I lined up Ebony and Ivory once more and fired again, this time drawing the creature’s back legs and knocking it out of the air. But then, out of nowhere, wings sprouted, and the dragon form of the creature took hold.
“Of course, should have known, rules of animals don’t apply here,” I said.
I lined up a clear shot and hit the creature on the right wing. Though it did not cripple it or kill it, it did damage it enough that it was too slowed down to do any damage, and we soon took off, leaving the monster in the dust. I hated to let any demon live when it had tried to kill me or my dragon, but I knew I’d see it again someday. Demons lusted for revenge too much, even to their own detriment.
More bats and more eagles came after us, but by now, I knew their tendencies too well for them to be more than an annoying distraction. A couple of small fireballs hit DJ, but he soared through the sky, unaffected by what was going on around him.
Then I saw it.
The red pillar of smoke, the only one of its kind, off on the horizon.
“Head for it!”
I had nothing other than my gut telling me that Brady was there, captive, but I had to risk it. Where else was I going to go if that wasn’t Brady? Fly aimlessly through all of Turkey?
I somehow reached another gear with dispatching of the enemy. Two more dragon-horses appeared along with several other bats and eagles, but my renewed focus—which bordered on unconscious, completely devoid of thought—meant that nothing other than a pitiful blast of fire reached DJ.
“Dive!”
We began a steep descent, one that would’ve created a lot of screaming on a real airplane. I kept my focus on the targets around me, my blurred vision doing nothing to stop the onslaught of enemies.
Just before we landed, I made out where the smoke was coming from—a drab, stone complex with a single entrance on the ground and a rooftop opening. The rooftop was guarded by… nothing? The entrance was strangely also open. This smelled an awful lot like a trap, but I was willing to spring that trap for a chance to rescue my brother.
I dismounted DJ and trained my guns to the sky, but aside from a few obnoxious shrieks from the demons, they didn’t do anything, choosing to keep a distance, taunting me. Definitely a trap. Pull the weak away to allow something bigger to fight. DJ shifted back, and I contemplated giving him one of my guns. I had never done this before, and to do so would represent the ultimate level of trust.
But not even here, not even with him, would I part with Ebony and Ivory. That required a degree of faith that I didn’t have in anyone, to no fault of DJ. It was just hard to have that level of trust when your father left you, your mother died young, and your brother babied you.
“Stay close to me,” I said. “We’re about to enter a world of anger, hatred, and venom.”
“We weren’t there already?”
“OK, fine, we’re also entering a world of surprises and ambushes, does that get you in line better?”
DJ smirked, but I didn’t have time for banter. I was on edge, especially knowing that Paul was on the other side. And had we made it on time? Paul hadn’t said anything to me yet. Anything was, unfortunately, possible.
I advanced on the door, keeping my guns forward, my fingers steady on the trigger. I nodded to DJ, who got on the other slide of the door. I came forward with my guns, but there was nothing there. There was simply a dimly lit hallway with a creepy green glow to it, like we were viewing the room through night-vision goggles.
Then I heard Brady’s scream.
It sounded like something out of a Saw movie. The scream was terrified, like Brady was about to face his death. I followed the sound to a narrow stairway leading downstairs. I took a deep breath and motioned for DJ to follow me.
We’d taken two steps when the light vanished and we went into free fall mode.
I grabbed DJ and didn’t have to tell him to transform into a dragon. We were descending straight into hell, and this fight was about to get a whole lot messier.
Despite DJ’s transformation, however, the gravity on us seemed too strong, and I could soon see that we were heading for a circular arena, surrounded by what had to have been thousands of demons in the middle. Lying in the middle was Brady, with someone who had to be Paul standing over him. Is this from my dream? Doesn’t look it. But…
I’m not sure how great an impact we would’ve had with DJ to control the descent, but the landing was still pretty rough. Around us, the demons roared in delight at our arrival. Paul let them cheer and holler before they quieted down.
“Impressive timing,” Paul said. “Unlike you, I have decided to give you the benefit of being on time. I did not think our fight would be as good if you were mourning the loss of your brother.”
I kept my eyes trained on Paul but used my peripheral vision to see what lay behind Paul. Brady was badly scarred, his face burned, his lips swollen, his hair cut—I grossly suspected yanked out—and one of his eyes shut. But his stomach rose.
“But we do not have time for two of you.”
Before I could react, Paul lifted an arm and bound DJ, who grunted and tried to shake. But Paul’s spell went beyond a normal binding spell—it actually pushed DJ’s arms and legs together, acting as a straitjacket. Then, Paul tossed his hand over his shoulder, and DJ flew through the air, crashing into the ground dozens of feet away from us, rolling to a stop about five feet from a wall, where demons taunted him and tormented him. But Paul kept them away from DJ.
“Now that’s more like it,” Paul said, brushing the dirt off him. “What do you think, Sonya?”
“I think you need to stop this madness, Paul, please,” I begged. “This isn’t you. This isn’t the Paul I knew.”
“No, it isn’t,” Paul said. “But your actions were not the Sonya I knew. So suffice to say, we call it even. Now, because I’m a generous soul who will not just condemn you to die—unlike you with me in that Turkish town—I will give you one of two options. The first is you surrender to me now. Your brother and your boyfriend get to live here in hell, serving Mundus. The second is you fight me, I beat you, force you to submit, and then I kill those two.”
In a spot like this, with anyone else, I would’ve made a smartass remark. Something about how “I’ll take option three, killing you all,” or “you’re a terrible negotiator. Just like you’re a terrible fighter.” But Paul just had a psychological grip on me like no one else. He was worse than Nuforsa. Nuforsa could see my past, but Paul was my past. Nuforsa could torment me with terrible memories, but Paul was the terrible memory. If Nuforsa was a mirror, Paul was the person on the other side of the mirror, laughing and terrorizing me.
“Paul… please,” was all I could muster.
“That’s not what you say when you surrender, Sonya,” he sneered. “Ten seconds. Otherwise, I will leave you on the edge of death, beaten down like a dog. You will feel what I felt in this area, when dozens of terrorists cheered my torture and beating.”
Come on, Sonya. You know what you have to do. You have to fight. Even if it is Paul. He’s not Paul anymore. He’s a demon.
“Five…”
I put my hands on my guns, but my hands were shaking.
“Four…”
I withdrew Ebony and Ivory, but kept them low, hesitating.
“Three….”
I raised them, my hands still trembling.
“Two…”
Do it. Now.
“One.”
I clicked Ebony and Ivory, but the blasts went to the far side of the arena, destroying some demons. Paul had teleported behind me, and in a swift movement, he disarmed me, nearly broke my wrist, and flipped me to the ground. He spat on me as the demons roared and he kicked the weapons to the side.
“Now fight me like the badass you claim to be, Sonya,” he said. “Hand to hand. The ultimate form of combat. I know you remember me training you. How I told you only a fool trusts their life to a weapon.”
That sounded frighteningly familiar—the demon from Ams
terdam. This was the real Paul Stephens. He’d trained others.
I remembered how Paul insisted I get Muay Thai and Krav Maga training, explaining that the enemy could always take my gun, but they could never take my body and my knowledge. It was one of his favorite phrases. “Only a fool trusts their life to a weapon.”
But unfortunately, in this spot, remembering that struck me hard in two ways. One, just remembering a good time with Paul weakened my psychological resolve. And two, Paul was a motherfucker in hand to hand combat. As skilled as I was at shooting, evading, focus, and channeling my anger in combat, Paul was that much better at hand to hand combat. If he could not have escaped the terrorists coming to his hotel room, then absolutely no one could have.
He let me stand up, and a sick feeling came into my stomach. Paul smirked as he took his suit off and tossed it to the side, then rolled up his sleeves. I noticed for the first time how many scars he had across his arms, how deep the cuts went—yet how precise they were, for the cuts never approached an artery. Whoever had cut him had done so with the intention of keeping him alive while making him cry in pain.
“Come, fight!”
I took a deep breath, told myself once again it wasn’t Paul, and advanced slowly. I knew better than to rush into battle, out of control, down for the count on a counter or baiting move, but I also wasn’t going to let Paul be the aggressor.
I came with a double jab and a kick, but Paul moved with lightning speed. He swept his leg under mine, grabbed my shoulders, and rammed me into the ground. I had the wind knocked out of me as Paul got up, placing his hands and knees on my stomach for support.
“This is the Sonya Ferguson of today?” Paul said, cackling with laughter, which the demons followed in suit on. “I thought I had trained you better than that. No wonder I deserve to be in hell. I couldn’t teach a girl like you anything!”
The laughter continued to rain down, torturing me, taunting me. Of course I felt anger, but it wasn’t based on hatred like it was toward Nuforsa. It wasn’t rage.
No, actually, it was anger toward myself, a feeling of disgust. I remember how much I struggled in martial arts. I remember how patient Paul was with me. I remembered how I had failed Paul so many times, including with his life…
This is on you, Sonya. Get up and face your punishment. Own it.
“I will give you this, girl. You have developed guts unlike what you had before. The girl who left me to die, my wife a widow, and my son fatherless would not have come here tonight. You have demonstrated that your will is strong enough for Mundus.”
I wish I could derive some sort of sick pleasure from the words, but Paul said them with just enough contempt that I could do no such thing. And even if he had said them nicely, the knowledge that this was all just a game for Mundus meant the words lost value.
“But your will means nothing if you do not get up and fight me, Sonya.”
I rose, my chest still on fire and my lungs heavy, and got in position. This time, Paul advanced on me with a flurry of cross-punches and kicks. I found myself on the defensive far too much, backpedaling and blocking while waiting to get a decent hit in. Finally, I leaned into Paul and delivered a swift knee to his stomach. The demons groaned in surprise and Paul backed up, laughing.
“You hit me, that’s a first,” he said, and the demons laughed once more. “But now you’ve had your shot, it’s time to end this.”
Paul charged and tackled me, dropping me to the ground. I went to my back and curled up, trying to avoid him punching my face, but Paul dug at my ribs, creating an overwhelmingly painful sensation that forced me to open up. Paul then put his arms around my neck to choke me out and he leaned in close to my ears.
“You know nothing of pain, child,” he said, his breath burning my ears. “You will awake to witness your brother and your lover die before your eyes. You will know what pain is, the pain that people will suffer because of your failure. You will not even begin to imagine the pain I felt knowing my wife and child would be without me. But you will feel something approaching it. And I will drag it out as long as I can.”
I tried to grab his arm and pull him away, but he was too strong and dug in too deep. My vision was fading, my hearing was dimming, and I was losing strength. I had to find something to get him off me, or I was as good as dead.
But he had me pinned. I was going to lose.
Just before I passed out, my vision flashed, and my mind took me to a different place.
Chapter 18
For several moments, my body felt like it was soaring through the middle of a winter snowstorm, with streaks of white surrounding me as I felt the sensation of flying upward. I could not turn my head to observe, for I moved with such velocity that the wind against my face made it impossible to move.
But then without warning, I stopped. And when I stopped, I did not feel whiplash or any sort of pain. In fact, all of my pain was gone.
Where I was now, I did not know. It was a room with a single rectangular window, but when I approached the window—I could walk now?—it just showed a clear blue sky with a bright sun, much like how one might see a noon-time sky in Montana. I looked down and just saw more blue. It felt like I was in a cube flying at the height of a passenger jet.
I wore my normal clothing except without a leather jacket. When I removed my glasses, they had no cracks or dust on them. My skin bore no scars. I didn’t have Ebony and Ivory though.
Maybe I really had died. Maybe I’d gone to heaven and I was here to get a debriefing of some kind before I became a Power or whatever role Yevon had for me. It sure felt like it, given that I felt no pain and didn’t even have any soreness in my neck or elsewhere.
I heard the turning of a door knob.
Instinctively, I turned, crouching my knees and raising my hands to defend myself. A door which I had not see earlier pushed in toward me. In the doorway, with a glow behind him, stood a man in a suit with handsome, clean-cut features.
No.
It couldn’t be.
Paul? Paul Stephens?
“Hello, Sonya,” he said, the usual warmth back in his voice. “How are you?”
“I’m… fine…” I said, on edge. It wouldn’t surprise me to see Paul, his hand on my head, enter my mind and begin some awfully cruel form of torture.
“This is not a trick. Someone whom you know well has helped us have this moment.”
He came up to me and I flinched as he raised his right arm. He did nothing to suggest he was attacking me, but…
“Relax,” he said, and he put a comforting hand on my shoulder. When it did not burn—in fact, when I looked and saw I no longer bore the tattoo of hell—I dropped my arms to the side and came out of my bent-knee stance. “I am the real Paul Stephens. The one whom you worked with and who trained you in the CIA.”
“Huh?”
I had so much confusion. If this was a mind trick by Paul—demon Paul?—then… how had this come about? What would happen next?
“The man you see who has taken my shape down below is a weak projection put forth by a demon whom you have defeated once already.”
Nuforsa?
“It has a grip on you because you let it, Sonya.”
I grimaced and made many expressions, ranging from embarrassment to relief to laughter as if trying to come up with the proper response. Paul laughed, but it felt like a good-hearted chuckle more than an evil, taunting snicker. Confusion became the predominant expression, with relief that this was the Paul Stephens I knew a close second.
“Let me explain,” Paul said as he gently removed his hand and walked to the window. “Ever since my death, Sonya, you have chosen not to forgive yourself for what you did. I understand that what happened hurt, and to an extent, I am appreciative of the apologetic state you have put yourself in. But by continuing to punish yourself and being unwilling to forgive yourself, you allow the demon to fester in you. At first, it was a metaphorical demon of sorts. You developed psychological barriers that made you refuse nea
rly all partners, and have trust issues with getting close to people. That is a demon that everyone has inside them at some point in their life.”
That was true. Though I obviously had to work with others in the CIA, I always took as many solo operations as possible. And DJ was the closest I’d come to a relationship, despite barely knowing him and having been with him for less than a week. Only Brady had the privilege of seeing my inner life—more as an observer than a listener.
“But when you became entangled in this war, and you battled Nuforsa… she saw the things that haunted you the most. She saw that while you had moved on from the self-loathing you had as a teenager and the hatred you felt toward your parents—though, to an extent, those still simmer—you had never forgiven yourself for what happened with me. Not only did you not forgive yourself, you seemed to indulge in the masochism of punishing yourself for what you did.”
“OK, but… I killed Nuforsa. How is she reaching me still?”
“You killed her in her regular, most powerful demon form, yes,” Paul said. “But her spirit still remains in hell, festering. Her soul became consumed by hatred for you, and she wanted to come back faster than she should have. Which, obviously, she did.”
“How long is should have?”
Paul shrugged, but without the mocking or dismissiveness that anyone else would normally have.
“I am simply an angel here who has observed what has happened. I am not a spy any longer,” he said. “In any case, she knew of your darkest secret and was determined to return in such a form. The result is that though her powers are not as strong as they were when you first fought her, her control over you is much greater because of your own internal thoughts.”
This was…
This was real?
The real Paul Stephens, before me?
If this is a trap…
“Sonya, you have to forgive yourself for what happened,” he said.
“But I don’t want to let myself off the hook,” I said, but even as I spoke, I could feel my belief in my words started to dim. “Paul, I know I could have done something—”
Magic Revenge: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Spirit War Chronicles Book 2) Page 19
