Wooden Nickels: White Lightning Series, Book 1

by Debra Dunbar

  Once she’d caught her breath and the coughing had cleared, she took a moment to listen.

  The pine needles overhead rustled in a tiny nighttime breeze.

  Something took off from a branch nearby, probably an owl.

  The distant sound of waves lapping against the shore.

  Footsteps.

  She held her breath, pressing hard against the tree trunk. The footsteps paused, then continued. Whoever it was had heard her coughing, but now that she was silent the pursuer had begun to wander.

  She remained frozen, keeping mental track of her pursuer. The footsteps paused again, silent for a long while before resuming.

  They were approaching.

  Hattie reached deep into her well of energy. It was thin. Hardly anything left. But there was no way she could outrun anyone with her hands tied behind her back. If there was a drop of power left, she had to use it now.

  She split herself in two, one illusion to sprint to her left, and her physical self to run to the right. Hattie gave the illusion self just a second lead, then bolted. No reserves for sound. No reserves to hide herself. She had to trust the illusion would catch her pursuer’s attention first.

  As she rushed over the brown needle-covered forest floor, she listened for footsteps. Even as she heard the man grunt and rush after the mirage, the threads tying her to the illusion snapped. She was empty. The illusion only lasted a few seconds, but hopefully it was enough to buy her a little bit of a lead.

  A husky voice shouted, “Hey!”

  Hattie pounded her legs as hard as they could run.

  A gunshot sounded behind her, and she ducked on reflex. The motion sent her stumbling, and before she could regain her footing she rammed her shoulder into a skinny pine trunk.

  With a shout she pitched forward into a roll, landing onto some gravel. She’d tumbled into some manner of clearing. No cover. No chance.

  Her pursuer stepped out of the forest, a rifle trained on her. As she scuffled her feet against the gravel to inch away, he worked the lever and grunted, “Hold still, girl.”

  She complied, gasping for air as she held herself up on her elbows.

  The gunman lifted a hand to his mouth and released a long, loud whistle.

  “Now, just you sit tight,” he said.

  Before long voices sounded from the surrounding woods. One by one, gunmen emerged from the pines, each training a weapon on Hattie. At last, Capstein himself stepped into the clearing, shoving Vincent in front of him at a forced march. Capstein’s typically smug expression had worn thin, and he glared at Hattie with menace.

  Vincent dropped to his knees as Capstein released the rope around his arms and chest. The time pincher’s face was pale, a film of sweat covering his brow. The wound on his arm had soaked his sleeve, and he didn’t look like he could walk much farther.

  Capstein stepped toward Hattie, pausing at a safe distance. “You done?”

  She scowled at him, her shoulders stiff.

  He shook his head. “She pull any tricks?”

  The pursuer nodded. “Thought I saw her take off one direction, but then it was all poof. Vanished. Caught her scurrying off this way.”

  Capstein said, “She’s probably out of power. But just in case, tie up her ankles.”

  The pursuer lowered his rifle and searched his company for cord. Lacking any proper rope, he removed his belt and crouched by Hattie’s feet, looping the belt around her ankles and cinching it tight.

  Capstein surveyed the clearing. “How far off the main road are we?”

  One of his company replied, “Only a mile or so.”

  “I don’t feel like hauling these two back through the forest,” Capstein grumbled. He reached into his jacket to pull a tiny gun from his belt. He tossed it to one of his people. “Send up a flare. The truck should see it from the main road.”

  His man caught the signal pistol and lifted it over his head.

  “No. Get some height,” Capstein snapped. He gestured toward the end of the clearing. “Climb on top of that old busted cart.”

  His man nodded and hustled off.

  Hattie sat up once the belt had been tightened and her captor had stepped away. She scuffled along the gravel beside Vincent. “Are you still alive, then?” she whispered.

  He nodded.

  “Are you going to make it?”

  He shook his head.

  Hattie sighed. “Perhaps neither of us are that lucky.”

  She peered around the clearing, spotting the cluster of ramshackle shanties surrounding them. Hattie had ducked into nearly every hobo camp and fishing village on the Bay, and there came a point where they all looked the same to her.

  “What I said back there,” she whispered. “That was for show. I hope you know that.”

  Vincent sucked in a husky breath, then mumbled, “Does it matter?”

  “Yes. It matters a lot.” Hattie squinted at the buildings nearby. They were altogether too familiar. She turned her head to watch the man with the signal pistol as he climbed the old busted cart Capstein had sent him to.

  Busted cart, just like the one at… Hattie yelped. Capstein turned toward her.

  With wide eyes, she shouted, “Capstein! No! Wait!”

  A loud pop sounded. A tiny spray of sparks launched into the air, then with a hiss a ball of red flame flickered overhead, bathing them all in murky light.

  The ground rumbled.

  Capstein peered about the circle of buildings, and the tiny lane of gravel that led to the waterfront…and the burned-out shack below. A bright plume of flame sizzled overhead, arcing from the bottom of the waterfront to the man holding the signal pistol. The cart erupted into flame. The hapless crony of Capstein’s leaped off the cart, shrieking as his entire body was consumed in fire.

  Capstein crouched lower to the ground. “Shit!”

  Vincent opened his eyes, confounded by the sudden brightness. Hattie gave him a nudge with her foot. “We have to get out of here!”

  “Where are we?” he muttered, eyes widening as another fireball flew overhead to strike down Hattie’s pursuer.

  She winced from the blast of heat and the screams of the man being burned alive. “Deltaville!”

  Vincent sat upright in a panic. “Bushwa!”

  “It’s a fact. That creature—”

  “I know about the creature,” he said. “We saw it, remember?”

  A hand landed on Vincent’s shoulder, jerking him away from Hattie. Capstein snarled as he shouted, “How did you manage this?”

  Vincent’s eyes rolled as his head jerked backward. “I didn’t do shit, Capstein.”

  Hattie reached deep in her chest for some power. Even the tiniest drop. But there was none. Instead, she called out, “Leave him alone, Capstein!”

  He released Vincent, sending him rolling onto his back. “This was you?”

  “No! I ran and ended up here. It’s a mystery to me.”

  Capstein balled a fist, winding it up to give Hattie a shot to the chin. Another flash of fire erupted behind him. This time it wasn’t a central explosion, but a wall of flames cutting off the fishing village from the gravel road leading back to the mainland. The burning wall arced in a slow, graceful slither around the entire village, sending flames up the pine branches all around.

  The two ends of the circle conjoined at the bottom of the hill, where a solitary figure loomed in silhouette. It stepped forward, bright points of light shining where its eyes should have been.

  “What’s that?” Capstein shouted.

  “A demon,” Hattie replied.

  Capstein lifted his balled fist in the air. “Kill it!”

  The two remaining henchmen lifted their weapons and fired at the demon. Their shots might have found their target, but it was impossible to tell from the creature’s approach. It simply marched forward. Step by step. Eyes shining with fury. The gunmen emptied their weapons, then stood dumbly with their rifles hanging low.

  Capstein shook his head. “Useless idiots.”


  With a lift of his hand, the wall of fire canted toward the ground. Wind circled around the site, shoving the fire lower and lower. The ground shook again, and this time Hattie could hear the voice of the demon over the infernal thunder. It roared—not in pain, but in anger. In outrage.

  Cracks opened up in the gravel as the tremors intensified. Gravel poured into the crevices. Loud crashes of shearing rocks echoed beneath them. Hattie’s feet slipped over one of the faults. She yanked them away as superheated air geysered out of the ground.

  One of the gunmen screamed in pain as he stood astride one of the cracks, his trousers catching fire as he tried to leap away. He ran down the hill past the demon, sprinting for the waterfront. But when he reached the wall of flames, the demon flexed his arms and the fire curtain erupted into a ten-foot hedge of instantaneous death. Capstein lowered his hand, and the rushing wind subsided. He glanced down at Hattie and Vincent, blood spilling from his nose.

  Approaching with grave deliberation, the demon flicked its wrist and fired a tiny sphere of heat into the chest of the final gunman, sending his flaming corpse into the fire curtain. It paused as it reached the trio of pinchers, its eyes tracing slow, dancing flames like candles, its mouth drawn into a sullen slit as it pointed at Hattie.

  They were trapped, surrounded by a wall of flames and faced with an angry being that neither bullets nor magic seemed to stop. Hattie held her breath as the demon pointed at her, waiting for the killing blow. It never came. Instead, the being reached for her, palm open. Hattie released her breath and peered up at the creature. It was no longer a living avatar of rage. Rather, it seemed captivated by her.

  With a slow, cautious motion, Hattie lifted herself to her knees. The demon waved a tiny circle with its fingers. A sharp, intense heat sizzled her wrists, and she hissed at the pain. The rope that had held her wrists behind her back went slack. Jerking against the smoldering rope she shook it off and pulled her arms in front of her to inspect the damage, but there was only a tiny red mark, and black smudges where the jute had scorched close to her skin.

  Hattie looked up at the demon then untied the belt binding her ankles, before turning toward Vincent.

  Capstein stepped in front of her. “Oh, no you don’t.”

  The demon’s eyes brightened, and it released another earth-shattering roar. Capstein eased away from the others, keeping his hands in front of him, his eyes darting around the wall of fire that contained them.

  Hattie scooted over to work at Vincent’s bonds. When he was loose, she stood and pulled him to his feet. He planted a foot against the ground and met her halfway as she tugged on his arm. With a few deep breaths, he nodded.

  “I feel…better.”

  Hattie closed her eyes for a second, feeling a rush of calm ease into her chest. “Me, too.”

  The demon strode around them, sizing them up with its flaming orbs before coming to a halt between them. They stood, a synod of three, staring at one another. Waving her hand in front of her face, Hattie felt the light pinch effortlessly. She released the illusion with a blink of surprise. “I feel like I’ve slept for a week.”

  Vincent nodded, rubbing his arm. “This is unbelievable.” He prodded at the hole in his jacket, poking himself with his own finger. “It’s healed.”

  “What?” Hattie gasped.

  Vincent turned to the demon. “Did you do this?”

  The creature gestured at the ground. The gravel popped and hissed as a thin line of flames etched a symbol onto the ground. Three arcs surrounding a circle.

  “Enough of this!” Capstein’s voice shouted. “I don’t know what Hellish bargain you’ve struck with this beast, but it’s clear there’s no room for you in my Kingdom!”

  He circled his hands by his side, then thrust them toward the demon. A tight blast of air beamed into its chest, sending it sailing several yards.

  When it landed, it hopped back onto its feet with inhuman agility. The demon flung its wrist at Capstein, hurling another burst of fire. However, when it reached Capstein, it boiled away against the capsule of air that had destroyed Vincent’s bludgeon a few hours ago. Capstein released the capsule with an exhale of fog from his nostrils.

  Capstein lifted a hand at Vincent. “Die, already.”

  Vincent reached for his throat, mouth agape as the wind sucked out of his lungs. He fell to the ground, spasming as he suffocated…and as Hattie concentrated.

  A finger tapped Capstein on the shoulder and he turned to find Vincent smirking at him.

  Hattie released the illusion of her suffocating companion just as Vincent hammered Capstein with a right cross.

  The air pincher tumbled to the ground, his face bloodied not from the punch, but from the powers he’d already expended. “Impossible,” he growled.

  Vincent lifted his fingers to snap them and freeze time, but before he could a sudden shockwave smacked them in the face. Hattie struggled to her feet against a breeze that kicked against her legs. She lifted a hand as dust and smoke flew into her face. Once she’d blinked away the smoke, she squinted past the demon’s shoulder to find Capstein hovering in midair.

  “Look!” she shouted, pointing at the air pincher.

  A column of air rushed into the site, pulling the fire curtain in with it. Flames licked the backs of their legs, and they hopped closer to the center of the village. Capstein clenched both fists at his hips. His suit flapped in the hurricane force winds that were propelling him into the air. He peered down at them with intense scorn, the bottom of his face covered with the blood that was pouring from his nose and mouth.

  The demon bellowed and launched a fireball at Capstein, but when the flames hit the column of air they rushed into several tendrils of light before extinguishing. It tried once more, with the same effect. Capstein’s escape was also protecting him.

  Vincent clapped his hands, and the air went stiff. The flames bowing into the center of the circle billowed like drapes in the breeze before locking into place, dimming slightly. Hattie walked a half-circle, mesmerized by the beauty of the frozen tableau.

  The demon reached for Capstein, and the sudden motion made both Hattie and Vincent jump. It seemed this creature was also immune to Vincent’s time pinch.

  Waving at the demon to capture its attention, Hattie gestured for it to try the flames again. It lifted a hand, but the fire did not come. As with the curtain around them, its powers of flame were impotent inside the time bubble.

  They couldn’t reach Capstein without Vincent releasing the time pinch, but if he released it, the man would surely escape. It seemed there was nothing they could do at this point but let him go.

  The demon strode over to Vincent, who eased away a half step. The creature pressed a flat hand against his chest, shoving him just a little. It seemed to be trying to communicate, but its meaning was lost on Hattie. What did it want? For him to release the bubble?

  Vincent lifted his fingers to snap them, but the demon covered his hand with its own. It thumped Vincent’s chest, then its own, then turned to point at Hattie.

  Suddenly it dawned on Hattie. It wasn’t the demon that had healed them. It wasn’t the demon that had returned their powers to full strength. It was something about the three of them together—something connected them. Together, they were stronger.

  A circle, surrounded by three arcs. A triad.

  As if he also understood, Vincent closed his eyes and spread out his fingers. The flames frozen in toward the center of the circle began to move again. The curls and billows slipped in a creeping motion, oddly unnatural against the otherworldly nature of Vincent’s time bubbles.

  Hattie pulled in a slow breath. The air was thinning. Sound returned as the flames continued to flicker and sway with slow grace. The noise of the crackling flames was peculiar. She called to Vincent, but her own voice came out wrong. All sounds swelled and tapered in a bizarre fashion that made her skin crawl. Peering up at Capstein, she watched as the man looked up into the sky…and began to creep back tow
ard the ground.

  Her eyes went wide. Vincent wasn’t just freezing time. He was reversing it!

  Capstein’s feet inched closer and closer to the ground. Finally, he was within reach. The demon snatched Capstein by the ankle.

  Vincent snapped his fingers.

  With a thunderous roar, the demon swung Capstein by the foot, sailing him in an arc over its head until his body smashed against the ground.

  Capstein released a sick, crunching gurgle as his body pounded against the gravel. Spitting out a tooth and a gob of blood, Capstein wheezed, “What…was that?”

  Vincent crouched down to answer, “Real power, you jumped-up piece of work.” The time pincher got back to his feet and gestured toward the fire curtain. “You know, I’m sure Vito would love to hear your side of this whole tale. But with things being what they are, and Baltimore being a good bit away, I think I’ll just let this demon have you.”

  A flash of bright light exploded. Capstein screeched. His body sizzled and charred in a matter of seconds as they watched. The fire curtain surrounding them dropped into a ring of tiny embers, the rocks super-heated nearly to the point of melting.

  Vincent pulled Hattie away from the smoldering body of Elmer Capstein and nodded toward the demon. “We’re connected. Somehow. I don’t know how, but that much seems pretty damned obvious to me.”

  The demon lifted fists and snarled. Hattie gripped Vincent’s shoulder and turned him around to see what the demon had seen…a truck approaching. Its bed was filled with men. Men with guns. Capstein’s pickup crew.

  The ground trembled as the demon mustered more strength, but Hattie turned to halt the creature.

  “I’ve got this,” she declared as she turned to approach the truck. No sense in having the creature burn half the shore down, when a simple illusion would do the trick.

  The gunmen had already jumped clear of the bed and had their weapons trained on her.

  One of them shouted, “The hell’s going on?”

  Hattie’s fingers formed claws at her sides.

  And she whispered, “Nightmare.”

  All the men froze in place. One of them released a low, husky shout as he dropped his rifle. Two more turned and fled. The men inside the truck cab shrieked, flailing their arms at the worst torments their own minds could conjure.