by C R Langille
“We need to get out of here. If he’s that good, then he’ll be fine. Now come on.”
Toby headed back toward the stairwell. He didn’t wait to see if they were coming or not. They would come. The patter of Sebastian’s sneakers as the boy ran to catch up told him as much.
The sound of many boots on concrete stairs echoed through the hotel. The first of the SWAT creatures poked its head out of the stairwell, its inhuman grin visible even from a distance. Another crept out from the top part of the doorway and scurried across the ceiling. More poured out of the door like cockroaches from a nest.
Toby grabbed at more of the stored energy. There wasn’t much left, but it would have to do.
Careful, Love.
“Yeah, Daddy, be careful.”
“Don’t worry, Love,” Toby said. He wanted to believe it. He wanted Sebastian to believe he could save them all.
Evard stood next to him and planted his feet. The old man took a deep breath and more of the golden energy filled his father’s calloused hands.
Toby harnessed the power and flung it down the hallway. Evard did the same. Their combined energy hit the onrush of creatures. Everything sucked forward, as if a vacuum pulled at their very beings. Sounds went quiet, and the only thing left to hear was the beat of his heart. Toby fought to keep a steady footing, then everything exhaled. The noise exploded along with the SWAT creatures. Bits and pieces of the things fell to the ground in a fizzle of flesh and cinder. It should have smelled horrible, but instead the scent of campfires and smoke graced Toby’s nose. It was amazing.
Don’t overextend. You need fuel for the power.
Toby willed the power to drop, and it fell away to leave him empty. Almost immediately, the aches and pains of the last couple of days caught up with him, and he dropped to the ground on his knees. His lungs burned. He started to cough so hard his eyes filled with tears. Then, he hacked up another wad of steaming black goo.
“Gross,” Sebastian said.
Linda ran to Toby’s side and helped him up. Evard shot him a sideways glance and continued to shoot the creatures down as they closed in.
“Toby, are you okay?” Linda asked.
“I think so. Been a bloody long day is all.”
“Tobias!” Evard said.
Toby looked up to his father. Sweat poured down the old man’s face, and his breathing came at a ragged pace. Each ball of energy the man flung down the hall was less and less bright as the last.
“I can’t hold them back much longer,” Evard said.
More and more people poured into the hallway from the stairwell—not just police officers anymore, but also a seemingly endless stream of men, women, and children.
They know the boy’s here. They are coming for him.
“They will have to get through me first,” Toby said. He stood back up and took his place by his father’s side once again. Toby reached out and grabbed onto the first bit of energy he could find, and his hands filled with a brilliant glow.
Chapter Thirty
Doyle reached out for the door’s brushed aluminum handle. He’d always like brushed aluminum, it looked nice and really brought a room together. As his hand neared the door, the hairs on his neck danced and chill raced through his body. The small amount of light put off from the emergency system dimmed to almost complete darkness.
Doyle hesitated, his fingers inches away from the handle. The euniphrite was outside and waited for him. That fact was as clear to him as Quantum Theory. Yet, there was something else out there, beyond the door, something old and filled with a chaotic rage.
He checked his revolver and ensured it was loaded and ready to put some extra holes in a euniphrite. Then, Doyle looked up to the ceiling.
“Any extra help would be appreciated. Maybe some Old Testament stuff? An archangel or something? Hell, I’d even take a cherub.”
Nothing changed, and he couldn’t find any images of Jesus or Mary in the ceiling’s texture. There were no burning bushes and no flaming swords, just the empty stairwell.
“I see.”
The hollow stairwell filled with the sudden rush of boots on concrete steps—many booted feet. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t run back down the stairs. The others would have to deal with the police officers. His target was the euniphrite.
“No time to dilly dally.”
Doyle pushed through the door and onto the roof. When he touched the door, a familiar jolt of energy ran up his arm and through his core. His body shivered as he crossed the threshold but faded when the moonlight washed over him. The door shut with more force than it should have.
He looked to the door as the realization of what had just occurred hit him. Doyle looked back up to the heavens and sighed.
“Really? Sometimes I feel you don’t know the meaning of help.”
The euniphrite still crouched on the corner of the building. Its wings draped across its shoulders, and although they billowed in the wind, they moved as if they had a mind of their own. Doyle stepped out and put his hands in his pockets. He let his fingers rest across the grip of his revolver and whistled the theme song from, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. He swept an arm out in front of him and moved closer.
“Beautiful scenery, isn’t it? Say what you want about tectonic plates, they still create some great hills. Have you tried skiing yet? Utah has the greatest snow on earth. At least their license plate says so.”
The euniphrite eyed him and wore a grimace reminiscent of a medieval gargoyle. It watched Doyle as a cat would watch a mouse at play—curious, but ultimately waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Doyle didn’t intend to let the thing get the upper hand.
“Well, enough niceties I suppose. Time we get down to business. I’m Special Agent Doyle L. Johnson, ID Hotel-Phantom-Lima, 3-15-3, and you’re not supposed to be here.”
The euniphrite must have understood him because it stood tall and stretched its wings. The wings blocked part of the moon and offered a great silhouette. Doyle didn’t hesitate. He jerked his gun free and fired. Within the span of two seconds, all five rounds left his revolver and slammed into the euniphrite’s head. Not bad shooting, Tex.
It rocked back and fell off the roof. Doyle rushed forward and reloaded the weapon. By the time he got to the edge, he was ready to rock and roll. He looked down and hoped to see it smashed into the vehicles below with its brain matter splattered onto the asphalt. Instead, nothing but cars was down below.
“What the deuce?”
The rush of wind to his side warned him, but not quick enough. Doyle dropped to the ground and rolled, but the euniphrite still grazed him with a clawed hand. The impact sent him flying toward some silver ducting attached to the roof. The soft metal of the ducting padded the blow, but it took an eternity to catch his breath. Each gasp of air was hard to make. He was fairly certain a rib was broken.
Maybe two. Or three.
The euniphrite jumped and landed with its legs straddling him. Five pock marks marred the creature’s forehead, but the bullets didn’t even break skin. Doyle took the fact it was pissed as a sign he at least caused it some minor discomfort. A stream of orange blood ran from its nose and a large vein on its forehead thumped in an erratic rhythm.
It leaned in close until it was inches from Doyle’s face and growled something in its language. Along with the creature’s foul breath, the words scraped across Doyle’s mind like a rasp. Each syllable burrowed deeper and deeper into the Special Agent’s psyche. Doyle winced but gave a small chuckle. The euniphrite stopped talking and shot him a curious look.
“Look, if you’re trying to drive me insane, it won’t work. I have a season pass to the place.”
He emptied the revolver into the creature’s groin and then grabbed the thing’s legs and slid out from underneath. The euniphrite howled in response and dropped to a knee. Doyle rolled up and onto his feet.
Definitely a broken rib or two.
He checked his pockets as he ran away from the creature and hoped to find something to help him. His gun would be as much use as a water pistol against a forest fire; at least it had bought him a moment. Doyle skidded to a stop and pulled an Old Timer folding knife from his coat. He once again looked to the sky.
“Sorry, but not much choice here.”
He reached into the other coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. The parchment was yellow with age and smelled of dust. The euniphrite was almost to its feet when he unfolded the paper. Harsh sigils decorated the parchment, a language few would recognize and even fewer could read.
Doyle took the knife and ran it down his forearm. Pain lanced up his arm, and blood dripped from the wound. The blood spattered across the pebble-strewn roof and fell into a circular pattern. When he finished the circle, Doyle read from the parchment.
Time slowed down and the euniphrite barely seemed to move. Doyle forced the words from this throat. Each one ripped on his vocal cords as it left his mouth until he could barely speak. He tried to yell the last phrase, but Doyle could only muster a ragged whisper.
Time resumed normal speed as he uttered the last sentence, and the parchment went up in black flames. The fire blackened his hand, and he dropped the paper to the ground.
The Dean at Miskatonic University would be pissed if she ever found out he’d taken the page, even more so if she ever found out he actually read the words.
The smoke from the fire stung his eyes and caused them to water. He gagged on the stench of burning hair and visceral fat.
The blood drops on the ground flash boiled, bubbled, and put off a stink akin to burnt plastic. The whole process mesmerized Doyle, and he almost didn’t see the euniphrite close on him. Doyle ducked under one of its hands as it reached out, and he rolled to his side.
No doubt about it, broken ribs.
The blood steamed on the ground, and then tendrils of flesh shot out from each drop. They whipped around with chaotic movements searching for anything to grab. The tendrils found the euniphrite and wrapped around the creature’s legs. It fell to the ground hard enough to blast the air from its lungs. It spit out some words in its guttural tongue and ripped at the tendrils of skin. Each one it pulled away, two more took its place.
Soft voices whispered in Doyle’s ears. The voices promised him things, promised him power beyond belief. He ignored the voices and pushed them to the side where the usual imaginary chatter took place. They joined the ever-growing chorus.
The cut on his hand burned. The skin blackened around the edges, and each drop of blood that oozed out singed his flesh. After a moment, it was agony to even move his fingers, so he cradled it close to his body.
“Gotta find some holy water, stat.”
The tendrils wrapped the euniphrite up into a fleshy cocoon. After a few moments, the creature disappeared under a mound of ruddy skin. It continued to struggle from inside. The rope-like appendages constricted tighter and tighter. The muffled snap of bone sounded off from inside.
Doyle backed away and rubbed at his side. The pain was a deep throb that spiked with each breath; however, he chose to look at the bright side, at least he had good insurance with the agency. Doyle shot one last look at the cocoon. The euniphrite stopped struggling.
Guess it wasn’t too strong.
As soon as the thought entered his mind, he winced.
“Damn, I jinxed it.”
A bulge appeared in the tendrils. It grew like a goiter, bigger and bigger until it burst. Orange fire erupted from the hole and ate into the tendrils. The flesh bubbled and burned away until only bits of ash and cinder were left in its place. The euniphrite’s arm broke free and tore the rest of the tendrils away. Some of the other ropes grabbed at the creature, but the fire consumed them until they shriveled and died.
It stood to full height and shook the burnt pieces of flesh from its body. Orange blood oozed from a dozen different wounds on the creature, and a jagged piece of clavicle bone broke through its skin. The accompanying arm hung limp next to its side.
Doyle put his good hand up in the air.
“High five.” He lowered the hand. “No?”
More and more tendrils grew from the blood patches and replaced their burned brethren. They tried to once again latch onto the beast, but it was free. The euniphrite spoke again, the words unintelligible but primal. It coughed up some dark orange blood and spat towards the creeping tendrils, then raised its good arm toward the mass.
Black lightning crackled from the creature’s outstretched hand and shot into the roof’s floor. The acrid smell of ozone hit the air, and Doyle’s horseshoe of hair stood on end. The roof around the tendrils glowed red. There was a slight tremble below Doyle’s feet, and then the roof fell away. The remaining tendrils fell with the debris, down into the hotel interior. The section of roof busted through several floors before it disappeared in a cloud of drywall and smoke.
“Touché.”
Ideas of what to do next slipped away faster than if he had greased up his long-term memory and sent it down a playground slide on a hot afternoon. The euniphrite turned back toward him and pointed with his clawed hand. The black energy still popped from its fingertips ready to obliterate anything in its path. A tiny itch formed on Doyle’s right side, so he dove to the left as the euniphrite let go with another shot of the arcane power.
The blast took part of the roof with it. Bricks smashed into cars below and set off an alarm. The alarm echoed through the lot in a wail rivaling a hound dog’s call.
Doyle struggled to his feet and wiped some dust from his shoulder. Smoke curled from a melted portion of his duct tape trench coat and floated into the night sky.
“You know what your problem is? Your problem is you’ve got an anger issue. It isn’t healthy. But you’re in luck, I know a good doctor. She’s great at the agency and doesn’t mind taking house calls.”
The euniphrite’s chest heaved with each breath. Its chaotic array of tattoos glowed with a dark power and flared with each inhalation. It listened to Doyle ramble on but made no move otherwise.
Doyle continued to talk, anything to keep its attention away from the real words he said, the words he soaked with power as they left his lips. It was an old incantation, supposedly one of Merlin’s favorites. Doyle learned it from an old blind man who panhandled in Key West. The hardest part was masking the right words under his normal speech. That skill took much longer to master.
“And that’s the problem with big cats, you see. They aren’t too fun to cuddle with. They don’t know the meaning of the word no.”
The creature’s eyes widened as Doyle energized the last word. He let the power slip through his mind and project out of his body. The wind swirled around him and kicked up the tail of his trench coat. The whirlwind raced toward the euniphrite and grabbed every bit of loose debris on the roof until it was a vortex of rocks, garbage, and burned tendrils. The euniphrite tried to get out of the way, but it was still exhausted from the earlier confrontation.
The spinning column of trash hit the euniphrite full on. It tried to fly to safety, but it was too late. The wind ripped at its wings, and rocks tore holes in the leather-like skin. Some of the ropes of flesh wrapped around the creature’s wings and snapped the appendages like dry twigs. The euniphrite let out a cry of rage and pain.
The numbness set on by the euniphrite’s magic sloughed away and left him with a thousand different aches and pains. Doyle slumped to the ground and hacked up a ball of blood.
He got to his feet and stumbled into a nearby vent. The metal was cool to the touch and soothed his burnt hand. The euniphrite still raged nearby, but at the moment, Doyle only wanted to get back into the hotel.
The pressure in the air rose and forced Doyle to look over his shoulder. Nothing seemed out of place, other than t
he alien creature trapped in a magical whirlwind. He knew better though.
“You might as well come out. I know you’re here.”
A light brighter than the sun appeared in front of him and forced Doyle to look away. His wounds healed wherever the light touched him, with the exception of his charred hand. It would take more than celestial magic to heal such a wound. Even though he wasn’t at a 100%, his ribs felt better, and Doyle could take a breath without wincing.
“Hey, Mike,” Doyle said.
“Special Agent Johnson.”
The light died away and revealed Mike. He still wore his dark suit, although his hair was no longer shoulder length. It was cropped short in a military style. A long purple scar ran down the man’s face just below his eye.
“Been busy, I see. Finally decided to get into it, eh?”
“I can’t discuss it,” Mike said. “You can’t kill this one yourself, you know. They are too powerful now.”
Doyle put his hands up and took a step back.
“Please, be my guest flyboy. He’s all yours.”
Mike turned his head toward the creature and sneered. The man flexed his hands, and the earth shook in response. Then, he relaxed and sighed.
“I’m not allowed at this time. I apologize.”
Anger boiled in the man’s voice. They were both silent for a moment, and Mike took a step closer to the euniphrite. He then turned his back and walked closer to Doyle. Orders were orders.
Doyle looked up to the skies.
“Figures.”
The euniphrite still fought to escape the whirlwind. If it noticed Mike, it didn’t show it. The winds still spun and battered the creature, but it was close to breaking free. There wasn’t as much debris, and the vortex started to slow.
“So, what are you doing here?” Doyle asked. “Looking for a show or what?”
“I’m here to take you away, if you want.”
“Take me where, Fiji? Did I win an all-expense paid vacation because my hard work finally caught someone’s attention?”