Enchantress Under Pressure

by A C Spahn

  Chapter 28

  I’D PLANNED TO SNEAK quietly onto the floor, keeping out of sight behind cubicle walls until I assessed the situation.

  That plan blew up in my face the moment I opened the door.

  All the furniture was gone. What had once been a tangle of desks and cubicle walls and unused computers was now a vast expanse of open carpet. A few husks smoldered here and there, but everything else lay piled against the windowed walls on all sides, as if a cyclone had flung them away. This high up, the streetlights no longer reached, and the neighboring skyscrapers were dark, leaving only midnight’s murk outside. Two desks lay smashed into one another just inside the door, and half of a chair sat atop the jumble like some kind of office chimera.

  In the open space, a dozen masked fleshwriters stood with their backs to me, hurling blasts of magic at a pair of men standing back to back near Harrow’s closed office door. Axel was wielding the gold-plated broadsword from Harrow’s office wall. The soft gold now bore scuffs and dents, and steel gleamed where the coating had worn away on the sharp edges. I’d always believed larger swords would move slower, but Axel had the size and strength to maneuver the great blade with ease. He lunged forward, slashing at the closest fleshwriter and forcing her to dance back. Before he could finish her, another fleshwriter attacked, and he sprang two feet to the left, cutting them back.

  His opponent thrust her hand forward. A black enchantment tattoo gleamed on her palm. Instantly a wedge of ice crystalized in midair between her and Axel, a spearhead in midflight. It sped forward, raining droplets of water onto the carpet. The icy projectile caught Axel in the side.

  He stumbled, but still completed his sword slash. When he returned to place his back against Harrow’s, I spotted the small gouge left by the ice.

  On a non-Void, that spearhead would have gone clean through and left behind a corpse. On a weaker Void, it would have required surgery. Axel’s immunity was strong, but it just wasn’t enough against so many enemies. Blood also smeared a burn wound on his arm and dripped from a small cut over his eyebrow.

  My eyes fell on the other combatant surrounded by fleshwriters. Bane Harrow appeared untouched, and he slashed at his attackers with a pair of long knives I’d never seen before. Every move blurred, flowing between attack and defense too fast to track. A fleshwriter lunged in. Harrow struck. Blood spurted from a gash in the fleshwriter’s gaunt cheek, the tatters of his mask dangling off his face.

  A six-foot tall, muscular fleshwriter charged Harrow from behind while his back was exposed. Harrow didn’t bother to turn. He twisted his hips, throwing the man straight over him to crash against the floor. Before Harrow could stab the huge man in the throat, the woman who’d attacked Axel raised enchantment-tattooed hands and formed another spear of ice, this one large enough to slice a man in two.

  Harrow didn’t even dodge. He took the spear full in the chest, and barely winced.

  No blood. No wound.

  I was suddenly very glad I’d never tested my magic against him.

  An overturned desk lay in front of Harrow’s office door, riddled with bullet holes. Handguns elongated by silencers strewed the floor behind many of the fleshwriters, apparently expended. Harrow had a gun of his own tucked in the waistband of his expensive slacks, but Axel’s gun seemed to have been lost or used up in the fighting. While the gun would be useful against the fleshwriters, Harrow didn’t have enough breathing room to draw it.

  An ambitious fleshwriter whose eyes looked vaguely familiar under her ski mask darted in and snatched Harrows’ firearm. The Void Legionnaire whirled, alarm flashing across his face.

  Before the skinny fleshwriter could shoot him, I blasted her in the back with lightning.

  Her body went rigid, the gun clutched in paralyzed fingers. My attack caught the attention of the others, one of whom lunged for me. I rolled aside into the middle of the circle, activating my backup shield in my bracelet for all it was worth.

  This shield wasn’t as good as the one I’d worn in my ring, but with that one depleted I had no other options. Orange light sprang up between the fleshwriters and me, just as an ice spear flew my way. A crash echoed in my ears, and a firework went off on my shield, radiating water droplets and shards of ice behind the translucent orange wall. Needles jammed into my wrist where the bracelet rested, as the enchantment shuddered. The cut where Janette had gotten me with her knife throbbed.

  I braced for another magical attack, but before the masked woman could throw more icicles, something caught her attention. She stared past me, over my right shoulder, then bowed her head in obedient submission. Her hands lowered to her sides.

  Bane Harrow and Axel had both gone still, looking in the same direction as the woman. Sam had followed me into the circle, and she too was staring. Even when the woman I’d blasted with lightning dropped twitching to the ground, everyone’s gazes remained fixed behind me.

  Heart threatening to pound through my ribs, I turned.

  A man stood between two other fleshwriters, dressed in expensive jeans and a plain black shirt that probably cost more than my monthly rent. He removed the mask that had been concealing his face, letting it silently fall at his feet.

  He didn’t look like a monster. His light brown hair was fashionably styled, his eyes a light shade of brown, almost gold. His clothes highlighted hard-won musculature, and his strong jaw and decisive cheekbones matched the confidence he wore like cologne. He wore actual cologne, too, something bright and beachy. A set of enchantment tattoos circled his wrists, mistakable for jewelry if you didn’t know what they were. Not monstrous at all, he belonged on an advertisement, the perfect picture of desirable masculinity.

  Geralt Sauvage smiled when I faced him. It was a genuine smile, full of warmth and perfect teeth, and it was the most terrifying thing I’d ever seen. “Adrienne.” He spoke my name like an embrace, his voice deep and rich. “I’ve missed you.”

  My body felt paralyzed, trapped in the gaze of a cobra. A strangled sound started in my throat, but couldn’t pry past my clenched jaw.

  A gunshot rang out. I jumped and glanced behind me. Bane Harrow had snatched his pistol from the grip of the paralyzed fleshwriter, and now held it aimed at Geralt’s forehead.

  Nothing happened.

  He fired again, and this time I caught the subtle flicker of magic around Geralt as the bullet simply disintegrated before touching him.

  Harrow’s jaw clenched. He fired again, this time into the chest of the fleshwriter paralyzed at his feet. He shot again, taking out the big fleshwriter who had tried to tackle me, and again at another target. The fleshwriters startled as some of their number died, but before they could react, Harrow’s gun clicked empty. Wordlessly he dropped it, staring down Geralt amid the acrid smell of gunpowder and the echoes of deadly shots.

  Geralt gave the slightest tilt of his head. “A pleasure to meet you, Mister Harrow.”

  Bane Harrow glowered at him. “We’ve all fired a lot of unsilenced gunshots. You’ll want to leave before police arrive and start asking questions.”

  “Oh, Mister Harrow, I think you’re the one more worried about police. My family can easily dispatch them, and whatever investigation is launched into the officers’ deaths will be easily swept aside once I reach a new arrangement with the San Francisco government.”

  Despite being almost a foot shorter than Geralt, Harrow managed to stare down at him. “This is my territory. Void territory.”

  “A dead man cannot hold territory, Mister Harrow.”

  My jaw finally worked itself loose, and words spilled out. “You can’t use me to kill them. I’ll use up the magic myself before I let you touch it.” I realized I had pressed my hand over the tattoo, and my nails were scratching at that persistent itch.

  Geralt’s eyes locked onto my hand. “That would be a shame. I didn’t plan on using you to destroy this Union, Adrienne. Though the magic in your tattoo could eliminate most of the Voids plaguing this region, a successful attack must destr
oy the enemy general. Bane Harrow here is so immune to magic, I’m not certain even detonating your tattoo right here would kill him. But I do thank you for bringing all of the other Voids together here for our family to slaughter. They rallied around you quite nicely when they thought you were my target.”

  Harrow’s eyes closed. “You played us.”

  “Like a dirge, Mister Harrow.”

  With a shriek, Sam launched herself at Geralt. Her fist swung for his jaw, the enchanted blow carrying the strength of a dump truck. The strike landed.

  Geralt barely blinked.

  Sam cried out in pain, sheltering her hand against her chest. The two fleshwriters flanking Geralt stepped toward her, but Geralt held up a hand. “You must be Adrienne’s apprentice I’ve heard about. I’m eager to learn more about you.”

  I yanked Sam back by her elbow and shoved her behind me. “Leave her alone.”

  “If I’m the reason you’re here,” said Harrow quietly, sternly, “let the rest of my people evacuate, and then I’ll surrender to you.”

  “No!” I cried, just as Axel rumbled a furious growl.

  Geralt chuckled. “Unfortunately, I do need to remove as many Voids as possible in this raid. An enemy’s general may direct the violence, but it is the common soldiers whose swords draw wartime blood. And yours have drawn quite enough blood, Mister Harrow.”

  I remembered this subtle lilt of Geralt’s voice, the way he infused every word with musicality. When I was a child, the entire cult would sit and listen to him, spellbound by his demeanor, swayed by whatever reasons he gave for his decisions. He was projecting that calm, reasonable demeanor now, his every movement designed to infect us with trust. “You’re trying to divide us,” I said, bracing my voice with whatever steel I could summon. “It won’t work. The four of us can hold you off easily. This is a stalemate, and you don’t play uncertain chess.”

  “You are correct.” Geralt’s smile stretched, affection sparking in his eyes. “What an asset you would have been to the family, Adrienne. You know you’re welcome back, of course.”

  “Never.”

  “Hear what I have to say before deciding, please.” That soothing voice quieted the shouts I wanted to produce. I gritted my teeth, fighting to prove I could remain as calm as he, seeking words that would force him to silence. He continued as if we were just having a conversation.

  “You are a rarity in the supernatural world, Adrienne. The amount of magical power you can handle is remarkable. Am I correct in assuming that’s why Mister Harrow decided to hire you instead of executing you?”

  I glanced sidelong at Harrow, expecting some retort, but his attention was fixed on Geralt, his eyes narrow.

  Geralt didn’t seem to notice. “People like you are a relatively new phenomenon, Adrienne. Hundreds of years ago, every village had its local wise man, its shaman, its reclusive hermit with arcane knowledge. Hundreds of thousands of people, spread all across the globe, each with a little magic in them. Now you find only one or two enchanters of note per city. Less than a handful among millions.”

  “What’s your point?” I growled.

  “At first I suspected the Voids were wiping magic out. Their zeal for killing enchanters does account for part of the reduction, but it is more troubling, more complex. Incidentally, Voids are another relatively new species on the paranormal stage. Can you see where this is leading?”

  I shook my head, not in answer, but against the creeping lull that kept trying to crawl up the back of my neck. I would not let him affect me. I was free. No longer under his thumb. His words had no power over me. Fear had no power over me. I glanced at Bane Harrow, standing completely still beside me, his face a grim thundercloud. He paid no attention to my gaze.

  “You’ve noticed magic behaving strangely, I assume,” Geralt said. “Ghosts rising, shifting charms going bad, easy enchantments suddenly requiring more effort.”

  “You can’t possibly blame that on the Voids,” I said.

  “No. I blame it on you.”

  My skin prickled. “What?”

  “Your very existence is the reason magic is failing, Adrienne. You and the others like you. Magic was once spread out around the world, an even field coating the planet. But enchanters have become better at drawing on it, concentrating it into people. We create more and more paranormals, and stronger and stronger enchantments. Magic seeks itself, and so with every generation this effect gets stronger. Each time a new enchanter is born, they’re a little more powerful than they would have been a few decades earlier. Some, like you, are a lot more powerful. You are hot patches in the magical field, concentrations of far more magic than one human body is supposed to contain. And there is only so much magic to go around. For every hot patch created, a dead zone comes into being as well.” He nodded toward the two Voids standing beside me.

  I wanted to order him to stop talking, to block my ears against his lies. But all I could do was stand there and fight not to tremble. Could he be right? He had never been one to idly speculate. If he was saying this, he’d done some research to back it up.

  “Soon,” he continued, “only a few people will be born with magic. You think the pounding of the magical field in you is bad now, but imagine it magnified ten times. A hundred times. Those future people won’t be able to handle their powers. Their own magic will burn right through them. Raw magic, unleashed on the world through enchanters who never even knew what they were. Bombs like the one you carry, only as strong as a nuclear blast compared to a stick of dynamite.”

  No. This was how Geralt lured people into his cult. He filled them with lies, made them feel they could trust no one else. He was manipulating me. It wasn’t true. And yet I couldn’t make myself move.

  “You have an opportunity for heroism, Adrienne. People like you are loci of magic, drawing the world’s field to yourselves. The power inside you, your innate magical ability, causes these instabilities and worsens them.” His gaze fell on Sam, who stood as paralyzed as me. “With two of you in such a small area, your combined powers are wreaking havoc with magic, causing the strangeness you’ve seen recently. The enchantment on your heart is tied to your own magic, Adrienne. When it’s drawn out, it will unleash all that you are back into the world.”

  “I can’t believe you,” I whispered. “You turned me into a bomb.”

  “Yes, a small bomb, that can help defuse the bigger bomb that is forming. With enough people like you, yielding your magic back into the world, plus the elimination of the dead spots where magic holds no sway, we can protect the world from what is coming. We can stop the apocalypse. Your sacrifice will save billions.”

  Sacrifice. The word jerked my thoughts out of the numb state into which they had fallen.

  “Sacrifice.” The syllables tasted foul on my tongue. “That’s what you called me. That’s how you talked my parents into giving me up to you.”

  “Their decision was a noble one.”

  “You lied to them. Just like you’re lying to me right now.”

  Geralt’s smile vanished, instantly replaced with a chilling cold. “Ask your new leader, if you think I lie. The much-vaunted Bane Harrow, champion of justice and safety in the paranormal world. The hero trying to unify all paranormals. Ask him why he wants to turn the others against me and my allies. Force the shifters and the vampires and the others to fight us, who made them what they are. To defend themselves from us? Or to stop us from doing what must be done?”

  Scowling, I turned away from Geralt to face Harrow. The man was a wrecking ball, and immune to all of Geralt’s power. If anyone could stand against the fleshwriter, it was him.

  But a haunted look had replaced Harrow’s earlier scorn. An ashen expression that stole the breath from my lungs.

  “Bane,” Axel hissed from Harrow’s other side. “Is it true?”

  Harrow let out a long, slow breath. “I wasn’t certain. But ... I suspected. I’ve been investigating the imbalances in magic. Researching the decreasing numbers of enchanters
and increasing numbers of Voids. Studying the effects powerful enchanters have on their environment.”

  I choked. “Studying? You mean me?”

  His lack of response was answer enough.

  He glared at Geralt. “I admit I was leaning toward a similar conclusion. But this changes nothing between us. You see a possible solution to the problem and declare it must be enacted, no matter how many people have to die. I won’t dig my own grave for you, and I won’t let you murder those under my protection. There’s another way to resolve this.”

  “Have you found it?” Geralt asked quietly. “Or is this misguided optimism speaking?”

  “Murder is not the answer.”

  “Tell that to the enchanters you’ve executed over the years.”

  “Harrow,” I choked on my words, angry at the lump working itself into my throat. “You knew what I was all this time? You knew why he’d put this magic in me, and you hid it from me?”

  “For your own protection.”

  “No me venga con esa vaina. You knew the world might be ending, and said nothing!”

  “What would you have had me say?” His crystal eyes fixed on mine, earnest. “Should I have told you and every Void that our existence threatened the world? Spread that dangerous knowledge? Turned the other paranormals further against us while this man tries to destroy us?”

  My fists clenched by my sides. “I deserved to know. You told me you were my ally.”

  “I am. I’ve sheltered you from him. Sheltered you from this truth, because I knew the manipulation he’d put you through still lingered in your mind. I would have told you, when you were strong enough to handle it.”

  “You lied to me. You used me.”

  Pain flashed through Harrow’s eyes. “Perhaps. To an extent. And for that I am sorry. I truly believe uniting the paranormals is the only way to find a solution to this. But if you wish to leave my city and never speak to me again, I’ll allow that. After we ensure this man cannot use you in his own plans.” He shot a furious glance at Geralt. “Remember, Adrienne, one of us wants to kill you. The other wants to save you. Don’t let his misguided rhetoric infect you.”