. Quickly regaining her equilibrium, Tiffany looked around for something suitable for directing magical energy.
Instantly, her eyes settled on the discarded broomstick of the witch she’d kicked over the side of the bridge. A brief flare of power caused it to snap over into Tiffany’s hand. It felt kind of mushy, but under the circumstances would have to do.
Painfully rising again, she helplessly shook a fist at the two nearby witches, as if unable to hurt them. Taking the bait, one of them drifted quite close. Hovering right off the bridge, the old crone’s legs swung girlishly back and forth on each side of the broomstick.
“Boo!” she shrieked, giggling and pointing.
“Boo to you too!” Tiffany pleasantly agreed, raising the broomstick, like a rifle, to her shoulder.
Cackling anew, the witch only pointed and laughed some more. “Fuck you!” she shrieked. “I hate you!”
“Really?” Tiffany breathed, her flashing green eyes sighting in on the old woman’s chest. “Well, that’s just unacceptable.”
A potent surge of earth fire roared forth from the business end of the broomstick, fully engulfing the black-robed crone. Her initial shriek of surprise instantly became a wail of agony. Soon she was helplessly flapped her flaming arms about, both robes and broomstick fully ignited.
“No tolls today, unfortunately.” Clicking her tongue, Tiffany impassively watched the results of her handiwork.
Within seconds the witch had become a human pyre, her wails dying off completely. Soon both hag and broomstick tumbled from view, her burning stench wafting out over the bridge.
The last airborne witch stupidly watched her companion roast, flitting about just a little farther off. A compact surge of earth fire unerringly streaked out to catch her as well. Tiffany impassively watched the crone crash headfirst into the side of the bridge, burning and wailing. A moment later she was gone as well, with only an oily patch of smoke drifting up into the sky.
Extending her sensitivity to the surrounding area, Tiffany found no other targets. All the local witches had fled the airspace around the bridge. Turning aside, she jogged over to Barbara and Marissa.
No fewer than four dead witches were strewn about the area, one hag’s broken body half-thrown over the side wall. Still with her glowing green sword, Marissa stood over Barbara, who was sitting up against the bridge sidewall. Clearly the older woman was woozy, her face bruised and bloody.
“What’s your status,” Tiffany demanded, quickly looking around. “Where’s Solia?”
“We’re not sure.” Warily eyeing her friend, Marissa rested the sword over a shoulder. “How’s your head?”
“I’m fine!” she snapped, bending down to Barbara. “Hey, are you okay?”
“I’ll live,” Barbara sighed, rubbing her arm. “Those dirty bitches. I could kill every one of them.”
“That’s the plan,” Tiffany brightly agreed. “But Solia. What happened to her?”
“Solia?” Confused, Barbara touched a burn mark on her cheek. “I don’t know.”
“I think they nailed Barbara with some harsh stuff,” Marissa said. “She’ll probably be okay, but it might take awhile.”
Standing tall once more, Tiffany faced her fellow sorceress. “They must have knocked Solia off the bridge. I don’t think they could have carried her off.”
“Agreed.” Marissa’s hard eyes didn’t leave Tiffany. “They probably swung in behind her while you farted around with that old hag.”
“I think you’re right.” Her own gaze narrowing, Tiffany didn’t back away. “I want you to take Barbara to the eastern side of the bridge. I’m going down for Solia. We’ll meet up at rally point Zebra on the other side.”
“You’re hurt, Tiff. Maybe you should babysit Barbara while I go.”
“This is no time for a debate!” Stalking over to the bridge’s edge, Tiffany looked over the side. It was a long, long way down to the bottom of the deep ravine.
“Tiffany, stop,” Marissa commanded. Walking over, the brunette sorceress took her friend’s arm. “I know you want to go after Solia...”
“Marissa, just do what I tell you to do.”
“Hey, you’re not in charge here!” Marissa snapped back. “Our job is to protect Barbara! You’re wounded from that rat bite, and obviously in some kind of state! Diving down into that hell hole isn’t the right move here.”
“Really?” Her jaw tightly clenched, Tiffany jerked away from her Coven-mate. “I let this happen. I have to fix it.”
“We all let it happen.” Slowly, Marissa shook her head. “This whole mission has been a clusterfuck from the beginning. But our main job is to get Barbara to the river lands.”
“Then you chaperone her for now.”
“No.” Not backing down, Marissa confidently faced her Coven-mate. “We both get Barbara over the bridge, then I hike down
into the ravine for Solia. If she’s even still alive, which I highly doubt.”
Without replying Tiffany turned about and stepped up onto the top of the side wall. Standing tall, her black boots on the very edge of the rough rock, she looked out at the beautiful mountains to either side. Taking a deep breath, Tiffany then stared down into the muddy, overgrown ravine far below.
“You’re going to get killed!” From behind her, Marissa voice cut through a sudden gust of wind. “You don’t have anything to prove here!”
“Yes, I do.” Turning her head around, Tiffany studied her friend. “I always do, and you know it.”
“To yourself, maybe!” Marissa shot back. “And that’s your fucking problem! Tiffany Smith always has to be the heroine, and we all just get to stand back and watch!”
“So watch then, while I go help our Coven-mate!” The blaze of green returning to Tiffany’s eyes, she nodded at the eastern continent. “We meet at rally point Zebra.”
“Tiff! Wait...”
Turning her head around once more, Tiffany smoothly dove off of Orly’s Bridge into the vast unknown far below.
*****
Half-an-hour after leaving the parking lot, Adrina realized that shaking the two Haven witches was easier said that done. Still trailing a quarter-mile behind, they’d countered every attempt she’d made to simply lose them in the afternoon traffic.
Well, wasn’t that interesting. The ruby assassin had been given to understand that most of the Haven crew had very little experience on Earth. This would seem to argue otherwise.
Thoughtfully looking around, the steely blonde realized they were passing into one of the poorer sections of the city. Idly touching her ruby stone, she came to a sudden decision.
Hitting the accelerator and turning sharply, Adrina raced between two seedy buildings. A few blocks in, the narrow lane became an alley partially blocked by a trash bin. Screeching to a halt, she jumped out of the car and closed the door. Two homeless people stared at her in amazement, clearly unused to seeing a young, professionally-dressed woman in their alley.
