Magic Brew

by T. Rae Mitchell

  My body lunges in a spasm of fury, driving the spike into the alpha’s back. The point hits her spine with a revolting thud. With a snarling shriek, she rears backward. Leaning into the lance, I ram the pole deeper, slicing through vital organs with a sickening softness.

  Growling savagely, she claws the air, trying to grab the pole.

  Inflamed by her unwillingness to die, I jerk it from her body, raise my arms high, and hammer the spike in again.

  And again.

  And again, wanting only to carve a hole in her as deep as the one she dug into Justice.

  “Edge! Enough!” Nyx screams. Grabbing my arms, she forces me to let go.

  Breathing hard, I fall to my knees next to the quivering alpha. Her dark odor surrounds me, a sweet musky scent tinged with dirt and sweat. My stomach curdles as I look at what I’ve done. It would be easier to handle if I didn’t have to watch her reverting to human form. The massive head has returned to normal size. The wiry fur is softening and curling into black hair cropped close to her scalp. Swiftly and fluidly, the hideous canine features vanish. All that’s left is an African beauty with skin the color of smooth mahogany and wide, almond-shaped eyes staring sightlessly up into the light-polluted sky.

  I turn away, convulsing with dry heaves.

  “Get it together, Edge,” Nyx says, kneeling down next to Justice.

  Nodding, I crawl over to him. He’s messed up bad. His spine’s chewed up and he’s bleeding out. Unable to move anything except his eyes, his gaze slides to meet mine. Gort’s standing impassively by, looking more tin woodsmen than ever. His loyalty must be weakening the closer Justice gets to death.

  “Do you think I’ll go to heaven or hell?” Justice asks, his voice wet with the blood filling his mouth.

  “Which one do you want to go to?” I croak.

  “I am the fallen cherub. The gates of heaven are closed to me. My sins are too grievous.” He coughs, spattering the stone with red specks. “I fought so hard to be good, but the demon always won and now it’s dragging me to hell, where I belong…where I’ve always belonged.”

  I’m quiet. It’s hard to disagree after what he did to that priest and all the other holy people whose lives he cut short.

  “Tell Constantine he can have my chip stash. It’s under the floorboards next to the right side of my bed,” he says, smiling weakly.

  “I’ll let him know.” I try to smile back but I can’t.

  “Give him my copy of Paradise Lost–” Justice falls into a coughing fit, this time choking on his blood. I squeeze his arm, a lame attempt at letting him know he’s not alone. But his eyes clench shut as he tries to get air–a raspy, congested sound that ends with the slow gurgling of his last breath leaving him.

  A chill spreads over my skin.

  “The last dog got away,” Hurley says, out of breath from running back up the steps. He stops short when he sees Justice is down. “Oh man, no way.” Hanging his head, he morphs back into the slight forest elf.

  It takes everything in me to stand up and face the five dead Hellhounds sprawled across the Acropolis. There’s so much blood. Unable to stomach the carnage any longer, I wave Sienna down from the watchtower.

  Nyx steps up next to me. “You should’ve let me do it.”

  “What?”

  “Kill that Hellhound bitch.”

  I frown at her. “Why?”

  “Because you’re not cut out for the kill. You never have been.”

  “I’m dealing,” I say, hardening my tone as I watch Sienna walk toward us. The ache in my chest lets up as I watch her–those long, tanned legs, the sway of her hips, the way she brushes her sun-kissed hair off her forehead to keep it from falling in her eyes. She’s like a drug to me. Looking at her smoothes me out. Maybe it’s because she’s not full of darkness like the rest of us.

  “Sorry about your friend,” she whispers, stepping close.

  The concern in her eyes shakes me. I nearly lose it. I have to look away to keep my grief from taking over.

  “What do we do now?” Hurley asks.

  I stare out over the glittering city lights, past the Empire State Building in the direction of Coney Island. “Nyx, get Pandora on the line. Have everybody meet up at the top of the North Woods in Central Park. It’s time to circle the troops.”

  16

  Bonegrinders

  THE MOMENT JUSTICE CHOKED ON HIS LAST WORD, Gort snuck out and took off on one of the Franken-bikes. I’m leery about why he’d leave the other two behind, but there’s no time for guessing. The Bonegrinders are on our ass.

  They caught sight of us from the top end of the park when we walked out into the field. That was stupid. We should’ve stuck to the shadows of the trees.

  Sienna’s a fast runner, she’s keeping up with me, but neither of us are as quick as Hurley. He gets to the bikes first, squeals out and races down the street. I wish I hadn’t sent Nyx up to Trinity with Justice’s body to find a mausoleum to put him in. Some shadow surfing would come in real handy right about now.

  I do not want to get into it with the Bonegrinders. These guys make the Hellhounds look like puppies. When the redcaps aren’t out on one of their bloodthirsty raids, they’re at home filing their teeth into sharp points and piercing themselves with barbed wire and rusty meat hooks for the fun of it.

  Clambering onto the bike, I yank on the choke, jam my foot down and miss the kickstart because I’m too focused on the mob barreling toward us. Every one of their heads is wrapped in doo rags, stained red from being dipped in the blood of their enemies. Some traditions never die.

  Looking down, I give the start another solid kick. The bike shudders to life beneath me, the engine growling loudly. Sienna climbs on back, holding tight as I crank the throttle, burning rubber out of there. When the Bonegrinders see there’s no catching up with us, they stop chasing.

  A wild sense of relief wipes out the fear, filling me with a smug sense of victory. “That’s right, kiss it!” I shout.

  “They look super pissed,” Sienna says, twisting in her seat to look back at them.

  I laugh. Hard. Sounds insane after losing three brothers and the one person I idolized, all in a few short hours. But there’s only so much pain you can take before you do one of two things: crash to the bottom; or find something–anything–to rise above it all. And right now, the thrill of giving the Bonegrinders the slip with Sienna’s arms and legs wrapped around me feels awesome.

  “They’ll just have to get over it, won’t they?” I say, turning my head and throwing her a reassuring grin.

  “If you say so,” she says, looking doubtful.

  Hurley’s waiting for us at the top of the street. I slow down, taking the turn slowly onto Park Ave. He falls in behind me. I should be speeding my way to Central Park to find this mysterious Duil'dir who’s supposedly gonna school me on how to handle my new powers. Instead, I’m white-lining it down the road, taking my time. I’ve had it with being chased and pushed around.

  The roar of our engines echoing beneath the overhang of the elevated tracks suddenly amplifies so loud I feel it in my bones. Our two bikes sound like an entire club of choppers just swallowed up the road.

  Hurely speeds up next to me. “We’re so screwed, man!”

  I look in my rear views, squinting at the number of bright headlights filling the mirrors. The squeal of revved up engines sounds as furious as their riders. Some of them are clutching it up, popping wheelies, burning rubber in the road. White smoke drifts off the pavement like brimstone as twenty or more bikes burst through the mist straight at us.

  Terror streaks through me like wildfire. I should’ve known the Bonegrinders wouldn’t give up that easily.

  “We’ve gotta split up!” I shout at Hurley. “Ditch ‘em and meet me in Central Park.”

  Saluting me, Hurley darts in under the railway, luring more than half the Bonegrinders away from us.

  In a panic, I goose the engine so hard the rear end of the bike fishtails. Sienna squeezes my wa
ist, hanging on for dear life. Racing at top speed, I fix my eyes on the road ahead.

  “They’re catching up!” Sienna yells.

  Checking my mirrors, I see two bikes gaining on us fast. In the time it takes me to react, they’re front wheels are hemming me in on both sides. These choppers are beasts, not alive like the one I’m riding. I’m talking the outlaw kind, outfitted with spiked fenders and big souped-up engines that don’t belong on bikes. One of them’s sporting a massive set of bull’s horns above the handlebars, perfect for goring pedestrians.

  The Bonegrinder on my left inches forward. Throwing me a mean smile, he waves his axe at me. “Say hello to Betsy. She’s come to give you that kiss you were askin’ for,” he bellows. Leaning over into the space between us, he swipes the blade.

  Sienna’s scream fills my ears as pain slices into my bicep. In a knee-jerk reaction, I yank the handlebars. My ride wobbles so hard I expect to wash out right then and there, but I somehow manage to come out of the fall.

  I no sooner save us from eating asphalt, when the other redcap rams my back tire. The bike shimmies beneath us as Sienna’s fingers dig into my chest. “I’ll be takin’ that little split tail off ya after we grind yer skull,” the redcap shouts. “I could use some new fender fluff to pretty up this old hog.”

  Rage chases back my fear as I let off the throttle and touch the brakes. The two bikers race past us as we slow down. Seeing my opening, I cut a hard right on 118th, a narrow one-way street solidly lined with parked cars. The remaining horde sticks to my ass and takes the right with me. As I splice between oncoming traffic, most of the cars screech to a halt, forming the blockade I need to thin down the number of Bonegrinders able to get through the gridlock.

  Behind me, the deep rumbling of their choppers resounds off quiet brownstones as I dart in and out of the sparse, late night traffic. Some of the redcaps ride up onto the sidewalks, scattering pedestrians. Within seconds they close the space between us.

  I barrel straight through the next intersection, nearly crashing into a car full of teenagers waving sparklers out the windows. Skidding sideways, the teenagers t-bone a taxi in the middle of the street. A Bonegrinder coming up hard and fast behind me hits the broad side of the cab. His bike does a nose wheelie and he’s nipple surfing across the pavement. Three other redcaps swerve to avoid the pileup and washout, their bikes laying down, sparks flying as metal screeches across the road.

  I grin at the road rash they’re getting.

  Facing forward, I see four Bonegrinders stream past their fallen buddies in my rearview mirror. I flog the throttle, shifting into high gear and cut a sharp left on 5th Ave. Holding tight, Sienna buries her forehead between my shoulder blades.

  Can’t seem to shake these last four. I start sweatin’ it again.

  Leaning into the wind like a belly shover on a rice rocket, I haul ass, putting as much distance as I can between us. Up ahead, the King Towers loom large on the next corner. I clip a sudden right, sheering to the left and up onto the sidewalk. Hunting for a place to hide, I dart through the parking lot, heading for the tree-lined basketball court in the center of the complex. As soon as we duck beneath the shadows of the trees, I cut the engine and listen.

  Seconds later, the rumble of their engines invade the street. “Come on, keep goin’,” I say under my breath. But our luck’s not holding. It sounds like they’re not moving past the parking lot.

  “We’re gonna have to hoof it from here,” I tell Sienna. Putting the gear in neutral, we climb off so I can push the bike all the way across the projects. That’s a whole city block I’ve got to roll this heavy metal monster. Once we hit the other side, we’ll be able to ride the last few blocks to Central Park.

  Sweat rolls down my face, stinging my eyes. The air’s hotter than hell. It’s enough to cook you. I forgot how the summer heat stores in the streets and sidewalks. At least in Coney we get a cool breeze off the ocean, but not here in the middle of this goddamn city.

  Sienna looks over her shoulder. “They’re not going away,” she whispers anxiously. She ducks low when one of their headlights flash across her face. “Oh no, I think they’re coming this way!”

  “Don’t look back. Just keep moving.” Straining to push the bike over a rise in the grass, I bite down on the throbbing pain in my sliced arm. With less panic juice pumping through me, I’m really feeling the cut Betsy gave me, and keeping this bike upright is making it sting like crazy. But I’ll take it if this is as bad as it gets. It’s a tiny scratch compared to what the Bonegrinders will do if they catch up to us.

  17

  Weeds

  A BOOMBOX BLARES THE SMOKY SAX BEATS of Flo Rida as we near the center of the complex. Some big black dudes are playing a late night game of basketball. Some of them notice us but turn back to shooting hoops. Some Mexicans hanging out on the sidelines are passing a joint between them. They eye Sienna and start walking parallel to us.

  “Hey, muchacha bonita,” one of them says. “Whatcha doin’ with that loser gabacho? You should come with us. We’ll show you what a good time really is.”

  I shoot them a threatening look, but that only makes them laugh. Their teeth flash white in the darkness as they stride closer. I see by the shaved heads, wife-beater tanks and loose khakis, I’ve got some Cholos on my hands. Not exactly the friendliest representatives of their race. They’re kind of like weeds. They crop up everywhere. Good thing there’s only five of them. I can handle that many, but I’d prefer to slide out of here quietly.

  “I’m talking to you, puta!” the same one says, this time yelling.

  Sienna looks over her shoulder at him. The fear in her eyes pulls at me.

  “Don’t worry about ‘em,” I say, keeping my voice low.

  The Cholos speed up, cutting across to block our path.

  Flipping the kickstand down, I park the bike and glance back across the yard to the other side. I can see the Bonegrinders’ headlights through the trees, still circling the parking lot. Why don’t they leave already?

  “Okay, which one wants to go first?” I ask as I survey the lot. Best to make an example out of the biggest, so the others think twice about taking me on. I point at the tall fat one. “How about you?”

  They pull out their weapons. Four knives. One pistol.

  A river of sweat pours down my back. The blades don’t bother me. Bullets worry me though. I can’t dodge them the way I used to.

  The one doing all the talking chuckles and aims his piece at me. “How about I just drill you full of holes and take your chica?” he says, his dark eyes roving over Sienna’s tanned legs.

  She glares back at him, her fingers curling at her sides. Nice to see some fight in her, but she doesn’t belong here. I’ve gotten her into a mess of trouble.

  Heat explodes in my chest like a grenade going off inside my ribcage. Every inch of my skin hurts. Feels like I’m burning up from the inside out.

  Must be the crystal acting up again.

  A spasm of power blasts through me, crackling over my skin, raising the hairs on my arms. As much as I’d like to blast these guys off my back like I did the Carnies, I can’t go advertising our position to the Bonegrinders. There’s no guarantee I can turn this juice on them too.

  Maybe I can mess with their weapons. Focusing my intent and all my energy on heating the metal in their hands, I tense every muscle, shaking as I strain to make something happen.

  I wait a second, fully expecting them to drop the knives and gun. Nothing happens.

  One of the Cholos lurches at Sienna. Grabbing her by the arm, he holds his knife to her side. I’m amazed she doesn’t scream. I can see it’s a challenge to keep quiet. She must be more afraid of the Bonegrinders than she is of these creeps.

  “Leave her alone!” I lunge at him, ready to pummel the guy’s face.

  Another one comes at me, his blade slicing the air. Ducking low, I counter with an uppercut blow to the gut, punching the wind out of him. He drops his knife and falls to his knees,
gulping like a dying fish.

  Two others charge at me. I grab the nearest one by the wrist. Twisting his arm up behind him, I shove hard, knocking him into a tree. His head cracks against the trunk and he drops like a rock.

  The other guy–the tall fat one–plows into me with the force of a 200 pound football player, slamming me to the ground. Pain shoots through my back and side as he grinds his knee in my chest, throwing his full weight into it.

  “Stick him,” the dude with the gun says.

  “No!” Sienna cries.

  I can’t get enough air in my lungs to speak.

  As the big guy positions his knife over my throat, I struggle and swing at him, unable to do any damage from this position. He rips the bandage off my neck and stares at the cut Rade gave me, then looks at the slashed, blood-soaked sleeve of my jacket. “Looks like the gringo’s having a bad night,” he says, shaking his head with an almost apologetic smile.

  “Don’t. Please don’t do this,” Sienna begs.

  “Good. Cut him some more,” croaks the guy I punched in the gut.

  The hulk sitting on my chest shrugs at me like he’s got no choice and presses the blade down on my neck.

  I close my eyes convulsively as he cranks down on my windpipe. It pinches, but it’s not the sharp piercing I felt when Rade sliced my throat.

  Opening my eyes, I look up as the big guy examines his knife. He bends the blade and lets go, watching it bounce up and down. “No chingues!”

  “Out of my way, pendejo,” the main guy cuts in.

  The big guy lifts himself off, allowing me to suck precious air back into my lungs. But before I can breath a full sigh of relief, I’m staring down the barrel of a gun.

  “Probably not your best move,” I say, forcing as much authority into my voice as I can. “If you pop me, a ton of heat’s comin’ down on you.”

  The leader laughs. “Look around. This is the projects. The Five-Os don’t exactly rush to the hood. We’ll ghost out of here long before they show up.” His amusement falls away and his eyes grow cold. “And so will you,” he says, squeezing the trigger.