by M. P. Reeves
Later that night, they solidified the details of their plan over salads. Having a decent understanding of which magic’s they were able to master in such a short time, Erik barked orders. "Alright, so Carrick and Aodhan will circle this way while Conall and Erik..."
"What about me?" Bethany interjected, looking eager.
"You need to stay here."
“Stay here. While you all go to fight with absolutely no guarantee of survival.”
“Yes.”
“I never took you for sexist. I have just as much of a right to fight and to die doing it as the rest of you.”
“My darling, you don't know what we're going up against.”
“Yes I do.”
“Then you know why I can't let you go.”
“Let me?!”
Carrick sunk down further in his seat. He had a pretty good idea of what was about to happen and did not want to be in her line of fire.
“Bethany…” Aurelian spoke softly, she screamed right over him.
“I lost my family, my life because of these people and you're going to make me sit at home and watch TV while you confront them? You...you...selfish misogynistic…ass!” Leaping up from the table she stomped off down the hallway, slamming her door hard. Muffled tears cut through the awkward silence that followed.
Aodhan laughed, shaking his head.
“Something funny? Aurelian grumbled.
“Nothing. I just feel sorry for the poor brother who gets to finish that conversation.”
“Me too.” A mischievous grin crossed Aurelian’s face as his eyes landed on an unsuspecting Quin.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
45
Bethany paced in her room, her emotions waffling from anxious to furious to morose. There was a good chance that all of them were going to die and judging from her limited exposure to the enemy, those deaths would not be quick and painless. She had to acknowledge she was far from a soldier, but the thought of sitting in this house, waiting, made her skin crawl. If they were to die she should be right there on the front lines with them. These fell had robbed her of her life and hell, the world thought she was dead already, so why not?
There was a knock at the door, a single rap of knuckles against oak. Bethany paused, checking her complexion in the mirror. Bags hung beneath both of her eyes, her short dark locks were a frizzy mess, and even her skin tone seemed extra splotchy.
"Come in." Bethany called, smoothing out her hair with her hands. Surely Aurelian had come to rebuke her behavior and seek an apology, which she was prepared to give. Begrudgingly, sure, but give.
The person who entered her room was not whom she was expecting. Tall, dark and handsome Quin walked in, his body mostly hidden under a black cloak that was clasped with a wolf’s head silver pin. He had pulled his raven hair away from his face, binding it at the nap of his neck.
"I...we...are leaving." Quin stayed just inside her doorway his steel gray eyes panned the room.
"Oh,” Bethany gulped, "it’s that time then." She exhaled sharply, “look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scream at all of you.”
“Aurelian will be relieved.”
He lingered by her door, leather boots shifted on the carpet, "I,” he cleared his throat, “I was hoping you would offer, but then I realized you wouldn't know a thing about it."
"About what?" As her mind did a mental run down of all the things she could possibly offer him her eyes widened. "Hey I’m not going to sleep with you just because you might die." She snapped. “That’s not how it works.”
His arms flew up in defense, revealing the white linen shirt and dark grey pants he wore beneath his cloak. "No. I am, ah, not asking you to."
"Oh." She immediately blushed, feeling horrid at her presumption. It was just the culture she had grown up in. If you weren't putting out you were a prude, if you were, you were a slut. There really was no win-win in high school. "I'm sorry. Again.” Shit. “Please, what is it?"
"There is a tradition for our people, when one faces tribulations he is often blessed with the colors of one dear to him to protect him in battle, a simple gift of cloth to remind him of her presence when he is far away so that his heart may beat just long enough to see her face." Quin smiled self-consciously. "I shall not mince words, I am growing quite fond of you Bethany Blair and I would..." He trailed off, color flooding his cheeks. "Forgive me for the intrusion." With that he spun around, moving quickly towards the door.
"Quin! Wait!" She called out, feeling horrible his premise was both endearing and romantic and she had gone and soured it with her presumptions. Biting her lower lip it dawned on her she didn't have much in the way of possessions to bestow upon anyone, who was she kidding? Only thing she had to her name were the clothes on her back. Looking around the room she eyed the aqua pillow case on the bed. It was close to her favorite color and readily available. Surely Aurelian wouldn't mind replacing one for a just cause.
Dashing to the bed, Bethany pulled the feather down out of its brightly colored case, tossing it on the bed. "Do you have a knife?"
In a fluid motion, Quin pulled a small dagger from his belt and tossed it on the bed near her.
"Thanks." It weighed more than she would have expected, the handle being a composite of bone and some sort of metal. With the grace of toddler, she messily ripped a thin strip of cloth from the case.
"Um, my family doesn't have any colors or a crest or anything fancy like that." She held out the cloth. "My favorite color is turquoise so this kind of works."
Quin's dark eyes widened, left hand extending to take what she had offered. His touch feather light across her palm.
"I don't even know your last name." She mused aloud sadly. If he were to die, it felt wrong not to know.
"Paorach." He replied with the tilt of his head and a slight bow at the waist.
"Quin Paorach." Bethany repeated slowly. "Funny, I expected it to be, like, Darkhorse or Lonewolf or something like that."
He gave her a quizzical look, then burst out laughing. The melodic chuckle a sharp contrast to his brooding form. Happiness spread so naturally across his face leaving her to wonder why he always acted aloof. "Thank you, I needed that."
"Come home safe Quin Paorach." She meant every word.
His eyes drifted to the strip of brightly colored cloth in his hand. "Now, how could I not?"
Perhaps it was her recent brush with death or perhaps it was just a true surge of confidence, either way the act was the same. Bethany rushed the massive druid, wrapping her arms around his neck she jumped up, kissing his scruffy cheek.
As she pulled back to look at him the shock in Quin's dark eyes was obvious, his pulse raced beneath her palms, his breathing stopped, his eyes widened rather than risk the blink. Utterly enthralled Quin leaned in to her, just as Carrick entered the doorframe.
"Rick! Hi!" Bethany dropped her arms, taking a step back. She had expected him to be angry, instead he only smiled.
"Sorry to intrude." Carrick's voice was surprisingly sincere. As she thought about it, she figured why shouldn't he be? They hadn't been a thing in a long time.
"No, no. It's fine. Really."
"Ready Quin?" Carrick nodded towards the hall. "Erik's getting impatient."
"Yes, let us anon my brother." Without another look towards her Quin followed Carrick from the room, shutting her door silently behind him. His sage scent stayed with her long after the men had left the beach house.
46
In his forty years of coups, rebellions and resistance movements there were two things of which he was ever certain. Regime changed, loose ends were cleaned up. Most on the losing end knew the writing on the wall long before the bullets found their bodies, they just refused to admit it, getting off on dying for the cause without a thought to how little the cause actually gave a shit about them.
Lighting a cigarette, Joseph Johnson watched the monitor as the new 'squad' took up shop on the island. Demented eyes, foul teethed killers with
need-to-know assignments. Need-to-know above his paygrade, the highest one on the scale. The comm room on the monitor beside it lay empty, as did the server room. Joseph had watched one by one as the analysts were taken in for debriefing, never to cross the screen again. He had been initially delighted Marcus had recruited him for this extremely lucrative contract, Marcus had always done well by him in the past. Quick insurrections, assassinations, stuff that had him home for golf on Sunday with his jittery brother-in-law. Now Marcus was dead, and he had been in the field for months. Months of weird shit. Torturing teenage girls, chasing questionably human creatures they kept calling nomads. Terrorists they said, yet as more and more of those euro trash bastards showed up he was starting to wonder. Then there was that woman, the things they did to her...
Joseph had never been one for church, but all that chanting, candles and blips on the monitors made him seriously consider sending out for a damned priest.
His eyes flipped up to the screen still linked to the South American holding facility, they never were able to get all the blood out...
"Mr. Johnson, Mr. Vok would like to meet with you." The nasally voice of one of the new guys came from behind him. "Firearm on the desk please." Of course.
"Let me just finish this."
"He insists on now, you can smoke."
It was a good thing he didn't give a damned about the cause.
"Sure." He placed his standard issue on the desk then followed the boy to the elevator. Blowing a small ring of smoke towards the digital up arrow, waiting patiently for the pleasant chime that signaled its arrival. Damn thing was taking forever. Tossing his hand rolled into the trashcan in the hallway, he rummaged in his suitcoat for his holder.
"Mind if I?" Joseph asked, holding out his silver cigarette case.
"Knock yourself out pops."
The elevator chimed, the doors opening wide.
"After you,” he smiled with those rotten teeth.
Joseph complied, walking into the six by six box with a fresh smoke between his lips. Standing at the back of the elevator, he reached in his breast pocket, passing over his lighter he popped the lid off his pen. His escort faced forward, punching 4 on the panel, a pleasant chime rang overhead as the doors slid shut.
Now.
Grabbing him by the back of his neck, Joseph shoved his ballpoint into the boy's eye socket. To his surprise, the lad kept struggling with a strength that should not be present in shock. The kid drew his gun, trying to aim at him. With one arm still wrapped around his neck, he banged the boys arm on the metal railing of the elevator till the firearm hit the ground. The boy threw himself backwards, knocking Joseph into the wall. His aged fingers could not get the proper grip on the boy’s neck for the pop he was looking for. The boy threw him back again, knocking his head against the metal wall of the elevator hard enough to make his ears ring. Joseph cursed, ripping his pen free of the orbital socket, he stabbed him in the neck. One. Twice. He stopped counting after that, mystified as black blood splattered all over the steel walls. Soon the soft gurgle of blood cut through the ringing in his ears, just before the boy transformed into a pile of oily goo at his feet.
I'm too old for this shit. Joseph frowned at the marble floor, picking up the .45 the lad had dropped. A newer model than the one he preferred, but it would do all the same.
Turning, he hit the elevator stop button, punched the B1 button and lit his cigarette, a bit bent but somehow still pursed between his lips. All that was left was to commandeer one of the docked boats and survive the six day ride to Cape Town. Joseph chuckled as the elevator doors slide open, seemed he may live to retirement after all.
47
The massive complex built on the right shore of the island struck Carrick as something out of a spy movie. Jutting several stories into the air the steel and concrete building blocked out a wonderful view of the sunset against the ocean. A night attack had been planned to aid in stealth, yet it was partially a bad call. The complex was well lit, track, spot and motion lights kept the immediate area at a constant state of high noon and drew attention to the marketing slogans on large canvas banners hanging from the second story balcony. In the light blue and grey colors associated with Stergen Industries messages carried the same theme; 'Our Future, Today.' and 'A better tomorrow, one innovation at a time' innocent, positive and pop up ad worthy. Unfortunately for the intended audience, the 'our' in the corporate vision did not indicate humans. Not that there were any around to appreciate the message.
All of the patrols and workers spotted thus far had been fell. Even at a distance their tell-tale posture and almost demonic strut was evident. Shrieks and animalistic screeches entwined in their conversations carried on the wind, making Carrick's blood run cold. He knew every single one of them would not hesitate to take his life in an instant. Deep down part of him wished what lurked within that building was a super villain and his gun toting minions. In a way, that seemed far less scary than what lay ahead.
"I have never seen so many in one location." Erik murmured quietly, his ring covered left hand splayed against the cold wet rock to keep his balance. Carrick felt assured that their current position was concealed as they crouched at the water's edge, large rocks in front of them blocking the moon's light.
A splash in the water, a second. Fish, the guards would think. Only fish. "Can't turn back now, Conall's got the first set of charges laid." Carrick murmured.
"I heard." Erik turned to Aodhan. "Ready?"
Aodhan nodded enthusiastically, pulling a series of small stones carved with runes from a pouch on his belt. Erik did likewise. Together they laid them in a pattern, drawing symbols around them in the sand. His uncle tossed what appeared to be finger bones atop the intricate pattern, chanting.
Carrick knew he needed to move. His missive was to get inside and deal with Lorcan while they provided the distraction on the beachfront. As much as he wanted to see their golems take form, he quietly moved away from their hiding place in the rocks, making his way towards the massive complex.
Pallets of building materials and other goods were left out by the loading dock. Carrick hid behind a stack of cardboard boxes from a company that produced disposable utensils and paper products. Suppose the bad guys have to eat to. He thought, silly imagery of fell snacking on pizza running through his head. Humor seemed grossly inappropriate, but it did steady his shaking hands.
Not far from his location three guards lurked by the service elevator in the warehouse, all carrying automatic rifles, all fell. Closing his eyes Carrick tried to see what would be next, but his gift eluded him. Now he had nothing to do but wait, and pray.
As time rolled on, he began to worry something was wrong, their incantation should have completed by now. If he stayed where he was much longer-
Suddenly the ground tremored, an airy howl coming from the direction of the beach. Two of the guards ran past his location towards the commotion. Gunfire rang out followed by screams, begging.
Carrick peered around the edge of the boxes to see a dark haired lad not much older than himself pacing by the elevator, gun at the ready. One had stayed behind. Shit. Looking around he spotted a workers toolbox not far from where he hid, quietly popping the lid he borrowed a wrench. Then chucked it across the warehouse, listening to the metal clatter across the concrete floor.
Footsteps echoed through the vast storage area as his last remaining obstacle approached. Drawing his blade he crept forward around the boxes. Waiting.
Feet came into view, back turned towards the direction of the sound.
Carrick lunged forward, grabbing the fell’s gun arm with his left hand he spun him, burying his blade deep beneath the ribcage of the fell. The firearm clattered to the floor as the fell tried desperately to free himself from Carrick’s hold. Refusing to make eye contact with the gasping boy, he retracted his blade then struck again. Only when the last rasp had left his lips did he withdraw his weapon, catching the frozen confused look on the fell’s face as he crumpled to the
ground.
Carrick moved quickly through the warehouse towards the elevator. Swiping the badge he'd pulled off the dock worker on the reader he pressed the call button. When the doors opened the car was not empty.
Standing above a pile of oil inside the car was an older gentleman in a suit, smoking a cigarette. Requesting authorization to begin encouragement tactics?
He made no effort to attack, merely smiled at Carrick. “Long time.” Requesting authorization to begin encouragement tactics? It was him, the man from his abduction.
“You-“
“Boss is on the fourth floor, take a right at the hall.” He stepped by Carrick, walking towards the warehouse exit. Carrick wasn’t sure why he let him pass, perhaps it was his calm demeanor, or the fell blood smeared all over his shirt.
“That’s it?” He expected the man to fight him, stop him, something.
He flicked his cigarette butt into the pile of oil left by the guard he had stabbed. “Yep.”
“I should kill you.” Carrick yelled out to him. How dare this man do what he did and just walk away? To him, to his mother..
“Yeah, you probably should. But, I’m guessing you have places to be.” For a moment he watched, confused as the stranger gave him a wave without turning around. “Have fun kid.” Then pushed through the exit into the beach commotion without even the slightest sign of concern.
He thought of chasing him down, seeking justice for the wrongs inflicted upon him, but whoever he was, he was right. Carrick did have somewhere to be.
Stepping into the car he punched the 4 button. Top Floor. Going up.
48
Under the moonlight dark forms poured from out from beneath the halogen lit doorway, metal instruments of death in their pale hands. Erik had not garnered their attention, half submerged in the dark waves by the summoning circle he watched alongside Conall as the fell were momentarily taken aback by the massive sand golems and their master. To properly complete the spell the creatures needed to be bound to a druid, Aodhan had volunteered. Despite being the youngest of the group, his vitality would be an aid rather than a deterrent in this conflict. Conjuring such massive creatures, in tandem no less, drained one's strength. Further Aodhan was the only one without a familiar, so his mental connection to the golems would be continuous. Watching him fight between the humanoid forms of shifting sand it was obvious they had made the right decision.