by John Conroe
“Pugna congelo caeco!” the female yelled, closer this time. Caeco didn’t move; in fact, she seemed to have seized up, her arms trembling.
“Caeco, come on. Let’s get outta here!” I hissed at her, moving closer. Her eyes moved to mine, furious, but she didn’t move, gun still pointed at the man on the ground, legs slightly bent in a shooting posture, trembling. Her eyes widened in frustration, moved to look slightly past me.
I whirled around, coming face to face with the woman reporter, although instead of a microphone, she now held a large pistol. My feet backed me away from her as she moved forward, smiling grimly. When she saw the prostrate giant, rage flashed over her features. She snagged the pistol from Caeco’s hand and struck her across the face with her own outsized gun. Blood sprayed from the cut that appeared on my friend’s cheek, but she still remained locked in place.
More soldiers appeared in the rain, assault rifle weapon lights blinding me, surrounding me. The woman drew back her hand to strike Caeco again, but before she could complete her motion, something snapped. Something deep inside me. It was over, and they would now kill us. So let it be. I let go, and the tension that had been building in me burst free. A tension that had built with the storm but had been building all my life.
There is a reason I sleep in a steel box that is heavily grounded to the earth, a reason why my aunt sat up with me on nights like this one, keeping me awake during every and any thunderstorm that passed through since puberty. Because during sleep, my unconscious mind might offer suggestions to the storm.
You see, during weather like this, when the very air is charged with electricity, my body draws it to me, absorbing and storing it. Everything around me is ionized, heavily polarized—which, as you may know, is exactly what happens before a lightning strike. But the lightning doesn’t strike me. No. Instead, it tends to strike where I suggest. My container, the iron rods planted in the open lawn around our buildings or, like now, when I suggested that the three soldiers in front of me and their massive black Humvee might be fine choices.
I’ve heard it said that lightning never strikes twice. Bullshit. It struck three times in two seconds. I automatically closed my eyes, which only slightly diminished the searing light as the water in the air around us exploded into superheated steam and concussive sound. I held my breath, crouching down, knowing from past experience that the air was too hot to breathe. Three strobes of light, so close together they were almost one. The ground shook, tossing cars and people several inches into the air. My own feet stayed locked to the earth, glued in place by another facet of my Craft.
It’s hard to describe the power of a single bolt of lightning, let alone three. When I opened my eyes, the soldiers were down, unmoving, undoubtedly dead, and the Humvee sat silent, headlights out, motor silenced, tires popped. The driver stared at me with shell-shocked eyes. Motion from the corner of my eye caught my attention. The reporter, who must be this Miseri, was raising her own disbelieving eyes to me and the destruction around me. The smell of ozone was almost overpowering, but the wind and rain were quickly scrubbing the air clean. The storm was just slightly past us, the potential for lightning greatly diminished.
I still had enough personal juice to Tase Agent Miseri, but as soon as I raised my crackling blue hands, she shot me, her outsized gun making an unimpressive pop. A sting on my chest and a little fluffy yellow burst of color against the green of my sweatshirt. A dart? My body started to numb, the sensation radiating from my torso. I took another step toward her, and the bitch shot me again. Now it was my turn to seize up, my limbs unresponsive, my body falling to the ground.
Miseri looked down at me from over the barrel of her gun, eyes still wide with awe but also tight with determination. Satisfied, she turned back to Caeco and shot my friend once, the yellow dart appearing like magic on her neck. Then she shoved her over on top of me. Caeco’s eyes were frantic, angry and … ashamed, as her bleeding face fell toward mine. I felt the pain of her skull bouncing off mine but couldn’t move at all, even when the blood from her cheek dripped into my open mouth.
Then Miseri leaned down, a hypodermic in each hand, lips compressed in anger. Another sting, and then quiet and darkness.
Chapter 28 – Miseri
“Central, target acquired. Request nearest Level 8 facility for containment of two subjects, including one energy user.”
“Acknowledged, Agent Miseri. The nearest facility is in New Hampshire. Be advised it is Level 10 plus and is primarily tasked to Project Brutal Asset.”
Level 10 plus? Miseri had never heard of an AIR research facility rated higher than ten.
“Acknowledged, Central. Does this facility have an onsite energy user familiar with containment procedures?”
“Affirmative, Miseri. Facility Director is Hasta.”
“Acknowledged, Central. Please advise Director Hasta that I am en route with two subjects, one an advanced biowarfare prototype, the other an unknown, high-level energy user.”
“Confirmed, Miseri. Central out.”
She ended the call and turned to look over her prizes, who were both drugged, restrained on gurneys, and being loaded into a nondescript delivery vehicle. Agent Clay was also lying on a gurney, his strained and damaged neck held immobile by an oversized neck collar, face torn and shredded by Caeco’s claws. Clay had, to her knowledge, never failed to persevere in hand-to-hand combat. Now he was out of commission, taken down by a compact girl who couldn’t weigh over 140 even with her dense bones and muscles. And the boy… wow! Caeco had found herself some playmate. She looked over the devastation in the parking lot. One Humvee was fried and three operatives dead by gross electrocution. They looked like they’d tried to steal the main copper line off an active power station—blackened corpses, almost unidentifiable as human. The second Humvee had a damaged front right wheel, the result of some kind of improvised explosive device, no doubt a product of Caeco’s training.
AIR called his kind energy users. Miseri privately knew them by their historical names… witches. She didn’t know much about them except that AIR had a standing interest in them as well as a working relationship with a few. She had no idea what the boy was capable of, other than the mayhem he had created here in a few short seconds.
“Let’s wrap this and roll. Our time is up!” she said to the surviving members of the Gladius team, nodding in the direction of the oncoming sirens. The storm had passed, and the air felt cool and clean. With one last look around, she climbed into the transport vehicle and gave the order.
Chapter 29 – Declan
Grit. Sandpaper and glue in the eyes, maybe? Those were my first thoughts, that someone had stuck glue and sandpaper in my eyes. I got them opened, then immediately wished I didn’t. The light seemed excessively bright. I could hear water lapping against a flat surface.
My mouth tasted like crap, copper, and chemicals, and it was bone dry. After a moment, I tried movement. It worked, but not well. My head hurt—a lot. Nonetheless, I managed to push myself upright and look around. The floor was cool and felt like plastic. It was colored a dark gray and polished smooth… and surrounded by water. Fifteen feet of water between the edge of my platform and the walls, which also appeared to be plastic or synthetic, except with symbols and runes carved across every inch. My platform was a perfect circle, and the walls curved to match. The room was large, maybe forty or fifty feet in diameter, cylindrical and with a ceiling that was twenty feet overhead. The lighting was… odd. Flat translucent plastic sheets set flat into the ceiling, gleaming brightly.
“Your head likely hurts,” a voice said. I spun about and looked up, almost falling and puking at the same time. Fifteen feet above me, a clear window looked down into my… cell? The blonde reporter woman was standing there, looking at me. Next to her stood a shorter, dark-haired, dark-eyed female with heavy Goth makeup and a whole lot of tattoos. The blonde was smiling, the brunette studying me intensely. “It’s an unfortunate side effect of the darts. I’ve never had to put two dart
s into someone before, not even Caeco, but Krista here says that your kind is often resistant.”
“What, eh, kind is that?” I asked, voice raspy.
“Dry mouth huh?” she asked, leaning forward and pushing a button. Air whooshed behind me and when I turned, a bottle of water shot up a foot and a half from a small hole that had appeared in the platform. The hole closed with a smaller whoosh as the bottle fell and bounced into my legs.
“It’s a variation of the air tubes that banks use for their drive-thru windows. No power near you. The lights above are fiber optic, bringing you light without power. Your platform is floating on eight feet of water and as you, no doubt, can tell, made from plastic. Recycled, no less. The rim is silver, as pure as modern technology can make it. Krista tells me that the runes carved in the walls will block you from any Earth or Fire-based energy. If you had an affinity for Air or Water, we could change the cell to use stone and fire to isolate you, but based on your little display the other night, we feel this arrangement will keep you snug.”
The Gothy girl snorted, arms folded over her chest. The blonde, no doubt Caeco’s nemesis Miseri, looked over at her with annoyance. “Krista thinks this is vast overkill. She doesn’t believe for an instant that you could have the level of power that I think you have. Something about males never being very strong in the Art, is it?”
A long, cool pull of water from the bottle washed my throat and gave me time to think.
“Craft,” the girl corrected.
“Right, Craft. But I saw what you did and I don’t really care what her history tells her. Hence your palatial surroundings.”
“I’m not sure what worries me more… the fact that you mistook my pieces of burning magnesium for witchcraft or that you actually come across witches powerful enough to warrant all this,” I said, waving my hand at the cell before taking another drink.
The blonde agent frowned. “Don’t dissemble, Declan. I know full well you are a witch, and I saw what you did with the lightning.”
“The lightning? Miss Miseri, ma’am, has Krista here explained about males and magic?”
Her frown became a thundercloud while the woman next to her was looking resigned and maybe a bit disappointed. Perfect.
“I’m a highly trained observer, Declan.” She raised one hand and started ticking off points. “Your peers in that charming New England town are all afraid of you, one of them going so far as to name you a freak. You lit and projected four pieces of magnesium with nothing more than your mind. And you very carefully directed lightning strikes against my men.”
No matter what I said, she was never going to believe me. But that was okay because the one I had to convince was standing next to her, frowning.
I sighed and looked down at my hands, still holding the half-full bottle of water. “Ma’am, I don’t know what she’s been telling you, but I don’t think there’s any witch that can control lightning,” I said, frowning at the witch next to her, who frowned back. “Wind, yes. Shake the ground, maybe. Move water, yeah, I’ve heard of that. Throw flame, not burning metal, but actual flame, yeah. But a male witch who can control lightning? Could I have a puff of whatever you’re both smoking?”
“He’s right. I told you,” Krista the witch said.
“He’s lying. And you’re falling for it!” Miseri said, angry. Then her tense features smoothed out and she came to some decision. Abruptly, she turned and left the room, dragging the witch with her.
Half a minute later, a panel whooshed open in the wall, revealing the two women standing in the opening on the other side of fifteen feet of water.
“Do it, just as I said,” Miseri directed, standing back to let Krista move forward. The witch was younger than I had thought. Maybe mid-twenties.
“A waste of time if you ask me, but what the hell. I never pass up a chance to play,” she smirked. Waving one tattooed hand, she started to chant. The surface of the water in front of her pulled up, forming a water bump, then a water mountain, before the pinnacle of water pulled away from the rest and formed a giant upside-down teardrop. The megadrop rose up in front of the witch, who never took her eyes off me. The water formed a ball the size of a big orange. She made a guttural sound and the ball split into two smaller, tangerine-sized, spheres. Then she pushed both hands in my direction and air moved, my hair fluttering in the sudden breeze even as both orbs shot my way. I tried to duck, but like little guided missiles, the water balls smashed into me from two different directions. The water was cold, and my t-shirt was now soaked. A shiver forced its way down my spine. When I looked back, the girl had two more balls of frigid water circling her, and her smile was one of genuine delight at my condition. She flicked her hands again and this time, I tried harder to dodge them, but her skill was undeniable. One hit my head, the other my crotch, making me double over in reflex.
“Oops, someone had an accident,” witch girl said. She definitely had a mean streak.
Two more icy orbs shot my way, weaving and twisting around me as I stumbled back. One hit my legs; the other, my back. I could feel the earth telling me we were underground. Even Krista’s runes couldn’t stop that basic knowledge from seeping in. The water was probably ambient ground temperature, say fifty-eight degrees or so, and now my t-shirt and jeans were soaking wet. My pants had been damp when I awoke, no doubt from the storm. But now, I was shivering.
I understood Miseri’s simple plan. A Fire witch in control of her (or potentially his) faculties would never freeze to death. Aunt Ash had helped out with people lost in the woods, and I knew from hanging around the search and rescue people that hypothermia could kill people at forty degrees. Water could do it faster. So she was trying to force me to heat myself. It would accomplish two things: prove I was a more powerful witch than Krista currently believed, and drain my magical reservoir of power, leaving me less of a threat. Not gonna happen. I’ve been hiding who I am since I could walk.
Straightening up, I was just in time to catch a soccer-ball-sized water orb that knocked me right off my feet. Because I had backed up as far as I could, it also knocked me off the platform and into the water. Water balls are one thing, immersion in fifty-odd-degree water is another. My body seized up for a moment at the shock of it, then I flailed my way to the surface and grabbed onto the platform. Muscles protesting, I pulled myself up onto the plastic circle and started to shiver like I meant it, my body attempting to heat itself back up. When that failed, it would begin to shut down the bloodflow to my extremities, hoarding its energy to protect my vital organs. Now would be the time when a fire witch would use their ability to generate heat, and so I did. Just a little, enough to almost dry my clothes. Instantly, I felt better, the warmth flowing from inside to out. My shivering stopped and my clothes began to steam slightly. Then I did the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I stopped the flow of magic and sealed my reservoir shut. It left me still damp, but at least it was a warm wet instead of a cold one.
Miseri stood in the open door, lips compressed in a flat line, decidedly unhappy. Krista looked shocked. As well she should be. Fire witches are rare. Males able to claim affinity for that skill are one in several million. A male who could generate heat at a junior witch level was almost unheard of, although Aunt Ash had told me of a male witch (she won’t call us warlocks) who had strong affinity for fire and headed a well-known circle in the Carolinas.
“Come on, kid. Don’t you want to dry off? You can do better than that,” Miseri said. Krista looked at her like she was insane. The blonde agent caught her glance. “He’s faking. He can do a lot more than that! I saw him channel multiple bolts of lightning into four targets at once!”
My initial burst of warmth was fading, the moisture in my clothes cooling back to air temperature and taking my body’s warmth with it. I dropped back to the cold plastic surface, my face splashing a little in the puddle of water that spread out around me. This part was easy. In my current state, I could project exhaustion like an Academy Award winner.
“Fan hi
m! If he wants to be dry, then dry him!”
“You realize that you found a fire-based warlock, right? One who can dry his own clothes while exhausted and cut off from Power? Do you really want to kill him with exposure?”
“Listen to me: he is faking! And you’re falling for it.”
I closed my eyes, so I missed the gestures that the Goth girl undoubtedly made… the ones that caused the air around me to swirl. Any remaining warmth in my clothes was gone in an instant, then I started to get cold again. The shivering came back, twice as hard, but only lasted half as long. My hands and feet were numb and I was tired, so tired. Inside me, the pool of power that promised warmth begged to be let out, but I crushed it down, cemented it shut, used every trick I had learned from playground bullies and every condescending adult I had ever wanted to punish but didn’t.
My shivers ceased, hypothermia having gained a solid foothold. Focused on locking down my power and instincts, I ignored the suddenly loud discussion, although I did note the sudden drop in wind and the addition of a male voice to the mix. But by then I was too sleepy to care, too tired to do more than wonder what had become of Caeco, and I drifted into a confused, slumber-like state.