All Those Explosions Were Someone Else's Fault

by James Alan Gardner

  But that clarity vanished when the thunder banged into me. The shock wave tossed my featherlight body head over heels.

  IT TOOK SEVERAL SECONDS FOR ME TO STABILIZE

  Air resistance finally stopped me. By then, the bat lay unmoving on the asphalt.

  Were-beasts can recover inhumanly fast, but at least we’d proved we had game. The remaining Darklings weren’t blind to the fact. They’d stayed back around the corner and didn’t have a good view, but they couldn’t miss the thunder of the sonic blast.

  “Sparks,” Lilith hissed. “You’re Ssssparkssss.”

  “Sssurprissse,” Miranda said.

  JOOLS CROUCHED OVER THE WERE-BAT

  Maybe Jools was checking the bat’s health. Still breathing? Not bleeding too much? But more likely, she was determining whether to whack him a bunch more times to make sure he was out.

  She didn’t have the chance. Without warning, the skeleton demon appeared out of nowhere behind her back.

  I THINK HE WAS SHADOW-WALKING

  You might have heard of the trick: Step into a shadow here, step out of a shadow there. I’d known several Darklings with that power. Since shadows didn’t show up in my Spark-o-Vision, I can’t be sure of what Skinless actually did, but let’s say he entered the darkness back where he was, then emerged from the shadows cast by the van.

  He was quiet and quick. No sooner had he arrived than he jumped onto Jools’s back and wrapped his hands around her throat. Then he started to cackle: a high-pitched eerie laughter that gave me goosebumps. His laughter went on and on, without pausing for breath, as it echoed off the walls of the alley. The skeleton began to glow with a dull gray light, the same shade as his dirty bones.

  Jools reacted immediately. She grabbed the hands around her neck, trying to pry off his bony fingers. It didn’t work; either Skinless was too strong or Jools couldn’t get a decent grip. When she realized she wasn’t making headway, she turned her back to the van and thrust hard backward.

  The skeleton smashed into the van with a sound like wooden wind chimes meeting a fender bender. The impact left a dent in the van’s rear panel, but the demon’s cackling only got louder. Skinless seemed amused by Jools’s attempts to hurt him. She turned and ran backward, crashing the Darkling full speed into the alley’s brick wall. The collision had no effect: no break in the cackling, no break in the choke hold.

  JOOLS KEPT BASHING THE DEMON INTO THE WALL

  But a memory sparked in my brain. My Grandpa Tang collects Chinese prints—everything from views of a single budding branch to village scenes full of visual jokes. My favorites were always the monsters: the ghosts, the hopping vampires, the crazy-eyed demons. When I was little, I could stare at those for hours. (I know where Kimmi got her thing for Darklings.)

  I remembered a woodcut of a corpse riding a man in exactly the same pose as Skinless on Jools: piggyback, with skeletal hands on the victim’s throat. Grandpa Tang gleefully translated the picture’s caption for me. “Once the nightmare fixes its grip on a victim’s neck, no strength under heaven can make it let go.”

  THE FIRST LAW OF DARK AND LIGHT SAYS NO POWER IS UNBEATABLE

  No attack gets through every defense; no defense withstands every type of attack. The law applies equally to magic and super-science. It doesn’t mean that every power has a tricky weakness—sometimes the defense against an attack is just a whole lot of armor. But the law guarantees that nothing is 100 percent unstoppable.

  On the other hand, some powers are invincible in narrow contexts. Bogeymen simply can’t be seen when looked at directly. Antaei can never be defeated as long as they stay in contact with bare earth. These are magical trump cards that Darklings possess in special circumstances. Such powers don’t violate the law, because there are obvious ways to beat them. Look at the bogeyman in a mirror. Lift an Antaeus off the ground. Mythic powers inevitably come with mythic vulnerabilities; exploit the vulnerability, and you win.

  So what was the defense against strangler demons? “Simple,” Grandpa Tang told me. “They flee at the sound of sacred gongs.”

  That was a slam dunk in ancient China, but since the UW campus didn’t have any Taoist temples, Jools was in trouble. As long as Skinless was locked on her back (hands on her throat, legs around her waist) she absolutely couldn’t throw him off.

  Jools needed help. Miranda could give it. She moved toward the demon and opened her mouth, obviously intending to belt out another sonic blast. Jools was thrashing too much to allow a clear shot, but Miranda shouted, “Stand still, damn it!”

  Easier said than done. Jools was having a Hannah moment: struggling for air and freedom. Me, I’d be so crazed, I wouldn’t be able to think. Jools had more presence of mind. She began to slow down … but then the issue became moot.

  Lilith flared with blood-colored light and pointed at Miranda. “KNEEL!”

  IT WAS THE VOICE

  The Voice: a power of magical command with which vampires dominate other creatures. It’s mind rape, pure and simple. It’s also illegal as hell, not just by human laws, but by Darkling ones too. In 1994, three Elders of the Dark swore in a binding public statement that the power would never be abused. Any vampire caught using the Voice had to face an open tribunal; if they couldn’t justify themselves, they’d be executed.

  Then Sparks arrived in 2001. In an equally binding statement, the Elders swore that while Voicing a Human or Darkling was still totally out, heads wouldn’t roll if you Voiced a Spark.

  Still, most fights don’t reach the point where the Voice comes out of its holster. The Light and the Dark get into punch-ups all the time, but only on the level of bar brawls, not open attempts at murder. It’s like rival sports fans smacking each other under the bleachers: Fists are fair game but weapons aren’t.

  Using the Voice means shit just got real.

  “KNEEL!” LILITH COMMANDED

  The word exploded from Lilith’s mouth as a fountain of bloodred light. Until that moment, I’d imagined the Voice as merely verbal. Spark-o-Vision let me see the magic behind it: a hyper-powerful Submission spell. The spoken word was merely the trigger, like saying, “Abracadabra.” The Voice’s real power lay in the ensuing bolt of arcane energy. It spiked into the victim and crushed the person’s will.

  Lilith’s bolt sped toward Miranda as fast as an arrow. But the word had been spoken first—the “KNEEL!” that pulled the trigger. In the fraction of a second between hearing that word and the arrival of the magic, Miranda’s ungodly fast reflexes let her throw up her force field.

  The protective golden sphere inflated around her with the speed of a car’s airbag. When the red bolt struck, the sphere shuddered. Flecks of crimson splattered across the sphere’s exterior like blood marks on an egg yolk. The ball stayed intact, but so did the flecks: permanent points of corruption in the golden surface, like acid burns on skin.

  Miranda inhaled sharply, as if she’d felt pain from the bloody splash. She raised her head to retaliate, but Lilith was already shouting another “KNEEL!” A new red bolt flew out of Lilith’s mouth, hammering once more against Miranda’s force field. More red splashed across the gold, like mud beginning to cover a windshield.

  Miranda sucked in her breath; she was hurting. Again, Lilith ordered, “KNEEL!”

  MIRANDA WAS ON PURE DEFENSE; JOOLS WAS CHOKING; SHAR AND RICHARD WERE UNCONSCIOUS

  Me? I drifted above the fray.

  All right, Kim, enough avoidance. Get down there.

  I unzipped my hoodie and grabbed its bottom hem with both hands. I raised my arms and flapped. The coat caught the air and gave me a serious forward push.

  As light as a fly, as strong as a human. What does F=ma tell us? Huge force and tiny mass means insane acceleration, even if my “wingspan” was minuscule.

  Zoom.

  NEITHER COATTAILS NOR THE HUMAN BODY ARE DESIGNED FOR AERONAUTIC PRECISION

  My first stroke sent me veering toward the nearest building. If air resistance hadn’t slowed me down, I would have sm
acked into the brick wall. But my mass was so negligible, the air drag braked me like an anchor. Imagine throwing a feather: It leaves your hand at high speed, but stops in a fraction of a second. I wasn’t as fluffy as a feather, so I traveled several meters before I stopped. Still, air resistance was my friend, ensuring that one bad flap didn’t send me shooting for miles.

  My next flap was better aimed. Thanks to that old “automatic processing in the brain,” a single flap was enough to make me an ace.

  How amazing is that? How suspiciously unbelievable. But at the time, I didn’t question it.

  The super-dog who didn’t bark.

  WHO TO SAVE FIRST?

  Jools seemed the closest to dying. But how could I save her?

  The jacket of the skeleton’s tracksuit waved in the breeze, exposing his rib cage. Easy enough to fly between his ribs and into his chest. Once inside, I could revert to normal size, at which point one of two things would happen: Either his bones would be too strong for me to break, and I’d be squeezed out between the ribs like a hard-boiled egg through an egg slicer; or else I’d rupture Mr. Skinless’s thoracic cavity into a million pieces and kill him.

  I’D KNOWN DEMONS; I’D TALKED WITH THEM; I’D DANCED WITH THEM

  I didn’t know Skinless, but still. He was an intelligent being who once had been human. True, he was trying to kill Jools; but surely I could cool off a jerkwad dudebro without actually murdering him.

  I got an idea.

  ONE FLAP OF MY COATTAILS TOOK ME DOWN TO ALLEY LEVEL

  Jools was still on her feet, but her thrashing and bashing Skinless against the wall had slowed to a dizzy reel. The demon never stopped cackling—it was obviously part of his demon shtick. That meant that his mouth was wide open. Another flap and I flew inside.

  I came to a stop against a molar. With that as a point of comparison, I could see I was now the size of a fingernail clipping—much smaller than before. How did that happen? And when? I must have done it instinctively: maybe to lighten myself on the wind, maybe to fit into Skinless’s mouth. One way or another, it meant I wasn’t just stuck with two settings, housefly-size and normal. I could vary my height as need be.

  I pictured growing to thumbnail size and it happened, no fuss, no bother. I adjusted my height so I straddled the molar: one foot on either side as I stood on the adjacent teeth. I squatted like a weightlifter preparing to pick up a barbell. It brought to mind the only time I’d let Shar talk me into going to the gym. (Cookies had been involved.) I’d been so pathetic, I could barely pick up the barbell’s bar, never mind adding extra weights. I hate being bad at anything, and I was certain all the jocks were looking at me disdainfully. Which I also hate.

  All that hate came back to my mind as I squatted above the tooth. My anger made my adrenaline surge. I dug my fingers under the tooth’s body and heaved with all my strength.

  My normal human strength.

  Focused on a single molar.

  Which wasn’t firmly rooted, because skeletons don’t have gums.

  I reefed out that molar like plucking a daisy with a steam shovel. The tooth left its socket so easily, it took me by surprise. I fell backward and lost my grip; the tooth flew out of my hands and hurtled toward the roof of the mouth. The tooth hit Skinless’s hard palate and kept going, embedding itself deeply. When it finally came to rest, its roots dangled down like a pair of white stalactites.

  SKINLESS HOWLED

  Instinctively, he raised a hand to his jaw in the classic “I’ve got a toothache” position.

  Bzzzt. Wrong. The demon’s “you can’t dislodge me” magic only worked as long as he kept both hands on the victim’s throat.

  Jools must have heard the skeleton’s cackling change to a howl. She retained enough strength for one last move: She leapt and came down back-first on the pavement, with Skinless between her and the asphalt. A classic wrestling slam, with the demon’s head hitting the pavement first, and Jools’s whole weight landing on top of it.

  The crunch of bone must have been gruesome. I wasn’t paying attention—Jools’s move sent me caroming inside the demon’s head like a pinball. Zing-zing-zing off the skull bones, then I shot out some orifice; I think it was an earhole but I was too dizzy to be sure. By the time my senses cleared, both Jools and the demon were sprawled unmoving.

  The skeleton’s skull was starred with cracks, like a windshield struck by a rock. To a mortal, such damage would be fatal; to a Darkling, likely not. As I’ve said, if attacks don’t kill Darklings outright, they can usually recover. It might take weeks or months, but Skinless would eventually bounce back as good as new.

  With Jools, I couldn’t tell. Her neck was badly bruised from the choking, and she wasn’t breathing. I shifted my vision inside her throat and saw that her windpipe was crushed. The damage was so bad I could instantly discern it. That meant it was god-awful, because my knowledge of anatomy was woeful. (I’m a geologist, okay? I do rocks, not icky squishy organisms.)

  I didn’t have a clue how to help Jools survive. Fly into her throat? Reestablish the airway by pushing through the ruins of her esophagus? Or perhaps I could perform a tracheotomy, punching through her neck below the wreckage and making a hole Jools could breathe through.

  What if I did it wrong? What if I killed her?

  This was crazy. I had superpowers. Why was I so useless?

  JOOLS FLARED WITH A BRILLIANT GREEN LIGHT, LIKE A FIREWORK IGNITING IN HER THROAT

  She took a shuddering breath. The air rasped in her throat, barely getting through because the passage was still blocked by windpipe debris. The green light flared again, and the next breath sounded clearer.

  I sighed with relief. High-speed regeneration. Some Darklings could heal that quickly, but the power was rare—maybe one Darkling in a thousand. In Sparks, I didn’t know the percentages. Kimmi had read voraciously about the Dark, but never felt the tiniest interest in the Light.

  Kimmi, you were a dumbass. In more ways than one.

  But Jools would be okay. She seemed deeply unconscious—maybe her healing didn’t work if she was awake—but she wouldn’t die.

  Okay. Deep breath. Time to deal with Lilith.

  I HADN’T BEEN BLIND TO THE FIGHT BETWEEN LILITH AND MIRANDA

  My 360-degree vision continuously takes in everything around me. However, I can focus my attention selectively, and I’d been centered on Jools. Now I shifted to Miranda and Lilith, to see how their duel was going.

  Not well. Lilith’s Voice had spewed bloodred corruption over almost all of Miranda’s force field; only tiny patches of gold remained. I could guess what would happen when the last patch vanished. Miranda was already doubled over, as if the weight of Lilith’s “KNEEL!” was forcing her to her knees.

  “KNEEL!”

  “KNEEL!”

  “KNEEL!”

  The Voice kept lashing out, one Submission spell after another. Each spell required mystic energy to fuel it; Lilith was burning her reserves at a terrible rate. Yet she didn’t seem to be tiring.

  How had she amassed such a huge store of magic? Back in the roadhouse, she’d been nothing special. Darklings grow stronger with age, but that takes decades, even centuries. They can take shortcuts, but the means are forbidden: pacts with unearthly beings or stealing life force from fellow Darklings. Increases in strength can only be bought at great cost—loss of sanity, coherence, control.

  No wonder Lilith was abyssing. I flapped my coattails and flew toward her.

  SHOULD I PULL ANOTHER TOOTH?

  That would require entering Lilith’s mouth, which meant exposing myself to the red bolts of magic shot by her Voice.

  No way.

  Where to attack instead? Her eyes? Ew. Lilith might be lethally insane, but I couldn’t stomach the thought of gouging her eyeballs.

  What else?

  I CIRCLED TO THE SIDE OF LILITH’S HEAD

  I shrank as small as the point of a pin, and flew straight down her left ear canal.

  If you’re a poet and
you need a symbol for thick, creepy darkness, you could do worse than a vampire’s ear canal at midnight on the winter solstice. But with Spark-o-Vision, I saw the place lit as brightly as a gym. Lilith’s eardrum was a huge climbing wall just waiting to be conquered.

  YOU HEAR “EARDRUM” AND PICTURE A TAUT FLAT SURFACE, LIKE A KETTLEDRUM

  No. I was looking straight at the eardrum, and it was much more complicated. The top third was thin and pinkish; the rest was thicker and grayer, with a toothpicky bone down the middle. Spark-o-Vision told me the bone was attached to other teeny bones deeper in the ear. The “drum” part caught vibrations and transferred them to the toothpick, which sent the vibes down the chain until they reached the auditory nerve.

  So the toothpick bone had KICK ME written all over it.

  I GREW A FEW ORDERS OF MAGNITUDE

  I ended up lying on the floor of the canal, propped up on my elbows. And yes, I got earwax all over my pants and hoodie. Vampire earwax. One of my first accomplishments as a Spark: getting waterproofed by undead dubbin.

  I felt Lilith’s head shift. She must have sensed me like something stuck in her ear. But the feeling wasn’t enough to stop her using the Voice; further distraction was required. I figured slamming my boots on that bony toothpick would do the job.

  I was not wrong.

  I STOMPED BOTH FEET AS HARD AS I COULD INTO THAT FLIMSY LITTLE BONE

  I still hadn’t gotten my head around the concept of “normal human strength in an eeny-weeny package.”

  WE GEOLOGISTS KNOW ABOUT STRESS

  Shear stress, normal stress, tectonic stress—the pushes and pulls that turn flat beds of rock into bizarrely tilted folds.

  Stress isn’t just force, it’s force divided by area. If you press your hand against a wall, not much happens. If you press a thumbtack against the wall, the same force gets focused on the tack’s tiny point. Result? The tack pierces the wall.