by Ian Withrow
With a violent shove the centuries-old door exploded into fragments, filling the hallway beyond with splintered wood. Two of the men must have been bracing against the door, because they were now sprawling on the floor. The other four opened fire in a desperate but futile attempt to defend themselves. The bullets still hurt, and they drew ragged welts and shallow cuts through her skin, but they were no longer able to penetrate more than a few millimeters. The smell of their fear was delicious, and her chest growled with the same gnawing hunger she had felt before. The small voice within her was finally silenced as she strode over to the men still struggling to stand. The band of men spent their last precious moments of life scrambling to evade her, but she was too strong, too fast, and too unforgiving.
When the last man’s cries of anguish finally ceased and she dropped his lifeless body to the floor, she took a moment to relish the stillness. It didn’t last long, her ears picked up the sounds of sirens, of running feet, of the flapping of birds wings high above the building and the skittering of mice in the tunnels below as well. The overload of sensory information was nauseating. A migraine blazed across her mind like a brush fire, but she shook her head and focused as hard as she could.
There.
She could tell it was him, though she wasn’t sure how she knew. It didn’t really matter to her, frankly. For the better part of an hour she stalked him through the once-hallowed halls of the Vatican, consuming those unlucky enough to cross her path. She never wavered from the scent of his terror, and when she finally found him cowering in an armoire on the third floor she couldn’t help but grin.
“Good evening, your Holiness.”
The terrified pontiff fell to his knees before her, his hands clasped in front of him and his head bowed low. His pitiful display did nothing but add disgust to her anger.
“Please, please forgive me Lauren. I-I have sinned, forgive me. Show mercy and I will praise your name. I swear it.”
“Beg.”
The short, simple command was heeded immediately. The man grovelled, clutching at her ankles and kissing her feet, babbling incoherently for her to forgive him and denouncing the error of his ways.
Lauren sent him sprawling with a casual backhand. He lay where he landed, weeping. She took the two steps needed to reach him and crouched down. Her wings cast an ominous shadow over both of them and she reached a hand out to cup his chin and forced it upward.
“Look at me. I want to see your eyes.”
Her heart skipped with wicked glee at the terror she saw in the man. Here was one of the most powerful men in the world, so frightened at her presence that he could not even speak.
“You want my forgiveness?”
He nodded silently, his eyes closing and tears pouring down his face.
Lauren slowly squeezed. Her hand, still wrapped around the Pope’s jaw, tightened until the man’s eyes snapped back open. He struggled, but couldn’t break her grip.
“Look. At. Me.”
He tried and failed to speak through her fingers. Instead, the only noises in the room were his desperate squeaks of pain followed by a sudden crack, like a walnut breaking beneath a hammer. Lauren smirked as his jaw broke like a dry twig and she felt his teeth tumbling inward as she tightened her grasp.
Lauren loosened her grasp, allowing her powers to heal the poor man.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed.
The pope started praying softly in Italian. The beautiful sounding words did nothing but irritate Lauren. She gripped him by the collar and shook him, hard. He wept, but screwed his eyes shut even tighter and continued his prayers.
“Do you think God can hear you now? Do you think he will forgive you?”
Lauren dragged the man to a window overlooking the courtyard and tossed him through like a ragdoll. He hit the stones feet first, his legs breaking with an audible pop amidst a throng of guards and first responders. Lauren leapt out and swooped down to land beside him. The crowd parted and many of the police and guards drew their weapons.
Lauren kept her eyes locked on the man who had murdered her father. He was trying to crawl to a nearby medical team, his shattered legs sticking out at odd angles behind him. She strolled lazily over to him and rolled him over with her foot. Lauren knelt beside him, leaning down to whisper in his ears.
“If there is a heaven it is not for men like you. Cowards that kill in the name of God. Let me tell you a secret.”
She leaned back and stared into his eyes, one hand on either side of his face.
“There is no god.”
With that, she drained his lifeforce. Lauren smiled, enjoying the sight of his eyes sinking back into his skull and his skin turning papery and white. Perhaps it was the length of his life, perhaps it was the pleasure of exacting her revenge, but his death tasted particularly sweet to her darkened heart.
Bullets tore across the courtyard as policemen and the Swiss Guard opened fire. The bullets stung like angry hornets and Lauren raised her wings protectively once more. With a mighty downward beat Lauren leapt into the sky, black feathers falling like rain as she ascended.
She was a thousand feet in the air in the matter of a few heartbeats, her strong wings propelling her easily through the skies. She looked down at the city and felt, for the first time, utterly unafraid.
Dreadful clarity brought an icy peace to her heart and mind as she contemplated her next move. Her options had always seemed so limited before, and now the entire world seemed so… inviting.
Unfortunately, her thoughts turned immediately to Valerie and a tiny farmhouse outside of London. A queasy feeling gripped her stomach and dampened the rush of strength and emotion coursing through her veins. It triggered a chain reaction and she felt her emotions begin to tumble uncontrollably like they had before at the BT Tower. She tried to clear her head, to regain the clarity of a few moments before, but she was overcome by the flood inside her brain. Her stomach was twisting itself into painful knots and she felt like she might be sick.
She turned herself northward and flew by instinct. Her head felt like it was splitting open and the pain was so intense she found it hard to see straight. She alternated between incredible pain and intense, exhilarating euphoria. One moment her stomach was churning, the next she felt fine.
Lauren made it a few miles outside of the city before she was forced to land. She impacted the ground a little harder than she intended, and fell to her knees at the base of a grassy hill.
The world seemed to spin around her and she heard a dozen screaming voices ricocheting within her skull. Each voice brought with it a flood of emotion. She found herself laughing hysterically while tears streamed from her eyes, sobbing uncontrollably while smiling so wide it hurt her cheeks, and everything in between.
Her roiling stomach finally proved too much, and she could no longer keep herself from vomiting until her empty stomach had nothing to produce. She heaved so hard that stars popped in her vision. She felt her fingers digging into the dirt as she gripped the ground.
What the hell was happening to her?
Lauren punched the ground, her fist sank several inches below ground level with a thump. The noise was overshadowed by a crackling bang like a peal of thunder. Lauren had only heard the sound once before in her life, but it was burned into her mind nonetheless. She stumbled to her feet, blinking away tears and casting terrified looks around herself.
“Hello, Lauren.”
She froze.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she trembled with fear. She was frozen, rooted in place like a rabbit beneath the shadow of a hawk.
Lauren’s body finally began to behave. She raised her wings and turned slowly to see Weyland standing a dozen feet away. His musclebound frame was covered only by a dark red kilt and a wide leather belt.
“Lauren, please don’t leave. We need to talk.”
His voice was soft and he held his hands out palm up, as if to beg her to stay. But his hands held no promise of safety to her. Her
skin crawled at the memory of those hands dragging her across fine silk sheets, of them stripping her of her dignity.
Lauren narrowed her eyes, her pulse quickening. She balled her fists and tensed like a tiger ready to pounce. Her steely new muscles bunched as her fight-or-flight instincts kicked into overdrive.
“Get away from me.”
Weyland closed his eyes and dropped his hands to his sides where they solidified into fists. Lauren could see that Weyland was trying to control his temper, but the air around him began to shimmer with heat. When he spoke again it was through gritted teeth.
“Lauren, you don’t understand.”
“Oh don’t I?”
Lauren spat the words at him, and he flinched as though she’d struck him.
“No!”
Lauren took an involuntary step backwards at the sudden ferocity of his voice. He seemed to take note of it and dropped his tone immediately. Too late though, his temper triggered her own and a decision was made deep in her brain.
Fight.
Lauren lunged, driving her fist towards his proud chin. He sidestepped her easily and she skidded to a halt several yards beyond him before whipping around to face him once more.
“No. No you don’t understand. This… this isn’t your path. This is where you are supposed to be. I am your destiny. It is fated. Don’t you see that?”
“You mean I belong to you.”
She lunged again. This time he didn’t move and her hand collided with the chiseled stone of his face with a resounding thump. The blow would have powdered concrete, but he barely moved. Lauren felt her bones groan and buckle painfully but she ignored it. She followed her poorly thrown punch with another, and then another, pummeling uselessly at Weyland’s face and chest.
She could see his temperature rise as heatwaves poured off his body and burned her skin, but he kept himself in check. Lauren’s battered hands were leaving bloody fist-prints on his skin when he finally crackled out of existence again and reappeared a few feet behind her.
“Lauren, we aren’t like these… these mortals. We are above them! Their affairs are nothing to us but the idle buzzing of bees of the toil of ants.”
Lauren tried to catch her balance after his sudden relocation and stood there, her shoulders heaving and sweat dotting her brow.
“So you’re here to what, lecture me for killing the men who murdered my father?”
“What care I for the lives of a few men?”
“Oh, then maybe you intend to claim me as your trophy and lock me away in your palace like some brainless damsel, to be used at your convenience and for your pleasure?”
“Am I truly so poor a match?”
Weyland opened his arms, displaying his impossible physique. He wore a cocky, self-indulgent smile that made Lauren’s blood boil.
“Or perhaps you have a better offer. Maybe there is some other God you seek to bed.”
Lauren could feel the oily darkness within her coiling like a viper, baring its fangs defensively.
“I deserve a choice! You cruel, heartless bastard-”
The sound of approaching aircraft interrupted their shouting match and Lauren turned her attention back to the skies. Several helicopters were approaching their position, but they looked unfamiliar to her.
These aircraft were different from those she’d seen before. They were sleek, dark, and flying just above the treetops. The helicopters were still several thousand feet away when she heard a distant buzzing noise and watched plumes of smoke appear in front of them.
A heartbeat later found Lauren crouching down amidst a torrential downpour of steel rain. Bullets pockmarked the ground around the two of them, throwing dirt skyward all over the side of the hill.
Lauren screamed as a round found its mark in her wing. The second joint in her left wing, the one that controlled its opening and closing, exploded in a spray of bone fragments and bloody feathers. Another tore into her right thigh and she dropped to her knees clutching her broken limbs.
She felt a shadow cast itself over her, and while the rounds were still chewing up turf around her there were no more blows to her body. She looked up to see Weyland’s muscular back. Sparks flew as bullets shattered on his chest, leaving him unmoved.
“Are you alright?”
Weyland’s powerful voice cut through the roar of the machine guns. Lauren was in too much pain to be shocked at the concern she heard, and she could do no more than whimper.He glanced back over his shoulder and she nodded at him as her body began to stitch itself rapidly back together.
Weyland’s eyes were already brilliant orange coals, and the burned even hotter at the sight of her pain. He turned his attentions back toward the helicopters and clenched his fists. Unfortunately, as Lauren was well aware, Weyland could not reach them.
Weyland turned to face Lauren and offered her his hand. She couldn’t help but flinch, and as her wounds healed and her mind cleared, she took note of the pain on his face. It only lasted a moment, then his hurt expression returned to stony indifference.
“Take my hand, I will get you out of here.”
She didn’t want to. Every part of her wanted to stay as far away from him as possible. But as he shielded her from a torrent of gunfire she couldn’t help but feel grateful.
Lauren reached up, and the moment she grasped his outstretched hand she felt herself twist inside out. In an instant it was over, but her stomach still felt tied itself in knots and she barely resisted the urge to vomit once again.
Lauren was standing next to Weyland at the top of a massive peak. The air was cold and thin, but all around them was a breathtaking landscape of snow-capped mountains and wide fertile valleys. There wasn’t a sign of human habitation as far as the eye could see.
They were still holding hands for a moment before Lauren yanked hers away. She wrapped her arms around herself and stood awkwardly at his side. She was grateful, but couldn’t bring herself to hate him any less.
“Lauren you belong with me.”
“Stop it. Just… stop saying that.”
The stood silently staring at the land around them for several moments before Weyland spoke again. When he did so, his voice was soft.
“It’s beautiful isn’t it? The last time I walked this island it had never before been seen by the eyes of men. It was one of many such places. The world was younger then. Now mankind has spread to all corners of the globe.”
Lauren hadn’t the faintest idea of where she was, let alone when it was discovered, so she kept her mouth shut. It didn’t stop Weyland from speaking. In fact, it seemed to encourage his monologue.
“I have tried to lead mortals for centuries, millennia even-”
“Stop… leave me alone.”
He stopped mid sentence and snapped his mouth shut.
“What do you want Lauren?”
What did she want?
“I want my dad back. I want my best friend back. I want to stop hurting all of the time. I want to stop feeling like every breath I take is a burden.”
Lauren’s words were barely above a whisper, but she was certain he heard her clearly.
“I cannot bring them back from the dead. That is beyond even me.”
“Then kill me.”
He was startled by her matter-of-fact request.
“Are you truly so ready to die? So willing to leap from a cliff with no idea of what lies at the bottom? How is it that with all the power you possess, you can think only of throwing it away?”
“Well? Are you God or aren’t you? Can you do it?”
He seemed to consider his next words carefully.
“Do you fear death, Lauren?”
“No.”
She was lying. Her heart fluttered at the idea of being truly, irrevocably gone, but she hoped he could not tell. Maybe he could see it in her eyes, maybe he lacked the power to destroy her, but whatever the case he simply turned and looked away from her.
Her cheeks burned. From anger, from rejection, from the shame she
felt in being forced to be grateful to him, and from the desperate need for answers she felt inside.
“What am I?”
He shifted his footing almost imperceptibly. Long minutes passed before he cleared his throat softly and spoke at last.
“We are Gods, Lauren. Destined to be together since long before your birth, before mine even. I fought to rule this world, and I won. I’ve waited so long for another chance, and here you are at last. The natural queen to my kingdom.”
Lauren inched away, frightened by the realization that there was nothing here to protect her from him. The need to flee built in her chest, pushing her heart into her throat until she could bear it no more.
“Where are we?”
“I’m told the people of today call it New Zealand, when I knew first it, it had no name but beautiful.”
New Zealand? Damn, an island in the middle of the ocean. That left Lauren with precious few options. She was certain he’d chosen this place for just that reason. She shuffled farther away and looked at Weyland out of the corner of her eye.
“Why here?”
“This is the farthest point on earth from Italy. I could think of no safer place for you.”
The answer was matter-of-fact, as though jumping across the planet in the blink of an eye were no extraordinary task. He didn’t even turn to look at her when he said it. It wasn’t until he noticed her staring at him that finally turned.
“What?”
“Thank you.”
It irritated her to say it, but she couldn’t deny that he had aided her.
“You are welcome.”
“I… I want to go home now.”
She tensed, waiting for him to display the latent aggression she knew was lurking in the monster beside her. She found herself surprised once more when he simply nodded and held his hand out.
Chapter Nine
Natalie hated heels, but here she was half-running and half-stumbling down a long marble hallway, clicking like some insufferable clock. In her hands she carried several thick folders and dozens of loose papers, none of which she dared drop. For the first time since entering Weyland’s service she was wearing something approaching business professional wear.
