Spike’s eyes narrowed, and a murderous scowl marred his face, “Hey, you’re that punk kid from under the bleachers. Didn’t you read the note? I ought to see how big you talk after I give you an extra nostril.”
Rich held firm, but felt his legs start to tremble. There was something strange at work here. He knew Spike was a punk, but this was insanity. Spike’s eyes didn’t seem to focus on anything, but instead, they darted wildly from side to side like a cornered bear.
“Back off, Spike,” Joe said. “Think about what you’re doing. My boys trashed you once, and I can do it again.”
Spike laughed, sounding more like a howler monkey than a human. “No, no, you need to think about what you’re doing! Your boys aren’t here to help you now. Twelve against two? That’s suicide.” Spike cracked his knuckles and then his neck. “If that’s what you’re looking for, come and get it.” He gestured to his gang with his head. “Get ‘em.”
The other eleven gang members rushed forward, screaming and swinging their torches like madmen. The first reached Rich in seconds, and Rich was ready for him. Rich’s gift of predicting his opponent’s actions had returned, and he easily dodged several swipes of the torch and countered with a single swipe that took off the torch’s head and sent it flying across the street.
Unfortunately, three others quickly joined the first attacker. Rich swung his sword in a wide arc, trying to keep them out of striking distance. The gang fanned out, closing in from all sides.
The first enemy made a quick hand gesture, and all four rushed in at once. Rich lowered his shoulder, barreled into one gang member, and felt the searing heat of the torches as they closed in around him. He dashed away at top speed and realized in horror that his hat was on fire. Rich reached up and flung away the burning garment, scorching the tips of his fingers. He closed his eyes and imagined a sturdy metal helmet. Let them try to burn that.
Rich glanced backwards and barely dodged the handle of a torch swung like a club. He lashed back and briefly thought of conjuring up other weapons, but quickly discarded the thought. He didn’t want to actually harm any of them, only keep them from ruining the fair and hurting others.
In a sudden flash of inspiration, he realized he needed a distraction. Rich brought the sword close to his face and spoke. “Zahn, I’m going to lift you up, and I want you to yell with everything you’ve got. I need the people in the next town over to hear you.”
Rich thrust the sword into the air, and a piercing wail like a chorus of tornado sirens burst from the sword. The sword sustained the note as only one with lungs could, increasing both the pitch and the volume with every second. Though Rich could hear the sound, it didn’t have the same crippling effect on him as it had on the others.
The gang members fell back, clutching their ears, and Rich took the chance to run to Joe and grab him by the arm. He shouted to be heard over the din. “Fall back! We can’t take them alone!”
Joe nodded and scrambled backwards with Rich right behind him. They were halfway to the fairgrounds when the sword finally stopped wailing.
Rich brought it up in front of his face and smiled. “Zahn, when you do a job, you never do it halfway, do you?”
The sword gleamed, and Joe shot Rich a questioning glance. “You’re going to have to explain to me sometime how you did that.”
“Deal.”
They reached the fair, which was in pandemonium. Several of the tents were already alight, and people rushed about frantically, nearly trampling each other in their attempt to escape. Dark smoke billowed all about, making it hard to see, and everywhere, Rich could hear cries of pain and terror. Rich’s breath caught in his chest. “Wha—what? How?”
Joe’s face twisted in a venomous scowl. “They weren’t alone. Spike’s gang was only part of the attack. Probably some other gangs wanting in on the action.”
“Those…those…” Rich fell silent, realizing that he couldn’t find a word vile enough to accurately describe the attackers. “We’ve got to help. Come on!”
They dashed in together, singling out the gang members with torches and bringing them to the ground. Rich searched all about for his cousins and Aaron, but they were nowhere to be seen. There was no sign of Mallory either, and he hoped against hope that she had managed to escape. She had a lot of explaining to do.
Rich’s intuition warned him of an approaching blow from behind. He whirled around to face it, but in mid-turn, he caught a glimpse of Mallory’s face in the crowd, contorted in terror. He cried out and felt the blow connect hard with his head, rattling it around inside his helmet. His head swam, and colored lights floated before his vision. Another blow hit him from the other side, and all faded to blackness.
Chapter 11: Model of Evil
Smoke. The only thing in Rich’s world was smoke. It captured all his senses, seared his skin, obscured his vision, invaded his nostrils, and burned his throat. He tried to rise, but instantly felt so lightheaded that he fell back down. He waited a few seconds and then rose to his knees, making sure to keep low to the ground. All about him lay the smoldering remains of the fair—an empty, barren, burning wasteland. The shouting had now gone quiet, leaving only the sound of the moaning breeze.
“Heinrich.” The voice was no more than a hint on the breeze. Rich squinted and looked around, but he couldn’t see anything. “Rich, I’ve returned,” said the voice, a bit louder. Rich turned toward the sound.
”Richie!” the voice was feminine and mocking.
Rich turned just in time to see a figure slink out of the haze. He breathed in sharply and inhaled a mouthful of ash. He coughed and spluttered until his chest muscles and lungs burned with exertion. He dropped to one knee just as a dark shadow spilled over him.
“Yes,” said the voice. “That is the proper stance—kneel before me. Just as your kind should kneel before my kind.”
Rich felt the heat of the burned fair being replaced by the chill that usually only comes in the dead of night. His nemesis. He rose to meet her gaze and confirmed what he had only recently suspected. As awful as they were, Spike and Mr. Bickmann had nothing to do with this.
Mallory.
The night at the campfire, the notes in his locker, the spelling bee. She had always been there when trouble had turned up. And the cheerleading coach had said she was new and didn’t know where she had come from. Likely no one would have believed the truth.
“Hi, Mallory—or should I say, Vanessa? Tell me, what were your evil plans for our date tonight? Poison my food? Forget to leave a tip?”
She grinned, the same way she always had. Before, it had made his heart flutter. Now, it made him shudder with grim anticipation.
“Actually, I was trying to convince old Joe there to do my bidding, but someone had to go and spoil that rather fine piece of work. He was even easier to convince than Spike, and Joe did a very nice job.”
She pursed her lips and then shrugged as if tossing off Joe’s memory like an empty soda can. “But enough about them. It’s you I’m really interested in. Now we fight for the last time.”
She exhaled, and her breath made frosty clouds. She rose and lowered her head, forming a steady column of mist. After a few seconds, she stopped, and the mist parted to reveal a slender sword formed of gleaming black ice. She raised the blade and pointed it directly at Rich. At once, the dark symbols on his arm flared up, and Rich’s entire body cramped up, like a charley horse all over. He gasped for breath, but couldn’t get his lungs to fill, and the surface of his skin felt like it had thousands of tiny spiders crawling over it. She held it there for several excruciating moments, and then let the blade fall to her side.
“That was for the little stunt with the scribe. I don’t know how you did it, but it was an effective tri
ck.”
Rich coughed again. “Let me guess—they let you off with some community service hours.”
Mallory smiled using one corner of her mouth and lashed out with the black blade. Rich rolled out of the way of the strike and finally managed to make it to his feet. He reached out with his healing sense to focus on his opponent’s blade and found that she’d learned from her previous mistake. This sword was cold and dead.
Mallory rushed forward and slashed at his face with her blade. Rich brought Zahn up and pressed back, sending flurries of dark snow raining down on him. The shards of ice stung as they landed on his clothes and then burrowed down into his skin. Rich screamed and stumbled back, instantly imagining a thick shirt of chain mail to cover his exposed body. It appeared sluggishly, first appearing as only an arm, and then growing link by link. They stood in the middle of the burned fairground, the only ones who had not fled.
Mallory shot back and formed her lips into an O shape. She exhaled quickly several times in succession, sending bolts of jagged black ice in Rich’s direction. Rich called up his energy shield to protect him, but the shield always appeared at the very last possible second, which sent part of the ice bolts back at him as they exploded into tiny splinters.
Mallory ceased her attack and fixed Rich with her deep, enchanting eyes. “How did it feel Rich?”
“How did what feel? Getting stabbed? Knocked on the head? My hair burning off?”
Mallory rolled her eyes. “No, no, I can imagine all of those things quite well. I mean, how did it feel to think that someone besides your mother actually cared for you? You!”
Rich suddenly felt very hollow. He kept his face passive, though he had to fight to keep back a tear. He stared at her in disbelief. Even now, she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Somehow he had known that it was all too good to be true. Now, the fragile hope that had taken so long to grow was shattered into a worthless heap.
“I mean, why would someone so obviously beautiful and talented waste her time? You’re worthless, Rich! Not that many paladins amount to anything, but you’re a disgrace, even for them.” She threw back her head, her cruel laughter resounding through the ruins of the fair. “Worthless!”
Rich closed his eyes and tried to block out the words. His powers, though present, were responding reluctantly. He had given something up on the battlefield with Joe that he could not easily reclaim, and he suspected that he might not have his abilities at all. He had to end this quickly. He could feel the lethal surge of emotions boiling inside him, and he knew that if he let himself go again, he’d surely fall prey to his enemy.
He realized at once that he had no problem resorting to more drastic measures in this battle than with the gang members. Someone was going to get hurt in this match, and he might as well make sure it wasn’t him. Then again, he wanted to make sure he didn’t kill anyone. Concentrating all his mental energy, he pictured a small, sleek Taser like he’d seen police officers carry. It would bring his opponent down without killing anyone.
The image of the Taser shimmered and half materialized in his hand. He renewed his effort, and he felt the whole thing finally take shape in his fingers. Mallory sliced the air once in front of her and then rushed forward, rapidly swinging her blade in a cross pattern.
Rich’s stomach tensed as he brought up the Taser and pulled the trigger as fast as he could. The shot landed directly in her chest. Her whole body twitched for a few seconds, and he took advantage of that moment to run up and knock her over the head with the handle of his sword. She slumped to the mud. Her icy sword lodged handle up in the dirt, and its owner lay perfectly still.
It was one thing too many for Rich. He sank to his knees, tossed the Taser away, and spewed the contents of his stomach into the scorched grass. Hot tears rolled soundlessly down his face, and his wounded arm burned as if it had actually been on fire. How could it have been Mallory? Why couldn’t someone just actually like him for who he was?
On the ground, Mallory twitched, her hand grasped in a rigid claw. Her form flickered and blurred as if she were a figure in a watercolor painting.
Rich lay there, feeling his dreams being ripped apart. He had won, but at what cost to himself? He didn’t want to go on, didn’t want any more of this crazy life, no more of the fear and the pain, and the mystery.
For the first time, he imagined that he was normal.
A sudden noise shook Rich out of his train of thought. It was a loud hissing and bubbling, like raw meat thrown into hot oil. The sound grew in volume and intensity and was joined by a buzz like the feedback from an invalid radio station.
Rich sat up, wiped his mouth, and focused on the spot where Mallory lay. Acrid black smoke swirled about her, thicker and fouler than any produced by fire. The cloud grew and undulated, changing color, crimson to dark green and back to black. Vivid flashes of light burst from the center of the smoke, like camera flashes, but much brighter and longer.
Rich stood and clutched his sword. This confrontation was not over, and running was not an option.
It was then that Rich noticed something strange on the grass in front of him. He stooped down briefly and saw his model, broken in half, only the portion with the Hydra remaining. Disgusted, Rich kicked the model, sending it hurtling into the distance.
It was then that the first head poked out of the cloud. It matched the model so perfectly that for a moment, Rich forgot to breathe. Then, a second head, a third, a fourth, and then finally a fifth peeked out of the smoke. The massive barbed tail appeared, followed by towering wings and wicked claws. The smoke cleared, and the entire terrible beast stood unveiled before him. All five heads roared in unison, causing the ground under them to wobble precariously. Rich wished he’d done a model of a peaceful scene instead.
Chapter 12: When Life Gives You Lemons…
Rich thought that everything that was able to burn had already burned. He was wrong. A bout of flame erupted from three of the heads and sent Rich scurrying for cover. The rest of the grass, the remains of the tents, and discarded costume pieces all became ash instantly. Another head opened its mouth and spat out a thick sludge. The fire ignited the goo, and the resulting fumes turned Rich’s stomach into a heaving, knotting center of pain.
Rich glanced around, trying to see if there was anyone else still on the fairgrounds. He thought of Marie and Erica, hoping with everything in him that they had gotten away when all of this started. Hopefully, Aaron had thought of that. The possibility of losing any more family members made him sicker than breathing the smoke all around him. He lifted his sword and tried to focus his mind on what he had to do now.
“Only five heads, Master?” Zahn said. “We can do this! I once faced a creature with seven heads, and that time—”
“Tell me later!” Rich shouted over the creature’s roar. “I bet you didn’t go on a date with the monster before you fought it.”
“No,” Zahn agreed. “Trust me, Master, you can do this. I’ll help you!”
With new courage, Rich rushed forward with his sword drawn. Two of the Hydra’s heads opened their jaws and let loose a volley of their sharp teeth in a lethal cloud like a porcupine releasing its quills.
Rich dodged the volley, and watched with horrified fascination as the teeth created a Swiss-cheese pattern in the dirt.
It can only have so many teeth, right? It’s got to run out of ammo eventually.
To his dismay, no sooner had the teeth disappeared into the dirt than a fresh set of fangs pushed their way through its gums, ready to slash and shred.
With a roar, the beast unleashed a second sharp attack. Rich lifted his sword and conjured up his shield. The teeth disappeared into the glowing energy and left Rich with a chance to strike. He threw all his strength into the
blow, which hit the creature’s right front leg. The blow hit and glanced off with a metallic twang, but didn’t do anything.
Rich scrambled out of the way as the Hydra brought down a huge claw right on the place where Rich had been only a moment before. The barbed tail swung around and smacked the ground only two feet away. Rich lashed out with the edge of his sword, which sank several inches into the softer flesh of the tail. The beast roared and swung its tail back up, flinging Rich to the side with the sudden motion.
Rich flew through the air and had the presence of mind to imagine something soft to land on. A perfect replica of the mattress on his own bed appeared beneath him. He rolled off immediately just before the mattress disappeared inside a fireball from the creature’s nearest head.
Rich ran at full speed, putting some distance between him and the monster. “Any advice, dragon slayer?” he yelled at his sword.
“Capitalize on your powers. They are meant to counter those of your nemesis.”
“Great!” Rich yelled. “Is there one more no one has told me about? Like the one where I become a fire-breathing falcon or something?”
His intuition shot him a warning, and he leaped to the side just in time to avoid a fresh plume of flame. He brought up his shield, and a poison barb from the tail ricocheted off into the distance.
Empathy, healing, shielding…what good are these for offense? If the best defense is a good offense, my nemesis is holding all the cards.
He decided that his only chance lay in trying other weapons. Luckily, he’d seen his fair share of war movies, and so he could accurately picture more than a few weapons.
He first conjured up a grenade and ran in a snaking pattern at his opponent. One of the Hydra’s heads reared up and snapped at him, and Rich pulled the pin and lobbed the explosive into the creature’s open mouth. However, instead of exploding, the beast swallowed the explosive and belched it back at Rich as a giant fireball. Rich ducked, and the fireball soared over him, setting a huge patch of grass ablaze. Rich weaved and dodged, waiting for an automatic weapon to materialize in his hands.
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