Five Elements #1

by Dan Jolley

  “So, that’s it. The weird blood balloon grabbed me, and next thing I knew I was waking up in that courtyard.”

  Dr. Conway massaged the back of his own neck. “So the four of you used your elemental powers to fight off an entire chapter of the Eternal Dawn?”

  Brett shrugged. “And some of those hunter creatures.”

  Dr. Conway’s knees seemed to get weak all of a sudden. He lowered himself onto a pile of fallen masonry and buried his face in his hands. “My whole adult life, this is exactly what I’ve been trying to prevent.”

  Brett sat down beside Dr. Conway. “So you always knew this stuff was real? Monsters and magick and everything?”

  Dr. Conway went back to staring at the ground between his feet. “In a word, yes. Years ago, Gabe’s parents and Greta Jaeger and I were bound together. In pretty much the same way you and Gabe and Lily and Kaz are now. We knew about this place. We knew the Dawn wanted to connect Arcadia to the real world. And we knew that if we could destroy Arcadia, we had to try.”

  Dr. Conway stood up and stretched, and gestured up the street with his thumb. Brett fell in beside him as they started walking again. “Things went wrong. What we tried to do didn’t work. Blew up in our faces.”

  “But, wait, Dr. Conway. What’s so bad about this place? Why would you try to destroy it?”

  Dr. Conway gave Brett a look as if he’d asked “Why wouldn’t you want several thousand black widow spiders sleeping in your bed?” But before he could come out with an answer, Brett’s toe kicked a small, loose cobblestone along the street, where it bounced, rolled, and fell into a six-foot-wide hole at the edge of the sidewalk.

  With a piercing shriek, an animal the size of a golden retriever shot straight up out of the hole. It looked like a smaller version of a hunter, but then a pair of five-foot-long wings sprang out from its sides. Before Brett could ask “What the heck is that thing?” a dozen more just like it shot up out of the hole as if fired from a machine gun. Brett flinched as they all took up the first one’s grating, fingernails-on-chalkboard screech, and their collective wingspan momentarily blotted out the sky.

  “Abyssal bats!” Dr. Conway shouted. “Brett, get under that cart!”

  Brett did, scrambling under a dirty, half-collapsed cart that lay near the corpse of the horse that had once drawn it. From there, peeking through gaps in the cart’s floorboards, he got a better look at the creatures. Their bodies looked a lot like the hunters’ had, at least as far as being vaguely canine and lacking skin and eyes and noses. But where the hunters had a lot in common with huge predators such as mountain lions, these things were half the size and ten times as aerodynamic. And their huge, translucent wings, shot through with visible veins, bore long, daggerlike claws at their tips. Claws that matched the ones on their feet, Brett noted. The bats circled above the hole they’d come out of, locked in on Dr. Conway, and attacked.

  A stiff wind kicked up, blowing Brett’s hair in his face, and suddenly Dr. Conway just . . . wasn’t there anymore. Brett blinked, looking around frantically—Don’t leave me alone here!—but spotted Dr. Conway a dozen yards farther up the road, just standing there, calm as ever. The abyssal bats whirred through the empty air where he’d disappeared, banked like a flock of birds, and came after him again.

  Dr. Conway threw up his arms and bared his teeth in a snarl, and a gust of wind came whistling through the street like a freight train. It blasted the first several abyssal bats straight back into the ones behind them, and half the pack—swarm—flock? Half the creatures lost their purchase in the air entirely and thudded into the street. The other half wheeled away, regrouped, and lined up for another dive-bomb attack.

  Dr. Conway pointed up a side street. “Brett, run! We’re almost there! Go to the second house on the left!”

  Brett didn’t want to leave. He and his friends had pulled some pretty cool stunts with their newfound abilities back in the theater, but Dr. Conway was a master. He wondered if Greta Jaeger could do the same kind of awesome moves with water that Gabe’s uncle could with air.

  But as the abyssal bats came rocketing back at Dr. Conway, their talons and teeth and God-awful screeching convinced Brett to do as he’d been told. He sprinted up the street, which opened into an upscale residential neighborhood. A series of fine Victorian homes lined the left side of the street. Or rather, they’d been fine at some point but were now half-collapsed or burned or both. Brett hurried toward them, even as he heard the distant sound of another abyssal bat splatting against the earth.

  Second house on the left!

  Brett vaulted over an ornate wrought-iron fence, ran through the tiny front yard of the second house, and bounded up the steps. He grabbed the front door handle, turned it, and pushed—and stumbled into a luxurious foyer.

  Quickly he shut the door behind him, not wanting to attract the attention of whatever winged, fanged unpleasantness might be roaming the streets outside, and sagged against the doorframe.

  For a moment he thought he’d entered a new kind of dream. The interior of the house didn’t match the exterior in even the tiniest way.

  The thick rugs on the floor had no dust on them. They weren’t even threadbare. Could have been bought earlier that day, for all Brett could tell. The fancy chairs and love seat were likewise clean and in perfect shape, despite looking like the kind of stuff you’d see in some sort of historical exhibit. Brett looked up, trying to find the source of a faint hissing sound, and saw gas-burning lights set high on the walls, their flickering flames giving off the tiniest wisps of black smoke as they burned.

  “How did you find me?”

  Brett almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a woman’s voice to his left. To make matters worse, he realized she’d been standing in a doorway, watching him, maybe since he came in from the street, but she’d kept so still that his brain hadn’t recognized her as a person. Trying to get his heart to calm down, Brett asked, “Wh-wh-who’re you?”

  The woman took a couple of steps closer to him. The first thing Brett noticed was how astonishingly tall she was. She was also thin and graceful, with long, black hair and piercing blue eyes. She took yet another step, and in the illumination of the gaslights, Brett could see that her skin was beyond pale. A faint map of veins was visible beneath it, and when he squinted, he was pretty sure he could see the blood pump through them with every beat of her heart. Her clothes matched the house—old-fashioned, like something you’d see in a silent movie, he thought—but they were in a sad state, ripped and stained and scorched.

  “You first.” She leaned forward, peering at him. “What is your name? How dare you come here?”

  She said it calmly, gently even, but there was an alien texture to her voice that made Brett consider turning around and heading back out to find Dr. Conway. He put up his hands in what he hoped would come across as a peaceful gesture. “I’m looking for my brother! He’s here, somewhere. In Arcadia, I mean. I’m just trying to find him.”

  The woman cocked her head and smiled, and any trace of menace she might have presented vanished. “Ah. Family. Yes, I understand. Come with me.” She took Brett’s hand—hers was cool and oddly hard, as if made of living alabaster—and led him out of the foyer, down a short hallway, and into the kitchen.

  “So, uh . . . have you seen him?” Brett was afraid to try to pull his hand free. “My brother. Charlie? Imagine me, except older and taller and better-looking.”

  She gave him the briefest of glances. “The bats are getting very bad around here, you know.” She let go of his hand and went to a set of cabinets. They opened with a creak under her touch. “Here, let me get you something to drink. Something hot, to warm up your insides.”

  “Uh, okay. Thanks.” There was something really off about this lady. Brett backed into a counter. “So, I’m looking for Charlie Hernandez,” he tried again. “I was told he’d be here.”

  The woman had taken out a tea service, and at the word “here,” she slammed it down onto the countertop so hard
Brett was amazed none of the pieces shattered. He jumped, barely containing a yelp. The crash had made a terrific noise, and he winced at the thought of what it might attract from outside. “You don’t know what it took!” the woman said, her voice rising with each word. “You don’t know the pain!” Brett took a couple of steps backward, muscles tensing to run, but the storm seemed to pass as quickly as it had blown up. She calmed herself and smoothed the front of her dress with both hands. When she turned back to him, she had a bright and gentle smile in place. “It’s just, I’ve been so lonely since your father left.”

  My father? Who does she think I am?

  “Look,” he started, trying to sound reasonable, “I realize, I mean, this being the afterlife and all, maybe if you’ve still got people on the other side, it would get lonely, but I’m really just trying to find my brother. Can you help me? Please?”

  The woman turned back to the tea service. “Don’t be silly. You’re an only child.” To Brett’s growing concern—concern that threatened to tip over into horror—the woman poured nothing from an empty pitcher into equally empty teacups. It’s like a little kid’s tea party. It was the weirdest, creepiest thing Brett had ever seen. She picked up a smaller decanter, also empty, and tilted it over the cups. “Just the right touch of maple syrup. There, now. There we go.”

  Brett’s breath caught somewhere right behind his breastbone. Maple syrup in tea? That’s . . . just like Gabe.

  “Ma’am, I really appreciate the, uh, the tea, but I’ve been through a lot, and I’ve come a long way to get here. If you’ll just tell me whether you’ve seen my brother or not, I promise I’ll get out of your hair.”

  The woman whirled and flung the crystal pitcher across the room. It smashed against a marble countertop so hard Brett flinched from the shrapnel. The woman curled her hands into claws, her brilliant-blue eyes boring into Brett’s skull. She leaned toward him, and the bones of her face slid and cracked and changed. Suddenly the strange, pretty woman was gone, replaced by a howling, rage-filled creature that looked part human and part . . . dinosaur. Her voice boomed out like a massive fireworks display, every word an explosion.

  “Do you not realize all I did for you? Do you not understand the price I paid? The price we all paid?”

  The woman crouched, eyes still fixed on Brett, razor-sharp teeth bared in a terrifying snarl, about to pounce on him like some kind of jungle predator—when Dr. Conway’s voice rattled in from the front of the house.

  “Brett? Brett! Where are you?”

  The woman froze. Very, very slowly, she stood, and her face returned to normal. Or at least to “human.” Her head turned, degree by degree, to look at the doorway to the kitchen. Dr. Conway came sprinting in, and skidded to a halt in the middle of the floor, staring at her. His hair was plastered to the side of his head, and one of the sleeves of his shirt had been ripped off, but other than that he appeared unhurt.

  “Oh my God,” Dr. Conway whispered. “Oh my God.”

  A genuine sob escaped the woman’s lips, and tears fell from both eyes. Her voice sounded like a tiny child’s: “Steve? Is that you?”

  Dr. Conway crossed the kitchen in two huge steps and swept the woman up into his arms. She closed her eyes and returned the embrace, tears still flowing, but her mouth curved into a huge, heartfelt smile.

  Brett stood, staring, as his jaw tried to thump against his chest.

  “Uh . . . Dr. Conway? You know her?”

  “Of course I do.” He set the woman on her feet, gently smiling down at her. “This is Aria. She’s Gabe’s mother.”

  12

  “What did you do to Brett, you little creep?” Lily yelled at Jackson.

  Jackson Wright, aka Ghost Boy, didn’t look too ghostly now. He was standing in the middle of the rain-washed floor, right under where the ceiling had collapsed. He turned his face up to it and a gigantic smile stretched his idiot face wide.

  But the grin disappeared, along with what sounded like most of the air in Jackson’s lungs, when Gabe rammed his shoulder into Ghost Boy’s all-too-real stomach. Gabe wasn’t very big—Brett had beaten him easily every time they’d ever arm wrestled—but his fury lent him a strength even he wasn’t expecting. Gabe sat on Jackson’s chest, pinned down his arms at his sides, and screamed into his face: “Where’s Brett? Where’s my uncle?”

  “Ow! Let me go!” Jackson tried to squirm, but Gabe clamped his fingers on the boy’s wrists like twin vises. “That hurts!” Jackson frowned, and abruptly the idiot grin came back. “It hurts! It actually hurts!” And he laughed like a crazy person.

  That made Gabe even angrier. “Why’d the ritual work on Uncle Steve? He didn’t unlock the stupid Tablet! I did! Why did it work if he wasn’t who those crazies thought he was?”

  Gabe might as well not have said any of that for all the effect it had on Ghost Boy. Jackson’s laughter got louder and louder, and didn’t stop until well after Kaz and Greta had dragged Gabe off him.

  “Let go of me!” Gabe snapped, his eyes never leaving Jackson. “I’ll rip his head off!”

  “He can’t tell us anything if he doesn’t have a head,” Greta Jaeger murmured. The soothing tone of her voice took the fight out of Gabe but did nothing for his feelings toward Jackson. Greta went on: “This boy might have benefited from what happened to Steven and your friend Brett, but he didn’t cause it. That is the fault of the Dawn and the Dawn alone.”

  Kaz watched Greta Jaeger with narrowed eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  The question seemed to amuse her. “You’re welcome. I’m here because the rain told me you were in trouble. It seemed a good enough reason to leave Brookhaven.”

  That last sentence was casual enough to make Gabe wonder: Does she just break out of the asylum whenever she feels like it?

  “You should listen to the old woman,” Jackson said smugly, getting to his feet. “She speaks the truth. I didn’t—” But before he could finish the sentence, Lily kicked the back of Jackson’s left knee, dropping him to the debris-strewn floor again. He hadn’t even finished his yelp of pain before she wrapped her arms around his head and throat. In two seconds, the utterly unprepared Jackson’s face started turning purple.

  “Answer the question,” Lily hissed in Jackson’s ear. “Tell me what happened to Brett.”

  With a thud in the pit of his stomach, Gabe realized Lily might have just lost her only remaining brother. Both brothers gone, in less than a year’s time.

  Jackson seemed to realize that Lily meant a lot more business than Gabe had and that if she didn’t change her grip, he wouldn’t be able to keep breathing. He slapped at her arms and made a weak nodding motion, and might have been trying to say “All right! All right!” with what limited air she was allowing him. But he didn’t get the chance to talk, because the sound of multiple police sirens pierced the storm. They were getting closer in a hurry.

  “Come, children.” Greta Jaeger pointed toward the back exit. “We need to get away from this place.” She looked pointedly at Lily, who made a disgusted sound and released Jackson. He slumped to the floor, gasping as his face returned to its normal color. Greta made an impatient gesture toward him. “On your feet, boy. The police are on their way, and it won’t take long for the Dawn to return, either.”

  Kaz, not to be left out, prodded Jackson in the back with a broken length of rebar. “You heard the lady. Get a move on.”

  As they picked their way over the wreckage toward the back door, Gabe spoke up. “Won’t the police have better things to do than look for us? I mean, there’s a giant dragon thing out there in the city.”

  Greta shook her head. “The police have no connection to Arcadia. They won’t be able to see the null draak for what it is. Though they will see the damage it has caused. Come on, we need to hurry.”

  Greta Jaeger took the lead, guiding Gabe and his friends—and Jackson Wright—through the streets. Despite having spent the last nine years in a mental hospital, she clearly knew San Francisco very well and
led them on a winding path that not only guaranteed they’d shake any police pursuit, but also kept them mostly out of the rain. Along the way she spoke over her shoulder.

  “I get the feeling young Mr. Wright already knows most of what I’m going to tell you, but I need the rest of you to understand. It will sound insane—especially coming from an escapee from a mental institution—but given what you’ve already witnessed, I believe you’re ready to hear and accept it.”

  No one said anything. Well, no one except for Kaz, who poked Jackson in the back with the rebar and grumbled, “Keep up.” Gabe was surprised to see Kaz doing anything that aggressive. Maybe Kaz’s control over the earth had given him a new boost of confidence? Or maybe Kaz guessed that Jackson knew what had happened to Brett, and Jackson’s unwillingness to cooperate was making him angry. Either way, Gabe didn’t feel at all bad for the former ghost boy.

  Greta cleared her throat. “What you saw back there in the theater—with the ‘blood cocoon,’ as you call it—that was Balance at work. In order for anyone here to get to Arcadia, or vice versa, someone of the same bloodline has to take that person’s place. So, Lily, if your grandfather, let us say, were in Arcadia, you could swap places with him. But Gabe couldn’t, because he’s not related to you. Does that make sense?”

  Lily and Kaz nodded. Gabe said, “I guess so, yeah.”

  “All right, good. So. The Dawn knew that only a descendant of the Great Founder, of Jonathan Thorne himself, could have unlocked the Tablet. Finding someone with this blood connection would have allowed them to exchange whoever this person is for the Great Founder, which they desperately want to do. Their mistake was in thinking that Steven had unlocked the Tablet, when it was actually Gabe.” She pointed to the backpack holding the Tablet. Brett had passed the bag to Kaz moments before being sucked into the blood cocoon.

  “Wait, wait.” Gabe’s brow wrinkled up. “You’re saying I’m related to this Thorne guy?” Uncle Steve had never told him much about Gabe’s own family, but . . . Jeez, if I’m the great-whatever-grandson of an evil cult leader, that’s a pretty good reason not to.