Dirty Mirror

by R S Penney

  Isara stood on the ledge with one fist on her hip, the other pointing the gun down at the rooftop. “I prefer prey who can give me a challenge,” she said. “Which means I shall have to settle for young Jack, there.”

  Jack rushed over to Melissa, crouching down beside her. He looked up at the other woman. “You want a challenge? I'm always available,” he said. “But you should know I was trained by the best.”

  Isara chuckled.

  She turned on her heel, pacing along the edge of the rooftop, her cloak flapping against the backs of her legs. “The irony is delicious!” she exclaimed. “But don't worry about your little friend there.”

  Isara looked over her shoulder, and malice seemed to radiate from inside that hood. “I have a trainee of my own!” she said. “And your little cadet should provide just enough of a challenge to keep his skills sharp.”

  Right on cue, a man in black came around the corner. This one was tall and slender with fair skin and short blonde hair. Melissa recognized him instantly. He was the acolyte who had stolen Miles Tarso's access codes.

  Brinton.

  Melissa sat up.

  “Not sure if you realize this,” she called out to the other woman. “But even a half-trained Keeper is more than a match for some guy who probably never fought a day in his life.”

  Brinton's lips pulled back into an ugly smile, and he chuckled softly. “The things you don't know…” He reached into his pants' pocket and pulled out a small bottle of blue pills. “I think I might surprise you.”

  Tilting his head back to stare up at the roof, Jack narrowed his eyes. “Amps?” he shouted. “You gave him Amps?”

  “I thought it might be fun,” Isara said.

  She leaped and somersaulted through the air, uncurling to drop gracefully to the ground. She landed like Bat-Man with the cloak fanning out behind her. “Come on, Jack. Why don't we talk like adults while the children play.”

  Isara whirled around, pointing her gun at the door to the Student Centre. There was a soft beep from her pistol, and Melissa noticed the LEDs on its barrel turn red. She fired.

  A high-impact round struck the door and ripped the whole thing right off its track, panes of frosted plastic falling to the tiled floor inside. Now, Melissa could see the many paintings lining the brick wall opposite the door.

  Without another word, Isara ran inside, her cloak streaming out behind her.

  Gritting his teeth, Jack shut his eyes tight. “Stay here,” he ordered, getting to his feet. He broke into a sprint, chasing after the hooded woman, leaving her alone with the drugged-up psychopath.

  Brinton flashed a toothy grin.

  The man wore a pair of daggers on his belt, shin-ral knives unless she missed her guess. The blades were shaped like crescent moons with a handle connecting each tip so that he could punch with them like brass knuckles.

  Curling her legs against her chest, Melissa sprang off the ground.

  She landed upright with a grunt, assuming a defensive posture and backing away from the building. The sweat on her brow was hard to ignore. “We really don't have to do this, you know?”

  Brinton smiled down at himself as he closed the distance between them. “When a god commands, you don't refuse.” He retrieved both knives from his belt, gripping them until his knuckles whitened.

  “The Overseers aren't gods.”

  “You can say that all you want,” Brinton hissed. “But I've seen the truth with my own eyes.”

  Melissa wrinkled her nose, then gave her head a shake. “What did they do to you up there?” she asked, backing up until her body almost hit a lamppost. “A few days ago, you were dedicated to the Companion.”

  Brinton was deathly pale as he held her gaze, sweat glistening on his brow. “They showed me the truth,” he whispered. “One day, you will see it true. I just pray you accept the Inzari before it's too late.”

  “I'll stick with Jesus, thanks.”

  “Isara will show you.”

  Closing her eyes, Melissa drew in a deep breath. “This is getting us nowhere,” she said, shaking her head. “If you really want to solve this with violence, then let's just get it over with.”

  She charged at him.

  The man slashed at her belly.

  Melissa hopped back, the crescent-shaped blade passing within inches of her shirt. Brinton stepped forward and punched with the other fist. A gleaming, razor-sharp blade came at her face.

  Melissa bent over backward, one hand coming up to strike the man's wrist and knock it aside. She snapped herself upright and delivered a fierce punch to the nose that made Brinton stumble backward. Trails of blood ran over his face.

  She kicked him in the stomach.

  Driven backward by the force of it, Brinton doubled over and let out a wheeze. A snarl twisted his features, and then he ran at her.

  The man jumped, flying past her on the left, kicking out behind himself to strike her shoulder. It made her double over as a wave of pain went through her body. Melissa whirled around to find him standing over her.

  Brinton raised the knives and slashed downward.

  Bending her knees, Melissa reached up to seize both of his wrists, holding his arms extended. She brought one knee up to strike the man's chest, driving the wind out of his lungs. A second knee to the stomach forced him off her.

  Brinton went stumbling backward until his ass hit the lamppost, hunching over on contact. “I don't want to kill you,” he pleaded in a breathy rasp. “But you are not giving me much choice.”

  “Funny, I was going to say the same.”

  He spun in a blur, one arm lashing out to fling the crescent-shaped blade at her. It flew at deadly speed right for Melissa's throat.

  Melissa leaned back, one hand reaching up to snatch the knife handle. “Okay,” she said, standing up straight. “Well isn't this a fun new development? Teenager with a deadly weapon. Surely your god won't let you lose!”

  Brinton rushed her, then leaped and raised his gleaming blade into the air. He tried to bring it down in a fierce, vertical cut. Instinct kicked in, and Melissa raised her own knife to intercept. Steel met steel, and Brinton landed before her.

  He slashed at her face.

  Melissa ducked, allowing the blade to pass over her head. She slashed at his belly, drawing blood, and then slipped past him on the right. She flung her arm out to the side to dig the tip of her blade into his back.

  Brinton squeaked, stumbling away from her.

  She spun on him.

  Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Melissa turned her head and spit on the ground. “I've had months of training,” she said. “You popped a few pills this morning, and you think that makes you powerful.”

  The man was doubled over with a hand pressed to his bleeding belly, wheezing as tears streamed over his face. “They saved me once,” he whispered. “Even if you kill me, they will save me again.”

  “I'm not going to kill you,” Melissa barked, striding forward. “But those god-damn pills might do the job.”

  He looked up at her, his face flushed, blood dripping from one nostril. “What are you talking about?” he whispered. “The drugs make me stronger.”

  Melissa tossed the knife away.

  She crossed her arms and stood over him with a tight frown on her face. “You have no idea what they gave you,” she mumbled. “Amps will make you stronger right up until the moment you stop taking it.”

  Melissa shut her eyes, knuckling her forehead. “No one told you that, did they?” If she ever got the chance, she would pummel Isara. “The people you work for don't have your best interests at heart.”

  Brinton dropped to his knees, hunched over and groaning. “It's too late,” he rasped. “There's no turning back once the Inzari have you.”

  Melissa crouched down in front of him. “It's not too late,” she assured him. “Come with me, and I can get you medical treatment. It's not too late to-”

  His hand lashed out, and she had only an instant to react.

&
nbsp; Melissa leaned back, but his crescent-shaped blade sliced into the skin just above her eyebrow, leaving a fiery gash on her forehead. With a grunt, she fell backward and tried to scramble away.

  Brinton lunged at her like a feral animal, landing on top of her and seizing her neck with both hands. His face contorted with rage. “You don't believe me now,” he said. “But you will. When they restore you, you will believe.”

  He began to squeeze the life out of her.

  As he leaped over the broken door panes and landed inside the Student Centre, Jack stretched out with his senses, allowing Summer's awareness to fill his mind. Nobody was shooting at him; that was a plus.

  This part of the Centre was essentially a wide corridor with a wall of yellow bricks on one side and windows that looked out on the quad on the other. Half a dozen college kids were making their way toward him, but they all jumped out of the way when they saw a wraith-like figure in black barreling down on them.

  Isara ran as if her life depended on it, her cloak flapping against the backs of her legs. She was making her way toward the cafeteria at the end of this corridor. Who knew how many potential hostages she would find there?

  Jack felt his face twist, then shook his head with a growl. “No, you don't!” he spat, chasing after her. “No, slipping away this time! I've got a nice, comfy detention cell set aside just for you!”

  Without looking, Isara flung her arm out behind herself and pointed the gun at him.

  There was no one behind him.

  A thought was all it took to throw up a Time Bubble, power surging through Jack's body as he warped the very fabric of reality. Through its spherical surface, he saw Isara as a blurry, black image, the gun pointed at him.

  A single bullet erupted from the barrel.

  Jack took one step to the left.

  He let the Bubble drop and leaped, hugging his knees as he somersaulted through the air. In an instant, he was uncurling to land just behind her.

  Isara whirled around, swinging her arm to point the gun at him.

  Crouching down, Jack brought his hand up to knock her arm away. He tried to jab with the other hand.

  Isara's free hand came up to snatch his wrist before he could make contact. And then she was striking him across the face with the barrel of her gun. His vision darkened for half a second.

  Isara's foot found a home in his stomach, forcing Jack to double over and wheeze. No, no, don't let her! She was trying to aim with the pistol again, trying to line up a clean shot to the head.

  Dropping to his knees, Jack reached up to grab her wrist with both hands. He gave a twist, and the gun fell to the floor, landing beside him. The woman squeaked from the pain of having her wrist at an odd angle.

  Jack slammed an open palm into her chest.

  Bent Gravity hurled Isara backward like a piece of trash caught in a gale. She flew through the corridor with legs kicking, then jerked to a halt and hovered in midair for a moment. Her own Bent Gravity field.

  The hooded woman dropped to the floor to land in a crouch, then stood up straight and laughed at him. “Did anyone ever tell you that you're remarkably irritating, Hunter?” She started up the corridor toward him, and Jack felt very much like Frodo watching the approach of a Nazgul.

  He picked up the gun.

  Standing up, Jack lifted the pistol in both hands and snarled as he took aim. He set the gun for stun rounds. The LEDS on the barrel turned blue.

  He fired.

  A tiny slug sped toward Isara – moving slow enough for him to track it with the naked eye – but she raised a hand to shield herself. The air in front of her rippled, and his slug was caught in a Bending.

  It curved to Jack's left, looped around and then sped off toward one of the students who was cowering by the wall. A red-headed man in a white t-shirt barely even noticed as a bullet hit his chest and jolted him with a surge of electricity.

  Isara turned and ran, rounding the corner into the cafeteria.

  “Wonderful,” he said, running after her. “Just herd the crazy woman into the room full of helpless kids. You're doing so well today!”

  When he reached the end of the corridor, he found himself in a large room where tables were spaced out on the gray floor tiles and banners hung from the incredibly high ceiling. And there were people. Maybe three dozen people.

  The wall across from him was lined with windows that looked out on a path that cut through the green grass, and there were food stations along the other three walls. A salad bar, a pizza parlour, some other Leyrian delicacy.

  As soon as he stepped into the open, he noticed movement on his left.

  He turned in time to see Isara kick him right in the face. His head rang like a bell, and then Jack went tumbling back, landing hard on the tiled floor. The jolt knocked the pistol from his hand.

  Tucking his knees into his chest, Jack somersaulted backwards. He came up on one knee, then rose in one fluid motion. “Okay,” he said. “That sucked.”

  Isara came at him.

  The woman threw a mean right-hook.

  Jack leaned back, her fist swinging through the air in front of his face. He snapped himself upright in time to grab her arm with both hands before she could retract it. Then he whirled her around to face the brick wall.

  Isara jumped, pulling free of his grip. She kicked out and struck the wall with one foot, then pushed off and flew backwards. Her other foot went into Jack's chest, and he was forced to stumble away.

  Isara turned around to face him.

  She spun for a hook-kick, her foot whirling around in a wide arc. Jack ducked and felt a leather boot passing right over his head.

  He popped up in time to watch Isara come out of her spin. His fist went into the hood, striking her face with a sickening crunch. The woman stumbled backward, raising hands up to shield herself. “Not bad, boy!”

  Jack ran in to finish this.

  Falling over sideways, Isara caught herself by slamming one hand down upon the floor tiles. Her foot came up to hit Jack right between the eyes, and then his vision was blurry for a moment.

  The fuzzy image of Isara stooped low to retrieve the pistol he had dropped, then stood up to point the muzzle at him. A slight beep from the weapon told him that she had set it for lethal ammunition.

  Jack reacted by instinct.

  His hands came up, warping space-time into a Bending mere fractions of a second before bullets appeared before him. They curved upward and sped up to strike the ceiling with deadly force. His skin was burning, a sign that Summer was nearing her limit.

  Chunks of duroplastic rained down on him.

  Jack redirected the incoming fire so that it would hit the ceiling above Isara's head, and then the debris was raining down on her. The woman screeched, crossing forearms in front of her face. Which meant she wasn't shooting at him for a moment.

  Jack let his Bending drop.

  He jumped and kicked out, the tip of his shoe landing in the soft flesh of Isara's stomach. The woman was thrown backward, propelled by Keeper strength. She grunted on impact with the wall.

  Baring his teeth with a vicious growl, Jack felt his face redden. “Who the hell are you?” he asked, striding forward. “No more games, lady! I want to know who the bloody hell you really are!”

  Isara leaped.

  She flipped through the air, passing right over Jack's head. A moment later, she was straightening to land behind him. Rage flared within him, set his blood on fire and made him react without thinking.

  Jack spun around.

  When the woman turned to face him, he moved like a striking snake. His hand flew into the hood with enough speed to make Isara grunt when he seized her jaw. The shock was so great she actually dropped her gun. He clutched the top of her hood and yanked it back, exposing her face.

  And his blood froze.

  Gaping at her, Jack felt his eyes pop out. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No, it's not possible!”

  It was a face that he had seen countless times:
a pretty face with a pointed chin and deep brown eyes that were a perfect compliment to her boyishly short auburn hair. If she had decided to attack him right then and there, he would have been unable to react. Not when she was wearing that face.

  Jena's face.

  “What's the matter, Jack?” she asked. “Aren't you happy to see me?”

  The End of Part 1.

  Interlude

  Jon was exhausted.

  As he strode through the front door of his apartment, he let his arms hang limp and kept his eyes focused on the ground. “Bleakness take me,” he muttered, shutting the door behind himself. “Why did I let Jena talk me into this?”

  A large rectangular window along the back wall of his living room looked out on a balcony and allowed sunlight to spill in on the hardwood floor and the blue couch to his left. To his right, white cupboards at hip and shoulder height surrounded an island in the middle of his kitchen.

  The serving bot was there, waiting patiently with hands clasped in front of itself. Its blue eyes lit up when he entered. “Hello, Jon,” it said. “You're home earlier than I would have expected. Would you like me to prepare some lunch?”

  Jon shut his eyes, sucking in a deep breath. “No, thank you,” he said, shaking his head. “Just a cup of mint tea if possible.”

  “Certainly.”

  The robot went to work.

  Clasping his hands together behind his back, Jon paced across the living room to stand in the light that came in through the window. By the Companion's good name, he was tired! Two nights ago, the Sons of Savard had attacked Denabria's infrastructure, and it seemed as though every hour that followed had been filled with a hundred things that demanded his attention.

  Already, he had Lenai working her way through a list of over two dozen terrorists they had managed to capture that night, interrogating each one. So far, she had not found much useful information, but it had been less than forty-eight hours, and if the Sons were as organized as they seemed, the men and women they used as cannon fodder wouldn't be told very much about their larger plans.