“Steve,” the man interrupted as he finally turned to face him, “you’re rambling.”
Steve blushed under his mask. “Sorry, sorry.” He shook his head. “Wow, yeah, I haven’t gone off like that ... in ...” Then what he had just heard sunk in, and his stomach plummeted while his heart shot into his throat. “Wait ... what did you just call me?”
“I called you ‘Steve.’ Why? Would you prefer ‘Steven’ these days?”
“Um ...”
The man made a noise that sounded like a chuckle, then reached up to his own full-head mask. Feeling detached from himself, Steve noticed that his outfit’s material was leather and chainmail, which was kind of funny, considering the micro-chainmail he himself wore ...
And that, plus any other coherent thoughts, flew right out of his head when the man removed his mask.
“Hey, Steve. It’s been a while.”
If Steve’s eyes had not been cybernetic, he felt they might have bulged right out of his head.
“... John ...?” he gasped in a strained whisper. “... John ...?”
John Davison, his brother, nodded. “Yeah. It’s me.”
Given that John’s body had never been “officially” recovered, that the charred remains had been presumed to be his, based on their location in his bedroom, but they had no actual body ... Steve had sometimes fantasized about a moment like this:
He would walk into a grocery store just as his big brother walked out, a scar over one temple to explain his amnesia.
Or he would be on patrol as Vortex, and discover a massive collection of kidnapping victims, held by rogues who were still waiting for Richard McLane to show up and claim them, and John would be among them.
Or ... or ... or anything, really, other than these bizarre circumstances.
Steve would have expected to leap forward and throw his arms around his resurrected brother. Instead, he found himself taking a step backward.
John remained still, allowing him to take it in. He looked exactly as he had when Steve last saw him, at dinner with the whole family. Well, okay, maybe not exactly — he looked older, and while he had always gone clean-shaven before, he now sported a short beard. That, plus the way he carried himself; his brother’s bearing had never held such confidence.
But why the hell was he dressed all in black and wearing a mask? And carrying swords for God’s sake?
“John?” he said again, and his voice only squeaked a little. “John? Is it ... is it really you?”
John offered a crooked smile and nodded. “Yeah, it really is, Steve. It’s me.”
Now was the moment. Now was when he would wrap his arms around his brother, and maybe never let go.
... but still, he didn’t. And this confused him a great deal, because he really wanted to, but he was also so weirded out, he couldn’t decide if he should hug John or just sit in the corner and think for a while. His pulse was thumping in his temples, and he gradually became aware that he was panting.
John took a step forward, and Steve retreated two, his right heel bumping against the wall behind him.
“Steve—”
“Just ... just give me a second, John. I’m ... I’m having trouble with this.”
John nodded and sighed, his cheeks puffing out beneath his new beard.
Not knowing what else to say, not wanting to start “rambling” again, as he did so often when he was younger (as John would know), he cleared his throat and asked, “John, what’s up with ...” He gestured up and down at his black outfit. “... with all that? And with those?” He indicated the two swords.
John looked down at the sword in his hand as though he hadn’t realized he was still holding it. Steve half-expected him to sheathe it in its scabbard, but instead he just adjusted his grip a little.
“Yeah, I guess this seems a little strange, doesn’t it?”
“Among other things? A little, yeah.”
John nodded. “I guess I should try to explain.”
“Please do.”
John warned, “It’s going to kind of ... blow your mind.”
“Like it’s not already blown by your being here at all?”
“Fair enough.”
John moved as though he were going to sheathe his sword after all, but instead, he pivoted in a slow circle, searching for something in the dark. Steve also looked around, but as had been the case since sundown, he could make out very little — and nothing remained of the wasp-alien’s corpse.
“Do you believe in magic yet, Steve?”
Steve returned his gaze to his brother, again feeling lightheaded over the surrealism of doing so. “This again? Two years, you’re back from the dead, and that’s the first thing you want to ask me?”
“I can see why you’d feel that way, but ... I promise you, it turns out magic is real.”
“Yeah, yeah, because of the paranormals, I know, but—”
“No, because it was magic that saved me,” John insisted. “The night you thought I was killed? I used magic for the first time, to take myself somewhere else, to another world. That’s where I’ve been, until now.”
Steve shook his head as he repeated, “Another world ...” He suspected that he was reaching some kind of shock-fatigue, because rather than challenge any of what John had just said, he instead asked, “If that’s where you’ve been, why come back now? Why not before, so that I’d, I don’t know, know my brother wasn’t dead?”
John took a cautious step forward. “I’m back now, Steve, because there is something, a creature, that is coming. Coming for you, to get revenge against me.”
“Ooookay. What, uh ... what kind of a ‘creature’ are we talking about here? Do you mean like that thing?” He pointed in the direction of the vanished wasp-alien.
John shook his head. “That thing? No, that was just something it knew you were afraid of; it wasn’t real. It’s good at that, figuring out what rattles people. Whatever it takes to get what it wants.”
“So what is ‘it,’ exactly?”
John took another step forward, even slower than before, as though he didn’t want to frighten Steve away. “It’s very, very old, and filled with hate. Its name ... well, it translates into a lot of things — where I’ve been, it’s called the Skygger; in English, it would be closer to ‘Shade,’ or ‘Darkness.’ ”
Steve blinked at that last bit, looking around the gloomy warehouse, with its lights that didn’t light well enough, and his enhanced sight that didn’t feel quite so enhanced. “Why does this ... ‘Skygger’? What does this Skygger want with me? What did you do to it that it wants ‘revenge’?”
“I hurt it,” John answered, sounding almost regretful. “This thing, the Skygger ... like I said, it’s been around a very long time. It’s a survivor. It knows how to get what it wants, and can dance away from any and all danger. Usually. But I ...” He flexed his sword hand, the blade bobbing up and down. “I tricked it — I’m sure it would say that I even cheated. I drew its blood, I mutilated it ... and it’s not going to let that go, ever. And since it couldn’t get to me — at least, not right then — it’s coming after you.”
“How does it even know about me?”
“I’m sorry to say, it plucked you from my mind. It’s my fault, really. I was trying to use my magic to zero in on it, to thwart its intentions. Instead, all I did was serve you up on a silver platter.”
Steve drew a deep breath, held it for several seconds, then released it to say, “Okay, so ... you’re back from the dead, magic is real, you use magic and swords, apparently, and some creature called the ‘Skygger,’ which you injured, is out for revenge on you by coming for me. To kill me, I assume?”
John cringed as he cocked his head. “Steve, let’s just say that you’d be lucky if it only killed you.”
“Gee, that’s reassuring.” He shook his head. “Okay, first off, let me just say that I have way more questions for you than we have time for right now. Like, a hundred more questions, and I’m gonna need a lot more detail t
han just ‘magic saved you,’ all right?”
John smirked and nodded. “Fair enough.”
“All right. Next, I think this Skygger thing is going to find me a bit more of a ‘hard target’ than it might be expecting. You’re not the only one whose life has taken, shall we say, an interesting turn since we last saw each other.” He glanced down at himself, at his Vortex uniform, and couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, that’s probably something of an understatement. I’m surprised you didn’t ask about this right away.” He gestured up and down at himself, much as he had done toward his brother’s outfit before.
John nodded and admitted, “I was wondering. But like you said, I didn’t think now was the best time. Not with the Skygger lurking about.”
“Right. And that covers the last thing I was going to say, which is that the Skygger isn’t the only thing ‘lurking about’ right now. I’m sorry to say there might be a bunch of paranormal rogues in the area — though I’m starting to question the validity of that information — but I’m pleased to report that I’m not alone out here. I’ve got friends, and I can promise you, they’ll be extremely helpful in dealing with your Skygger.”
John smiled. “Good to hear. The Skygger likes a challenge, so let’s give it one.”
Steve smiled back. “Sounds like a plan.” Then he thought a moment. “Wait ... the Skygger ‘likes a challenge,’ but it’s all bent out of shape because you hurt it?”
John shrugged. “What can I say? It’s a very complicated entity.”
“Sounds like it.” He nodded, then looked around. If anything, the warehouse had gotten even darker, the shadows swallowing any and all details, the safety lights little more than dim stripes in the ceiling above. “I, uh ... I came in through here.” He gestured over his shoulder to the narrow window. “Did you have something more convenient?”
John shook his head. “Your way is fine. Lead on.”
“Okay, let’s do it.”
Steve turned back to the window and hiked a leg up as John moved to join him. But he paused, put his leg back down, and turned back to his brother.
“John, I ... like I said, we’ve got a lot to talk about — I’m not even close to processing any of this, not by a long shot. The only reason we’re not sitting down right this second, right here on this dirty floor and getting into it, is because of the danger, both from the Skygger and the possible rogues I mentioned. But ...” Despite his best effort, Steve’s emotions swelled.
John waited, a slight smile gracing his bearded cheeks.
Clearing his throat, his breaking voice be damned, Steve pushed on, saying, “But I wanted to say ... it’s ... it is wonderful beyond words to see you again, to find out that you’re still alive. I ... I’ve missed you, John.”
John’s head hung for a moment, his smile broadening into a knowing grin. He looked back up at his brother and said in his own choked voice, “I know, Steve. I feel the same.”
Steve nodded, fighting against the sobs of joy that wanted to wrack his chest, and turned to the window ...
“Steve?”
Steve turned back to his brother. “Yeah?”
And John slashed his guts open.
PARANORMALS
Shining Star was the first to respond to Vortex’s cry of agony; it was the first definitive sound he had heard since nightfall, as though the muffling effect of the oppressive darkness had diminished just for that single scream.
After his “grandfather’s” departure (away from the alleged former Grand Lord’s presence, skepticism had reasserted itself), he had finally taken to the air, pushing his aura to its brightest, hoping to act as a beacon to the others. Even as he rotated, minutes passed before he heard the hollow echo of what might have been Lieutenant Takayasu calling to him from somewhere in the shadows. But it was Steve’s unmuted, harrowing outcry which seized Callin’s attention.
“Vortex?!” he called, flying in what he hoped was the right direction. “Vortex, can you hear me?!”
Steve did not respond. But something unexpected happened:
The aberrant darkness dissipated.
It remained night, but the streetlights, Earth’s moon, the stars, and his silver aura all broke through at once. An instant later, he heard — and also saw — Lieutenant Takayasu shouting, “Shining Star! Was that Vortex?!”
“Yes!”
But Takayasu had no time for any followup questions, because Callin was on the move.
Continually calling out for Vortex, he circled the immediate area, spreading his light wide. He had heard Steve, so he couldn’t be too far away, but his voice had also echoed in a way that suggested he was inside one of these abandoned structures. But which one? Should Callin start smashing through them one at a time, to hell with the resulting damage? But what if, in “smashing through them,” he accidentally—
Then, the sign he needed: To his left, twin beams of red light sliced through the roof of one of the buildings. They wavered, but held for one second, two ... then flickered out.
That was all Callin needed.
He was again prepared to break through a wall if necessary, but as he banked and came in low, he spotted an open window with ragged scraps of plywood around the frame — some blockage which had been penetrated by force. Arms extended before him, Callin flew through the opening, prepared for anything.
Or so he thought.
Combat, he expected; perhaps even an ambush. And he knew, from Steve’s previous bellow of suffering, that his friend was hurt, but the fact that Steve had managed a nonverbal signal as to his location had given Callin hope that he wasn’t too badly injured.
His hopes were instantly dashed.
Steve lay on his side on the warehouse’s dirty floor, a trail of splattered red leading from the base of the window to a frightening pool of blood spreading around him.
Callin landed near his friend, keeping his aura up a little for more light. Arms out, ready to fire a blast of energy, he turned in a circle, searching for Steve’s attacker, but the warehouse appeared to be empty.
“Vortex?” he called as he turned around once more, catching himself only at the last second from slipping and speaking Steve’s real name. “Can you hear me?”
Steve did not answer.
Accepting their apparent safety for the moment, Callin backed over to Steve and knelt beside him, still keeping his aura alight to augment the building’s weak, scattered ceiling tube-lights. Disregarding the fact that he was kneeling in a pool of human blood, Callin leaned in and whispered, “Steve? Steve, can you hear me?”
Steve moaned, which Callin took as somewhat of a good sign. But then his friend spasmed and groaned louder in pain, his hands clutching at his abdomen as he rolled over onto his back. Callin’s aura was already casting light over him, but with his black and gold costume, the Taalu again willed his right hand even brighter, so that he could evaluate the extent of Steve’s injuries.
“Steve,” he said, keeping his voice low, “let me see.”
He took one of Steve’s forearms in his left hand and, with as much gentleness as he could, moved it out of the way ...
At first he could not make sense of what he was seeing. Why was Steve clinging to coils of bloody rope? Was he confined, or ...?
Then it finally sank in that Steve was holding coils, not of rope, but of his own intestines. A moan of horrified denial climbed up Callin’s throat as—
No. No. Damn it, I am the Shining Star, the Grand Lord of the Taalu! I met the Cargaun in battle in deep space, I stood against the Noctoponm. I will keep it together!
Having willed himself back under control, he repeated, “Steve, can you hear me?” When his friend did not respond, he said louder, “Vortex? Vortex, if you can hear me, try blinking your eyes.”
He checked, and was heartened to see Steve doing just that, blinking his eyes ... until he realized that it was more like his eyelids were fluttering, opening and closing wider, then tighter, then wider again. Thank the living stars Steve had been cogni
zant enough to fire off his laser burst before, because he clearly would not have been able to do so now.
All right ... what could he do?
He had to assume that Steve had gone into the human equivalent of shock. How best to handle that? When a Taalu went into shock, it was important to keep them cool, but if he remembered correctly, humans were the opposite; they had to be kept warm. His aura always generated a small amount of warmth, but for real heat, he would have to push it closer to his form of plasma, which could easily burn Steve. So ... maybe he could melt a small section of the concrete floor, close enough for Steve to feel it, but not too close? Or would draping his cape over his friend be—?
“Shining Star!” called Lieutenant Takayasu from outside. “Have you found him?! Where are you?!”
“In here!” Callin called back, then seconded the effort by taking a cue from Steve — he aimed his arm up to the ceiling and fired an energy stream through the roof and into the sky. Hadn’t Steve told him about some sort of code the humans used for emergencies, something about “dots and dashes”? He couldn’t remember the details, but under the circumstances, he was confident that Takayasu would figure it out.
Sure enough, the Lieutenant appeared in the window a few seconds later, his weapon at the ready. “Shining Star? Is Vortex down?”
“Yes,” Callin affirmed. “I’m trying to figure out the best way to help him.”
Takayasu climbed through the window, a bit awkward as he kept his sidearm in one hand while wrestling out his phone with the other. “Is he conscious?”
“Barely.”
“What are we dealing with?”
“His abdomen has been slashed open.”
“ ‘His abdomen’—? Oh, God.” Takayasu’s eyes widened, but he otherwise rolled with it more smoothly than Callin had. “We have norm paramedics on the warehouse perimeter, but I don’t think they’re prepped for anything as extensive as this. They’re used to us bringing in rogues with broken limbs.” He tapped at his phone screen with his thumb as he scanned the warehouse. “Are we secure?”
“As far as I could tell. Whoever did this to him was gone when I arrived.”
Paranormals | Book 3 | Darkness Reigns Page 22
