by Lee Taylor
The last thing he saw before being propelled through the mirror by Tessa as it shattered, was Kitty’s face, and the look of shock pasted on her features as she dived for cover. Her dome of fizzling, topaz shimmered away into grey.
Chapter 18
When Mike came to, the world was rocking. It was colourful again, and for that, he was truly grateful. His back ached from the force of the blow, and he frantically searched around him to see if any of his other friends made it through in one piece. They didn’t. He was by himself, back in Ivan’s once lavish estate in a burnt out old husk of a room. He was incredibly lucky, all things considered. The room could have still been on fire.
“I sure picked a hell of a time to give up smoking,” Mike mused, sniffing in the smell of charred wood. Smoke filled the most part of the room; it stung his throat, and eyes. Mike had to get out and soon. He had to find Ursine before he did anything else stupid. The door itself was being held shut by a vacuum of pressure; he grasped the handle, and it was hot to the touch.
“Really?” Mike whined to himself. He rubbed his hand on his top more out of convenience than anything else.
“Okay, Mike, think... What was it Kitty told you about fire... It’s all molecules right?” Mike aired the question to himself. There was still a lot of noise coming from parts of the crackling and fizzling mansion, but he tried his best to blank them out. Beginning to concentrate, he thought of all the particles and molecules in all of his surroundings glowing like little beacon’s, blinding him with their dazzling array. He sucked in a chest full of air as he pictured the fire on the other side, sensing its proximity to him. There were quadrillions of molecules all vibrating together, causing the flames to lick up and around the room; smoke was billowing through the cracks around the door. Mike shook his hands and clicked his knuckles as he leaned in closer and braced himself.
Placing the palms of his hands on the door, his eyes began to fill with opalescent power lighting the room in a brilliant emerald glow. He had to will his thoughts and feelings forward, blanketing the frenzied molecules with his gelatinous energy, and they gradually began to slow down, subsiding to something more rhythmic in beat with Michael’s own heart.
He swung the door open, being greeted by his own emerald energy as it petered away into the ether. A real sense of pride washed through him at what he had just accomplished; thinking of how Kitty would have praised him had she been present... Mike was a closet teacher’s pet.
The building shuddered and groaned with the change of pressure. More debris dropped down from around the archway, and he found himself skipping to one side before he was turned into a pancake. It was unfortunate, he didn’t have any kind of enhanced strength or speed like the lycans, and that meant that he was going to have to navigate blind.
His eyes faded back to their hazel colour, and with it, crept in a wave of lethargy; a clear indicator that the flame smothering activity just took a lot out of him.
Navigating through an unfamiliar mansion in the dark is a hard task to do in normal circumstances, but with smoke columns rising, threatening to smother him if he got lost let alone the already protesting mansion that could collapse at any moment, Mike had to rush. One good thing to be said though, Ivan liked an open-planned mansion, which made it easier to navigate the debris. Sucking in lungs full of oxygen, whenever the air looked clear enough, had Mike nearly folding over in fits. When he rounded a corner and saw streaks of daylight he broke into a sprint, slipping and gasping. His chest filled with the vile smoke as he erupted from the side entrance of the western wing.
“I... am... Never-” Mike coughed and spluttered some more, spitting out mouthfuls of smoky saliva.
“Ever... Smoking again,” Mike said, dropping to his knees to kiss the ashy gravel.
Just as he had his rump exposed to the heavens, a chorus burst of gunfire echoed through the air drowning out the fizzling and popping part of the burning down mansion.
Tessa had said about Ursine getting himself into trouble... yeah undoubtedly he had... Ursine was always getting into trouble, like the time at school when they were playing baseball; the teacher was playing backstop and lecturing on the correct swinging technique; and so when it was Si’s turn to bat... He obliged the teacher by swinging for the ball, missing, tripping and carried on right into Mr. Levenstein’s head... not only was the teacher knocked out cold, but he had to get his jaw wired shut. Everyone thought that Ursine was a teacher killer; it made an interesting school report for his mom to look through. Mike jumped up and surged forward, bounding around the perimeter of the building, looking for any sign of life.
There wasn’t even a bird to be seen or heard; instead the air was filled with thick ochre. The ruined estate sung in protest with the heat fractures throughout. It was as if the building was crying out in torment as it cracked and whistled from the flames.
When Mike finally rounded on the front of the building he hadn’t realised his vision had been badly clouded with a screen of smoke that was drifting past.
It was like the smoke back-stepped as the thumping to the propeller blades gusted inward, dispersing the screen effortlessly. Revealing the scene before him, Mike’s heart skipped a beat; he could see Ursine lying on the floor. A man in what looked like a wetsuit holstered his weapon as he began to reach down and release him from some metal thing strapped onto the small of his back. Mike immediately began to approach, refusing to leave him like he had at the bar earlier. From where Mike was he saw one of the other shaved-headed soldiers open fire on a large, twitching canine-like carcass on the ground.
“LYCAON!?” Mike gasped, moving forward with more pace. He had no time to come up with another plan, one of the men turned and shouted something, the noise being immediately drown out by his gun fire. Another two large figures caught Mike’s attention: the two gigantic wolves slowly slinking forward, even under a hail of gunfire their fearless disregard sent chills down his back. A suited figure who looked like he had been having a really bad day walked calmly toward where Ursine lay lolling on the floor, Ursine’s surface thoughts crashing at Mike with waves of dread and worry. Another thought caught his mental ear from the man nearest Ursine. A seething rage began to boil its way throughout Mike’s body, pure wrath seeping out of his pours like sap from a tree, bathing the surrounding in his emerald glare. Something was coming from the woods too that shared the lustre of fury. Progressively Mike cleared the space of the yard, seeking cover by the helicopter to the right of the engagement. The Humans that he could hear were not aware of his presence yet. Mike’s eyes narrowed into slits as he eyed Ursine’s attackers; they were not planning on letting Ursine leave this place alive, and that, Mike would not allow.
At a glance in the canopy he noticed that there was four people in it, Tessa’s corporeal host was in a worse state than Ursine, disabled on a stretcher in its interior, along with two medics who were too busy watching the medley to spot the green-eyed human standing at the other side of the helicopter, tainting the inside momentarily green. Mike forced in a breath and began to formulate a plan of attack, stepping out from the cover of the helicopters cab he walked toward its tail, in plain view. Mike was going to attack, he was going to somehow try and take a gun from one the men while they faced the other wolves, and kill everyone that threatened his friend. The sickening thought overtook all of Mike’s rational emotions and self-preservation as he coiled to strike like a rattlesnake.
He jerked forward, making sure to keep low, and sneaked into the cover of one of the downed wolves who he had thought to be Lycaon. One of the soldiers was too busy with shooting the wolf to notice Mike scurry up to its back; only feet from him, and still he couldn’t see the small human. A round skipped clean through the wolves monstrous size, ricocheting off of bone and earth, and bounced up, flipping head over tail and tinged Mike directly in the thigh. Mike let out a scream of anguish, and the beasts head turned slightly, acknowledging his presence. Before it was welcomed with a concurrent thwack of more rounds, je
rking with the impacts it snarled and slumped once again, still lying in their view of him. White-hot pain rippled throughout Mike’s body; he felt sick to his core. The throbbing pain was unbearable, Mike rolled around whispering profanities while on the floor, it was amazing how quick emotions can go from making you feel untouchable and God-like, to frail and useless. Closing his eyes and focussing on his own body, Mike began to mentally retrieve the fragmented round.
Concentrating on his leg, Mike could feel the foreign object in pieces in his thigh, and the thought alone made him heave. The pain was the only thing that stopped him from following through on his brains involuntary actions. He grabbed hold of his leg, swathing it with the ambient glow from his own eyes. Slowly but surely, parts began to come out, little fragments at first that had chipped off with the contact of his bone.
How fast had those rounds been travelling? And how big were they? Mike questioned, temporarily occupying himself from the searing agony that rocked him. The main round came out; it looked a lot like what Mike had done to Quarter’s previously. All crumpled up and smooshed together where it had gouged into Mike’s. It felt like it was a thigh, millimetres from a primary artery; it was emitting a low kind of buzz, like it had been charged with electricity... or something similar.
Unfortunately for Mike there were other pressing matters at hand; his wound did not begin to spontaneously close up like it had with the lycanthrope. Mike had to force his leg to vibrate. And strand by soiled strand, the tissue in his leg began heating up, cauterizing the wound. More gunfire ripped through the air, and with it Mike let out a deadly howl, screaming in agony. The shock of the blow had his leg pulsating with torturous pain. The moment it faded with him, he was mesmerized by the bullet, but now, now the pain had compensated for its time absent, and it returned ten-fold, and his throbbing limb almost drove him mad. Tears streaked down Mike’s face, choking on mucus as he attempted to calm himself. He knew if he wasn’t quiet the gunmen would hear him; that was if they hadn’t already. Mike lifted his head over the wolf’s body, peaking at the gunmen who were now beginning to back toward the chopper. He saw the man nearest Ursine raise his weapon, taking out a case from his pocket. The man nervously looked toward the other approaching lycanthropes as he removed his magazine and dropped the lone round into the chamber, releasing a latch on his pistol. The housing slid forward. Mike’s head was still throbbing from the effort that he had just used to extract his own bullet and seal his wound. Shifting his weight anxiously, Mike tried to focus on the man’s gun, hoping that he could make it jam; it didn’t happen. It was like the gun itself was protected. The man held it, lifting it from Mike’s influence, and whispered a prayer.
Mike felt increasingly nauseas; he wanted to turn his head and look away. His friend was about to be executed in front of him, and he couldn’t even run to him as he couldn’t support his weight.
Mike was cursing at everything around him when a flicker of an idea occurred to him...
He closed his eyes, an almost tangible feeling of excitement coursed through his veins; Slowly Mike began to lift his hands, willing the air to change, guiding his remaining energy with the direction his hands were facing. If he had something to focus his will with, it might have been easier, but Kitty wanted him to learn the basics before she showed him what he could use.
Focussing harder, Mike’s eyes began to throb, feeling the particles bump together where the suited man’s muzzle met the back of Si’s head... Shuddering with the strain that he was putting on his mind and body, drawing in as much power as he could, his lungs compressed from the effort momentarily, but that didn’t stop him. Unblinking.
Mike didn’t know if he would be able to make any difference at all, but even if he died from the strain, at least he knew that he tried. Clear footfalls were coming now, louder than the helicopter with its incessant whirring.
Layers upon layers of the molecules built up, entwining themselves and hardening. Mike’s sight had become dark now, his own eyes itched in their sockets, and blood vessels burst in his capillaries. The taste of blood was thick and filmy in his mouth, like he had been sucking on a jar of pennies, his nose trickled slowly. Mike’s body was coming apart from the inside out, but he couldn’t let go. Not until he knew his friend was... The figure landed feet from him, almost foaming at the mouth, its vision locked on the business man... launching its hulk at him.
With a gasp of shock he pulled the trigger, snorting as he did so. The bullet left the chamber emptying straight into Ursine’s still head. The pistol hadn’t backfired as Mike had hoped; Ursine’s head jolted forward, depressing his face into the earth below. Limp.
Mike’s hopes were released. He lost grip of the situation and sank into himself. With his heartbeat slowing... his body hummed and ached, and the pain was a reprieve from the realisation that was yet to sink in. With his heart-rate slowing still, a wet, warm, sticky spray showered him as he lay draped over the Lycan. He had failed, and now the darkness had come to meet him.
Chapter 19
When I finally came to, the smell of burning was still clinging to my clothes. It turned my stomach. If I never smelt a barbecue again it would be too soon. My head was pounding like someone had been kind enough to indulge it with a sledgehammer lullaby. The last thing that I remembered was my face eating dirt, with a cold barrel of a gun digging into my head.
Christian... I snarled, my dark passenger groaned in alertness. It sounded just as crappy as I felt.
I slowly, delicately opened my eyes; the blood thrumming through me had me feeling motion sickness even though I was sprawled out on the floor. I twitched my left hand, the feeling had returned, but I still felt I was made of porcelain. Gingerly I stroked the floor with the tips of my fingers; I was lying on a carpet, and it was thin and coarse. I wouldn’t imagine it was Ivan’s, and I was fairly sure that the giant a-hole who is Agent Christian wouldn’t have tried to kill me then drag me off somewhere and dump me on a cheap carpet; so where the hell was I?
I thought about sitting up for a moment to try and get a grip of my surroundings, but decided against it as the effort to coordinate that kind of movement, was probably going to make me hurl. God I was getting sick of getting knocked out. These past few weeks I had been unconscious more times than a really crappy, prize-fighter. It was funny to think that I was allegedly more than human, considering on how I felt so very, very, human at the moment.
I let out a guttural groan, and the sound made my brain brace itself for the inevitable aneurysm that had to be just around the corner.
“Ah, so you are awake then, boy?” A very refined voice spoke out, his voice reverberating in the room, not to mention my head. I didn’t reply intentionally, instead I let out a shallow sigh.
“You know, Ursine... the others thought that you were dead.” The foreign body chided, at the mention of the “others” it had me slowly pulling myself up into a sitting position, despite my body’s protests.
“Others?” I croaked. The man scoffed lightly with disdain. It was awesome; I found another fan.
“Yes we are all friends here, didn’t you know?” He teased, I groggily opened an eye.
The light in the room was mercifully low. Originating from a cast iron looking chandelier, it was a good ten feet above me. The walls of the room looked slick and gleamed with the low beams of the candlelight. I tried my best to look around at the rest of the room. The little effort I exerted was enough to have me believe my neck was tacked in place with a rusty hinge. The blood flow in my ears swelled, and the skull-crushing headache lorded over me. What was disappointing was considering the effort I had put in. For all intents and purposes I was in a large empty room, old varnished rafters lined the roof, and there wasn’t a bed, or chair, only a single old carpet that I was occupying... the comedian, who was having a wonderful time getting on my nerves. Was this how I made other people feel? No wonder they keep trying to kill me.
With my head humming, I bit my lip and answered.
�
��Wh-who are you exactly?” My voice was weak and croaky. The gentleman expelled a short breath of air and hummed to himself, making a clucking noise as he thought of an answer.
“I am your saviour, and captor,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. I wasn’t sure if he was, as he said my ‘saviour’. It felt more like it was another ‘out of the frying pan’ situations I had found myself in an awful lot recently.
“Yeah sure, of course you are,” I croaked sarcastically; my senses were gradually returning to me. I was able to feel my legs, wriggle my toes and smell the air around me. It filled my nostrils and burned my nose slightly. My dark passenger let out a shredding shriek, like it was recoiling in pain or fear, adding to my already aching head.
“Mr. Edwards, if you are able to stand then you should get up and follow me before you get any... ideas.” He rolled his words like he was already bored with my presence; I could tell that he was straining to sound polite, so I tried not to annoy him too, much, till I got some more answers.
Shakily I stood, I was overcome with the sensation that we were out at sea, though I knew that it was because of my bones being switched with marshmallows.
“Lead the way,” I groaned, cracking my back and stretching as I steadied myself.
With a quick smirk the man twirled and glided toward the door, holding it open in another polite gesture. His face was pale and gaunt; several scars marred the right side of his face disappearing beneath his dark goatee. Considering the presence that he brought with him, he was only a small man, a few inches shy of five feet. His hands that he held out in a courteous gesture were nearly skeletal, draped with golden rings that were inlaid with various, precious stones. One item of jewellery caught my attention as it seemed so out of place, was a cast iron shackle that weighed down his left wrist. The large cloak that he was wearing seemed a bit over the top to me, a shimmering sheet of burgundy embroidered with odd symbols that reminded me of the tattoo that I saw on Tessa. It made my headache miraculously vanish and was replaced with a low bubbling rage that began to gnaw away at the common sense part of my brain.