by Lola StVil
“You can believe whatever the hell you want,” Kane says.
“Well, why don’t we just ask the nice looking human? Hey, little girl, did he bring you here to play touch and tickle?” the guy with the scar asks.
“Go to hell!” I reply. All of the muscle heads laugh. “Scarface” looks at me and licks his lips slowly.
“I think I’ll have fun with you before I kill you,” he says. I catch a flash of rage on Kane’s face.
“Nice try, Kane, but we know who she is. We saw the flames coming from the cave; we watched them hit the air and spark in the sky. We know she’s the last Seeker. Hell, now everybody does,” the leader says.
“Stack, I’ll give you a fighting chance. Why don’t you and the rest of your ugly ass friends walk away?” Kane reasons.
“That’s big talk for a guy who still has gold wings,” the dreadlocks guy says.
“You know what I’m capable of regardless of wing color. Don’t make me kill all of you. I have places to be,” Kane warns them.
“I’m thinking maybe we take this pretty little girl off your hands. If we present her to Arken, who knows, he might make me the next Keysu. Kane starts to laugh and shake his head. I have no idea what “Keysu” means, but it doesn’t seem like the right time to ask.
“You, Keysu? You really think Arken would choose you to lead the underworld? You can’t even protect your own. Now let’s see, how many of your pack members have I killed?” Kane says, thinking in deep reflection. If Kane wanted to piss off the wolves, he did a great job, because the entire group suddenly begins to transform.
“Stay behind me,” Kane whispers.
The beefy but normal men all grow hairier and even larger. I can hear their bones snapping as they expand and contort into position. Their thighs swell forming powerful hind legs; fur grows out of their bodies as their clothes are ripped open. Their eyes are now seething yellow pupils; their jaws extend with horrible popping sounds. Their ears elongate as their fangs and tongues protrude hungrily.
“Run,” I hear Kane say, but I’m rooted to the spot. And before I can snap myself out of it, I’m thrown to the ground by the wolf closest to me. I fall hard onto my back and onto a boulder. The impact causes pain to travel down my right side. I hear a growl—or four of them—followed by a whooshing sound. I roll over and look back to see the glowing sword materializing out of Kane’s fist.
Just in time.
The lycan leader growls some kind of inaudible curse. Now he’s down on all fours. He’s almost all covered in black fur, dark as night, and he’s larger than the others, with dragon-like ridges on his back. Beside him is the one that has to be Dreadlocks, with twisted knots of fur spreading out like a mane behind his large, almost deformed cranium. To his right, the scar-faced wolf, mostly with white fur, lowers his head and paws at the earth with talons the size of machetes.
Who am I missing? I get up to my knees and try to rise. The three lycans are circling Kane, trying to find an opening.
But there were four …
I hear it the same time Kane does: a scuffling above us, a growl and then—a dark shape leaps from the shadows of the upper branches of a great oak. I have a moment to register the black spiking hair centered between the werewolf’s ears, and then the creature lands with a sickening thud onto Kane’s back. It strikes hard right between his wings, flattening Kane to the ground. And worse—the sword is torn free and is sent flying end over end between the leader and Dreadlocks.
“Spike” snaps his jaws down on Kane’s wing—and then Dreadlocks launches himself onto Kane, tearing at his free arm, teeth biting hard into flesh.
I’m on my feet and stumbling towards the carnage before I even realize it. In all honesty, I have no freaking idea what the hell I’m going to do once I get to Kane, but that doesn’t stop me from racing to reach him.
The lycan leader rears up, and in a flash—just as Kane gains his feet and starts charging up his fists—snares Kane’s throat in his massive talons. He makes a clicking sound with his tongue over his massive teeth and howls loudly.
Kane is no longer struggling, just uttering a low pained sound as two of the other wolves hold him fast with their claws and their teeth. His left wing is a mess—broken it looks like, with the thick upper muscle lodged in Spike’s powerful jaws.
Kane grunts again as the wolf leader squeezes his throat, preparing to take off his head—if that’s even possible to do to an angel. The flames kick up a little from his fists, and I know he’s still got the power, just can’t focus through the pain. I have to free him.
I see the sword—too far away, but still kicking up flames, igniting some of the brush. It’s stuck in the earth like Excalibur in the stone. No way to reach it, but maybe he can if I give him the chance. A thick, knobby branch was knocked free in the chaos, right in my path. I snag it and bring it down—with all my might—on the back of Spike’s skull.
He howls like a hurt dog and lets go, turning his anger to me. But his fury never comes, because whatever respite I just gave Kane seems to be enough. With his free hand, Kane reaches out, and sure enough, the sword must be a part of him, because it rises in the air, does a flip so it’s point-first, and it launches back towards him. Except he shifts his aim and guides it…
Dreadlocks shrieks in mortal pain as the flame-coated sword bursts through his left flank and rips him free of Kane. He staggers, and his talons try to grasp the hilt embedded in his chest—which only fuels the flames spreading up his arms. In seconds, he’s gone up like someone sprayed gasoline all over him.
Furious, Spike leaps to his aid, only to meet Kane’s outstretched hand, and the great glowing fist closes instantly on his snout. Kane’s hand lights up with fiery energy as he squeezes, and there’s a sickening pop. The werewolf’s skull implodes in a burst of fire, gore, and bone. Then, in almost the same motion, Kane slips his other hand under the leader’s grasp and fires off an orb of energized fire into the creature.
Or he would have, if the leader hadn’t sensed the sudden turn in the battle. He’s already pivoting, slashing at Kane’s throat the best he can as he leaps away, just an instant before the energy globe rips through where he was.
I see a blur of black fur, and I choke back the smell of torched flesh, trying to see through the flames and the smoke. There’s blood and gore soaking everything in the clearing, but the battle isn’t over. Two lycans left.
Scarface had wisely stayed back, biding his time. Now, with the leader at his side, he snarls and snaps at the air, moving deliberately, looking for an opening.
Kane retrieves his sword, and now he’s limping, trying to stay between me and the lycans. He’s bleeding from nasty bites in his leg and shoulder, and from that wing that looks broken, the muscle partially shredded.
“Can’t you fly us out of here?” I ask, but I know the answer.
“Not at the moment,” Kane says—even as he fires off a sphere at the leader, who dodges it easily, now that he’s ready for it. And then Kane turns, lifts me up, and holds me under his huge free arm. “That’s why we’re running!”
Grunting with every one of his huge steps, I can’t help but feel the heat of his great muscular body and fear I’ll burn up myself. But I look back, and they’re coming. So fast. The leader leaps from rock to tree, crisscrossing paths with Scarface, who’s smaller but just as nimble. I’m still holding the branch, almost dragging it behind us.
“Look out!” I yell as the leader darts out from my left side. I swing awkwardly—but it’s enough. It just catches the thing’s snout and knocks him back. Too late I realize it was just a coordinated diversion, as the Scarface one somehow got to the other side, flanking us. All I hear is a growl, a scream, and a thud, and then I’m free and rolling hard down an incline.
In pain but still somehow functioning, I get up, branch ready to swing. Scarface and Kane are now in a tangled heap of flesh and fur. I see the talons raking the air, clanging off the sword as Kane is on his knees, barely parrying the treme
ndous blows raining down on him. Then the leader’s enormous hind paws thud right beside me, and his shadow darkens the sky. He’s snarling, licking his lips.
My legs go weak, and the branch feels completely useless. He raises his great talons and opens his jaws. I turn to flee, knowing it’s hopeless, when I hear a massive crack! There’s an echoing thud and then Scarface, partially on fire, barrels through the air, heaved with great force. I barely have time to notice that the beast’s head is ablaze and one of those orbs is lodged deep where his brain used to be, spitting out flames and energy.
“Duck!” Kane yells at me.
I get down just in time, and I lay flat as the burning torso soars over me.
The leader throws back his snout and howls in anger. He’s forgotten little old me, and turns to face Kane. My reluctant protector comes forward, his broken wing dragging along on the ground behind him. The golden feathers are falling off it as he walks, and the wing’s shaking, attempting to beat like a wounded robin’s. Held in a wearied hand, the fiery sword burns into the earth as he drags it behind him.
The leader snarls at him. “I’ll still kill the girl. Tear her in half before you make a move.”
Kane’s shaking his head, but he doesn’t slow down. I notice his broken wing perking up, just a little. His legs tense slightly. He’s not even looking at me, solely focused on the creature. “Kill me,” the lycan says, “and my brothers will come. This forest is full of my kind. You can’t escape…” His talons are almost at my throat, and I’m rooted to the spot.
But Kane takes another step. The sword point is rising, and it’s almost like he’s moving in slow motion as the lycan keeps talking: “You can’t outrun us all, you can’t even fly…” At that, with those talons inches from my throat, I see Kane smile.
It happens so fast, a barely noticeable push from his right leg. The rest of his speed must come from the wings. And even with only one good one, apparently it’s enough. In a blur, he’s crossed the distance. I feel a whoosh of flame, then a splash of something warm and disgusting.
In shock, I manage to roll out of the way of the body that’s about to topple on me. I register the sight of the immense head cleaved from the leader’s body as Kane completes his motion of swinging the sword in a perfect and graceful arc. Kane has slaughtered the wolf and did so with an unmistakable sense of joy. Actually, it’s more than that. Judging by the ease of his actions, Kane is at home with bloodshed.
Before the lycan’s body hits the ground, Kane has scooped me up in his arms again. We run towards the clearing and Kane take to the sky. We soar right out of the inferno that’s begun down below, exploding from the lycan’s fur and flesh.
A rush of wind, and a sudden dip and terrifying burst through a canopy of leaves. Sharp twigs scratch my arms and cheek, but I don’t care, we made it out. Suddenly, Kane groans and loosens his hold on me. I start slipping through his weakening grasp. I scream, as I’m suddenly on my own, plummeting—but his hand slips down just in time and catches my wrist.
“You have to land. You’re too hurt to fly,” I tell him as I look into his now pale face.
“No, I can make it to the city,” he says, wincing. But his unsteady and bumpy flight pattern tells me he’s wrong. It’s only a matter of time before Kane loses all strength and drops us both.
“Don’t let go,” I plead, even as I point ahead, to the gleaming lights and bright windows reflecting the dying sun. “There’s a city ahead, hold on!”
“I see it,” he mutters. “Trying…”
We’re losing altitude, but at least we’ve cleared the forest. My wrist is killing me, my shoulder feels like it’s about to be ripped off, and the glittering reflections from the buildings’ windows are blinding me, but then I hear Kane groan with exertion and we rise, just a little. The wind gusts and tries to push us back; but then, one more huge beat of the wing, and he drops us down just inside the city limits.
I don’t have time to scream, as in a second I’m landing gently on an asphalt roof, where I tumble, lose my balance, and come to a not-too-graceful landing. A moment later, missing his feet and way off balance, Kane crashes hard, tucks in his good wing, and rolls fast until he slams into the rooftop ledge.
“There’s a guy, his name is Pest…he can fix me. He works at the pool hall, not far from here. Find him, bring him here,” Kane says.
“Okay, I’ll be right back,” I promise. Before I take off, he calls out to me.
“Princess?” he says.
“Yeah?”
“If you hurry, I’ll let you take advantage of me in my weakened state,” he jokes, or tries to—he’s coughing up blood now. I run back over to him. His eyes close and he is eerily still.
Shit!
“Kane! Kane!” I shout. Fearing the worst, I take off as fast as I can down the staircase and I don’t look back. Please, Orah, don’t let him die…
I run out of the building and into a street bustling with people. Judging from the brightly lit skyscrapers and Asian architecture, I’m guessing we are somewhere in Southeast Asia. The building a few yards away has a large red flag with five bright yellow stars on it. It confirms what I thought: I am in China.
I have eaten Chinese food every other day and yet it never occurred to me to learn the language or even play around with the basics. Seriously, for all the Chinese food I’ve eaten over my lifetime, I should at least be able to say “Hello, how are you?” But then again, that wouldn’t really help me. I would need to know how to say “Hi, where’s the nearest pool hall, I need to save an angel’s life.”
I have no choice but to look in all the windows of the shops on the block. The bright light set against the dark night makes it hard to see what’s going on inside the shops, so I bury my face in the glass and peek in. I’m growing more and more frustrated. Thankfully, when I reach the last shop at the end of the block and look inside, I spot a large crowd drinking, eating, and yes, playing pool. I have no idea what I’m going to say, but hell, I need to say something to find this guy. I run up to the bartender and plead with him.
“Hi, do you speak English?” I ask.
“Yes…little,” he says.
“I’ll take it! I’m looking for a guy named Pest. Do you know him?” The bartender motions towards the back, where a tall lanky man with glasses sits stooped in the corner, buried in the book before him. His pale, pasty skin and large glasses tell me he’s an “indoor” kind of guy. I quickly make my way towards him.
“Are you Pest?” I ask. He doesn’t reply.
“Hello?” I call out again. He doesn’t even acknowledge me. Screw this. I yank the book from his grasp and slam it down on the table. He looks up as if it’s the first time I’ve spoken.
“Wǒ zěnme bāng nǐ.”
“I don’t speak Chinese.”
“That’s a shame. China has such a rich history. Knowing the language is really the only way to absorb its culture and customs.”
“Okay, China is now on my bucket list. Now, are you Pest?”
“Yes, it’s a moniker I acquired while studying ancient plagues and pestilence based on old-world religions. You see, many of these—”
“Kane sent me here to find you. He’s hurt. We need to go now,” I reply as I grab his hand and practically drag him out of the shop. He runs back to the table and gets a brown leather backpack that was next to him, and then we frantically jet down the street back to Kane.
When we get back to the rooftop, Kane looks worse that he did before. The color has drained from his face; a pool of blood is forming underneath his body, and he’s completely unresponsive. Pest examines his wounds and looks down gravely at Kane’s body.
“His wounds are extensive. Nothing I have in my bag will make any real difference,” he says.
“You have to do something, he’s gonna die!”
“What happened?”
“Werewolves.”
“Do you know what pack?” he asks.
“Oh my Orah, who cares! They were wolves.”
“Oh no, not all werewolves are the same. There are three packs; each pack has different body chemistry. It’s really rather fascinating, you see—”
“Santos! Okay? It was the Santos werewolves.”
“Oh dear…their bites are particularly nasty…”
“What can we do? We have to do something!”
“We need to get him to my house in New Orleans. There’s a clinic in the back of the house. I can treat him there.”
“How are we supposed to get him there in time? He can’t fly,” I remind Pest. He digs around in his leather backpack and takes out a small black marble.
“This is a Wanderer stone. There are very few left in the world. It will take us anywhere we need to go, but it’s only as strong as the being who hold it. So, we will need to place Kane’s hand on it. And hope even asleep, his powers will affect the stone,” he says. I take Kane’s hand and place it on top of the softball-sized black stone.
“Normally the being with the power would guide the stone, but Kane isn’t conscious. So, we’ll need you to guide the stone,” he says.
“Me! What about you? Aren’t you a Shadow?”
“No, I’m what they call ‘grey,’ meaning I’m a human who can sense the paranormal world. That’s how I know you have powers—you’re not a Shadow but something else. What are you? Why can I sense your power but not as strongly as I can sense the others?” Pest asks.
“Sadie is transferring her powers to me. So I have power but I haven’t accessed it. It’s kind of a ‘slow drip’ kind of thing.”
“You’re the last Seeker! I’m standing before the last Seeker!” he says in utter disbelief.
“Um, yeah. I guess so. Can we get back to saving Kane?” I ask.
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry,” he says.
“It’s fine. We just need to focus.”
“No, I’m sorry that this quest falls on you…” he says with pity in his voice.
“Pest, please just tell me what to do,” I push.
“Have you ever been to New Orleans?”