by Kal Aaron
She half-closed her eyes, picturing twined streams of pulsing dark lines and running her hands over the batons until dark auras surrounded both. The spell would increase both their damage and knockout power. Shooting people was easier, but bashing their heads in relieved stress and kept down the number of accidental deaths.
A dark curtain covered the window, with a thin slit at the bottom. She craned her neck to look. She couldn’t see much other than a long hallway with no one in it.
Had they pulled everyone to the front? Even if she weren’t there, some SWAT guy could have dropped off a helicopter and smashed in through the window.
“Time to make a big entrance,” she whispered.
“Are you sure?” Jofi asked. “This might be a situation that would benefit from subtlety.”
“They didn’t hire me for subtlety. They hired me to take down Alvarez.”
Lyssa smashed the window with two quick strikes from her batons before diving into the hall and springing to her feet, batons at the ready. Numerous doors stood on either side of the hallway before it dead-ended at an elaborate spiral staircase. No one emerged from the doors, ready to shoot the intruder.
Pressure built in her chest, a sign of sorcery. Her heart rate kicked up.
“What the—”
A small crystal sphere popped out of the wall halfway down the hall, and a curtain of flame blasted from it.
Chapter Three
Lyssa reacted on instinct and bent backward until she dropped to the floor. The jet of flame ripped through the hallway, scorching the doors and walls on both sides. It scoured the wood and the drywall, slicing through them without setting them afire before missing her by inches. It was like someone had carved through the hallway with a burning sword.
The heat was intense even through Lyssa’s regalia and spells, but the flames didn’t burn her. Without anything to stop the spell, the blast hit the end of the hall and blew out what was left of the window in a house-shaking final strike. Pieces of wood and glass covered Lyssa.
She lay on her back and brushed the debris off her mask, unsure of what the hell had happened. Without her regalia enhancing her reflexes, the blast would have blown her out of the building. Surviving the first hit in a battle wasn’t good enough when she didn’t know the enemy’s capabilities.
Why was a Sorcerer with these random cartel idiots? Had she made a mistake by not trying to arrive in secret?
A dark memory of somber-faced Elders speaking to a teenage Lyssa surfaced.
Some information wasn’t made available to the assigned Torch. We believe that had your brother known what he was facing, the outcome would have been different. That was unfortunate.
Lyssa gritted her teeth and concentrated on the here and now. She didn’t have time to get distracted by things from fifteen years ago, no matter how important. The best way to find her brother was to become stronger, and that included not letting gangsters and rogue Sorcerers embarrass her.
Hushed murmurs came from downstairs. Lyssa couldn’t make them out, but there were a lot of men there. Their lack of screaming and fleeing in terror after the spell meant they had expected it.
Lyssa hopped up, clutching her batons tightly. Clever traps didn’t do any good if they didn’t hit the target.
“Are you unharmed?” Jofi asked, as calm as ever.
“My pride’s hurt for getting surprised,” Lyssa murmured. “Does that count?”
“No.”
Shadows played across the holes sliced through the doors by the spell. She wasn’t alone on the second floor.
“Someone screwed up,” Lyssa whispered. “I don’t know if it’s Samuel’s, the cops’, or the EAA’s fault, but someone should have known about the sorcery.” She lifted her batons. “No more Miss Nice Girl.”
There’d been more than enough time for whoever was on the second floor to emerge from the rooms, but they were hesitating for some reason. Were there more traps? Why didn’t the Sorcerer follow up on the attack?
The hushed words from below gave away to shouts, along with pounding footsteps. The sounds grew distant as they moved toward the other end of the house and the staircase.
“Keep on the door!” someone shouted from below. “We just nailed some SWAT bastard on the second floor. The rest of you assholes up there need to clean up! We’ll get ready down here.”
There was a mention of SWAT but no mention of a Sorceress. That was a bad sign for their internal communications. They also should have come after her immediately after the explosion, not that it would have helped. She was surprised they hadn’t been expecting her rather than the cops.
A door creaked open down the hall, surprised eyes peeking at Lyssa. The owner of the eyes, a hard-looking man covered with scars, emerged more fully.
“It’s not the cops!” he bellowed. “It’s the Sorceress!”
Lyssa charged down the hallway. The gangster pulled his gun, but she batted it out of his hand with her baton, sending it skittering down the hardwood floor. Her next blow smashed him into a wall. He slid to the floor, unconscious.
Other doors flew open behind her. Armed shouting men emerged. She spun and sprinted down the hallway in a zigzag pattern. They opened fire.
Bullets whizzed past her. A couple struck her; they stung but bounced off. She jumped into the air to kick and bat at her assailants, and her blows landed with loud crunches. The men groaned and cried out in pain.
Some fell unconscious. Others only suffered the pain of broken bones.
There was only so much restraint Lyssa would show armed killers. Being damage-resistant wasn’t the same thing as being immortal. Taking them down quickly was the best strategy to keep her from having to kill them, especially if a Sorcerer joined the battle.
Lyssa slammed an elbow into a man’s nose. He screamed and grabbed the offended protrusion. She finished him off with a spinning kick that launched him into another man. Their tangled limbs set up an easy combo for one of her batons. Both men fell to the floor, groaning before losing consciousness.
A thug tried to jam a gun against her head and pulled the trigger, but she ducked, and the loud report rang in her ears. She repaid him by cracking his arm at the elbow. He screamed and dropped his gun, only stopping his wailing when her follow-up to his chin sent him backward.
There were plenty of enemies left. The gangsters had relied too much on surprising her and shooting her from a distance. Fear filled the faces of the remaining men.
Some men continued to fire. Others hesitated, unsure now that their enemy was in their midst. One brave soul tried to pistol-whip her. She parried the blow with a baton before kneecapping the man, then smashing him across the head.
“Remember, you’re supposed to apply reasonable force,” Jofi said. “That will improve your standing with the local authorities.”
“If I was applying unreasonable force, they’d all be dead,” Lyssa snapped.
A thug screamed and tried to tackle her. She met his face with a wide swing from both batons, knocking him to the side.
The sorcery trap continued to puzzle her. There was no Sorcerer to explain it. She suspected there had never been, which raised other uncomfortable questions.
Groans, screams, crunches, and cracks overlapped as Lyssa became a flurry of enchanted concussive force. She smacked and pummeled the pack of gangsters, who had been waiting to ambush wounded cops, not a combat-trained Sorceress.
The gangsters had been brave enough to sit in the rooms while sorcery went off, but that didn’t mean they could win with the weapons they had. The growing frustration and terror on their faces proved that. They’d not done more than bruise her despite the advantage of a booby trap, superior numbers, and an ambush. Pathetic.
Lyssa hissed when a bullet struck her back. The round clattered to the ground, leaving a stinging ache. A jumping roll helped her avoid the next shot and close on the shooter. She slammed a baton into a man’s stomach with a fierce jab, and he doubled over in pain. She finished him off wit
h a blow to the head.
As best she could tell, she hadn’t killed anyone yet. Seriously injured, yes, but not killed. Her sides, back, and chest ached. Rips in her regalia marked where she’d been shot. This job was beginning to annoy her.
“You can all just give up, you know,” she shouted before bashing a gun out of a man’s hand and introducing her knee to his nose with a leaping strike. “I’m Hecate! Look at my mask and know the truth. Look at your fallen friends. If you face me, you risk your death. Mercy is only for those who know their limits.”
“You’re more melodramatic than usual today,” Jofi said.
Lyssa tuned out everything but possible targets as she kicked, bashed, and crushed anyone stupid enough to come near her. The numbers thinned. They didn’t surrender, but their attacks slowed.
A man shook out his hand after losing his gun and drew a knife with his other hand. He lunged at her, and she blocked his stab with one baton before nailing him hard across the chest and knocking him to the ground.
Lyssa spun. “Oh, this is good.”
There was no one left awake. She’d pacified the second floor. With the din of immediate battle and her pounding pulse receding, she could make out murmurs and barked orders from below, but nothing that sounded like anyone daring to come up the stairs.
“Something’s wrong,” she whispered after catching her breath.
“Why do you say that?” Jofi asked. “If you’re worried, you can always use me.”
“I think we’ll get to that soon, but these guys should be more scared.”
“They appeared scared to me.”
Lyssa flexed her fingers on her batons. “More scared. Continuing to fight when you’re getting your ass handed to you isn’t the same thing as accepting that an unstoppable Night Goddess is beating you to a pulp even after you keep shooting.”
She rotated her shoulder, wincing. Ice packs and some of Tricia’s herbs would help when she got home. Her regalia would need to do the rest.
“I’m not going all-out on them,” she continued, “but I’m not going easy, either. And why are their buddies letting me beat them up? They had that trap, but no follow-up.”
“Many criminals are heartless,” Jofi said.
“Sacrificial lambs, huh? Maybe.”
Lyssa surveyed the downed men. Most were unconscious or semi-conscious. She had crafted a carpet of beaten thugs, and not one had acted like he thought he’d lose against a Sorceress. It wasn’t as if she expected them to run in terror at the mere sight of her, but going hand-to-hand against someone in a death mask with a literal shadow aura took more than standard thug courage.
Maybe Jofi was right. A diversion? What would be the point? Even if they got away from her, half the Phoenix PD waited for them outside. Those cops didn’t have enchanted batons and sorcery-enhanced defenses to keep them from going to lethal force sooner.
Lyssa looked down the hall at the stairs. No one had come up, which meant they were waiting for her.
They’d thought they’d caught cops with their blast, but her first victim had shouted that she was a Sorceress. The others must have put the pieces together.
“More traps,” Lyssa muttered.
“A cautious approach might be prudent,” Jofi said. “There was no explicit timeline mentioned by the lieutenant for job completion.”
“No way. They tried to blow me up. I’m not creeping around like I’m afraid of these guys, and I was in the middle of something when I got the message.”
“You were in the middle of eating ice cream. I don’t think that ranks highly among important human activities.”
“It was premium ice cream,” Lyssa said. “You don’t appreciate that because you don’t eat.”
“I can’t refute the logic in that sentence.”
She didn’t have time to argue with a spirit about the glories of ice cream, not with a whole other floor filled with murderous cartel thugs.
Chapter Four
Not every door on the second floor was open. Given how much pain she’d delivered without significant resistance, she now doubted a Sorcerer was involved, other than by handing over a dangerous toy. She didn’t doubt it enough to risk getting hit in the back with a spell, though. Her regalia was far more vulnerable to sorcery than conventional weapons.
Lyssa rushed to a closed door and kicked it open. She found nothing but an empty bedroom with a giant TV and a gaming console connected. The starting screen for Premier League Championship 2020 was there, along with a photorealistic graphic image of some pretty-boy soccer player who looked vaguely familiar.
Had they been playing games when the cops showed up? That didn’t seem right. There were too many people in the house. They’d expected trouble.
Lyssa kicked in the other doors to reveal empty bedrooms and a bathroom. The other rooms were already open.
She crept toward the stairs, waiting for the pressure marking sorcery or a hail of gunfire. One side of the hall ended, replaced by an ornate railing that exposed the spacious living room below. She flattened herself against the wall and looked around the corner.
The gangsters had positioned themselves behind furniture, many of them pointing their weapons toward the windows and the front door. Her arrival hadn’t cured them of fearing a SWAT raid. A small number of men watched the stairs, pistols in hand, looking nervous but not terrified. They swung toward her but didn’t fire when she pulled back.
“Jorge Alvarez, are you here?” Lyssa called. “We don’t have to do this the hard way. Your men up here experienced my power. It’s painful, and survival isn’t guaranteed. The more you resist me, the more you’re asking to die.”
Lyssa expected gunshots, but nothing came. Downstairs was eerily quiet, other than the heavy breathing of many large men and the scratches of their shoes and boots on the floor.
“Right now, I’m holding back,” Lyssa continued. “And that’s after you tried to burn me with a power you have no right to use. The police out there want you to survive to trial. I’m flexible on the matter.”
More pressure built in her chest. Lyssa ducked back to avoid the anticipated explosion. Again, nothing happened. No bullets. No explosions. No lightning. Nothing strange.
Did they have a Sorcerer working for them and not just traps, after all? That might explain why they weren’t as scared as she expected, but she had a hard time believing any Sorcerer would allow themself to get stuck in this kind of situation.
A trained Sorcerer could fight their way through police, especially if they didn’t care about casualties, but they’d be forced to use their regalia in its true form. Public use of the regalia might not reveal their identity to the police, but it would guarantee the Society knew who they were.
Being a rogue Sorcerer was a futile quest that was almost guaranteed to end in death or imprisonment. If a Torch didn’t take care of the problem, the Society would eventually send a dedicated anti-Sorcerer assassin, an Eclipse. Staying alive as a rogue Sorcerer or Sorceress mostly involved keeping out of sight, and that meant no massive unsanctioned public displays of sorcery against Shadows.
Lyssa shook her head. No, she’d been right before.
These idiots didn’t have a Sorcerer working for them. They’d gotten their hands on shards, powerful arcane objects created with sorcery that were usable by anyone. The trap fit that description, but Lyssa didn’t appreciate that no one had told her to expect shards.
“I’m beginning to think restraint is overrated,” Lyssa whispered.
“Lieutenant Lopez wanted survivors,” Jofi said. “Elder Samuel also highlighted the benefits of restraint during your last job.”
“There are plenty of survivors on the second floor. And if I sit around too long, I’m going to have to beat them up again.”
“I would think the current foes would need to demonstrate more inherent danger before you felt the need to resort to extreme force.”
Lyssa scoffed. “Fine. Let’s clear out the living room and let the cops point thei
r guns at everyone who is left.”
She darted toward the stairs. They weren’t dark enough to use wall-walking, and it would leave her exposed for too long. She opted to bound down the stairs three at a time, trusting her enhanced speed and agility. The men guarding the stairs opened fire, leaving a trail of bullet holes in the wall behind her.
Once Lyssa made it three-quarters of the way down, she leaped over the rail. A bullet nailed her in the shoulder, stinging and tearing another small hole in her regalia before falling to the floor. She landed on top of one of the men guarding the stairs, and her quick roundhouse knocked another down. She clubbed the top of her landing pad’s head to take him out.
Beating up a house full of thugs was better exercise than the BollyX her neighbor had made her do last week. All she needed was a catchy soundtrack.
Men hidden in the back popped up from behind their furniture bunkers to fire. Others turned from the front, suddenly more concerned about her than the cops.
The living room might have been large, but it wasn’t a football field. She cleared the distance in seconds and became a whirlwind of unstoppable crushing and smashing pain. Her gangster victims collapsed to the ground, groaning and on the edge of consciousness if not out cold. Their loud echoing shots became less frequent as Lyssa continued her evil majorette routine until only the front guards remained. They’d ceased fire.
She faced them, smiling under her mask. That was one advantage of wearing a face covering. She never worried about the goofy faces she might be making in battle.
“I applaud your bravery,” she offered, letting her enhanced voice do its work. “I’ll remember you after you die.”
The guards didn’t open fire, just exchanged annoyed looks. Lyssa was about to congratulate herself on her intimidation when they all sprinted toward a large door that led to another room. The first man threw open the door, revealing a large rec room, complete with a pool table.
“Hiding in there isn’t going to help,” Lyssa shouted. “You’re only delaying the inevitable.”