by N M Thorn
The door opened, and a woman walked inside. Gunz stiffened, not sure what to expect. She looked young, in her mid-twenties. Her hair, bright red and long, was braided and two thick braids were running down her chest. She was dressed in a short flowery dress and tall rubber boots, and her whole appearance seemed to be out of place in the gloomy darkness of this realm. Her bright green eyes moved up and down his unobstructed body and the corners of her full lips quirked up.
“You’re awake,” she stated in a deep, slightly raspy voice. Her voice didn’t seem to go well with her appearance either.
“Where am I?” asked Gunz. His lips moved, but no sound came out from his dry throat.
“Thirsty?” she asked, approaching a small table that was positioned next to the bed. Gunz heard her pouring some water in a glass. Then she gently lifted his head and pressed the glass with water to his lips. She let him take a few gulps of water and put the glass back on the table.
“Where am I?” asked Gunz, his voice just a whisper.
“You’re enjoying the hospitality of my five-star establishment, where luxury is not a choice but a way of life,” she announced, a one-sided grin on her face, “continental breakfast is included.”
“Untie me… please.”
“No can do,” she sang, landing on the edge of the bed next to him.
“Why?”
“If I untie you right now, you’ll scratch your skin off all the way to your bones,” she explained as she readjusted the rag that was covering his hips. “Besides, I’m enjoying the view too much.”
She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly and got up, moving something on the table. When she turned back to him, in her hands she was holding his Swiss army knife with one of the blades extended and tweezers. Gunz stiffened and his eyes widened. She noticed his reaction and chuckled.
“Relax, dude,” she said, sitting back down next to him. “Who do you think I am? I’m not going to torture you. Well… not true. I’m going to torture you. But not for the pleasure of it, I promise.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” mumbled Gunz.
“You dragged yourself through the thorny forest yesterday, you thundertwat. What were you thinking? Now I have to remove all the thorns that stuck to your body. Otherwise your wounds will never heal, and you’ll be itching like a dog full of fleas. So, yeah… I am going to torture you, but only to help you. Got it?”
“Uh-huh…”
“Do you want to come up with a safe word?” she asked snidely, an innocent smile plastered on her face.
Gunz wisely decided not to respond. She touched his arm, her fingers quickly exploring his skin.
“Sometimes you can’t see all the thorns because the smaller ones are stuck under your skin… Jeez, you’re like a giant pincushion.” She found what she was looking for and took the knife. “Now, do you want to bite on something before I cut?”
“Just go on already,” he muttered, turning away.
“Can’t tolerate the sight of your own blood?” she asked, snickering. “Don’t faint on me, my mighty warrior.”
With a quick, precise move, she made a deep cut on his skin and took the tweezers. Gunz grunted as she moved the tweezers inside the incision, searching for a thorn. Finally, she found it and pulled it out. The pain was a lot worse than he expected. He suppressed a scream, pulling against the ropes.
“What the hell was that?” he yelled as soon as he was able to speak, breathing laboriously. “Why is removing a thorn hurting so much.”
“You’re just a regular everyday genius, aren’t you?” she asked. If the sarcasm wasn’t obvious enough in her words, her bright eyes were flooded with it.
Still holding the thorn with her tweezers, she moved it closer to his face, so he could see it. The thorn looked like an arrowhead with jagged edges and multiple sharp hooks.
“Holy shit,” he muttered. “Are you ripping chunks of my muscles out as you’re removing those?”
“Something like that,” she agreed. “This is why I do the cut first, to minimize the damage. But it’s still going to hurt like hell. And you’re covered with these thorns from head to toe on your front. Well, ready for the next one?”
An hour later, Gunz was drenched in cold sweat and blood. He wasn’t trying to suppress his screams. He was screaming, cursing and begging her to stop, but she stubbornly kept going.
“Please,” he begged, panting, “stop… for a few minutes… Please… I can’t breathe.”
She stopped what she was doing for a moment, staring down at him with no sympathy in her green eyes.
“Luckily, your most precious place is free of thorns and your back is clean too. Most of the thorns were in your arms and chest with just a few in your legs, so I’m almost done,” she said dryly. “If you can’t take it anymore, I can punch you out. But I am not going to stop right now just to comfort you and wipe your tears with a lacy handkerchief. Don’t worry, I’m not going to charge extra for punching you out. That comes free of charge.”
An hour later she was done. She put away her instruments of torture and left the room. She came back a few minutes later with a bucket of water and a cloth in her hands. Without saying anything, she leaned over him and started wiping the blood and sweat off his body.
“You’re stronger than I thought,” she mumbled. “You’ll be all right, little man.” She pulled the rag off his hips and proceeded with her sponge bath. Gunz blushed and turned away. “Aw, are you shy? Don’t worry, I’m not planning to ravage you, taking advantage of your vulnerable state. As tempting as it sounds, it’s been years since I’ve been with your kind. Driving a stick hasn’t been my preference for a long time.”
She finished taking care of him and squeezed the bloodied cloth into the bucket with dirty water. After that, she grabbed a thin blanket and covered him, pulling it up to his chin.
“Untie me… please…”
“Not today, sweetheart.” She laughed and headed toward the door.
“At least tell me your name.”
She stopped at the door, one hand on the door handle and turned to him. “Maybe tomorrow. If you behave like a good boy, that is.” She laughed and left the room.
Gunz hardly slept, his body tormented by the constant nagging pain of multiple cuts. Besides, he wasn’t comfortable tied up to the bed, and his arms and shoulders were numb. He made an effort, trying to fall asleep, but as soon as he closed his eyes, all sorts of thoughts were crowding his mind.
He didn’t know how much time passed. The room he was in hadn’t changed, remaining semi-dark and gloomy. The only reason he knew that it was the morning of the next day was because the door opened up and the same young woman that was taking care of him yesterday, walked inside.
“Good morning,” she announced cheerfully, as she headed toward him.
“Depends who you ask,” muttered Gunz. “Please, untie me already.”
She didn’t say anything but took the blanket off him and proceeded to check his wounds. “Well, you’re healing nicely. Faster than I expected. Are you still itching?”
“No,” he growled, anger slowly rising within him. He pulled at the ropes and barked at her, “Untie me, now!”
She chuckled, patting his cheek. “Aw, you look so cute when you’re angry. Big strong man, shouting at a little lady and all. Do it again, would you?”
“Besides the point that I’m too weak to run, I don’t even know where I am,” said Gunz quietly. “And I would never hurt a woman. Please… my arms are about to fall off. I can’t stay in this position another minute.”
She stared down at him, frowning, and took the Swiss army knife off the table. Gunz thought she was going to cut the ropes off, but she didn’t. Instead, she touched his knife and whispered a short spell, turning it into the long medieval sword. She put the blade to Gunz’s neck, pushing his head up slightly. Gunz gasped, gaping at her flabbergasted. She was a witch, and if she knew how to turn his knife into a sword, she wasn’t new to the world of magic.
“N
ow, we’re going to talk, sorcerer,” she said icily, “and if you want to live, you’re going to tell me nothing but the truth. Am I clear?
“Yes,” said Gunz, calmly. “What do you want to know?”
“Let’s start with your name.”
“Zane Burns.”
“This sword is made of Ardenium steal. Where did you get it? This type of alloy doesn’t exist in our world.”
“It exists only in Kendral,” confirmed Gunz. “My mentor gifted it to me a while ago. In Kendral. And I’m not a sorcerer.”
“Oh, really?” she swung her arm and backhanded him.
Gunz grunted, feeling the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. “Why? I told you the truth…”
“Do not lie to me, asshole. You are saying that you are not a sorcerer, yet your chest is decorated by a rune that shadows your magical energy and your sword is enchanted.”
“I swear on my power, I am telling you the truth,” growled Gunz, his head still buzzing after the slap. “I’m not a sorcerer. I am a Fire Salamander. And the rune on my chest was forced on me by some crazy mage. I didn’t know it was shadowing my power. She didn’t tell me that. She said that I need to use this rune to communicate with her when I am ready to leave the Dark Nav.”
“If you’re not lying, then your mentor is—”
“Kal, the Fire Elemental,” said Gunz.
“Oh my God…” she whispered. “Milana was right…”
“Who is Milana and what was she right about?”
“Milana is my girlfriend. She has the gift of sight. She predicted that one day the Fire Salamander would come to the Dark Nav. I didn’t believe her. First of all, I didn’t know that besides Kal, there was another Fire Salamander. Second, Fire Salamanders are immortal, and to cross the veil one must die. And last, there are no elemental powers in the Dark Nav. Everything here is dead. The elemental powers are the base of life itself and they can’t exist here. This is why the elemental gods are not allowed in this realm either…”
The woman stopped talking and got up, moving the blade away from his neck. In one move, she cut the ropes that were binding his wrists and then freed his ankles. Gunz exhaled with relief, but he couldn’t move his arms down. She helped him lower his arms and started gently massaging his shoulders.
Gunz moaned softly as the pins and needles in his shoulders began to fade away.
“Am I pleasuring you well, my lord and commander?” she asked, giggling and threw a suggestive glance toward the rag that was wrapped around his hips. “Anything else you’d like me to massage for you?”
For a moment Gunz blushed taken aback by her forwardness, but then he smirked and retorted, “I thought you weren’t driving a stick anymore.”
“I’m not… But you know how it is… old habits die hard,” she murmured, exuding innocence and shyness. But then she clapped her hands together and started laughing. “Just kidding. Not in your lifetime, firetwat.”
“Firetwat, eh?” muttered Gunz. He tried to sit down but was too weak and gave up on that idea. “Now that you know who I am, do you want to tell me your name?”
“Sure, why not?” She chuckled, pulling a stool closer to his bed and sat down. “I’m Karma.”
“Karma,” repeated Gunz in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” she replied, folding her arms over her chest. “That’s what people call me.”
“Oh wow. I’m sure your mother didn’t curse you with this name,” he said, an uneven smile making an appearance before he could stifle it. “So, why do people call you that? Wait, don’t tell me… You kick ass! Right?”
“Ha-ha, very funny. What are you? A lie-down comedian?” she replied, narrowing her eyes at him. “Don’t I look like I can kick ass?”
Gunz took in her appearance. She was still wearing a light short dress with pink flowers on it. Today she didn’t have her rubber boots on. Instead, her feet were hiding in fluffy house slippers that looked like two pink bunnies, long ears and all. Before he could stop himself, he shook his head no.
“Men and their deadly stereotypes.”
She rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath. As she completed her spell, her appearance started to change. The light dress got replaced by a black leather jacket. Tight leather slacks wrapped around her long, toned legs. The bunny-slippers were gone, replaced by heavy motorcycle boots. Even her breasts seemed to get fuller, temptingly peeking through the half-opened zipper of her jacket. A short sword was strapped behind her back and a gun holster with a sizable Glock was attached to her hip. Her long red hair was flowing in rich waves and layers down her shoulders and her green eyes were shining with cold humor as she stared down at Gunz.
“So, now, in your manly opinion, do I look like I can kick some serious ass? Or should I manifest a Harley here to complete the visual?”
Gunz raised his hands up, shaking his head with a smile. “That wasn’t necessary. At least not on my account,” he said, chuckling. “I learned a long time ago that appearances could be deceiving. Especially in the world of magic. I’m sorry if I offended you, but I just wanted to know what truly lies behind your name. Why Karma of all things?”
“Because I don’t mind doing the dirty work and I always get the payback,” replied Karma coldly and walked out of the room, leaving him alone.
Chapter 8
~ Tessa ~
“Dear Diary… Oh, man… I hate these words. I hate this diary. And I hate writing it. But Missi insists that I do this. She keeps telling me that every Guardian Witch must have her diary and document everything for historical reasons. Or for future generations. Whatever… Well, my mom used to do it, so I’ll do it too.
How long has it been, since Missi and I left South Florida? I think almost eight months now. I can’t believe how fast time flies when you’re having so much fun. Fun? Yeah, right. Perhaps not everything is fun. Kicking some serious supernatural ass is always fun, of course. But it’s no fun when the supernatural assholes are kicking yours instead.
Or when Missi keeps nagging about the importance of learning magic and how to use my powers. That’s no fun either. Who would think magic needs learning and practicing, like math or something?
After all this time, we still don’t know who my parents are. And I kinda don’t care about it anymore. So, I know that one of my parents was a Reaper, and that explains my wonderful power that allows me to see the dead spirits and talk to them. Woohoo! Big friggin’ deal. My second parent is the real enigma though. I would really like to know who he or she was. Controlling the lightning and thunderstorms—that’s the coolest power ever.
But Missi manages to suck all the fun out of using this power. She keeps telling me that until I know the origins of it, I should not use it. Unless it’s a true emergency, of course. So, after seven months, I decided to cut the search and do what Missi said. Learn. (Can you see me rolling my eyes, btw?) I hated high school and the idea of coming back to learning was giving me a bad taste in my mouth. Anyway, Missi gave her recommendations to the Guardians Council and helped me pass their admission test. About a month ago, the Guardians had accepted me as an Apprentice.
I must admit that learning magic with the Guardians is not that bad. Except for the chores. I hate doing chores. I even hate this word—chores. But since I am still at the bottom of the food chain of the Guardians Order, I have to do whatever they command, including scrubbing floors and washing dishes.
Missi told me that my mom was a Guardian Mage, seventh level, which is the highest level you can achieve as a member of the Guardians Order. In the whole history of the Guardians, there were only five witches who achieved this level. I wonder how much time it took my mom to get there? Or was she so talented that she skipped a few levels?
Just in case someone who is not a Guardian reads my diary, I better explain. There are three different stages of being a Guardian—Apprentice, Witch, and Mage. And there are seven levels in each stage. Can you believe it? It’ll
take me forever to become a Mage. Or even a Witch. After one full month of torture, I’m still just an Apprentice, first level. Come on! It’s been a full month. Shouldn’t I be a Witch already? And I have the coolest power ever. None of the other apprentices have that. Sigh…
Anyway, I’m complaining too much. I better stop writing for today. Catch ya’ll on the flip side.
T.D.
P.S. Hey Aidan… I hope you will never read this diary, because I would never tell something like this to you in person. I miss you, old man. I still can’t forgive what you did. But despite it, I miss you. Painfully. Every single day…”
Tessa crouched behind a dumpster in a dark alley. Carefully, she peeked from behind the dumpster to observe two men, who were standing right on the edge of a parking lot on the back of a small bikers’ bar. At least twenty motorcycles were parked there, and the small bar was packed to the limit. The men didn’t notice that Tessa was watching them, and they were getting louder and more animated by the minute. She didn’t doubt that in a few minutes, fists would become their main way of communication, and they would start pounding each other.
Someone touched her shoulder. Tessa flinched and snapped around, suppressing a scream. Missi was crouching behind her. In the darkness of the midnight alley, in her black outfit, Missi was almost invisible. Only her bright gray eyes were standing out on her dark face. And they were heavily drilling Tessa, promising nothing good.
“What are you doing here, Tessa,” hissed Missi in her ear. “There is a demonic assembly of two opposing factions inside this bar.”
“Exactly, two birds—one stone,” murmured Tessa, getting back to watching the two men. She wasn’t planning on going inside the bar. She just wanted to observe the bar and see what the demons were up to. Maybe get rid of one or two once the assembly was over and most of the demons were gone… In the meantime, the men stopped arguing and now were talking quietly, looking down at something one of them held in his hands.
