Mortality Bites Box Set [Books 1-6]

by Vance, Ramy

  Right in the center of the quad were crossroads, and all the fighting had busted up the meeting point of those roads. Several pipes had been unearthed—which was exactly what I was looking for. Dodging Rhino Boy and another kid who I was pretty sure was doing his own take on Afro Samurai, I dived into the pit. Tapping the tile spade against the ceramic and metal pipes, I listened for a muted thud. When I found it, I drove the narrow end of the shovel hard into the pipe.

  I didn’t have super strength, so I had to hit it hard a couple times until I got the desired result … a geyser of warm water that shot up into the sky. The heat hit the cool Montreal air with a whoosh, creating a volcano of water and steam.

  It looked much worse than it was, which was exactly what I was going for.

  Twenty-one superheroes stopped fighting and looked at me. We stood in a peaceful stance (well, peaceful if you ignored the rush of water and steam) for about three seconds before Comet Boy pointed at me and yelled, “Get her!”

  … End of Part 1

  Part II

  Intermission

  Everyone dreams of glory: belting out that perfect ballad, scoring the winning goal, money and splendor, fame and heroism. It’s human nature to covet grandeur in the safe and private confines of our mind.

  And when the mood of fantasy and fancy takes us, we also dream of powers beyond the capacity of a normal human. For who among us has not dreamt of flying, super strength, or perhaps the martial prowess of ninja, samurai, spies, or all three?

  In other words, we all dream of being spectacular, powerful … super.

  We dream of the high adventure allowed by unearned powers suddenly and inexplicably granted. That is the stuff of many a harmless daydream. Dreams of being the superhero of our own story, the vigilante who saves the day, the white knight who wins the hand of the prince or princess.

  These dreams are private, rarely shared, but they are there and serve as one of many threads that bind us together and define us as human.

  We all dream of being superheroes, and Mary Carnahan, Russell Brandford and Ellen Scovil are no exception.

  Mary wants to be a reporter, and after watching the Netflix series Jessica Jones, thinks to herself, “How cool would it be to be just like that badass detective?”

  She looks over at her boyfriend, Dustin Riley, who is watching Dragon Ball Z for the umpteenth time on his laptop and she so desperately wants to kamehameha the laptop out the window.

  Russell is reading up on grimoires and spells and all kinds of ancient magic. He loves the stuff, and wants to ask the południca who runs the 24 hour depanneur on Pine Street if she knows any magic herself.

  Ellen is alone her room, trying to work up the courage to tell the boys next door to shut their damn stereo off. But she can’t muster the bravery and, putting on the noise-cancelling earphones her mom bought her, surfs YouTube. A ThunderCats video appears in her feed. Clicking on it, she giggles to herself. “I remember this cartoon. What was the name of the female lead? Oh yeah—Cheetara. She was badass. She wouldn’t have any trouble telling those boys to shut up.”

  And so, they—and many others—dream. Superheroes and superpowers. Unearned abilities. High adventure. Something, anything to free them from the day-to-day.

  But alas, superheroes don’t exist, and superpowers are something only Others have—and those powers come at a high cost.

  So Mary, Russell and Ellen go to sleep expecting to wake up the next morning exactly as they have always been: normal kids, sans superpowers.

  That was the night before. The next morning brings with it something very different, for before any of them can step out of bed, they all realize that they are no longer normal.

  Not anymore.

  Flexing muscles she didn’t know she had, Ellen growls like a cheetah …

  Mary jumps out of bed and cracks her concrete ceiling …

  And as for Russell … Russell can control time itself.

  Who said dreams can’t come true?

  Run, Lola … Ahh, I Mean … Run, Kat, Run

  Ever been rushed by a bunch (power?) of superheroes? I have, and this was after I had to overcome my belief that superheroes weren’t real. The twenty-plus superheroes all charged me, temporarily forgetting that only moments ago, they were at each other’s throats.

  Luckily, I had anticipated this. I rolled out of the way and made my way off campus and toward the city of Montreal.

  It was nearly impossible to outrun people with super strength and speed—that was, when they knew their limitations. But I could tell from the uncoordinated way they battled each other and their haphazard attempts to hurt one another that these guys were new to the whole superpowers thing.

  I remembered being a newly made vampire. Simple tasks like holding a glass or lifting a bag were troublesome, and usually resulted in the glass shattering or the bag flying into the air.

  So when the heroes charged at me, I tumbled away at the last second, causing them to shoot past me and crash into whatever happened to be in front of them. I ran toward stones, blocks, walls and heavy oak trees, some of which vaporized in my wake.

  I could practically smell the ozone.

  And the slower heroes who shot energy balls or threw stuff at me would always miss. They often hit the others, which ultimately helped me escape.

  All of that is what brought me, still alive, to the James McGill statue about a hundred feet from the exit. But the statue wasn’t very big and, small as I was, didn’t offer much cover. I needed a miracle to escape and, well, miracles were in short supply these days.

  But not friggin’ gorgeous girls with silver hair and eyes that could melt you in place. Just as three of the superheroes were lining up their energy balls and flying hammers and whatever the hell else superheroes shoot innocent vigilantes with, Cassy jumped between James McGill and me—and the superheroes—with her arms spread like a human shield or something.

  The three superheroes stopped at once, just staring down at her as she glared at them defiantly. “This isn’t how this works,” she growled. “Superheroes protect each other—not chase after girls like greyhounds after a rabbit.”

  I stirred from behind the statue and the three superheroes’ eyes darted toward me. Cassy, still in her protective stance, looked over her shoulder at me and yelled, “RUN!”

  ↔

  She didn’t need to tell me twice. I ran out of McGill’s main gate and down two blocks to a shopping mall called the Eaton Center. It was my best bet for losing them. Taking only a second to look back, I realized I’d only managed to make it this far without being splattered because Cassy was doing her best to block their path. Superheroes or not, they didn’t want to hurt Cassy.

  Most of them ran around her, a few stopped to talk—possibly flirt with her—but whatever their response to Cassy’s human shieldieness, she had bought me enough time to make it this far.

  Still, there were a bunch of them after me as I ducked into the Eaton Center.

  ↔

  Another cool feature of Montreal is what you can’t see from the street. Because it’s so cold for so much of the year, you can get from one end of the city to the other completely underground. I’m not talking subways, although those exist. I’m talking basement levels to the businesses and shopping centers that have underground exits and entrances into each other.

  I made my way to the Eaton’s Center basement. I had somehow managed to lose most of the twenty-one. Only three seemed to be hot on my scent—a young lady who looked a lot like Cheetara from ThunderCats and two guys wearing identical red spandex, each with a lightning bolt on his chest.

  The two red spandex guys were so unsure of their footing that they slipped and slid on the shopping center’s polished floors. Still, they were so fast that every time I tripped them up, they found their footing and were on me in a flash.

  I needed to change tactics, but first I had to get those three off my tail. First, a distraction.

  Up in the men’s section, I grabbed
several leather belts, and as I ran, laced two of them together until they formed a chain. Then, using an old trick I learned from a rancher in Montana, I snared the two boys together, temporarily hobbling them.

  Cheetah Girl—who was still entering the shop—jumped at me, just as I knew she would. I tumbled backward into a clothing rack and wrapped the third belt around her neck and the base of the rack.

  The snares wouldn’t last for long. Nearby, the two boys were already breaking free (and probably would have already if they weren’t fumbling with their own supersonic fingers). I had bought myself a few seconds to lay the next trap.

  Running into the perfume department, I grabbed every bottle I could find and smashed them on the ground. Chanel, Obsession for men and women, Bright Crystal Absolu, Victoria's Secret Bombshell, Lancôme Trésor Midnight Rose and Dior Poison Girl. They all permeated the air, thus throwing Cheetah Lady off my scent.

  The two girls at the counter ran out as soon as they saw a weirdo in a kilt and cherub mask. And when the two mall security guards ran in a few seconds later, I only needed to show them my dirk and they turned on their heels and ran out.

  That done, I moved a massive poster of Charlize Theron looking all sultry and seductive as she advertised J’Adore by Dior so I could hide while still having a good view of the room. I waited for the two super-fast kids to make their way into the perfume department.

  Ever see that scene in Jurassic Park when the Tyrannosaurus rex’s approach is announced by the ripples in a glass of water? Well, the two super-fast kids weren’t prehistoric dinosaurs with massive heads and teeny tiny arms, but their arrival was announced nonetheless.

  Not in water, but in the pool of perfume I had created. It started with tiny little ripples, but because the guys were lightweight and so incredibly fast, their vibrations shocked the ground so that the tiny ripples turned into little droplets that jumped out of the pool. The closer they got, the more the puddle of perfume looked like a thousand ball bearings dancing on a canvas of linoleum.

  As soon as I was certain the two of them were close, I came out from around Charlize Theron. “Yoohoo! Looking for me?”

  The two of them flashed over to me. I needed to time this perfectly if I was going to get away, so before the word “me” left my lips, I leapt onto the counters and up, grabbing one of the sprinklers jutting from the ceiling.

  My timing was perfect. My plan, not so much.

  The two boys crashed into Charlize Theron, knocking the poor woman over, and before they realized what was going on, they slid helplessly on the perfume pool and into the very real and solid concrete pillar behind the poster. The two kids knocked themselves out just as I had anticipated.

  What I hadn’t counted on was them being so fast that the friction from their steps would ignite the perfume. The floor went up in flames, causing the sprinkler I was holding to erupt in water.

  And for the second time that day, I was wet and cold.

  Still Underground, Still Screwed

  I needed to find a way to change—and if not change, then at the very least ditch my cherub mask away from the prying eyes of security cameras. I had to find a place to hide, and I thought I knew just the place.

  Heading through the Eaton Center, I found the underground passage that led under McGill Street and into the Cineplex Odeon complex. There was an Indigo bookstore next to the cinema, and I figured I could probably steal a tote bag to hide my mask, and then use some of the back Staff Only passageways to break into the cinema. I could duck into a movie and wait for all of this to cool off, walk out with my mask hidden and make my way back to campus (before I froze my butt off) to get my coat and snow pants.

  I figured I didn’t have to worry about police. After all, they had a bunch of superheroes to worry about before they’d chase after some girl that scared of a couple counter attendants and mall security by waving a knife.

  Then again, maybe they would come after me, thinking I was a superhero myself. I could be pretty menacing, after all. Either way, I had two choices: go back and hope that Cheetah Girl was still running around blind (well, nose-blind, at least) and that the two fast kids were still unconscious, or go forward. I wasn’t about to risk dealing with them again, so this was my only option.

  Not the best plan, but I didn’t have any money or a phone, so it was probably the only option I had. That, or send telepathic signals to Egya or Deirdre to come pick me up. But since my human brain could no longer do that, I was fresh out of options.

  Getting into the store was easy enough, as was stealing the bag. And as for the Staff Only passageways, humans should really start tightening their security. It was amazing the kind of access you had when you weren’t worrying about No Entry signs, or whether you were on salary.

  I found a back tunnel that led to a room that connected to the fire exit for one of the Odeon Multiplex screens. Sneaking in, I found myself watching some Hollywood special effects monstrosity. And since it was the smack dab middle of the afternoon, there was hardly anyone there. Just a few kids who, judging by how zealously they ate their popcorn, were probably stoned.

  Phew, I thought as I plopped myself in a seat in the front row. I made it.

  Not bad for a human girl. Hell, not bad for a vampire. Not bad at all. Took on the Justice League and League of Doom at the same time … and I lived to fight another day. Not bad at all.

  Ahh, hubris, thy ways are cruel. Just before I could remove my mask and settle into my seat to get lost in whatever movie was playing, I heard a swoosh, followed by what can only be described as extremely sticky Silly Putty latching onto my bag and pulling it straight up.

  ↔

  I looked up and saw a guy hanging upside down from the ceiling. He was pulling up my stolen tote bag using string attached to his wrist. When he saw nothing in the tote, he let it drop.

  “Let me guess. Spider—”

  “Guy. Spider Guy—that’s me,” he said.

  What is it with these guys personalizing their superhero identities? I thought … sadly out loud.

  Spider Guy, who wore a red bandana over his head and a second one over his face, narrowed his eyes as if he didn’t understand the question. Then he shrugged. “Copyright issues? Or maybe I’ve just gotta be me.” He pointed a finger at me and I expected more sticky silly string to shoot out, but instead he just waggled it. “Say, you’re the girl from the party.”

  “What party?” I asked, moving my hand down to my dirk.

  “The one where that psycho tried to sacrifice a bunch of us. As in, ritually. You saved us.”

  I nodded, which isn’t the easiest thing to do when you’re looking straight up.

  “I always wondered about you. You kind of just disappeared after that. I mean, there were rumors of sightings, but nothing concrete. Still, you saved us. You’re a hero.” He was fumbling for something at his waist. “I thought you were on our side, but now I’m not so sure. After all, if you really are a hero, why did you do what you did?”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Damage the campus,” he said. He lifted what he had been reaching for and put it to his mouth. When it produced an audible click, I realized it was a walkie-talkie. “I got her. She’s in screen 3.”

  Oh, crap! He was calling in reinforcements.

  ↔

  “Can’t we just call it even?” I said. “I saved you, remember? What’s a little damage given all that?”

  Spider Guy didn’t respond, the walkie-talkie still in his hand.

  “Come on,” I cried out. “We don’t have to do this. Like you said, I’m on your side.”

  Nothing.

  “At least answer me. You owe me that much.”

  Still nothing.

  I looked toward the upper rows where the stoned kids were sitting. Either they hadn’t noticed our little chat, hadn’t cared, or thought it was part of the show. Whatever it was, they didn’t react. As in not at all, and it was then that I understood what was going on. The stoned kids weren�
�t just not reacting—their hands were frozen mid-popcorn grab.

  And as for Spider Guy, he wasn’t answering me because he couldn’t. He was frozen, which meant one of two things: either something had paralyzed him and the stoner kids … or time was frozen.

  I’d never seen this kind of magic before, but I’d heard of it. It was referred to as the Hunter’s Mark, a spell so powerful that legend speaks of only the Earl King (master hunter and all around bad, bad dude!) having the power to use it.

  According to legend, the Hunter’s Mark was deployed to create the perfect hunting conditions. The Earl King would stop time for everyone save himself and his prey. Then the true hunt would begin between just the two of them.

  There was more to the legend, but I didn’t have time to try and recall it all now. Now, I needed to run.

  Except in my confusion and desire to barter with Spider Guy, I had wasted too much time. (Look at me, wasting too much time with time frozen? Oh, the irony. I just hoped I would live long enough to tell someone about it.)

  I turned to run out through the exit I had entered by, only to be met by a guy wearing a child’s wizardry robe. I mean, the thing was covered in stars, shooting comets and crescent moons.

  “You’re not the Earl King,” I said.

  “I am not!” the kid bellowed. “I am the great Grimoire Keeper, and in my possession are ancient tomes that hold the secrets of the universe.”

  The kid pulled out a large leather book that was almost too cumbersome for him to manage and flipped through the pages. I had just enough time to read the cover: München Handbuch der Dämonischen Magie … also known as the Necromancer’s Manual.