by D. N. Leo
As he spoke, he felt Lyla’s hand tugging at his elbow then pressing something that felt like a card into his hand. He smiled again. It must be the ID card she told him she’d stolen. She was more street-smart than he’d given her credit for.
He flipped the card over to take a quick look at it before giving it to the officer.
“Lyla!” he said between his teeth and showed her the card, which displayed the name Nguyen Thanh Dang. He in no way looked like a Nguyen. But Lyla wouldn’t understand any of that, and he had no time to explain. “I can’t use this card,” he told her.
The officer stood by the window of the car. He bent down in anticipation of Michael handing him some form of ID. Then Michael heard a moan next to him. He turned and looked at Lyla.
She had used her purse to make herself look hugely pregnant. She clutched at her tummy and moaned again, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she looked as if she was about to burst into tears.
The officer saw it, too.
Michael looked back at the officer, manufacturing a look of concern. “My wife is in pain, as you can see.”
The officer stood up quickly. “Hospital,” he said and waved at his friend. He hopped back onto his bike and signaled for Michael to follow him.
“Well done, honey. Hang on tight to our baby,” he said and pulled out to follow the officers.
The officers left them at the front of the hospital, and they returned to their car as soon as they were out of sight. Michael drove around the back of the hospital to exit onto another road. When they turned the corner, he saw a pregnant woman struggling to walk up a ramp to the back door of the hospital.
“Be back in a minute, Lyla.” He parked the car and approached the woman. She looked…different. Michael didn’t know what to make of her appearance, but she certainly didn’t look like a typical Vietnamese woman. She had much darker skin and was very tall with large, dark eyes in a strange emerald shade.
“Let me help you inside.”
The woman kept looking at him, but she said nothing. Thinking she didn’t speak English, he gestured toward the door.
He approached her slowly, not wanting to freak her out. When he touched her shoulder, a wave of strange energy rushed through his body. It felt as if he was being electrocuted. His knees buckled, and he grabbed at the rail of the ramp. His vision wavered and blurred. He turned to look at the woman—or what used to be a woman. She was now a ten-foot-tall creature with frail limbs and scaly skin. The creature had a vaguely human shape, but the flesh on its face had started to melt, revealing the skull beneath. He knew the rest of the flesh was going to melt and fall off as well. It was not a creature from this world.
Multiversal shapeshifter? he thought.
“If you can shift shape, you’d be best to choose a better-looking form next time,” Michael said and reached for his gun.
The creature’s hand grabbed his, and its grip was like an iron handcuff.
It blasted another wave of electric current into Michael, sending him to the ground. Then it reached out its claws for his chest, intending to rip his heart out.
But as soon as it touched his chest, there was a spark. The creature fell backward, bouncing several feet away. It scrambled to get back up, but then its body exploded into nothingness.
In a few seconds, the air cleared. Michael stood, feeling perfectly fine again. There wasn’t a single scratch on his skin. He saw no ramp and no back door to the hospital. There was just a blank wall in front of him.
He returned to the car.
“What’s up, Michael?” Lyla asked, looking up from the map she’d been studying.
“Nothing. Let’s go.”
Chapter Nine
In about an hour, they had put some distance between themselves and civilization. There was no traffic on the road, and darkness surrounded them.
“The street signs aren’t lit up,” Lyla said.
Michael chuckled. “I guess most people go home at night and aren’t traveling on the highway. Unlike in Eudaiz, energy for light is expensive here. If they can save their resources, they do it. But I’ll slow down.” As he finished talking, a sudden drowsy sensation washed over him. He shook his head. Fatigue? he asked himself. No way. I can go for seventy-two hours straight without a break to refuel.
“Michael?”
“Yes?”
“Yes, what?” asked Lyla.
“You just called me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
He shook his head again and concentrated on the road. Maybe he should say something to Lyla. “Can you locate us on the map?”
“I can, but you look terribly tired, Michael. The map says we’re in the middle of nowhere. These patches here look like farmland. I think we should find a place for you to rest.”
“I’m fine,” he said, and then said, “I saw a creature at the hospital.”
“What? When?”
“When I pulled the car around the corner in the back. But don’t worry—I killed it, or something in me killed it. We’re not being traced or anything. But I think the fight might have taken more out of me than I thought.”
“And you didn’t think you should tell me about it?”
“What would I tell you? That I was hallucinating about a woman who needed help? Look…the creature exploded without a trace. There was nothing left after that. I’m not crazy, Lyla.”
“No, you’re not crazy. But hallucinations like that could be caused by the Shadow. And you’re susceptible to it.”
“You’re saying I’m weak?”
“That’s not what I’m saying. Why do you always have to take what I say the wrong way? What I’m trying to say is that you’re human. And you have some deep emotional weakness we have yet to iron out. That is the target of the Shadow. Let’s assume I don’t care one bit about your safety. I still need you so I can get back to Eudaiz in one piece. I need you to stay alive. And right now, you don’t look good at all. If we need to keep moving, I will be the one driving this vehicle.”
He chuckled. “I am more than sure we don’t have health insurance here, and I certainly don’t want to have to go to the hospital. And certainly not the hospital where I saw that creature. Don’t worry, Lyla. Just relax. We’ll get to where we need to be. I guarantee you that.”
The air conditioning in the car seemed to be struggling, so Michael rolled down the window on his side a bit to let in some fresh air. Whirls of cold wind rushed into the car, contrasting with the stifling hot air they had been experiencing all day.
He shuddered and started to close the window, but the air grew thicker, and the atmosphere around them seemed to drop into a vacuum. It became eerily quiet. He tried to say something to Lyla, but his body wasn’t doing what he wanted it to do.
He thought maybe he should stop the car. But something kept urging him to go ahead. An ancient voice. A haunting chant. Something was watching her.
Urging
Pushing.
He heard the chanting sound again. It seemed to be spoken in some kind of strange language. He glanced numbly out the windows. It was too dark to see anything. The chanting hovered in the air, and the wind found its way into the air conditioning system and got into the car. Eerie flute-like sounds and drumming noises like those of an African tribe he had visited a long time ago drifted around him.
He had to stop the car somehow, so he veered toward the side of the road. In the beam of the car’s headlights, he saw what appeared to be rice fields and small bushes.
He hit the brakes. They didn’t work.
He heard Lyla call out to him, but he couldn’t respond. Maybe it was his imagination, but the car seemed to keep speeding forward. He hit the brakes again, but nothing seemed to slow the car’s speed. It swung from one side of the road to the other, but it kept moving forward.
For a very brief moment, he thought he saw a group of tribal people dancing around a fire, grinning at him. They raised their arms, holding spears and festive ritual items. They drank wine out of bottles m
ade of wood harvested from the land of the dead. Some drank from animal skulls.
Then, if he wasn’t mistaken, he saw American soldiers. They looked like they were wearing Marine uniforms.
His head seemed to weigh a ton. “Lyla…” he called out, but he knew the word hadn’t escaped his mouth because she didn’t respond. He tried again to call out to her. Nothing.
He saw the soldiers once more, and now he was pretty sure they were American Marines. One soldier turned around and looked him in the eye. This man, this face, and even the aura around him felt so familiar. He had seen the face before, but the faded name tag didn’t jog his memory. The soldier looked as if he wanted to say something to Michael. His lips moved, but no sound came out. He raised his hand and placed his palm on Michael’s chest. Michael felt a sharp pain as if something stabbed him in his chest. He grunted and clutched the steering wheel tightly.
The soldier approached the car. As the car moved forward, speeding fast, it seemed like the soldier moved along with it. He reached his hand out as if wanting to shake Michael’s hand. But before he could move closer, another soldier approached and pushed him away.
The second soldier seemed to be of a higher rank by the way he shouted and commanded the others to march ahead. The soldiers marched. But none of their feet touched the ground.
Then the soldier turned around and pulled out a grenade. Michael hit the accelerator. The car zoomed past. The soldier raised the hand holding the grenade and threw it at the windshield.
Michael veered to the other side of the road. The car hit a rock, became airborne, and flipped over.
Chapter Ten
Vietnam, Highland
* * *
Mother would be angry at her for sneaking out again and traveling down to the village. Jaxper brushed the thought away and carefully placed into her basket the rare fruits and flowers that grew only at a high altitude. Although the village was in the mountains, the village people never went as high as the place where she lived with her mother. And because they rarely saw her, whenever she came down to the village, she drew their attention.
She assumed they paid attention to her because of her different looks. Her skin was much fairer than that of the village people, and her eyes had a much lighter color. She was taller than all the women and even some of the men. She adjusted the basket so that the handle rested more comfortably on her shoulder and started her leisurely walk down.
Her mother was busy with her ritual in the dark cave. The rare kind of magical flowers she grew—flowers that didn’t like the sunlight—were due for their monthly blossoming. The harvest would keep her in the cave for a few days, leaving Jaxper alone to do whatever she wanted.
Her mother used the flowers to create a secret potion. Even Jaxper wasn’t allowed to know how it was made. It was only she and her mother who lived at the top of the mountain, and there really was no need for secrets, she thought. But if Mother wanted to keep secrets, Jaxper would keep her own secrets as well.
In the distance, she saw the battle ritual outside the village hall—a round building with a fifty-foot-tall roof made of hay. It wasn’t a real fight, but a reenactment of a battle that occurred a long time ago. The rituals were to remind the younger generations of how they had gotten their current peaceful life.
Jaxper didn’t think the younger generations cared about the history of the village. They just looked forward to the party that came along with the rituals. They took the rituals seriously only after they had drunk the wine out of the gigantic communal bottle.
The roar of the pretend soldiers tore through the air of the dark hill of rock. Swarms of black-clad riders and foot soldiers encircled the hall. The bright sunlight flashed onto their swords and scimitars.
“Jaxper!”
She looked in the direction of the voice and saw Azec. He had a generous smile, she thought. He stood out from the crowd not because of his looks and build, but because of his striking dark eyes and the smile that she was sure several girls in the village would kill to glimpse.
Yet he was smiling at her.
She smiled back at him and tapped lightly on the basket. But when he approached, she could see the smile was fading from his face.
“What’s wrong, Azec?”
He looked away to avoid her gaze. She knew her eyes could be intimidating, but Azec was not an opponent. He was a long-term friend, and she wouldn’t even think about trying to intimidate him.
“I can’t take this gift anymore.” He gestured at the basket.
“Why not?” she asked, but then it dawned on her what was happening. She raced toward a small hut at the end of the village. Azec trailed after her.
“Please go back to the mountain, Jaxper. There’s nothing you can do.”
The hell she would leave her aunt here and go back to the mountain. She stormed into the hut and found everything intact—except for the familiar sight of her kindhearted aunt, who was a white witch. On the bed where she had lain sick for the past two years was a jar with her remains in it. Her mother, her aunt, and herself were the three last witches in the family. She and her mother would be burned if people knew what they were. But no one in this world had known her aunt was a witch.
“Who burned her body?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“It’s a ritual. We don’t bury dead people here.”
“And that’s why you cremated her without my consent?”
“Yes. Should there be another reason?”
“In my family, we bury the dead. My aunt didn’t wish to be cremated. Where I come from, people have options in life and in death.”
“We share the same mountain, Jaxper. You have to obey the same rules.”
“I don’t obey anyone.”
As she spoke, two large tribal men pushed her deep inside the hut. The door was shut. They had locked her in. She charged at the door. She was more a more powerful witch than her aunt and her mother. She could use a spell to make the door open.
But that would be a mistake. If she opened the door using magic, they’d know she was a witch and would burn her the way they had burned her auntie. She peeked through a gap in the wall and saw Azec negotiating with an old man outside. She knew he was talking about her because he kept pointing toward the hut.
She looked back at the jar of remains. That was what an individual was reduced to after death—just a pile of ash. Her aunt had been a good witch. But more importantly, she was a good person. Something had happened between her aunt and Mother. Whatever it was had made them go separate ways. Her aunt had stayed in the village to help out as a shaman while her mother took her away as a toddler and went up to the mountaintop.
Her mother might be right. The village didn’t deserve her help.
The door slid open. Someone kicked Azec inside, and he rolled across the floor. He remained there, gasping, blood bubbling out of his mouth. He couldn’t even speak. His eyes were wide with shock and confusion.
She darted over, kneeling on the floor next to him. “Stay with me, Azec. I’ll help you. I’ll fix you up.”
“Don’t, Jaxper. They didn’t just burn your auntie’s body. They burned her alive because they knew what she was. That means they know what you are. If you use your magic to save me, you will put the target on your back. They already know who you are. They just need you to confirm it.”
“And you’re willing to just let the Shadow, with his connections, kill you to get to me?”
He looked as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t have the strength to do so. He closed his eyes and passed out.
“I won’t let you die, Azec. They killed my aunt because I wasn’t here. But I’m here now, and I won’t let that happen to you.”
Chapter Eleven
The smoke from the car engine flooded her nostrils. The car had settled violently on the ground after a spin the air. Her hands were shaking, and her body was still numb with the shock of the accident. But she wasn’t worried about herself. Her main concern was that Michael
was unconscious and still strapped in his seat.
As the car had been spinning through the air, she’d seen they were heading toward something that looked like a high-voltage energy pole. She could feel the electric current emanating from it. She knew if they crashed into it, they would most certainly be dead.
Her hands shook, not from fear but from a surge of energy. They had been giving her a tingling sensation for weeks. And now, as they headed for inevitably disastrous consequences, her fingertips shot out an incredible stream of fire, fueled by her Eudaizian energy. Ten lethal beams of destruction streamed to the pole, slowing the momentum of the spinning car. Soon the car stopped hurtling through the air and dropped to the ground.
“Michael!”
No response. His head lolled onto his chest. She was quite sure he’d been unconscious even before there had been any physical impact. She was worried sick thinking that he might be attacked by the Shadow right now while he was vulnerable and then explode into nothingness. The fact that she had just started a fire with some kind of energy in her fingers and that the light pole, the car engine, and the area surrounding them was now on fire didn’t help the situation, either.
She wasn’t a psychic, nor did she have any kind of connection with Michael. But she had seen his mind when she’d hacked his system to save him from the fire in Xiilok. She unbuckled her seatbelt with one hand, and with the other held his wrist. She could feel his heartbeat there—slow, steady, and most importantly, alive.
A heavy odor floated about in the car. Lyla sniffed, and panic seized her—it was the smell of an impending explosion. Then she saw the dashboard start to melt. The heat inside the car must be incredible. She didn’t feel it, but she was damn sure Michael did.
She jumped out of the car and darted to the driver’s side. She tried to unbuckle Michael’s seatbelt, but it was stuck. “Help me out here, Michael!” she said.
She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t move. She yanked at the belt again and again. It didn’t budge. She braced her foot on the car frame and pulled. No luck. She started to panic.