Charlotte Grey Somewhere above the Canadian Wilderness, Present
The black night filled the view from the cockpit as Charlotte reclined in the co-pilot’s chair. She leaned back with her feet propped on the console and reflected on everything that had transpired earlier that day. Just that morning she had been a prisoner with no hope of escape, only a vow to avenge herself. But now due to the efforts of a stranger, her freedom and power had been restored. Charlotte was grateful but suspicious. What was Saba’s real plan?
Saba sat at the controls and piloted the jet. She gave her a sidelong look. “You’re not a prisoner anymore, Charlotte. Why don’t you change out of those rags?”
Charlotte looked down at her bland uniform. She had a point. She rose to her feet and envisioned in her mind what she would rather wear. Once she had decided, she snapped her fingers and her uniform began to change. Her shirt darkened from white to black and the collar crept up her neck. The legs of her pants joined together to form a long skirt with a slit going up the side. The shackles on her wrists vanished as the sleeves extended to the back of her hands. As a last finishing touch, abstract flames embroidered themselves on her chest and the hem of her skirt.
Saba looked back at her with an appraising look. “A little ostentatious, but it works,”
“You’re not an Enforcer anymore. Why don’t you change out of those rags?” Charlotte retorted.
A corner of Saba’s mouth lifted. “If you insist.” She switched the craft to autopilot and snapped her fingers. Immediately, her dark coat transformed into a white blazer and her shirt and pants became woven together into a white dress that clung to her hips. Charlotte crossed her arms. “Now that we’re done playing dress-up, would you like to tell me why you freed me?” Something about her tone told Saba that was not a suggestion. She swiveled her chair around and crossed her legs.
“I freed you because I believe we have a common interest,” Saba replied.
“And what exactly is that?” Charlotte asked impatiently.
“Knowledge,” Saba responded. “My grandfather was once a great Necromancer and his school of magic was one of the best in the world. He brought glory and wealth to our family name and because of him we were well respected in the world of magic. But when the Council outlawed Necromancy, my grandfather refused to observe the order. He continued to teach Necromancy although it was forbidden and the Council was very displeased. So, they imprisoned him and all his students, including my father. And they transported his library to another world where no one could find the knowledge it contains. My grandfather was later executed for his teachings. Under the new order, his school of Necromancy was shut down permanently by the Council and my family lost our fortune. Ever since then, my family and I have hated the Council for what they did to us. It is my personal mission to assassinate the Council members to avenge my grandfather and the rest of my family. Now that their resources are strained trying to recapture all the criminals I set free, I will infiltrate their headquarters and strike them down.” Saba finished with a fist on the armrest.
“But where do I fit into your dastardly designs?” Charlotte asked with her arms crossed.
“All your life you have been told that this magic is forbidden or that magic is forbidden. But every time someone told you ‘no’ you pursued it all the more. I mean to find my grandfather’s library and use its knowledge to open a new school of magic— one where no knowledge is forbidden to anyone. Once the current Council is out of the way, I will establish a new regime that will repeal all the nonsense measures they have passed. And I want you to serve as one of the new Council members. You and I can build a world where mystics possess all the might we once wielded; the earth-shattering, cataclysmic power that the Council has feared all their life. Then we can rule the world as gods like we were always destined to do.”
Charlotte stood before her and smiled. “Girl, I’m all in.”
John Hartman, Prison, Canadian Wilderness, Present
John and Amelia continued to labor while the new recruits slept. They gathered the dead Enforcers and laid them reverently in a black tent that John hastily assembled. The dead rogues were relegated to the shattered cells within the prison. After they were satisfied that all the dead had been picked up from the ground, they finished the work Petra and Plamen had started. The sun peeked over the horizon moments after the last stone fell into place. The façade was now restored but the inner corridors and the outer walls were still in ruins. But John and Amelia’s strength was finally spent.
The reinforcements were due to arrive within a few hours. They could finish the repairs once they got here. The two of them had done all they could.
John saw Amelia enter the tent where their fallen comrades lay. He followed her in and found her standing between Rachel’s and Marcus’ corpses. She had peeled back the shrouds that covered their bodies and now stood weeping softly for her deceased companions. John walked toward Amelia and embraced her tightly. Amelia wrapped her arms around him and sobbed loudly against his chest. John had no words. He could only hold her as they both mourned. Rachel’s beautiful face was now burnt and charred beyond recognition, her golden hair reduced to ash. Marcus was still and pale, never to move, speak or laugh ever again. John averted his eyes from the ghastly sights as Amelia shuddered with sorrow.
Petra awoke slowly as Amelia gently shook her. She opened her bleary eyes and saw the second-in-command standing over her. Once she realized who it was, Petra leaped out of bed and stood at attention. Plamen still slumbered in the top bunk.
“At ease,” Amelia said. Petra relaxed and noted that Amelia’s eyes were red with exhaustion…no, mourning.
“John and I will be having a modest breakfast in the mess hall. You and Plamen are welcome to join us when you are ready,” the second-in-command said.
“Yes. Thank you, ma’am,” Petra replied.
“After breakfast, we will hold a memorial for the fallen,” she continued.
“Yes, ma’am,”
“I’ll see you downstairs in a little while,” Amelia answered. Then she turned to leave. But before she could walk out, Petra stopped her.
“Ma’am?” she said.
“Yes?”
Petra said nothing in reply but walked toward Amelia and hugged her. Amelia was surprised by the gesture but did not object. She returned the embrace sincerely and Petra pulled away. “Thank you, Petra,” Then with a small smile, she turned and left.
The memorial was small and brief. The four of them stood among the rows of the fallen and reflected on what the lives of their comrades meant to them. Petra thought about all the friends she had made among the new recruits and how she could never speak to them again. Tears streamed down her cheeks as Plamen touched her shoulder. While she mourned quietly, she remembered all the light-hearted moments they had together: all the meals and laughter they shared, all the trials they endured. This was all wrong! They were supposed to be here with her! They would be if it wasn’t for the betrayal of one person. Why would Saba bring this upon us? What would drive her to such an extreme? The same questions weighed on all four of them as they stood there lost in remembrance.
John stepped forward and spoke. He faced them with a somber expression as a chill breeze blew through the tent. The shrouds that covered the bodies undulated in the wind. “We have come here today to honor the fallen. They were our comrades, our brothers and sisters in arms, our friends. We fought valiantly beside them through countless battles over the years and yesterday they fought the last battle they would ever fight.” John’s eyes misted with tears and he had to pause to compose himself. “We don’t know all the reasons behind the massacre that took their lives. All we can do is cope with the fallout…and pursue justice to the utmost.” Then John turned toward the deceased. “May the gods receive you into the Regions of Bliss. Your absence in our lives will be greatly felt.”
Later that morning, the reinforcements arrived. Enforcers streamed out of the jet like a long, dark serpent a
s they marched into the ruined prison. John and Amelia received them in the main hall where he organized them into teams. He assigned them specific areas to regenerate and they immediately scattered to begin their work.
All over the complex and throughout the prison, rubble lifted from the ground and filled the breaches. Melted doors were restored to their original shape and shattered windows were reassembled. Magical auras of every color set the prison ablaze with their iridescent glow. Petra gazed in awe at the myriad of colors around her. Shades of violet, green and blue that she had never before imagined burned brightly beneath the morning sky. The infinite array of hues overwhelmed her. Petra turned to Plamen who stood beside her. “Have you ever seen such a sight?”
Plamen silently shook his head.
Then another thought came to Petra. “How can magic be so beautiful and so terrible at the same time?”
“It’s not magic,” Plamen answered. “It’s us humans. We are beautiful and terrible.”
Suddenly, they heard a voice which echoed in their ears only. “Petra and Plamen. Report to the Warden’s Office immediately.” It was Amelia’s voice they heard. The two of them glanced at one another apprehensively. Then they made their way to John’s quarters. They walked briskly past the landing pad where another small army of Enforcers disembarked from their transport. The ground had been totally cleared of rubble and the prison was almost fully restored. The breaches in the walls had been sealed and the Tower cast its crimson glow once more.
The inner corridors still bustled with activity as repairs were made left, right and center. Petra and Plamen carefully weaved around the working mystics while the interior was rapidly restored. The tapestries which had been burned in the violence of the jailbreak became vibrant and whole again. The shattered friezes regained their texture as if nothing happened. They reached the end of the hall and climbed up a staircase which opened into a wide, stony corridor. Shafts of sunlight beamed through the arched windows and cast long shadows of the rubble on the floor. The walls were smeared with blood and the odor of burnt flesh lingered on the air. The telltale signs of battle chilled Petra inwardly.
Petra and Plamen turned right and walked another lengthy corridor before they reached John’s office. When they arrived, the Warden was seated behind his desk. Amelia, his second-in-command stood at his right with her hands clasped behind her back. They walked through the open door and they greeted each other formally.
“You summoned us, sir?” Petra asked when the pleasantries were out of the way.
“Yes,” John replied. “I have called you here to say that the pair of you have shown immense resolve over the past 24 hours and for that, I commend you.”
“Thank you, sir,” they both replied in unison.
“I must also tell you that Amelia and I will be absent for a few days. I have already named an acting Warden and he will arrive within the hour. You are to heed his orders as you would mine. Understand?” the Warden said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Any questions?” John asked.
There was a moment of silence before Petra spoke. “Why are you leaving?”
John looked at Amelia and wondered if it was prudent to tell them. His second-in-command knew the silent question in his eyes and gave him a nod.
John shifted his gaze back to Petra. “We’re going after Saba and Charlotte. We intend to do whatever it takes to bring them to justice.”
“May I join you, sir?” Plamen asked quickly.
“Plamen, I appreciate your initiative but you are not prepared to face an adversary like Charlotte Grey. Her magical skill far exceeds your own.” John replied.
“Please, sir! I have to do something!” Plamen continued urgently.
“You are needed here,” the Warden said evenly. “The new garrison will need all the help they can get to recapture all the rogues who escaped.”
“But…”
“I have spoken on the matter.” John interjected.
Yet Plamen refused to let it go. “Sir, I lost nearly all my friends in yesterday’s battle!” he exclaimed. “I have to do something to avenge their deaths, I have to fight!”
“And you can fight,” John replied. “Alongside them,” he said as he pointed to the Enforcers laboring outside. “This mission is too dangerous for you and I will not have your blood on my hands.”
“But…”
“Plamen, don’t,” Petra said quietly as she touched his arm. Plamen scowled at the floor and remained silent. Amelia noted his grudging obedience with curiosity.
“You are dismissed,” John said. Petra and Plamen turned silently and left.
Selene Radcliffe Adams Morgan, District of Columbia, Present
The previous night while the survivors at the prison labored, news of the onslaught had not yet reached the public. Life continued as normal and they went about their affairs blissfully unaware of what had transpired up north. Selene leaned gently against the railing and gazed at the dark streets of Adams Morgan below. The sea of shadows was broken up by brightly lit patios where partygoers floated up into the night amid the gaudy glow of neon signs and puffs of cigarette smoke. The rooftop bar where she stood was jam-packed with patrons who sat in clusters and talked jovially among themselves. The strings of lights overhead bathed the upper level in a soft golden haze. Selene lifted her glass and drained the last of her whiskey.
She savored the hot, sweet liquid as it washed over her tongue. It burned its way down her throat then simmered in her stomach. Selene turned from the street view and weaved around the other patrons as she strolled toward the bar. She ignored the nervous glances that her presence garnered and disregarded the murmured comments about her. Selene approached the bar with her empty glass and smiled at the bartender.
The balding man with gray stubble returned her smile as he rinsed a glass at the sink. He shut off the faucet and placed it on a rack to dry. “Hey, Selene. I haven’t seen you here in a long while.”
“I’ve been busy, Frank,” Selene replied casually.
The bartender opened a bottle of whiskey and refilled Selene’s glass.
“With your demon-hunting?” he asked as he replaced the bottle on the shelf.
“Mm-hmmm,” Selene answered. She raised her glass and tipped it at her lips.
Frank glanced up at the customers who were looking at Selene. He grinned at her. “Listen, Selene. I’m sure you’ve noticed customers talking about you—”
“Who doesn’t?” she interjected.
“—and I just need to ask you to keep the magic on the down-low. They know about your line of work and it freaks them out, honestly,” Frank finished. Just then, Selene saw Kara enter the bar on the far end of the patio. She smiled at the bartender.
“Relax, I’ll play nice,” Selene replied. “I have company.” she said as she tilted her head in Kara’s direction. Selene turned and waved at her from the bar. Kara’s eyes lit up when she saw her and she wended her way through the crowd. Frank saw her approach.
“She’s pretty. Don’t I recognize her from somewhere?”
“Her name is Kara.” Selene responded.
“Kara Hartman? The painter?”
“That’s the one.”
“Huh! I wouldn’t expect you to go for the artsy type.” Frank said.
Selene grinned. “She surprised me too, honestly.”
Kara walked up to the bar and took a stool next to Selene. They greeted each other with a kiss.
“Kara, this is Frank, a good friend of mine.” Selene said.
“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Hartman.” Frank said as he shook her hand.
“And you as well,” Kara replied.
“My son is a huge fan of your work. He’s always showing me photos of you with your paintings and he tells me ‘I’m gonna make art like that one day.’” said the bartender.
“Awww! Thank you,” Kara said with a blush. Selene smiled and sipped at her whiskey.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Frank asked.
>
“Yes. A glass of Madeira, please.”
Selene raised her eyebrows. “Changing it up tonight. Any occasion?”
Kara smiled brightly. “I got accepted into the exhibition!”
“That’s great!” Selene exclaimed. “I’m happy for you.”
Frank slid a glass of Madeira to Kara and she thanked him. Then he walked away and tended to the other patrons.
Kara sipped her wine. “We gotta go shopping for dresses now.” Selene dropped her head and groaned. She pushed her teasingly. “You’ll find something nice, don’t worry!” Kara began telling Selene about a store in City Center she wanted to visit when she felt the eyes of the other patrons on them. “Why do I feel like people are looking at us?”
“Because they are.” Selene replied offhandedly. She smiled at Kara. “I have something of a reputation in this neighborhood.”
“Ah. Selene, the notorious demon-hunter.” Kara replied.
Selene nodded. “They’ve seen a lot of my battles in the streets. I’ve killed demons in front of them and they know what I can do.”
Kara tilted her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you how you got into demon-hunting.”
“Chenzen had me do it as part of my training during my cage-fighting days. He educated me on all the different species of demons, the worlds they come from and how to kill them.”
“I took a Demonology class under Professor Chang at the Academy.” Kara said “But most of it was just book learning. It was probably nothing like what you experienced.”
Selene chuckled. “You’re right about that. Chenzen’s approach was a lot more hands on. We clashed with demons all over New York. It seemed every week I got slashed or bitten.”
Kara gasped.
“But Chen always healed me,” Selene said with a wan smile.
“How did you meet this Chenzen?” Kara asked.
Selene took another sip of whiskey. “He was at my first fight. I got my ass kicked but I went down swinging. He saw my potential and decided to take me under his wing. Chen taught me how to fight and under his tutelage I became a contender on the streets. People talked about me—Selene Radcliffe, the dark horse from Brooklyn.”
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