by Nico Rosso
The Philosopher didn’t blink. His glazed eyes rolled, looking everywhere but at her. The smile carried no joy. Only hate and destruction.
“The witch drowns in her own fluids.”
His words had sparked her own fear and revulsion. Self-doubt and shame. But “witch” resonated somewhere else. Deep and true. She clutched to the feeling, the only hope of life. The why didn’t matter at first, just that it was a breath of air. A pint of fresh blood through her veins.
The Philosopher blinked.
Then she remembered. Trevor’s song lyric.
Be the bitch
She’s the witch
Who’ll grind them down
He wrote it for her. About her. He knew who she was. From the first look at the club, to slamming their bodies together in sex, to a quiet glance, lit only by stars. There was no shame in his eyes when he gazed at her. He didn’t judge her. And when she started this night, checking herself out in the mirror, outfit assembled by her and Kim, there was no disgust then either.
Misty gathered more breath. She curled her hands into fists and took a step toward the Philosopher. It took more effort than it should, but there was satisfaction in seeing him blink again.
She sneered. “Fuck you.”
The Philosopher started muttering in an arcane language. Her limbs tingled as her strength returned. It might not be fast enough, though. Gray smoke began swirling from the Philosopher’s mouth. The words were alive.
She dug her toe in the dirt, finding confidence in the footing. The elements in her body, those shared with Trevor, were from the earth. When they’d made love on the ground, it seemed as if everything was connected with the same breath. That meant the elements were still with her. Trevor was here, in some way, to help. She was not ready to die.
The gray smoke continued to pour out of the Philosopher. It congealed, greasy, and snaked toward her. Fire, oak, stone, ice. She felt it all. Something would work against whatever was coming.
And she couldn’t let the Philosopher know she was afraid. “You’re going to choke on those words.”
He was unmoved. Continuing to speak, he brought his palms up to shape the smoke. He wafted it into thin tendrils. They wove together into a long thick column. One end faced her, the other grew from his words.
The sky was pink with the coming dawn. Long shadows streaked about her feet. She picked up a branch from the ground and brandished it like a club. The twisting column of smoke extended toward her. The end flared, a thousand grasping tendrils.
She swung the wood into the smoke. Maybe she could scatter the threat. Or it would dissolve. The branch struck it and bounced back, as if she’d hit a steel fence.
“Misty!” Trevor shouted from farther up the hill.
Heat washed over her as she twisted to see him coming. She could almost feel him against her again. With him, they could destroy anything that stood in their way.
She turned back toward the Philosopher, a smile on her lips. “Your smoke—”
The tendrils spread in a wide circle and struck toward her. She was knocked to the ground. When she stood, her view of Trevor was sliced into hundreds of shards. The smoke formed a latticed cage around her.
* * *
The cage struck like a snake. He wasn’t fast enough. He’d sped down the hill when he spotted her. The smoke was already growing from the man. From the posture, Trevor knew it was a Philosopher, infused into a human body. They only did that as a last resort. Which meant they were not going to give up on whatever they sought. But a corporeal body also meant they could be hurt.
Trevor was very much looking forward to bringing pain to the Philosopher, when the cage snapped shut around Misty. It formed a perfect sphere. The bottom dug into the dirt, unmoving. Only inches thick, but the cage seemed to put Misty miles away from him. The distance counted in time too. As if they were separated by hundreds of years.
Already, the hunger for her gnawed through him.
“Misty, I’ll get you out of there.” Wherever he tried to put his fingers through the lattice of smoke closed solid.
She spoke, echoing from too far away. “The Philosopher, he’s right there.”
“I see him.” The body still didn’t move. Only then, in the brightening dawn, did he recognize the man from the TV show. The ultraconservative didn’t have any power that morning, but he must’ve been an appealing conduit for the Philosopher. “That body can’t damage me. And hurting him won’t end this spell. This cage is how he’ll kill us.”
“I can hardly hear you.” She was on the bottom of a chasm. Or set adrift, alone in a ship with no sails.
He had to get to her. “The cage keeps you from me. I can’t feed. He’s trying to starve me.”
“Not just you. I feel it... You’re so far...”
As much as he wanted to crush the Philosopher responsible, he knew he had to conserve his waning power. Trevor cocked a fist back and slammed it into the cage. The impact jolted him backward, but the smoke lattice did not move.
The Philosopher sneered. Trevor punched the surface of the cage. It clanged like metal. He was no nearer to Misty.
He brought his face close to the cage, taking whatever glimpse he could of her. “I won’t lose you, Misty. I need you now. Forever.”
“Trevor.” How far away was she? Her voice was so small.
“I will get to you.” He put his hand on the cage, but the lattice closed in the places where he touched it. “You find me.”
Enraged, he struck the cage. The same result. Another blow. The smoke was unaffected. But he did not stop. She was in there. Glimpses of dark red hair. Flashes of her green eyes. Again and again he punched the cage. Fist of stone, oak, fire. The power of the crashing waves and the force of a hurricane. Everything he was, he would give to get her back.
On the next blow, the cage shifted. Dust rose up from where its footing turned. If it could be moved, it could be destroyed. When he slammed his fist into it again, he felt why it had been shaken. Misty attacked it from the inside.
Together, they battered one side of the cage. The smoke shuddered. He saw her, inside, throwing her weight behind her punches. Furious. Beautiful.
He almost felt her energy. So close. His body yearned for it, pushing him harder. Their attacks found a rhythm. Pounding like Hephaestus on his forge, or the drums of an army. The cage weakened. Soon, he would have her back.
Hot pain sliced through him. It sapped his strength and he fell to the ground.
Somewhere in the distance, Misty screamed. “No!”
Silhouetted against the dawn, the Philosopher stood over him. A long jagged blade of blue and silver smoke jutted from his hand. He brought it up and slashed into Trevor. The blade didn’t damage his skin. It passed straight through, carving a wake of agony deep inside him.
Misty continued to attack the inside of the cage, but without their combined effort, the surface grew stronger. She called his name, over and over. He rose to his hands and knees. The Philosopher cut him again. Pain washed the world white. Trevor staggered to his feet. The blade of smoke cut through from his shoulder to his hip. His body held together, but the agony could shatter his mind.
Over three thousand years ago, a landslide tumbled boulders into the Mediterranean sea. He had witnessed the power of stone and the force of the sea. Trevor brought all of this into his fist. Every ounce of strength. To set Misty free.
He turned his back on the Philosopher and punched the cage. Misty shouted her encouragement, attacking with him. The Philosopher cut him again. Trevor’s knees nearly buckled. But he slammed his knuckles into the smoke barrier. Another blow from the blade. He threw his weight behind a punch. The cage thinned again. He was nearly blind with pain. All he saw was Misty, fighting.
The Philosopher screeched behind him, raining cold fire with the blad
e.
One more blow. The smallest hole opened in the cage. Trevor dug his fingers in, barely able to stand. More of the cage pulled apart in his grip. The blade continued to slice his mind apart. He tore at the smoke, using any last grain of power.
The cage shuddered, crumbled. He forced his hand inside. Misty reached back to him. Their fingers laced together. Life poured back into him. Strength returned. Still gripping her, he used his other hand to pry pieces of the cage away. She kicked at the barrier, shattering the smoke.
“No!” the Philosopher wailed. “You belong buried in the filth...” He doubled his attack with another blade of smoke.
Pain racked Trevor, but he kept his focus on Misty. They beat a hole in the cage, large enough for her to climb through. He pulled and she lunged. Misty finally crashed back into his arms.
Once she was fully in the early sunlight, the smoke cage dissipated. A morning breeze thinned it to nothing. The Philosopher’s smoke blades, however, persisted. He slashed down into Trevor with one attack. His other blade thrust forward into Misty’s gut.
She screamed and doubled over. Fury burned in Trevor, hotter than any pain. He grabbed the Philosopher’s wrist, shattering the bone. Pushing the attack, he drove his enemy to the ground.
The Philosopher’s other hand waved the blade around and Trevor pinned that arm. An incantation started to spill from the Philosopher’s lips, forming grainy red smoke.
Trevor called back to Misty. “Don’t let him speak.”
The pain was still etched on her face, but she leaped down at the Philosopher, placing her hand over his mouth.
She spoke, strained. “I never want to hear another word out of this fucker.”
The smoke blades drifted away, harmless. Trevor covered the Philosopher’s eyes with his palm.
“We blocked his power. And his escape.” The body lurched with inhuman strength, but he and Misty held him down, pressed to the dirt. “They hate taking bodies of flesh. All that animal meat around them disgusts these bastards.”
“I hope he’s suffering.”
The body struggled again, weaker. “He dies.”
After another convulsion, the body stilled. Yellow light leaked out from beneath Trevor’s hand, fading in the sunlight. He and Misty stood from the man, whose eyes were closed, jaw slack.
“He’s breathing,” she said.
“The human’s alive. He didn’t do anything wrong. Just has shitty taste in music.” Sunlight warmed Trevor. The pain was a memory. He lived again with Misty. He took her hand and they backed away from the man on the ground. “He’ll wake up with a broken wrist and a lot of confusion.” They turned and stepped onto the winding street. “We were never here.”
The descent was broken into new sunlight and the cool remaining shadows of night. He and Misty walked at the edge of the road, hand in hand. Each bump of her hip or shoulder brightened him.
She broke the silence. “Thank you. For finding me.”
They stopped. He looked over her. Dirty face, hair mussed. Her shirt was torn in places. And those green eyes, more confident than ever. Undimmed. Lovely. He kissed her. They were flesh and blood, connected. And they shared the power he’d known all his life.
“Thank you.” He spoke as they pulled apart. “For saving me.”
Gravity resumed their walk down the hill. “Will the Philosophers try again?”
“Doubtful.” If they threatened her, he’d relish destroying them. “You’re too strong now.”
A car came up the road and they moved to the side, near a low Spanish style house. The car slowed, passed, turned around behind them and crawled forward as it approached again. A dingy plastic sign for a pizza delivery was suction cupped to the roof. Breaks squealing, the car came to a stop.
The driver was a young Hispanic dude. “Ain’t you Trevor Sand?”
“Fuck yeah.” Trevor gave him the universal hand symbol of rock and roll.
The guy dug a cell phone from his back pocket. “Let me get a picture for my little sister. It’ll blow her mind.”
“What about you? Don’t you like my music?”
He shrugged. “Not my thing. But my sister thinks you’re bomb.”
“We’ll trade you.” Misty made a little spectacle of arranging her wild hair. “Give us a ride, you get a picture.”
“Deal. Just made my last delivery.” He hit a button and the locks on his little hatchback snapped.
Trevor opened the back door for Misty. He couldn’t help watching every sweet curve as she slid in. He joined her in the cramped backseat and the car lurched forward.
Misty wound her fingers together with Trevor’s, but kept her focus forward on the driver. “Pizza delivery first thing in the morning?”
“This is Hollywood.” The driver threw up his hands, then gripped the steering wheel again to take them through a sharp turn. “Twenty-four-seven.”
Trevor took in the mobile office. GPS, air freshener, some hot-rod and fitness magazines. “What’s your name, dude?”
“Ruben.”
“How old’s your sister?”
Misty dug her nails into his palm and muttered. “No ideas...”
He shot her a reassuring look. “She knows good music.”
“Fifteen. She was even bitching about how she couldn’t see your show last night.”
Misty added, “It was a hell of a show.”
“But she was too young to get in.” Trevor rolled down the window, bringing fresh morning air into the car. “We have all-ages gigs too.”
“So where am I driving you two to?”
“Hollywood Boulevard. Gladstone Hotel.”
“I know that one.”
Misty leaned forward. “What time is it?”
Ruben checked his watch. “Around seven-fifteen.”
She turned to Trevor. “I need to make another stop.” There was a shadow of concern in her eyes.
He nodded. “Anything.”
Her smile was partly relieved, partly wicked. She spoke to Ruben. “Can you get us to Santa Monica?”
“Damn. Just for a photo?”
Trevor let go of Misty’s hand and pulled a pen and receipt pad off the front seat. “Hell of a lot more than that.” He signed his name on the top slip of paper, surrounding it with quick sketches of stars and a crescent moon. “Give this to your sister.” He tossed the pad back to the front. “It’ll get her into any show she’s old enough for.”
“No bullshit?”
“I don’t bullshit, Ruben.”
“Guess we’re going to fucking Santa Monica.”
Trevor put his hand out. “Let me borrow your phone too.”
“Why the hell not?” Ruben handed it to him.
Misty whispered, just for Trevor, “Thanks.”
He looked at her. Those eyes had haunted fevered dreams of inspiration. She’d only lived in songs. Now she was real. More complete than he could’ve imagined. “When I told you anything, I meant it. Forever.”
* * *
So what if she was in the backseat of a pizza delivery guy’s car. This was Trevor. It was rock and roll. And she was part of it now. Before last night, she had no face. Just a body to push buttons, following directions. In this new world, monsters could be defeated. It was a place where she mattered. Her strength could shape events. And her needs could be met. Exceeded with sex, wild and free. She pulled Trevor into a kiss. He had told her what he meant. Now she felt it.
They pulled apart. A slow, wicked smile grew on his face. “You’re a fucking force of nature.”
“This ain’t a limo.” Reuben interrupted the moment.
Trevor gave her a wink and dialed Ruben’s phone. He talked to Lee. When he asked the address in Santa Monica, she told him and Ruben at the same time. A plan was set. They
rolled down the hill and into the thick of the city.
Sunlight washed the Sunset Strip, but it didn’t clean it. Stained sidewalks. Broken glass glittered like the eyes of spiders. Grime collected in doorway corners. People collected in shadows. The nighttime cruising cars were replaced by commuters.
She turned to Trevor, the fears of her old life creeping in. “My car.”
He squinted in the sun as it reflected off the mirrored windows of the buildings around them. Undisturbed.
“It’ll be taken care of. A few phone calls. I don’t wreck things like Kent Gaol, but I know how to clean up a mess or two.”
Even in the day, secrets could come from anywhere. “Kent Gaol? He’s a...” She dropped her voice, glancing to see if Ruben was listening.
Trevor nodded and whispered. “One of us.”
Us. A world passed by the car. Stores and offices. People driving, walking. Young and old, of all races. Human. It wasn’t her world anymore.
His eyes grew serious as he watched her. “If you want to go back, we can work out some arrangement.”
It took a moment to answer. “I just need to...adjust.” She was a Muse to a demon. It wasn’t blind obedience, though. Trevor showed her what she meant to him. They fit. But what was her new life going to be. She didn’t take directions anymore. It was hers to craft.
They were silent in the constant noise of LA traffic. She imagined how she’d capture it with a stereo recorder, then overlay the sounds in the computer to create the setting. Car radios sent a mix of music styles and talk into the air. Bus engines growled. Motorcycles whined or rumbled. Horns honked. Sirens cut above it all. Some people got out of the fire engine’s path. Others were oblivious. Most resumed their drive quickly in the wake of the emergency vehicles. Mundane details she’d hardly noticed anymore.