by Joshua Roots
“We need to tell the Elders where we’re headed,” Quinn said.
I swerved to avoid a pedestrian who offered me the One-Finger-D.C.-Salute. “My phone is in my side pocket. Call Mom or Dad and have them relay it to the Elders.”
She reached into the folds of my robe, removed my phone and made the call. While she spoke, Arbent leaned in between us.
“So what’s our plan?”
“Get to the Cathedral first. Then we do what we can to stop Rancin and pray the Elders arrive before she murders us all.”
Arbent patted my shoulder. “At least you’ve thought this through.”
I grimaced. “Yeah, I’m a well-spring of great ideas this evening.”
The Beemer leaned dramatically as I jerked us onto Wisconsin Avenue, then stood on end as I hit the brakes. We screeched to a halt, almost crushing the teeny car in front of us. It was one of those ecologically friendly vehicles designed for city parking and was completely covered in “Peace” and “Coexist” bumper stickers. The driver leaned his head out and started screaming profanities at me.
Quinn shoved my phone back in my pocket. “What’s going on?”
“Delivery truck,” I replied, staring daggers at the huge vehicle blocking our lane. The workers were emptying boxes from the back and completely ignoring the horns that blared at them. If anything, they were taking their sweet time, enjoying the melodious tune of pissed-off drivers who weren’t able to move an inch.
D.C., man.
“Can’t we take a side road?” Quinn asked.
“No way. It’s a freakin’ maze of one-way streets up here. Besides, nothing else is a straight shot to the Cathedral.”
She frowned. “So we’re stuck?”
“Nope.” I revved the engine and pulled the Beemer into oncoming traffic. Horns blared as cars swerved out of our way.
“Tell me this has airbags,” Arbent moaned, gripping Quinn’s headrest with all his might.
I floored the gas, passing the delivery van like a sleek, snobby rocket. As soon as we were clear, I swerved us back into the correct lane. We barreled up Wisconsin, blasting past the buildings that separated us from Montrose Park and Dumbarton Oaks Gardens. The Beemer weaved through the traffic like a ballerina, crossing the double yellow line gracefully when we passed slower cars.
At the speed we were traveling, that was pretty much all of them.
Arbent’s phone rang. His conversation was short.
“What?” I asked when he’d hung up.
“That was Heidi. You were right. The police have been flooded with news about monsters rolling through the neighborhoods. She’s also been fielding calls that something is tearing up the Cathedral. They’ve already activated SWAT, but I doubt they’ll beat us there.”
More guns were always welcome, in my opinion. With any luck, we’d still be alive when they arrived.
We sailed past the Naval Observatory and Glover Park, blowing through a red lights and ignoring the horns of irate drivers.
Flashing lights appeared in the rearview mirror as we flew through the intersection of Wisconsin and Massachusetts.
“Normal cavalry is inbound,” Arbent said.
“Hopefully the extra firepower will make a difference,” I replied, praying the lizard beasts were more vulnerable to conventional weapons than the pumas we’d faced in Maryland.
I hit the brakes and spun onto the small street on our right. Quinn squealed almost as loud as the tires as we tore up the road, screaming louder when I stood on the brakes. The Beemer left an inch of rubber on the pavement as we skidded to a halt by the destination.
Tall and majestic, The Washington National Cathedral was a stunning ray of architectural sunshine compared to the gray, boring buildings across the street. It hosted everything from state funerals to Catholic mass and even sported the bust of Darth Vader among the countless gargoyles lining the exterior.
The Cathedral was a tourist destination for visitors and a place for internal reflection and prayer for locals.
It was also, apparently, the target of Rancin’s unholy vengeance.
Lizards sprinted across the open lawn, chasing civilians.
Numerous bodies—some human, some not—were scattered across the cobblestone path by the front steps. Many lay in pools of blood. Behind us, the police cruiser screeched to a halt, but the cop’s face went from rage to terror as she gazed upon the scene.
A small pack of lizards erupted from behind the buildings on the south side of the Cathedral. Arbent shoved past me, staff glowing. “Time to earn our paycheck.”
He raised his staff over his head, swirled it, and brought it down in an arc. Wind raced from him to the creature that was chasing one of the clergy, catching the beast like a broadside. The lizard flew through the air, slamming into the corner of the stone exterior of the Cathedral with an audible snap. It flopped to the ground, whimpering as it struggled to rise.
Arbent ended its suffering a second later by driving the pointed end of his staff through its side.
While Arbent finished off his target, Quinn and I engaged the remaining lizards. Quinn powered up her sword and swung at the beasts like she was hitting a nine-iron. The stones in front of her launched from the ground, spraying the creatures with deadly accuracy. Two of them dropped instantly, their heads crushed from the inertia of the small rockets. The third dodged the initial assault, but crashed to the ground as two of the three hollow-points from my Glock struck gold. The body skidded a short distance before coming to a stop ten feet from us.
“Hot damn,” I said, shoving a fresh magazine into the pistol.
The clergyman staggered to us. He was trim with thin glasses and a thick head of graying hair. His lined face was ashen and his brow covered with sweat. “Thank you! These unholy things appeared out of nowhere.” His hands shook. “They have been merciless.”
“How many people are in there?” Arbent asked.
“I don’t know. There were several hundred when the attack started. Many fled. Some never made it to safety.” He paused to collect himself. “Thank the Lord that this didn’t happen during a worship service.”
I seethed with fury at the sight of so many hurt or dead. “What about an old woman?”
The priest pointed at the front doors. “In there with Father Pierce.”
I stared at the entrance, trying to get into Rancin’s head. She had been trying to reintroduce a sense of fear of the Skilled in the Normals for at least a week, probably longer.
She’d opened rifts to summon the beasts that would terrorize humanity, but I’d tripped her up. Then I shined a light on her and she’d panicked.
Now she was flying by the seat of her pants, holed up in the National Cathedral with an unknown number of civilians and Father Pierce.
And if there was one lesson I’d learned from my mother it was that a cornered animal was a dangerous one.
Rancin would likely fight to the death, killing anyone who tried to stop her.
But Rancin wasn’t the only one with a score to settle. Rage over the death of more innocents pumped energy through my system.
All of this was on my hands. I’d lit this fuse. I’d underestimated her.
No more.
“You two handle the lizards,” I said to Arbent and Quinn. “I’m going after Rancin.”
Quinn frowned. “Marcus, that’s beyond stupid.”
“We need to keep her off balance so she can’t complete whatever the hell she’s planning. The minute back-up arrives, you come get me with guns blazing, you hear?” I didn’t wait for a response, but took off toward the Cathedral at a full sprint.
The interior of the Cathedral was uncomfortably quiet. Thick stone walls muted the noise of combat outside while polished, marble floors reflected the bright lights overhead. The air felt unnaturally heavy, smothering my senses like a down comforter.
I gave the inside a quick scan with my Skill and felt the buzzing of someone else’s magic press back.
Thankfully, no one
attacked me, so I eased past a large column and approached the double doors behind it. I peeked through the glass, saw nothing lethal, then slowly inched the right door open. Squeezing through the opening, I skirted behind another column inside the main sanctuary.
The room was enormous.
Tall, wide columns lined either side and chairs filled the space between me and the podium at the far end. The patterned marble floors were highly polished and decked out in intricate colors of green, red and gray tiles. High above, the ceiling seemed to stretch into infinity.
Shattered chairs and broken bodies marred the beauty of the sanctuary.
I counted at least a half-dozen dead. Blood still flowed from some of them, leaking the raw energy human life into the room. Unlike the victims outside, these people had been killed by magic, not the teeth of a predator.
I steadied my breathing and focused my Skill on the surrounding area. I reached out, feeling my way through the cavernous interior of the Cathedral, searching for any sign of Rancin or Pierce. Sadly, whatever spell was muting the world outside was also dampening my powers.
Instead of slipping nimbly through the interior, my Skill dragged, as if swimming through molasses. Apparently Rancin was trying to blind any Skilled coming after her because I could barely feel more than a few feet at a time. Each time I pushed through the web, it drained my already depleted powers a little more. After another minute, I resigned myself to the futility of the situation.
The only way to find her was by using the Mark-1 Eyeball.
With the great hall seemingly empty—save for the remnants of death and destruction—I carefully leap-frogged down the sanctuary, one column at a time. As I neared the podium at the far end, I spotted a small antechamber behind it. Rows of raised pews, like that for a choir, ran down the wide hallway into the chamber.
A dozen terrified people, some bloodied, filled the seats on the right. They seemed stunned, staring into the chamber with dazed expressions.
I followed their gazes.
Rancin dragged Father Pierce toward a small altar.
“This is murder!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls.
Rancin shoved him toward the shallow stairs before the small altar. “It is sad, but also necessary. For you and for the Skilled.”
Pierce rubbed his forehead. “I don’t understand.”
“The Skilled need isolation. The unity has cost us—me—too much already. The price will only increase in the years to come. Normals and the Skilled must separate once more.”
The Father stepped to her. “My people and I deal in forgiveness and love, Elder Rancin. Whatever wrong you think the Normals have brought to your people, I’m sure we can solve it together.”
The old woman offered a sad smile. “I wish you were correct.”
She drove a knife into his chest.
The crowd screamed, shaken from their stupor by the suddenness of the murder. My own chest tightened as the priest sagged against the Elder, gasping for breath.
“I’m sorry, Father,” she said, easing him to the floor. “I truly hope your God exists and that you are with him now.”
Ignoring the wails of the crowd, she removed her knife and closed the man’s eyes. Tucking her blade back into her robes, she placed her hands on the expanding blotch of blood on his chest. She murmured something, then walked to the altar at the back of the room. Rancin slapped her bloody hands together over her head. Then, with the gentleness of a mother caressing a newborn, she slowly drew her hands downward, splitting the reality before her with surgical precision. Raising her hands once more, she opened the rift like she was tearing open curtains.
Blue light and frigid winds exploded from the tear, bathing Rancin in an eerie, unnatural glow.
The portal vibrated against my Skill with alarming force. The power of Pierce’s death stabilized the opening like no other rift I’d encountered before—solidified the edges in the equivalent of supernatural concrete.
“Come, destroyers!” Rancin shouted into the maw, her Skill resonating like a live wire. “Come and feast upon the flesh of a new world.”
Distant, beastly screams echoed off the interior of the Cathedral.
I recoiled in horror. No wonder these people were still alive. They were her audience. And her next set of victims.
My initial instinct was to attack, but the safety of the civilians took priority. With Rancin focused on the rift, I slid around the podium and into the seats. Several people spotted me, but I held my finger to my lips, then gave them a thumbs-up.
“Tell everyone to head to the front doors,” I whispered into the ear of the nearest young woman. “I’ll cover you.”
“I can’t move,” she said.
I placed my hand on her arm, feeling with my Skill. The pressure of a spell pushed back. It was powerful, but with Rancin’s attention diverted with the summoning, she had lost some of her grip on the spell holding the civilians.
With a flick of my own powers, I snipped the ethereal bindings that held the woman, then worked my way through the small crowd.
One by one the prisoners filed out of the hall. The young woman I’d spoken to held herself together, guiding everyone to the far wall. I kept glancing between Rancin and the escaping prisoners, praying that the Elder wouldn’t hear.
For the first time in what felt like forever, my luck held.
As the group disappeared from view, I drew my Glock from within my robes. Rancin might think she was ready for a Skilled attack, but she likely hadn’t planned on dealing with a Normal weapon.
And I had the element of surprise.
I eased around the wooden partition of the choir seats, moving slowly. As I reached the end, I slid behind a beautiful piano and through a set of doors into a side worship area.
Positive I was finally close enough to hit her, I leaned against the doorframe, aimed, and inhaled deeply to calm my thundering heart.
“You deserve this,” I muttered and pulled the trigger.
The Glock boomed, the sound echoing off the marble floors. The sound was so powerful that I blinked with surprise. Thankfully, my aim was true and the bullet hit its mark.
Then ricocheted off of her, plowing into the far wall.
Rancin flinched, spinning around. We made eye contact and the expression of surprise on her face was immediately replaced by one of rage.
Panicking, I squeezed the trigger three more times, but each round bounced ineffectively off her barrier. She curled her lips, stood and swung her staff over her head.
“Oh crap,” I said as she unleashed all hell on me.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bridging the Gap
Rancin’s tidal wave of energy ripped through the chorus area like a bulldozer, shattering chairs and hurling a wall of deadly shrapnel in my direction.
I dove to my left, narrowly avoiding the shards as they flew past. Behind me, the marble statue of a man cracked as the concussion wave slammed into it.
Rancin charged, whipping another hurricane at me. I scampered away, racing down the aisle between chairs toward the main sanctuary as fast as my legs would carry me.
Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on my side this time. A chunk of wood from one of the chairs sliced through my left shoulder like a scalpel.
Pain lanced through my body. I tried to channel it, but a mass of air hit me from behind. It lifted me off my feet and hurled me down the aisle. I curled into a ball half a breath before crashing to the hard ground. I slid along the floor, passed through a metal doorway, then bumped down a short set of stairs into the main sanctuary.
As I struggled to rise, Rancin walked slowly through the ruins of the worship area.
“You piece of filth,” she roared, rage billowing from her like heat from a bonfire. “Alone and overmatched, you are nothing more than an ant before a god!”
“A well-armed ant,” I muttered, and reached for the electricity in the bright lights overhead.
The bulbs popped as I ripped the electrons fro
m the sockets, then hurled the element at Rancin like a fastball. The small sphere collided with her defenses, shattering on impact like I knew it would.
The Elder grinned, then her eyes went wide with shock as the tiny bolts of lightning wrapped around the barrier, striking her from behind.
Rancin screamed, more out of surprise than pain, but the distraction caused her to lose focus. I felt the barrier drop, so I fired the Glock. Two bullets made it through—one of which clipped her thigh—before she raised the wall again.
She grunted, but somehow maintained her hold on the barrier.
“Lucky,” she snarled, then swung her staff at me. The blast of air hit like a tornado, hurling me backward once again. I slid along the polished floor for several feet, stopping only by the grace of a row of chairs.
I eased slowly to my knees as the unholy howling sound filled the Cathedral once again. I glanced at Rancin, then flung myself toward the stairs of the podium.
Another spell missed as I vaulted over the podium, turned and raced down the choral area at a full sprint.
Up ahead, the rift pulsed with the intensity of a blue sun. I skidded to a halt before Pierce’s body, shoved the Glock into the holster, then drew my sword. I wiped the blade across my bloody shoulder.
“Forgive me,” I whispered to the corpse as I dragged the tip through the pool of red beneath it. Then I drove my blade into the rift.
Time froze.
Power, the likes of which I’d never encountered before, connected with my Skill. My senses overloaded—my soul screaming as it tried to process the influx of raw, unfiltered energy.
This was nothing like the other portals I’d encountered. The stability, the connection, the harmony between worlds...it was perfect. Blue light beat to the rhythm of my heart as I became one with infinite power.
But as I reached for the edges of the rift, the presence appeared, fighting me for control. The sense of familiarity returned as the emotions that surrounded it coalesced into the silhouette of the practitioner.
It was faceless, nothing more than a shadow, but it recognized me.
Hated me.
It struck, stabbing at me with psychic blasts. My soul twisted, dancing as I tried to avoid the onslaught. I failed.