Blood & Magic

by George Barlow

  Looking up, Alex saw Charlie balancing nervously on the rail, his gun raised carefully in front of him as he tried to keep his footing. He fired twice, streams of blue shots flying towards the man, but he simply held up his hand and, as if by magic, the bullets hit some invisible shield. Charlie fired again, but his shots had no effect. Suddenly, a glow of red light bathed Charlie’s face and, twisting to see behind her, Alex saw that the fireball man had found them again.

  “Charlie!” Alex said.

  Charlie span around and instinctively fired. With no defences, his shots hit the man in the chest, his body twisting around. He let go of the fireball, which flew across the gap, colliding with the gaunt man, except this time he had no defence against the unexpected attack. He ignited into flame, screaming as his body was engulfed. His limbs flailing, he toppled over the railings, his burning corpse writhing and contorting as he shrieked in agony.

  Carefully, Charlie and Alex gently moved from one rail to the next until they were back on firm ground. As soon as Alex inhaled, taking the moment’s rest to try to comprehend what was happening, she regretted it. The smell of burnt flesh stuck to her nostrils and, unable to resist, Alex threw up.

  On the ground floor, they ran to what looked like a safe-room door, dug in from the wall about five feet or so. Finally letting go of her hand, Charlie turned his attention to the small blue-lit access panel at the side.

  Just being near him made Alex feel sick, the thought of how he had lied her all this time. Yet, as hate grew inside her, so did guilt. Yes, he had betrayed her, but that was no different to what she had done to him. She had made a decision without thinking of the consequences. Byron had been clear about what he wanted, but Alex had been blind, it was Charlie he really needed. How many deaths was she responsible for? Tens, hundreds even?

  The seal on the safe room released with a burst of compressed air, the large round stainless steel door slowly opening.

  Alex screamed as a bullet tore though her thigh, the impact sending her tumbling to the ground. Moving quickly to get them out of her line of fire, Charlie lifted her up and dragged her through the doorway.

  He hit a keypad and the door closed, sealing them in as Alex cried out in pain. They were inside a large round room, a cross between a trading floor, monitors arranged in rings towards the centre, and a mad scientist’s lab, with random bits of electronic equipment strewn across workbenches.

  Charlie bent down to look at Alex’s leg. “Alex, you need to-” Charlie began to say, but Alex cut him off, striking him across the cheek.

  “My father.”

  “Your wound, we need to-”

  Alex hit him again. The pain in her leg was making her dizzy, but it was nothing compared to the fury she felt.

  “Alex, I had no choice.”

  “There is always a choice, you should have told me.”

  “And what would you have done? I would have put you in an impossible situation and besides, I was under orders to keep knowledge of your father’s involvement in the crimes a secret.”

  “Involvement! He is a murderer, he’s killed 32 people.”

  “I know it’s hard to understand, but-”

  Alex felt a little faint as her vision glossed over. Stumbling, she took a seat on a nearby stool. Charlie ran to a nearby cupboard, producing a first aid kit and rushed back to Alex’s side.

  “Hold still, I need to do this or you will bleed out. This will secure the wound until I can get you to a hospital,” Charlie said.

  Charlie took a round device from the kit and, tearing the material around the gun shot wound, placed it onto Alex’s flesh. Intense heat and pressure swelled around the wound, Alex clawing at Charlie’s hand for him to stop. Charlie removed the device, as white foam dripped from the bottom of it.

  “I am sorry if I hurt you.”

  “What on earth is happening out there?”

  “I will try to explain, but Alex, it’s going to sound mad. When we were on the stairs before, do you remember the man with the fireball? Or the men who jumped from the skylights or the one who brought down the walkway? I would say you won’t believe me, but you’ve seen it for yourself. There is more in the world than you know. Some people have... mutations that mean-”

  “Mutations allow you to do stuff like that?”

  “Yes, it’s complicated. People with these abnormalities are what we call alternates and Alex, your father is one of them.”

  “What? Don’t be mad, you’re lying.”

  “I’m not. You saw what they could do back there.”

  Alex winced as she moved slightly, her wound compacted by the weird white foam.

  “Yes, but… my father can’t be. I would know.”

  “How?”

  “I just… would. He’s never done anything weird or super-powered, for God’s sake you know him!”

  “Has he ever broken a bone or even get sick in any way?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

  “He never has because his powers make him near invulnerable. When you were growing up your Dad was still a PC right? How many new recruits go through training in London without ever getting injured, like the odd black eye or a cut?”

  “Some must… This is madness.”

  “That isn’t what makes your father deadly. Nick is a rare alternate, one of only five, and completely unique in what he can do. Whether that is why he does what he does, by some genetic compulsion, I don’t know.”

  “Wait, that’s why this place is called the Department of Alternate studies? You study them?”

  “No, we keep them a secret. Alex, your father was granted a pardon for the crimes he commits as his actions are authorised, that is why I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Authorised by who?”

  “That doesn’t matter, we need to get you out of here.”

  “Wait, if my father is an alternate, does that mean I am?”

  “No.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Alex trust me, I’ve already checked.”

  “You checked? When? How?”

  “We don’t have time,” Charlie said, but he knew that tactic didn’t work with her.

  Walking over to a lab bench, he picked up a small square device and threw it to Alex. Inlayed into the box was a pentagon, made from five coloured triangles: green, red, blue, yellow and purple.

  “This detects what kind of alternate someone is. Those sections light up in different patterns for each type. See, no lights are on, so you aren't an alternate. Besides, we don’t think the third orders can’t pass on powers genetically.”

  “Third orders?”

  “Look we-”

  The noise of a stool being knocked over made Alex jump. She turned to see a woman in her mid-fifties stumbling towards them, her hair knotted with blood.

  “Helena,” Charlie said, rushing towards her.

  “I am fine, or at least I will be. They jumped us at the back entrance, I took the emergency escape route here. A group of R’hard cut us off, tore the rest of my group to pieces,” Helena said.

  “I activated the media black-out protocols. I don't know how this happened, they got hold of my credentials.”

  “What is she doing here?”

  It was only then Alex realised Helena was holding a gun and it was pointed, at her.

  - Chapter 45 -

  Questions

  Nick looked at Henry and, realising what he had just seen (or not seen as the case was) began to reach for a weapon. Tristan, now aware of who Nick was, began to raise his gun and, a fraction of a second behind each other, Jonny and Nick’s team of detectives all clocked what was happening. Last to react was Henry, whose only course of action, since he was about to be in the middle of a shootout, was to hope his inner Ink would kick in. Luckily for him, it didn’t need to.

  “Ymbsettan,” Tristan said.

  With a clap of Tristan’s hands, a force rippled outwards, weapons clattering across the floor as the blast shattered every mirror in
the room. The old shopkeeper gave a shrill cry as she was thrown clear of the shop entrance, tumbling away like a barrel down a hill. Everyone was caught in a shroud of momentary confusion by the attack, everyone that was, except Nick. Tristan’s magus appeared to have had little effect on him as he pulled a long thin butchers knife from the inside of his jacket.

  Tristan shot across the room, taking Henry with him, as he charged towards the only mirror left intact. The pair crashed down on the cold floor beyond the mirror, passing through it as if it wasn't there, bullets shooting over their heads. Tristan rolled to one side, his weapon raised and was already firing back through the mirror when Henry managed to pull himself out of the way. Looking around, Henry recognised where they were, the entrance hall to Sabrina’s lair.

  Bullets sparked against brick and metal around them as Tristan manoeuvred Henry behind him, green flame conjured in his right hand. Before he could attack, a body tumbled through the glass mirage, coming to a stop in front of them. With Tristan supporting Jonny's other shoulder, Henry helped drag him to cover, Tristan conjuring something akin to hailstones to cover their retreat. Jonny’s leg was impossibly misshapen, a bone sticking out from his shin, the stark whiteness of it splashed with lines of blood.

  “Mother of all mercy,” Jonny shouted as with a loud click, the bone disappeared back into his flesh.

  “Man up,” Tristan said, ducking out from behind cover to continue firing.

  “Nick’s completely impervious Tristan and he’s bloody quick,” Jonny said.

  “Thank you for that useful insight. Focus on healing yourself.”

  The shooting from the other side of the mirror stopped and Henry peered out from the cover of the wall. A haze of dust seethed around the entrance to the tunnel, creating swirls in the light from the shop. A silhouette of a man blocked the light as Nick stood solemnly at the entrance, a long thin knife in his right hand.

  Tristan didn’t stop firing.

  Pulses of blue light from Tristan’s weapon rocketed down the corridor, burning holes in Nick’s clothes, but as their impacts faded, Henry could see the skin beneath was left unharmed. Their weapons had no effect on him.

  “Henry, go to the ballroom,” Tristan said.

  Henry turned to help Jonny up, but he shook his head.

  “I’ll be alright, I need to help Tristan. Get out of here, you are too valuable to die here,” Jonny said.

  Henry looked out as the other detectives entered behind Nick. Bullets flew down the corridor, their alternate forms flickering into existence against bursts of gunfire.

  “Cierr,” Tristan said.

  He had stepped out from cover and, grabbing Henry by the scruff of his shirt, pushed him towards the ballroom. From Tristan’s outstretched hand, a bubble like shield swelled out, deflecting the bullets away as they chipped off large pieces of brick. With his other hand, Tristan lifted the debris with his magus and propelled it across the tunnel towards Nick. Bricks bounced off him as if made from cardboard, not even enough to cause him to falter as he started to walk towards them.

  “Go, now,” Tristan shouted.

  Henry had reached the doorway to the ballroom when he felt the ground tremble. Nick charged out of the tunnel and, locking Tristan’s arm in place, drove him into the wall. Tristan struck him again and again, desperately attempting to break Nick's vice-like grip, but he only managed to mildly irritate him. Dragging Tristan up off his feet, Nick pulled his first back to strike him, but Tristan reacted first. Forcing the purlicue of his hand into Nick’s throat, he let go allowing Tristan a desperate breath of air.

  Nick continued to be quicker, moving out of the way every time Tristan tried to hit him, not that Tristan’s attacks were capable of hurting him. Jonny stood, somewhat unsteadily, and leapt at Nick, driving his knife into Nick’s back which did nothing more than bounce off his stoney frame. Trapping Tristan in his grip, Nick threw him at the other Inquisitor. As Tristan tumbled across the floor, Jonny flipped over his body, the shine of the knife glistening in the gloom. In viscous short arcs, Jonny swiped the weapon at Nick, who quickly dodged each attack as if the whole thing were just a game to him. It was all too easy, they couldn’t beat him.

  Coming around the corner of the tunnel, Nick’s team of detectives caught sight of Henry and raised their weapons.

  “Praemium,” Henry shouted.

  The words had just come to him, but as he spoke them, he remembered the spell from his books. It was supposed to create thunderous explosions of force that would surge out from his hand, or at least, that is what the book had said would happen. Instead, a single bolt of force hit the wall, with a disappointing bang, above the heads of the group of detectives, raining brick dust on them.

  The use of even that much energy made Henry’s knees go a little wobbly. It was as if the energy had pulled directly from him and he could only think what the high powered spells Tristan had been performing were doing to his body.

  Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Henry yanked the cord of the curtain around the entrance to the ballroom and the curtains closed, blocking him from their line of sight. He needed to hide and quick. Running for the furthest table he could reach before they entered, Henry dived under an faded table cloth and prayed it would be enough to conceal him.

  The sound of fire crackled in the distance as the curtain was sent up in smoke, the result of fire magus from the Alesh no doubt.

  “We know you’re here,” one of them said, who Henry designated in his mind as the ‘Scottish one’.

  “I am a R’hard, as is my partner here, and the fear in you stinks, Mr Fellows”, said another, which, sticking with stereotypes, cast him the ‘Birmingham one’.

  Henry fumbled the gun from its holster, activating it with his power, while in his other hand he gripped the stunner. He was as ready to fight as he’d ever be.

  “Guess we are playing hide and seek then.”

  The floorboards creaked as the group moved around the room, it would be only moments before they found him. Glasses shattered as tables were upturned, gunshots fired randomly across the room in an attempt to drive him out.

  “We’ll find you, kid. It’d be a damn sight easier if you’d just show yourself so we can get this done,” the ‘Scottish one’ said.

  Henry put down the stunner, the slight buzzing noise it made subsiding as it lost contact with his skin, and fished around in his pocket for his phone. Unfastening the headphones and putting in the ear buds, Henry tried to steady his shaking hands. Was he really going to try this? Wait, why was listening to music the odd part of this? He was trying to unlock genetic memories that would enable him to fight a group of magically powered mutants in the lair of a sex crazed vampire. Nothing could be classed as strange anymore. Henry scanned through the playlist Gabrielle had given him and selected a track. ‘Bom Bom’, by Sam and the Womp.

  The beat was repetitive, the lyrics jovial and the song club like, which meant it was easy to lose himself to. As Henry began to focus on the lyrics, a mud crusted leather boot planted itself to the side of the table and, from under the table cloth, Henry saw a man upturning the table opposite his.

  This was it. Henry took a deep breath, focussing on the words as the same line repeated in the song.

  As the man came close to the table, Henry swept his legs from under him. He landed with an awkward thud and in his momentary confusion, Henry slipped out from under the table and plunged the stunner towards the man’s chest. Unfortunately, this man was R’hard and wasn’t going to be so easy to put down. He moved to the side, avoiding the stunner, and threw a punch up to Henry, which in turn, he dodged, rolling away. With his gun arm outstretched, so the barrel pointed directly at the man’s chest, Henry fired twice. Blue energy flew from the weapon and made contact with the man’s side, the impacts like drops of burning oil colliding with this skin. The man’s body convulsed, until the last plasma bolt. He lay still, knocked out cold, but alive.

  To Henry, it was like watching someone
play a video game. He could see what was happening, and was quite happily observing, as some automatic force took over. He wasn’t in the driving seat, but he still needed to gently push his autopilot in the right direction. Across the room he saw the Scottish one had clocked what was happening, and about ten metres in front of him was the other detective. Henry gave his subconscious a little push and found himself leaping onto the table, which gave a creak under his weight. Holding the gun out ahead of him, he summoned the magus needed to activate the weapon again and fired towards the Scottish man, who dived for cover behind a nearby table, plasma scorching its surface. The other man turned and began to fire his weapon, but he was too late. Henry was already on him, knocking him to the ground.

  The Scottish was up again, causing Henry to dive for cover. Shots pebbled against the upturned table he took refuge behind, the bullets splintering through the wood, barely missing him. Focusing on his gun, Henry took a deep breath and prepared to return fire, just as the table slammed into him at speed. It moved backwards, forcing him into it as it scraped across the floor. The table leg snagged on something and the upper edge arced down, smacking Henry to the ground as his gun clattered away, a deep thud resonating through the table top above him. Apparently the R'hard wasn't quite out for the count. Raising his palm in front of him, Henry took a deep breath and bathed in the beat of the music.

  “Praeliabitur,” Henry said.

  A blue light pulsed from Henry’s hand, sending the table flying into the air and carrying the R’hard with it, as it collided with the nearby wall. Henry got to his feet, as the R’hard charged at him, frenzied. Henry looked for the gun and realised it was still on the floor, but his subconscious didn’t seem too bothered. He withdrew the baton and, as the R’hard went to strike, Henry spun it around in his hand, catching the man’s arm with the baton and pushed down hard. There was a loud crack and the man’s arm broke, the flesh rippling out like jelly the moment the bone splintered. His eyes went wild with pain, but the R'hard put up no defence as Henry thrust the stunner at him, knocking him out for good.