Wild Thing

by L. J. Kendall

There was almost no blood, and his spirits soared, only to crash as he looked closer. He needed more light.

  'Hello? Are you all right?'

  That was Simmons, late to the party as ever, up on the Institute's front steps. Harmon heard Sanders answer, but he had already seen Shanahan's flashlight shining from the rose bed. Ignoring the other two, he ran over to get it, then raced back to shine it over Leeth's chest. Into her chest.

  Sweet, buttered hell.

  The stretchy material of her skin-tight top had pulled back, revealing the injury: exactly as wide as her hand. The wound angled slightly up, straight through her left breast. Gingerly, torch tucked awkwardly under his chin, he pulled the edges of the cut further apart.

  Sweet buttered hell on rye.

  She'd stabbed her hand sideways, slipping between the fourth and fifth ribs, angling up through the middle of her heart, he guessed. Sliding between the ribs. He couldn't see how deeply she'd stabbed, but it had been deep enough to stop her heart instantly.

  The chest wound was ghastly, yet not as bad as he'd feared: whatever spell Godsson had blasted through her, it appeared not to have done any physical damage. Why was there so little blood? Had the light vaporized it?.

  He shook his head. He should be able to do this. Thanks to the Repetition Effect.

  Off to one side, he heard Simmons gasp. 'Good Lord, what- Oh! Fuck! Godsson! Godsson's out of his cell! Professor Sanders!'

  Harmon's icy tones slapped into the man's panic. 'Yes, Doctor Simmons, we had in fact noticed that ourselves. Perhaps you could make yourself useful by holding this flashlight for me, rather than screaming like a girl?'

  'B-but G- G- Godsson-'

  Professor Sanders's cool voice broke in, his tones gentle and reassuring. 'Yes, Simmons, I'm just trying to bring Brian around. He and I will then take Godsson back into his cell. Would you prefer to help me with that, or to hold the torch for Alex?'

  Sanders approached. 'I'm dreadfully sorry, Alex. So young… Wait. Alex, what are you doing? You're not going to try to heal her, surely? What about what Godsson said? How can we-'

  Harmon locked eyes on him. Sanders was old; almost frail…

  Perhaps his thoughts showed on his face, since Sanders backed away, one hand going to his ear. Harmon had no idea who he might be calling, but it didn't matter.

  He tuned them all out, summoning the energies, the will; calling up the healing pattern as he sank his senses into the cleanly-severed heart. Quite remarkably sharply severed. Her magic, of course. Of course she'd used her own magic against herself.

  She'd clipped the lower edge of her lung, too, he sensed, as well as cutting cleanly through both left and right ventricles of her heart. The wound, a hand's width, was fully fifteen centimeters long. She'd gone wrist-deep into her own chest.

  But healing required blood, and Godsson's laser-like spell had vaporized it. If she had been magically exsanguinated…. But her dramatic self-injury must have stopped her heart instantly; before it could pump all her blood through the destructive beam. A remarkable stroke of luck.

  Micro-organisms already swarmed and reproduced, but he burned them away. Gathering the strands of her flesh together, he felt her cells respond. So far, so good. This was going to work!

  Senses focused totally within her chest, he wasn't even aware when Simmons plucked the flashlight from under his chin and shone it down over his psychic surgery.

  At last, the healing slowed, stopping. He watched her chest rising and falling, waiting for her eyes to open.

  And waited.

  Keeping the healing active, he concentrated, wove his mindmeld, and entered… to find nothing. Just quiet emptiness: silent rooms and vacant halls of memory. The air moved with a calm tiredness, fading eddies drifting toward sleep. That long, last sleep.

  She slipped from him, and the pain of that loss struck him with stunning force. In empty halls, he turned, a wordless cry of anguish, and called out to her.

  For just a moment, a shiver ran through the empty stillness. Hesitant; doubting…. He cried out, again, calling her back.

  And a wave of warmth crested, plunged through him, and Sara's eyes blinked open.

  'Keepie?'

  He was shocked to feel his eyes swimming. But instead of breaking his concentration, or making the spell falter, instead the healing seemed to surge more strongly than ever. She made a small sound of pleasure, her eyes falling shut once again as the cells of her breast knitted together.

  Then he felt her tense, felt her own eyes on his, and he shifted his senses from within to without.

  'Keepie! How come I'm alive? Didn't it work?'

  'It worked, Leeth. You did it.'

  'And then you saved me. You do love me, don't you, Keepie?'

  He tried to shake his head, no, but found he couldn't move the muscles of his neck for some reason.

  Despite his silence, she smiled, a small but very satisfied smile, and let her eyes drift shut again.

  Again, he felt water swim into his vision. Blinked it away, and sighed, the healing flooding from him.

  Finally he felt the last stretch of flesh stitch together, taking extra care with the alignment of the edges of the skin at her breast. He sank back, arms across his knees, then let himself fall fully backward.

  Just smiling up at the wash of stars splashed across the night above. Feeling satisfied. Though there would no doubt be hell to pay for this latest escapade. His heart sank at the thought. She had gone too far this time, he suspected. But he was too wrung out to process that concern right now.

  In front of him, a sudden gasp of indrawn breath signaled that Leeth was “back.”

  'She was inside me, Keepie. I trapped her in my heart, and then I stabbed her. I killed myself to kill her, ’cause she needed a death. ’Cause she'd been born from a death.'

  'I thought it was something like that. Godsson believes his own magic helped.'

  She crawled up to sit cross-legged beside him.

  What a strange place to be having a deep magical-philosophical discussion, he thought.

  'I think maybe it did. I think it was locked in my blood. Godsson's light burned. I felt it burn through me. Beyond me, to somewhere Else.'

  'Ah. That makes sense.'

  'But if it needed my death to end it, to end the Her-pattern, what does it mean if I'm back alive? What if it means She'll come back?'

  'That's a risk I'm prepared to take, Leeth.'

  She smiled, and looked away.

  He heaved himself up, then stood. 'Come on, Wild Thing, can you walk, or do you need me to carry you back inside?'

  It was rather amusing to watch her expression, as outrage at being considered weak fought her desire to be held. The healing should hold, but there was always the sense that one should let the cells “remember” they were back together where they should be, before stressing them unduly.

  She got to her feet, with not quite the bounce she normally evidenced. She looked around, frowning.

  'Um. Where's Godsson?'

  'The others carried him back inside. Into his cell. He can heal himself when he wakes up.'

  'Oh.' She frowned. 'Why will he need to heal himself? What happened after I, after I stabbed Her?'

  'Leeth. You understand that I am a trained psychologist? But although I rather hope Godsson's annual “attacks” will cease thanks to tonight's events, Godsson is clinically insane. He's also one of the most powerful mages on Earth. He cannot be allowed out.'

  'But what happened?'

  Stars above, she still doesn't believe me! But he didn't need to convince her immediately. He just hoped they would be given the time.

  'What happened?'

  He smiled. 'Professor Sanders distracted him, then Faith blew him up with her rockets. Both of them.'

  'Wow! I wish I'd seen that! Where's Faith? Did Mr…'

  Leeth looked around, surveying the destruction. Her gaze stopped on a strange sack, off to one side. Furry, with… legs? No. No!

  She hurtled over
, knees sliding through the churned up grass and dirt as her worst fear was confirmed. 'Faith!'

  The sight didn't make sense to her: Faith was bigger than this, this broken, still lump of scorched flesh and metallic components.

  'Faith!'

  Harmon watched; saddened. The dog had been dangerous. In more ways than one. This would be a valuable lesson for her to learn, he told himself: that people die. Even good people. That she herself might die. Perhaps the death of her friend would temper her own rashness; might even save her own life, one day.

  'Keepie, quick, heal her! Before it's too late!'

  He walked slowly over. 'I'm not even sure I could. I don't know whether my healing spell works on animals. And even if the spell might work, all that cyberware would interfere. Block the magic.' He had learned that lesson deeply, the last few days. 'I'm sorry, Leeth. You need to accept that Faith-'

  'Heal her, Keepie!' she practically screamed at him. 'I know you can do it! We're all animals, you said so. Your magic will work!'

  Her fingers, he saw, clutched and worked at the fur of the dead dog as she stared up at him, tears streaming, pleading with him.

  Her face twisted in grief and desperation as she begged him. 'Just heal her! I'll do anything if you just heal her!'

  She would never forgive me if I didn't at least try, he saw.

  'Please, Keepie.' Her voice had sunk to a whisper.

  Harmon saw a kind of horror awaken as she saw that indeed he might refuse her this. For some reason, the expression that dawned on her face made him feel like she'd stabbed him in the heart.

  'I'll do anything,' she whispered. 'Anything, I promise. If you just Heal her.' Begging.

  As she gripped the dead dog, oblivious to the seeping machine oil mixed with blood and internal fluids in which she knelt, he found reasons to try. Perhaps it would be good for her to think that sheer determination can be enough. That willing something hard enough could make it so. A good attribute for his Huntress archetype to possess.

  He knelt down opposite her, his knees nudging her recent defender's furred body. 'I'll try, although I don't know if the healing magic will even work on a dog. But I want you to promise to be obedient, in future. To stop arguing and protesting every simple request.'

  'I'll try, Keepie. I will.' Then her expression hardened. 'But only if you Heal her. Not if you just try.'

  Even now, she bargains. He had to admire her spirit.

  But that very intransigence sparked a steely determination in himself, in turn. He would not just try to heal the creature, he would succeed. And take what she had freely offered, in payment.

  Her face stared up into his, and her expression softened once again. Knowing now that he would try. Believing that he could do the impossible.

  'Please, Keepie. I know you can do it if you try. I know.'

  Harmon's heart did not melt. Not quite.

  As he laid his hands on the animal, the joy that instantly suffused Leeth, making her arms and legs tremble in excited hope, seemed to bathe him in a curious warmth.

  Positioning both hands against the worst injury, then, where the forward weapons pod on the left shoulder appeared to have been partially torn from its seamless meld with the animal's flesh, he moved his perception to the Imaginal and cast the spell.

  This was going to be difficult…

  Half an hour later, Harmon slumped back, exhausted, against the cold lawn. When he'd finally turned the tide and the dog's heart and lungs had started pumping once more, it had whimpered, in dreadful pain. Leeth had simply stared at him from across the body of her friend, her eyes saying it all. Leeth had stretched out, pressing herself carefully alongside her friend, whispering words in her ear.

  She didn't let him finish until Faith could stand under her own power.

  'Call Mr Shanahan, Faith. Call him, go on.'

  A red light began blinking on her collar. Thirty seconds later, they heard Brian Shanahan in the distance running and shouting. 'Faith! Can ye hear me, girl? Faith! I'm coming! I'm coming, girl, hang in there!'

  'It's okay, Mr Shanahan,' Leeth called out to him, restraining Faith before she could re-injure herself as she fought to go to him. 'Uncle saved her! She's okay!'

  Shanahan's knees plowed into the lawn as he slid to a stop beside them, and soon the three of them were a laughing, crying, licking bundle of three-way joy.

  Harmon, lying beside them watching, had to smile despite himself. Then Leeth flung herself onto him, hugging him too. 'Oh, Keepie, Keepie, you did it. You're wonderful! I love you so much!'

  Shanahan and Leeth together carried the cyber dog back to his security out-building, Leeth explaining to her the whole way that Mr Shanahan had a supply cabinet full of spare parts waiting, saved specially for her. Harmon staggered along in the rear.

  He quite welcomed Leeth's support when they left to make their own way back inside, together.

  Surely, she had no more surprises for him. Surely, now, they could all rest?

  Chapter 58

  As Disten rounded the next bend, ahead on the winding country lane, a pair of iron gates swung into view, glowing brightly under the vehicle's headlights.

  The girl awaited, through those gates. Behind the wall from which the borealis display had lit the night sky, not five minutes before.

  Getting out of the vehicle, Disten read the sign:

  Institute for Paranormal Dysfunction

  DANGER – KEEP OUT

  Authorized personnel only

  Looking left and then right, there was no intercom system; no means to call to request entry.

  No matter. The bars on the gate would be no obstacle.

  The instant the barrier was touched, however, a massive flare of red auroral light flashed up in a huge arc lacing into the night sky.

  Disten blinked.

  It was dark. Hard bitumen pressed from below. Some unknown portion of time appeared to have passed.

  Disten sat up, feeling dampness in the hair at the back of the head. Ahead, the vehicle idled, blocking the view of the wall. Puzzled, feeling oddly disoriented while standing back upright, the fingers were examined in the wash from the headlights. Blood.

  Disten moved up to the car, vision shifting strangely.

  Concussion.

  The pull, a savage hook through the spine, was gone. Ahead, through the gates and past the wooded area, bright light flared, the rumble of an explosion following a moment later.

  Disten approached the gate once again, then turned back from there, to where consciousness had been regained. Calculated a trajectory, that crossed over the vehicle.

  Behind, another flash of light followed by the sound of another explosion.

  The girl was gone. Again.

  Disten climbed back into the car, considering the head wound. Medical treatment would be wise. As would removal of evidence.

  Reversing the car around, Disten got out with a bottle of water, eyeing the blood on the road, illuminated in the powerful headlights. Poured the water. Then re-entered the vehicle and set the destination to New Francisco.

  The Institute for Paranormal Dysfunction. The girl, or spirit, appeared to be connected to it. It would bear future investigation.

  And the girl. Whose body had been examined, as she lay dead in an alley. Gone again, now. But death did not appear to stop her.

  That was good. She would come again.

  And when next she emerged, she would be taken, and Perfected. And together they would communicate that Perfection to all humanity.

  Chapter 59

  At 7:55am the next day, Leeth stood grimacing as her uncle ripped through her wardrobe, finding something “more suitable” for her to wear for their meeting with the Director.

  She finished adjusting her bra and picked up the ultra-thin black clothing he'd gone red at when he'd opened her door.

  'But I spent, like, half an hour cutting parts away so the holes look deliberate! What about now that I've put on underwear? Can't I just-'

  Her un
cle turned, thrusting black denim jeans and a white blouse with collar and buttons into her hands, removing the remnants of her ninja suit and tossing it behind him. 'No. And we now have less than five minutes. Get. Dressed.'

  He continued lecturing her as she quickly shrugged into the top and wriggled into the jeans. She got it that she was in trouble; but she shouldn't be. They were the ones who were wrong, not her. 'And I wasn't trying to seduce Professor Sanders! I was just trying to look good.'

  She heard her uncle's teeth grinding.

  'Well, why didn't you tell me before, that men liked seeing-'

  He pushed her toward the door. 'Yes, Leeth, I see now I should have, but let's leave that discussion for some other time.'

  In the end, they arrived right on time anyway, so he hadn't needed to make such a fuss.

  Though Professor Sanders's “Come in” didn't sound as welcoming as usual. Maybe she had better be careful.

  'Sara.' For long seconds, the Director just looked at her. 'What are we going to do with you?'

  She bristled, but kept waiting. They didn't need to do anything with her. They needed to let Godsson free!

  'Do you understand that what you did was wrong? Very wrong?'

  For a moment, she considered lying, but that wouldn't help Godsson.

  'Why? What's he ever done wrong? Except save everybody?'

  At her side, her uncle made a small noise, and Professor Sanders sat back, his bushy white eyebrows flashing upward. 'Dear me.' He looked from her to her uncle, then back to her. 'He did kill two people. I thought you had been shown the footage?'

  'No, She turned two people into monsters to kill him, and he killed the monsters!'

  His mouth opened, then shut. She wanted to press her attack, but sometimes it was best to let your opponents make mistakes.

  Professor Sanders looked from her, to her uncle. 'You know, in light of what we've learned, she does have a point, Alex.'

  Yes! For a moment, she thought she'd convinced Professor Sanders. Until his next words. Frowning, he turned back to her.

  'But Godsson is criminally insane, Sara. He has harmed other carers who entered his cell for a routine health check, before we learned the necessity to avoid that. He believes he is a Son of God, two thousand years old, and that he has some mission to “save” humanity from itself. He is one of the most powerful mages in the world today, and he is completely delusional.'