by Al K. Line
The vampires reacted instantly. Weaving, ducking, jumping, or taking the hits and recovering then changing direction and moving faster than the eye could see.
The soldiers screamed and went wild, shouting that the vampires were animals and had attacked and killed without warning.
Then things got utterly out of hand.
My Sister
"You bastards." Robin appeared at the top of the steps, more disheveled than I'd ever seen her. Her hair was wild, her makeup nonexistent, her face a mask of anger and humiliation.
She lifted her arms up elegantly, the handcuffs hanging from one slender wrist like an oversized bracelet. She frowned at it and the lock clicked open, the cuffs falling to the ground with a clang.
Anger had consumed her, and the air contorted with a shudder of deep rage centered here where men of violence, and outsiders at that, had come to supposedly put us in our place. The air danced with the waning aggression and brutality the men had brought with them, that had spilled over and sent the vampires wild. Now it had taken Robin. Her ordeal—whatever that had entailed—clearly at an end by her own volition.
Maybe the vampires' attack had forced her to act, or maybe she'd been biding her time until she was sure nobody else would suffer and she could deal with them how she saw fit. Or maybe it was compassion that held her back, knowing the men were being affected by outside influences. I doubted it. Robin isn't known for allowing people to make excuses for their actions, and her forgiveness for anyone not friends or family was about as likely as mine.
Before I could act, Robin moved down the steps and grabbed the shoulders of the first soldier, still firing at the vampires who were closing in, us forgotten. The man's upper body melted as Robin's hands turned fiery silver with magic forces honed over centuries, now shunted into her fingers by the sheer force of her indomitable will.
The man screamed then died as the magic consumed his shoulders then his neck. His head lolled to one side, hanging on by ribbons of melting flesh before tearing off entirely. Down she came, a tormented vision of death in a dirty dress, moving from one preoccupied soldier to the next, determined and vengeful.
I didn't try to stop her. Whatever had happened, she felt justified, and if she was sure then so was I.
The vampires closed in on the remaining men who retreated up the steps until they saw their fallen comrades and Robin, covered head to toe in blood and gore, magic swirling around her like a wild fire, her control strong, her sense of forgiveness weak.
The soldiers were in a panic, unsure what to do or where to turn. Some turned one way, some the other.
They died whichever path they chose.
Robin passed through the throng of bloodsuckers, head held high, looking straight ahead, ignoring them. Self-assured and unafraid. Mack, Pumi, and I stepped forward into her line of vision and she faltered as she caught sight of me. Her magical purity wavered. The vamps reacted, showing a subtle sign that they would attack.
I went to town on those fuckers for even daring to think of hurting my sister.
One minute I was walking with my friends toward the scene of my sister exacting her revenge and the next I exploded into action, magic drawn into my body from the Pool so fast and dangerously it threatened to overwhelm me entirely. But it didn't, and I was by her side where I should rightly be.
I forced the memories of Harcon Bale down through my hands into a shard of insane chatter made real and stabbed out at the vampire's mind with an elemental line of insanity that pierced his consciousness like a sword. He screamed, eyes wild as he fell, then crawled away backward, face contorted and utterly terrified, shouting, "Get away, get away," over and over.
Another reached for Robin and as she smiled at me and said, "You took your time," I slammed a fist, red with fury and enamored with a strength that would make Pumi look like a weakling, right into the face of the next would-be-attacker.
His face disintegrated under the impact, like a punch to a half-inflated ball, all his features caving in. He reached up, unable to scream, and I stabbed with straight fingers right into his throat until they emerged out the other side.
"Any more of you bloodsuckers want to mess with me or my sister?" I whispered, staring them down, reaching out for Robin and holding her tight.
Combined, our magic enveloped us in a swirling maelstrom of protection that left us impervious to attack, sisters united as one. I felt something behind me and turned, ready to dole out death, but it was Pumi, taking my other hand. His grip tightened.
He was here, too, by our side, but still a man. A calming influence, telling us it was over and done with, no need for more.
"Answer the lady," ordered Pumi, voice flat, eyes hard and cold.
The vampires shook like they were waking from a dream, staring in wonder at the death all around.
"Eh? Oh, um, no. Sorry," said one of the vampires. A rather weasel-faced dude I knew from about as kind and caring, nothing like we'd just witnessed. "Damn, I lost it there. Don't know what came over me."
"I do," I said. "It's the final act of the Shift. Look." I turned to face the jungle that had circled the plaza in a wide arc. Even as we watched, the remaining trees and plants physically sagged and yellowed. Leaves dropped to the ground, branches thudded into the soft beds that waited for them, and large trees toppled. It was all coming to an end, the disruption finally giving up the ghost. One final act of chaos turning men into animals and clouding the minds of those that were more magic than anything else—the vampires.
"Come on, let's go," I said to Robin, and held her tighter as we left the plaza without looking back or saying another word.
We didn't speak the whole way home. Not to each other, not to the confused people that stared at us, open-mouthed, as we passed. Silence was our unseen companion until we closed the door to the church behind us.
"Drink?" I asked Robin.
"Damn straight," she said, then put a hand to her mouth as if she'd blasphemed. "Um, I mean, yah, that would be totes lush."
"Whatever," I said, smiling despite my sister annoying the hell out of me as usual. Who the hell says yah? Certainly nobody in this city.
My legs were so tired they felt like they'd been whittled down to the bone, but I made it into the kitchen. I stopped dead in my tracks, smile gone from my face.
"Hello, bitch. You're supposed to be dead."
"Guess I'm a disappointment, then, Blue. Now, get out of my home before I make the last few minutes of your life unbearable rather than putting you out of your misery fast."
"Ha, look at you. You couldn't beat me now even if you had an army behind you. And you don't, because the soldiers are dead, the Queen doesn't care about daughter dearest, and your witches are weak and pathetic."
You know what? I wasn't even angry.
No, I was livid. So rather than use magic, I yanked hard on the handle to the top compartment of the fridge where I'd paused and the door slammed into her face with a satisfying crunch.
"You bitch, I'll kill you slow for that."
Blue spat out blood, blinding me. The next thing I knew she was on top of me and banging my head against the floor. I noted with distaste that it was really dirty—guess it was time to clean my new digs.
Dazed, I flailed about, got a hold of her hair and tugged so hard her neck cracked with the force, bones adjusting. She yelled but it hadn't broken anything, and as she fell off sideways I scrabbled on the ground, got to my feet, only to find she was running out the back door of the kitchen.
Torn, I shouted, "I gotta go," and chased after her, hoping the others had heard me, or the commotion, and would understand, maybe see what was happening if they came out to check.
As I got to the door, Pumi was entering the kitchen. "Blue was here. Gotta get her and finish this, be done with it. Then snuggles?" I said, winking.
"You betcha. Snuggles it is," he said with a wicked grin that almost made me change my mind.
Shaking my head, I was outta there.
No
rest for the wicked, right?
Huh?
I have to admit, I hadn't had much time to become acquainted with my new home. You know, what with Rifts and Shifts and all the death and fighting and all, so the fact I even had a rear garden was not exactly a surprise, but was certainly unfamiliar territory.
I'd done little more than glance out the back door at the square patch of weeds. Actually, I love hanging out in the garden, even got into mowing the lawn and making nice stripes at my old home, but I sure as hell hadn't had the time to get into that here, or much else, either.
Blue was already at the end of what I'll call a garden to be nice, although weed patch is more accurate. A square the width of the church, paths either side running parallel to the building. She turned as I slammed the door open, waved, then hopped over the fence.
At least she tried to. The rotten thing collapsed the moment she put any weight on it and I dashed down the garden, ignoring the stinging nettles and the thistles that stung and scratched my bare legs. Note to self—always wear cargo pants when working, no matter the weather. Sticky is better than stingy.
Blue grunted as she hit the slatted boards and I was at her as she rose, launching myself hard in a rugby tackle that got her tight around the waist. She went over hard into the broken fencing, hair flying, bangles chinking, face all snarled and vicious as a vampire in a vat of Vaseline—sorry, that was a job from years ago, no time to tell you about it now.
I grabbed her by the throat with one hand while I smacked her hard with the other, giving her a taste of the nightmare I'd endured in the coffin. She gurgled strangely, like she was gargling after brushing her teeth, slamming an arm into me repeatedly. But I tightened my grip, hoping to get her unconscious and be done with the whole sorry mess. Much as I wanted to squeeze the life out of her, I was in Justice mode, and I don't go around killing indiscriminately, even if I feel I have the right to at certain times, like now.
It was my own stupid mistake. She could sense it, I'm sure, and her grimace turned into a smile as she had the time to use magic. I was thrown off as her shield came up, forcing my grip loose, clear light wrapping her in its protection. I connected to the Pool, topped up the strength within, and stabbed out hard with a technique I'd learned long ago, imbuing the splintered fence panels with kinetic energy, transmogrifying them into one of their potentials.
Fire.
The boards erupted, huge flames soaring high and vicious like a repeat of the helicopter explosion days ago. She was at the center of the blast radius, the energy of the fire dropped right on top of her.
She crumpled under the weight, only saving herself from being crushed by the forces I willed into a tight plate above her head because of her own strong magic.
The fire burned out in seconds, leaving us surrounded by ash and scorched ground, and I realized for the first time that there was no sign of the Shift here in the church's garden.
Magic? Maybe, but it had encroached at the front, got close to the church. The power of prayer? Faith giving off its own kind of strength, enough to prevent the jungle?
No time to ponder the mysteries of belief and the esoteric nature of religion, I had a dangerous witch to contain. Her feet had sunk at least a foot into the earth, and she took a moment to move from the hole, allowing me to gather more power. This time I felt the difference inside, that I was fading fast, this display draining me, forcing the hunger upon me again, needing to refuel and needing to sleep so bad I lost concentration even as I let rip with a wild blast, my hands inches from her shoulders.
Her bare arms rippled, and I watched, fascinated, as the flesh wobbled and she was thrown back once more.
But she didn't fall. She kept her footing as she half fell, half jogged, and then she turned and ran up the neighboring garden that backed onto the church's. The ground was a mess of rotten leaves that she slid and stumbled through as she headed for the back door of a red brick terraced house.
I heard a scream as she entered the property, the occupant not expecting a manic witch with too many piercings to interrupt whatever it was she was doing.
No time to regret my less than stellar state, I went straight after her, barged through the back door and said, "Sorry, gotta catch that witch," to the poor woman backed up against her counter top, wooden spoon in hand.
"Smells nice," I shouted as I ran down the hall and caught the front door before it closed behind Blue.
You know what? It really did. Chicken stew would be my guess, and I can't tell you how hard it was to keep on running rather than ask if I could join her for dinner.
Blue was halfway down the street already. She was getting on my nerves now.
I shook out my legs, sighed, and ran after her as fast as I could.
A Street Party
The city had emerged from hibernation. I guess the craziness had led to most people holing up inside, closing their curtains and waiting for it all to just go away. Now the jungle had turned into a fetid layer of goop covering just about every surface, and the emotional disturbances had seemingly righted or almost righted themselves, everyone had decided to come out at once and do their damnedest to get in my bloody way.
Blue dodged the crowds, pushed some, screamed at most, and ran or slid down the middle of the road as people shouted back at her, moved hurriedly out of the way, or tried to grab her, their hands sliding off her thanks to the protective shield.
I followed behind, apologizing for kicking over buckets, breaking brooms, and generally being just as much of a menace to folks trying to clean up or just out for a chat with their neighbors now they were fairly certain they wouldn't try to kill them or jump their bones.
"Justice business," I shouted as I went, just so everyone knew I wasn't crazed, although I was. Still, I had an excuse, and that was all that mattered—I didn't want anyone interfering with me or trying to attack.
I needn't have worried. As I got further down the street, news of the chase had already arrived, probably because Blue had a damn loud, if rather sexy, voice. The way parted like we were going down the aisle in fast-forward, Normals and a few Strange standing at the curbside to watch the spectacle. No, I wasn't self-conscious, it's a common experience both for me and them—it ain't called Strangetown for nothing.
What was Blue playing at? Why was she in my home when she risked being caught? She could have been trapped and then her plans would be for naught. Such a level of risk made no sense, but then, she was a nutter and people like her often act irrationally. Maybe she thought she could catch me off-guard and get rid of me once and for all?
I pictured her in my kitchen, and my heart went cold. A numbness crept up my spine and stopped my mind from functioning, so overwhelmed with fear was I.
Fast-forwarding, I ran through snapshots of our fight and the chase and I knew I was right. I'd glimpsed something pale and soft around her waist, thinking nothing of it. She had so much decoration on her body, and was so distracting as a woman, that it hadn't registered, but now I was searching for it as I chased her, feeling emptier and emptier inside by the second and utterly desperate, I was sure of what I'd seen.
Stuffed into her waistband, a head and one ear sticking out the side as I pursued her down the slippery street, there was no doubt.
She had stolen Mr. Moppet.
My bunny, my rabbit doll, she had it. Hell, I had to catch her, and right now, no matter the cost. If I let her get away, I was in serious trouble and didn't doubt she would win.
Blue is strong with magic that many witches use, which often comes in the form of violence, but also knows subtle spells and ways to influence the mind and body. She uses the almost-forgotten arts of her people to insinuate herself into people's lives with them hardly noticing they are falling under her thrall, and is how she's managed to survive and thrive for so many years.
But that's not the half of it. She is dark, and there aren't many who use magic that even contemplate using the dark arts, let alone study and master them. There are terrible thing
s hiding in the shadows, in the netherworlds and the endless afterlives that await the damned and the despicable. Souls crying out for release, the traces of those long dead, manifest as little but evil intent. Whispers of desperate human beings clawing at the barriers, willing to do anything to be given the chance at life, at experience, at feeling and living once more.
Adepts like Blue go to such places, frolic with the tormented souls and offer things most wouldn't dare. She gives, and she receives, and I know for a fact she has offered up her own people and those she holds a grudge against to these evil forces in return for them doing her bidding. A dark witch, and in my book, much scarier than the dark elves. For she is human and can access the most terrible and cruel of spirits.
And now she had Mr. Moppet, an item more dear to me than any other. Imbued with my very being. My hopes, dreams, and desires. My happiness, my sadness, my loneliness, my need for comfort and often my only companion through so many long nights. My bed empty apart from me and a little raggedy rabbit doll made by my mother and the only way I can connect to her and the child I once was without feeling anger and disgust.
Blue could use this frayed piece of history to destroy me. I cursed myself for my weakness, for keeping such a child's toy over the centuries. Something that grew more personal with each passing decade until it was a part of me. A companion I'd slept with every single night for five hundred years—give or take the odd stint in a coffin.
Now she had it, and she could hurt this doll and thus me. She could call forth the darkness, barter with the twisted souls of those in limbo waiting to cross back to our side, and they could connect with the doll. If the power was sufficient, if the lost souls gave enough of themselves to her, then she could channel it into the doll and she could destroy me from afar.