Pyros: DarkWorld: Skinwalker 0.5 (Novella) (DarkWorld: Origins Book 1)

by T. G. Ayer

  The progress of that one teardrop was macabre fascination, helpless grief, and unadulterated rage all rolled up into one unholy power. A power which Logan craved to unleash. He rose to his knees and peered around the side of the altar, catching sight of Sandi, trying to secure the warlock and failing,

  Logan watched him for any indication that he was summoning more power, while Jess did her thing, no doubt probing his mind. She had the freakiest ability. She could delve into the mind of a subject and turn them off as if they had this tiny little switch deep inside their heads. When the shaman fell to the ground in an undignified heap, Logan let out a rush of breath.

  It was over.

  ***

  Chapter 13

  Logan whispered a silent thanks that Jess had helped this time. She was an enigma – only using her abilities when she deemed fit. The team saw that as arrogance but Gunther tolerated every bit of her high and mighty ways.

  She hardly said much, and had an old-world manner of speaking that was at time regal and sometimes comical, her use of English seemingly like a second language, though Logan could never detect an accent. Worse than all of that was her lack of emotion. And for some reason she had been assigned to Logan instead of one of the other teams.

  Now she squeezed past Logan, on her way to the back of the helicopter, her face implacable as she said, "Your thoughts, Logan, are loud and abrasive. You should clear your mind and rest."

  Logan snorted. He had almost forgotten that Jess could hear his thoughts, unless he shuttered his mind the way he'd been taught. He concentrated and seconds later–

  "Thank you, Logan. Now please rest."

  Now, as steel wings flapped overhead, bearing them home, Logan stared straight ahead at Saleem. His dark locks framed a face strong with his Persian heritage. A tattoo swirled on his cheek, crawling across his cheek from beneath his left ear, along his hairline and ending at the corner of his left eye. Whenever he studied the markings he always felt a twinge of pain at the thought of the agony his friend must have gone through to have the tattoo etched on such sensitive areas.

  "He who can withstand the bite of pain is but a real man." Saleem peered at him through barely open eyes.

  "He who can withstand the pull of sleep is the real man," he jested back at Saleem.

  "Sleep is sustenance and a man without sustenance will surely perish." Saleem smiled a benevolent smile.

  "Touché, my friend."

  Then both men shut their eyes, intending to get some semblance of rest.

  Logan's sat-phone bleeped and he peered at it with bleary eyes, before taking the call.

  The conversation didn't last long. Gunther was a man of few words. And Logan knew sleep would be a long time coming.

  Cutting the call he looked up, sensing eyes on him. Saleem, Mik and Sandi stared at him, waiting. Jess, of course, would have heard the whole conversation, with her mind magyk.

  "We're back on the clock, bunnies. Body dump in Chicago. Jess and I need to check it out. You three can go back to HQ and get some rest.."

  They didn't look pleased. All three were concerned with Logan's sleep patterns and knew he'd gotten barely twenty minutes of z's in the last forty hours. Fatigue would burn a mage out faster than the magyk itself. They were right.

  "I promise to get some shut-eye as soon as we check this case out."

  "You'd better. 'Cos I'm calling Gunther as soon as we land." Sandi was her usual bossy self. Made him glad and sad that he never had a little sister. He didn't bother to fight with her.

  The helicopter banked left, changing course for Chicago. Flying, as they were, below radar and camouflaged, they entered the city limits and headed for the Chicago police department building without detection.

  The Black Hawk hovered over the large white 'H' painted on the rooftop. Saleem and Mik tied off the ropes and tossed them out the open door. The ropes unrolled and fell to the roof like two over-excited vipers, whipping and snapping all the way down.

  A quick salute and Jess and Logan grabbed their ropes and let themselves fall, a few feet at a time until their feet touched the rooftop.

  Logan had a feeling Jess hadn't needed the rope to descend, but he held his tongue.

  They unhitched themselves from the ropes and Logan signaled the okay to go. The helicopter moved away, still so silent that all anyone would hear was a sound similar to the thwack-thwack of a flat tire being driven on.

  ---THE END---

  Want to know what happens next with Logan? Read SKIN DEEP (a DarkWorld Novel)

  Jess & Storm appear in SKIN DEEP (a DarkWorld Novel)

  Saleem gets his own story in Blood Magic (A DarkWorld SoulTracker Novel)

  Storm appears in Blood Magic (A DarkWorld SoulTracker Novel)

  ***

  Read Skin Deep – Book 1 in the DarkWorld Series

  Read an Excerpt of SKIN DEEP

  SKIN DEEP – A DARKWORLD SKINWALKER NOVEL #1

  SKIN DEEP - Chapter 1

  The door stood open and my supervisor walked back and forth, already arranging the chairs in a cozy circle. Clancy grinned as I entered. "Hello, Miss Tardy," she teased. I stuck my tongue out at her and stashed my backpack behind the desk.

  I always arrived at least thirty minutes early, something she teased me for often enough. Today I was only fifteen minutes early, so technically, she was right and I was late.

  I'd headed to the group therapy session in spite of the dull headache pounding my skull with the feverish tenacity of a jackhammer. While these sessions weren’t compulsory for the clients, my attendance was mandatory as far as I was concerned. I'd never missed a session since I started working for the Sandhurst Centre for Rehabilitation—also known as the Rehab Centre.

  "You okay?" Clancy's voice cut through my thoughts and I realized I still stood at the table, stock still.

  I nodded. "I'm fine, just a headache." I squeezed my forehead, trying to massage the throbbing away. The pain had crept up on me, so unbearable now I couldn't swallow without feeling it pulse in my throat and in my skull.

  Clancy tucked her long, dark hair behind her ear and walked over to me, her green eyes narrowing in on my face. "Look, take off if you’re not feeling up to it, okay? Go home and sleep it off."

  I shook my head and regretted it immediately as a sudden throb gripped my head in an agonizing vice. Swallowing a groan I said, "No, really, I'll manage."

  "Alright. But you look like crap. What will our kids think?"

  A giggle escaped my lips. "Yes, Ms. McBride. I’ll put on a happy face for the kids," I answered, my voice dry but still filled with laughter.

  Clancy grinned and rummaged through the desk, rearranging paperwork, her hair hiding her features. Our coloring—hair, eyes, even skin tone—was so similar many people assumed we were related. I took it as a compliment. Despite being Human, Clancy embodied everything I wanted in a friend and mentor. And she always had my back.

  But she didn't know I wasn't Human. And I had no intention of finding out how she would react to my true identity. What would she think if she knew her bright young counselor was a Panther shapeshifter? Humans weren't known for their acceptance of the unknown and I wanted our relationship to remain just the way it was.

  A hum in the corridor announced the first arrivals, who usually waited for company before they entered. Clancy and I fiddled with paperwork until the group settled. Still officially in training, a qualified counselor often joined me for assessments. And each class proved an educational experience for me.

  The stragglers trickled in and the group began to settle.

  Todd Denfield, one of our regulars, sat back in his chair, almost melting into the metal backrest. A picture of enforced, bored non-attention. When Todd's rough voice broke the usual beginning-session silence, nobody in the room was more surprised than myself.

  "How do you become gay?" Heads turned as the fourteen-year-old boy voiced the question, eyes downcast.

  Silence smothered the group, palpable and thick. My ja
w stuck, unsure how to respond. But even as Clancy and I shared a quick glance to decide who would respond, one of the other patients answered the question.

  "There's nothin' wrong with bein' gay, Todd." Sam answered. He was one of the older, already rehabilitated kids, who returned often to attend the open forum. He admitted it reminded him of what he had to lose, of how hard he'd worked to pick himself up from where he'd fallen. "Maybe tell us why you're askin'?"

  Todd gave him an impatient glare and shook his head. Eye- wateringly bright fluorescent light glazed his dark hair, gelled and spiked to stand straight up in places, while curtaining his eyes in oily fronds. "So— how does it happen? I mean, how do you know you’re...gay?"

  "You just do, like knowin’ you’re straight." Sam looked around the room. He received a chorus of nods. It seemed the simplest answer, and the best one.

  "And can you stop?" Todd asked. "Like today you're gay and tomorrow you're straight."

  "There are people who are bisexual which means they find both sexes attractive. But I don't think a person's sexual orientation can change overnight." Sam sat back, satisfied with his explanation.

  Todd stared at the older boy, dark eyes thickly lined in black. He'd failed to hide the purple crescents hugging each dull orb, betraying nights of sleeplessness. Todd's upper lip curled. A thankful smile made slightly grotesque by two tiny silver piercings that clung to the soft flesh of his lower lip. As I watched him, the telltale signs beneath the pasty-pale goth foundation became clearer. Faint coral smudges stained the skin at his neck, almost hidden by a thick, studded-leather collar. His clothing looked unnatural, uncomfortable. A staged, gothic treatment, which I'd always taken as an outward indication of his inner emotional turmoil. I'd been presumptuous. So blind.

  Good thing Clancy knew I felt a bit under the weather. At least now, she wouldn't realize I sat there almost paralyzed with shock.

  How did you miss the signs, Odel? You're slipping big time.

  They'd been right there in front of me all along and I'd missed them. The peach residue which clung around Todd's neck screamed of a Wraith’s touch, something I saw every day— because it's my job to hunt the god-damned soul-sucking freaks.

  I let out a tiny breath of relief. Todd wasn't the one possessed. Perhaps his father? But, the many traces of pale peach and coral located around Todd's neck and arms proved the Wraith definitely abused the boy. I may be too late to help him. My stomach twisted. This lack of observation and awareness could mean the death of an innocent boy.

  Aching head temporarily forgotten, I contemplated my next move as the session disbanded and the kids trailed out of the room and down the hall.

  I sighed as Clancy waved a quick good-bye, shaking a finger at me – a warning to go home and rest. I began stacking chairs to move them to the storeroom, still chock-full of guilt for being so blind to the presence of a Wraith around Todd. No matter how much I convinced myself the make-up Todd had slathered on hid the signs too well, spotting Wraiths was my job.

  The vicious throb returned with a vengeance once silence descended on the room. I tried to ignore it while it ate farther into my brain, farther into my neck and shoulders. I sat heavily on my seat and rolled my head from side to side, hoping the movement might relax the muscles, while I pressed desperate fingers into lumps the size of peach pits pebbling the muscles in my neck.

  A Wraith-hunt now was inconvenient to say the least. But, headache be damned. I had to make time for a bit of recon at Todd's house later in the day.

  A boy's life hung in the balance.

  ***

  SKIN DEEP - Chapter 2

  My head still throbbing, I dragged my body from my office, to make a stop at my friend Tara's shop. Tara was a Metal-singer, an Ethereal with the ability to manipulate any solid substance with only the power of her mind and the blood that sang in her veins. Though Tara's gift lay in working metals, her real power was the strength of her heart.

  When I'd arrived in Chicago to stay with Grandma Ivy, I'd needed a weapon for protection. Grams' friend Storm had generously provided Tara's name as a legitimate weapons forger and I'd had a crash course in direct contact with an Elemental Fae. I'd never trusted anyone easily but she was one of the most caring people I knew. Somehow it had been easy to trust her. Deep down I hoped I'd never regret it.

  I set off, jogging the three blocks to Tara's shop, worried because I hadn't been able to get her on the phone. Though eager to see the modifications she'd made to my old bow, I was more interested in the ammo she'd been developing. Tara was a weapons manufacturer, but for me she often went above and beyond. She knew about my Hunting and she and her mother Gracie had been searching for just the right substance to fill the cartridges for my jazzed up bow. Just the right substance to kill a Wraith on contact.

  When I reached the shop, a closed sign hung in the window, and peeking in through the front window confirmed the place was draped in shadows. I had more luck at the rear entrance. A broken exhaust pipe propped the back door open. An iron security gate still shut me out though. Tara’s vague, gray shape moved about inside the dingy backroom.

  I peered into the room. Ebony tendrils escaped a haphazard topknot and clung to Tara's neck and shoulders, slick with sweat. Her pale skin, like most Elementals, bore the swirled markings of the Elemental Fae Court she came from. The glamored patterns remained unseen by Humans unless they had the Sight.

  Through the bars, I watched her smooth the curved blade of a scimitar with the tips of her fingers. The metal glowed red against her fingertips as they slid along the blade, shaving fine slivers off until the edge became so sharp it disappeared. Tara honed bladed weapons capable of slicing through bone like butter.

  I swallowed back the bite of metal as the warmth from the room bathed my skin. Although Tara worked with metal, she never needed a furnace to heat the material to a red-hot, pliable substance. She did pretty well with just her fingers.

  She ceased her work and laid the blade on the worktable. Rising, she dusted her hands on the seat of her pants. I hadn't dared to disturb while she worked, only rapping my knuckles against the door now as she stretched.

  "Hey, look what the cat dragged in," Tara said, grinning at the pun. Corny, but cute.

  She shut the gate behind me, leaving the door open for fresh air. Besides a fear of overheating the room, she possessed a second elemental trait— claustrophobia. Adaptation to the Human way of life took longer than a few decades, but most elementals managed to a certain extent.

  "Sorry, I called, but..."

  "Yeah, I've been busy back here. A couple of orders keeping me frantic." She shrugged an apology and moved to the table where the scimitar blade sat. Even without a handle, it was still a vicious enough instrument. "What do you need?"

  "Just running by to pick up the bow. Is it ready?"

  "Oh, sure." Tara led me into the silent shop, where the odor of metal permeated the air and the dust motes danced in the dull afternoon light.

  "Where's Gracie?" I asked.

  "Mum was called back to Court. Something's going on and they needed her right away." Tara frowned for a moment then disappeared behind the counter. Something must be up in the Fae courts if Tara was worried. I hoped her mother was going to be okay. They both lived on the edges of the Courts rule, probably breaking a few laws with their weapons manufacturing, never mind their specific, made-to-order ammunitions.

  Tara popped back up seconds later with an object wrapped in black felt. She laid the package on the counter and flipped the edges open to reveal my crossbow. I'd missed it. Small enough to carry around in my backpack, shiny black steel; it was as lethal as it looked.

  "I've made a few special modifications for you." Tara reached into a drawer beneath the counter and handed me a small box. Inside sat a row of tiny vials.

  Tara picked out a single tiny bottle, popped the chamber open on the bow and slid it into the slot. Then she readied the weapon. "This vial is packed tight with microscopic needles. Each needle
is filled with a lethal poison. You have to take careful aim because the glass splits on impact and the needles enter the body in a fine spray. It's so fine it's undetectable. And untraceable." Tara smirked, very proud of her efforts.

  "Thanks, this is just amazing. How do you always know what’s perfect for me?" I shook my head as I asked the question, and as expected, she shrugged.

  Minutes later, bow tucked discreetly in my backpack, I headed home.

  ***

  I entered my apartment the usual way, taking the steel stairs of the rattling old fire escape, two risers at a time. The fire escape’s rusted bolting threatened to dislodge in too many places. At times it swayed, rebelling against my weight. Light on my feet, I was in no danger of plunging seven stories to the broken sidewalk. I wouldn't be so bold as to assume the nine-lives theory applied to Walkers. And I wasn't itching to put it to the test, either.

  I filed away another mental note to get the rusted bolts replaced. My guests used the other entrance to my home—an ancient cage-like contraption, which only worked because my Walker friend Anjelo worked wonders with mechanical whatnots. His smarts were busy impressing the teachers at Crawdon. The last I'd heard he was up for a scholarship or something. I snorted. Guess he'd better be super careful not to let it slip that he wasn't even Human. It would blast his scholarship to smithereens.

  Only once had I used that abomination of an elevator. Despite my confidence in Anjelo's nimble fingers and equally agile brain, I became a total wuss when confronted by The Cage itself. Images of the rickety box plummeting to the basement had me fleeing for my trusted fire escape. Somehow, the fire-escape’s tenuous hold on the outside wall didn't bother me, nor did any other equally obvious dangers my preferred entrance posed.