Soul Killer

by Unknown Author

  Another band of men appeared in the murk ahead of her. Guns flashed and banged. “Mutant!” someone yelped.

  Mutant. It was another piece of the puzzle. She mm a mutant. It was the source of her powers, and for some reason, many ordinary people feared and hated her kind. But she had no time to ponder that piece of information, either. It was obvious that despite her efforts to go unnoticed, someone had spotted her and called out a posse of hunters to stalk her. They’d surrounded her, and now they were moving in for the kill. '

  If she could fly, she could soar over the perimeter of their circle and leave them all behind. She called for an updraft to carry her aloft, and the atmosphere responded to her will. But she realized immediately that the wind was bearing her along too slowly and that she was riding it too awkwardly, like a cow struggling to swim. Her gift was still weak, and her technique no better than on that long ago summer day in Kenya when it had first occurred to her to try flying. She couldn’t escape by air after all, not in her present condition. AH she’d succeeded in doing was making herself a better target.

  Guns flickered, barked, and boomed. A bullet tugged at her sodden white tresses, startling her and breaking her concentration. The steady current of air supporting her dissolved into useless chaos. She fell the fifteen feet back onto the street.

  Ororo landed heavily. The impact jabbed pain through her ankle and tumbled her sprawling on the asphalt. She scrambled to her feet and ran in the direction of a hamburger restaurant.

  Beyond the building was a pair of green metal dumpsters. If she’d pulled far enough ahead of her pursuers to make them lose sight of her, she might be able to hide inside one of the bins. She poised herself to jump into the one on the right, and then a bullet cracked into it and, whining, ricocheted.

  Too late. The hunters had her in their sights. Trying to quash her fear, to silence the insidious voice that whispered that no thief’s trick or mutant ability would save her tonight, she dashed on. Her ankle throbbed with every other step.

  Changing course whenever she glimpsed motion ahead of her, trying repeatedly and unsuccessfully to hide herself, she ran until she lost all sense of direction. Until the breath rasped in her throat, and her long stride decayed into an agonizing hobble. Until at last she found herself standing at bay on the lawn in front of a long, one-story brick elementary school, with a flagpole to her right, bike racks to her left, and the mob closing in on her like a noose.

  She could see that there were about twenty of them, ordinary citizens armed, for the most part, with the sort of weapons anyone could legally purchase for hunting or home defense. She sensed that if she were operating at full capacity, she could scatter them easily, and the realization made her plight seem all the more galling.

  “What is wrong with you people?” she cried. “I have done nothing to you!”

  She didn't actually expect anyone to answer. She thought they’d simply open fire again. But perhaps her frantic flight had served to convince them that she posed no real threat to them, and thus, now that they had her cornered, they were willing to take the time to justify themselves.

  A heavyset, thirty-ish man in a John Deere cap said, “You got a lotta gall to ask that, lady, after you muties attacked our city!” He sounded genuinely outraged.

  “You tell her, Arnie!” shouted someone else. “Hell, we all saw it on TV!”

  “I do not care what you saw,” Ororo said, “I was not involved.” Despite the lacunae in her memory, she was certain of that.

  Arnie laughed. “Sure you weren’t. This weather just happened, didn’t it? Even though all the scientists say that it violates the laws of nature. You ’d never make a flood to drown all us homo sapiens like rats, would you, not a sweet little monster chick like you.”

  “You’re wrong,” Ororo said. Suddenly she remembered what she was doing in Natchez. “I came here to stop the rain. To help you.”

  “Nice try,” Arnie said, “but you can’t pull the wool over our eyes. We know you muties wanna wipe out every real human being in the world. Let’s clean up the gene pool, boys.” He lifted his .357. “We’ll all shoot together, on three. One—” "

  “Wait!” yelled a skinny man in a nylon windbreaker who, Ororo now observed, was carrying not a weapon but a camcorder. “Let me get a better angle. I don’t know if I can really shoot anything in this light, but if I can, I bet Hard Copy'll pay plenty for it.”

  “Okay,” Arnie said, “but hurry.” The aspiring video journalist scuttled around the ring of hunters. “Two—”

  Prompted by a surge of instinct, Ororo thrust out her hands. Overhead, lightning flared and thunder crashed. Dazzling bolts of electricity sizzled from her fingers.

  But once again, her control was lacking. Instead of striking any of her tormentors, her own personal lightning leaped harmlessly to the metal bike racks and flagpole.

  The blinding, crackling blasts did startle the mob and send them reeling backward. Though the effort of casting the thunderbolts had all but drained her strength, Ororo plunged forward in an effort to break out of the ring.

  For an instant she thought she was going to make it. Then someone clubbed her from behind. The blow spiked pain through her skull and knocked her down in the cold, wet grass.

  “The freak tried to electrocute us!” someone exclaimed indignantly.

  “No,” she groaned, dazed. “Just shock you ... would not kill...”

  “Can you stand her up again?” asked the man with the camcorder. “It’ll look better if you shoot her and then she falls.”

  “Forget it,” Amie said, suddenly looming over his prey and pointing his automatic at her face. 1 ‘We need to finish her off before she tries any more tricks.”

  A shadow swept across the sky. Ororo thought it was shaped like an enormous bird, or at any rate, some sort of winged creature. An instant later, when it lit on the muddy, saturated ground, she saw that it was actually a tall, pale, black-bearded man wrapped in a high-collared cape. His aquiline features were by no means conventionally handsome, but, strong, intelligent, and proud, they were striking and magnetic nonetheless.

  The mob jumped back at the newcomer’s unexpected arrival, and he raked them with a contemptuous gaze. “I remember when cowardly rabble hunted supposed witches and heretics through the streets,” he said in a deep, lightly accented voice. “The quarry has changed, but I see the sport remains the same.’’

  The man in the cloak radiated power and utter confidence. Indeed, his demeanor was so intimidating that the mob simply goggled at him for a moment. Finally Arnie swallowed and said, “You should have flown right on by, mutant. Now we’re going to kill you too.” His voice was a little shaky.

  “You have no conception how fortunate you are,” the stranger replied. “Out of deference to this lady’s sensibilities, I will permit you to flee. But I hope you’ll choose to stand your ground instead. She was telling the truth, you see. She would not have killed you, no matter how desperate her plight. I, on the other hand, would take profound pleasure in slaughtering you like the swine you are,”

  The hunters hesitated. Then Arnie spat an obscenity, pointed his .357 at the figure in black, and opened fire. In the next two seconds, all his companions did the same. The roar of their weapons was deafening.

  Ororo cringed, but her would-be rescuer didn’t fall. The sneer on his sensuous lips didn’t even waver. It was as if the bullets slamming into his flesh were powerless to harm him, and indeed, though some of them must surely be hitting him in the head, they left no marks.

  The guns fell silent as, one by one, the shooters exhausted their ammunition. The humans’ savage expressions gave way to bewilderment and dismay. The pale man strode forward, his inky cape flowing behind him, someone emitted a high, quavering wail, and then the hunters turned and fled.

  The stranger pounced on Arnie like a cat pouncing on a mouse, then hoisted him into the air. “You appear to be the leader of this pack of jackals,” the cloaked man said, “so I think it only appr
opriate that you precede your followers into death. Rest assured, I’ll send them traipsing after you soon enough.” The white fingers of his left hand closed around

  Arnie’s throat. The human thrashed and beat at him with his pistol, to no effect whatsoever.

  “No!” said Ororo, dragging herself to her knees. “Don’t!”

  Turning toward her, the man in black arched an eyebrow. His face and body language betrayed no strain at all, for all that he was holding a full-grown man off the ground with one hand and strangling him with the other. “You can’t expect everyone to abide by your own scruples, my dear Ororo, particularly when chastising a wretch so manifestly unfit to live.”

  Arnie lost his grip on the .357, which fell and splashed in a puddle. His face was red, his eyes bulged, and tiny, choking noises escaped from his throat.

  “Please,” Ororo repeated, “for my sake. He ... he said he believed that I’ve been hurting people.”

  The stranger rolled his dark eyes. “Very well, my dear one. For you.” He dropped Arnie on the ground, where the would-be mutant killer lay shaking and wheezing. His attacker’s long, pointed nails had sliced his neck. “Go, and don’t ever let me see your face again.” When the human didn’t spring into motion immediately, he gave him a brutal kick in the ribs. “Run, cur!”

  Arnie sobbed, dragged himself to his feet, and staggered away. The cloaked man turned his back on him at once, as if he’d ceased to exist.

  All courtly gentleness now, the newcomer offered Ororo his hand and lifted her to her feet. His touch was startlingly cold. Probably the rain had chilled his flesh.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For rescuing me, and for sparing him.”

  He smiled at her. “I never anticipated finding you here, although considering what’s transpiring, perhaps I should have. You’re fortunate that I noticed the mob shooting and scurrying about, and flew lower to investigate. I must confess, I wouldn’t have expected such courteous words from you, despite the circumstances of our meeting.”

  “1 don’t know what you mean by that.” She smiled ruefully. “I don’t know a lot of things. Something’s wrong with niy memory. But you called me by name. You know me.” “Of course.” His dark eyes gazed down at her, studying her face. “But you no longer know me.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I don’t remember much of anything after my days in Africa.”

  “Then an introduction is in order.” He was still holding her hand, and now he raised it to his lips, which proved to be just as icy cold as his fingers. “My name is Vlad, and as always, my beautiful windrider, I am at your service.”

  “That man—Arnie—said that you’re a mutant too.”

  Vlad grimaced. “About that, as so much else, Arnie is mistaken.” He led her toward the shelter of the school building’s doorway. “I am the king of another mighty race, of a realm that exists in secret alongside the nations that common people know. Years ago, I met you, loved you, and asked you to be my queen, but. . . circumstances tore us apart. Afterwards I lay incapacitated for a long time. I imagine you even believed me dead.” They stepped up onto a concrete porch and into the close quarters of the doorway. Ororo was grateful to escape the rain. “Do you truly not remember any of this?”

  Feeling vaguely ashamed of her ignorance, Ororo shook her head. “No. I hope that doesn’t hurt you. After you saved my life, that’s the last thing I want.”

  He smiled sardonically. “It’s scarcely a tonic for my pride, but I’m sure you’ll recall everything in time, as you recover from what ails you. Speaking of which, do you know what that is?”

  She shook her head. “Not really.”

  “Well, I can venture a guess,” the tall man said. “As I said, we’ve been separated for a long while, so I’m ignorant of your recent history. I can’t tel! you how you came to the United States, or to Natchez in particular.”

  “I came to stop the rain. I do remember that.”

  His eyes narrowed as if in annoyance. She sensed that he didn’t much like being interrupted by anyone, even a woman for whom he professed affection. But the next instant, his smile returned. ‘ ‘Ah. Well, what you may not have realized is that a mutual enemy of ours, a sorcerer called Belasco—” She tensed. “I see the name means something to you.”

  “Yes. I don’t truly remember who he is or what he’s done, but I know it was cruel and terrible.”

  “Indeed. He conjured this rain, but even that is the least of his mischief. He presently poses a threat to the entire world, which is why I came here to deal with him. I suspect that when you tried to disrupt his schemes, he attacked you and made you as you are now.”

  “Maybe,” Ororo said. “I do think that someone attacked me.”

  “Then there you have it,” said Vlad. “My dear one, I wish I could spend the whole night talking with you, reminiscing and reminding you of who you are, but sadly, time is of the essence. I must find you a safe refuge where you can complete your recovery, then track down the warlock before his plans come to fruition. But I couldn’t bear to move on without making certain you understand that I still adore you.” His rich, compelling voice throbbed with the force of his desire. “I still yearn for the union that an unkind fate once denied us. I understand that your mind is jumbled, but surely, when you look into my face, you feel some stirring of the love we shared.” His dark eyes shone in the gloom. For a moment, no doubt due to a trick of the light or her own exhaustion, they almost seemed to glitter red. Her head swam, and then powerful emotions and vague half memories welled up inside her. She had loved him once, in a way she’d loved no one else, so passionately that it was somehow frightening, so devotedly that her entire existence had revolved around him. His touch had filled her with a strange ecstasy that she’d never felt before or since.

  Her expression must have revealed that she was remembering, because he opened his arms, spreading the folds of his cloak and revealing a cravat, ruffled shirt, waistcoat, and frock coat just as antiquated as his outerwear. Ororo stepped into his embrace.

  Kurt dropped toward a black expanse of water. As best he could judge, it had originally been a pond in the center of a small public park, but now, swollen with rain, it had overflowed its banks to engulf the surrounding area. Trees, benches, barbecue grills, swing sets, a jungle gym, seesaws, and, beyond the borders of the submerged field, parking meters protruded from the flood.

  After battling outside the Midnight Runner, the mutant was already wet, but even so, he saw no reason to immerse himself in a muddy lake. He waited until he saw just a few yards above the surface, then released the harness of his parachute and teleported out of it to the sloped roof of a nearby furniture store.

  He shed the impetus of his descent with a somersault across the rough wet shingles and flipped nimbly to his feet. Peering about, trying to get his bearings, he wiped the stinking, luminous ichor off his saber onto the edge of his red, V-shaped tabard and, with the ease of long practice, returned the weapon to the scabbard on his back.

  He saw no sign of his friends or Dracula in the immediate vicinity, not that he’d expected to. Given the Runner's velocity, and their disparate methods of escaping the doomed jet, his teammates could well be scattered across a number of miles. He pulled up the white, scarlet-trimmed cuff of his right gauntlet and activated the wrist radio underneath.

  “Amanda,” he said. “Shadowcat. Colossus.” He supposed he should have thought to provide Dracula with one of the devices as well, but it was too late to worry about that now. “This is Nightcrawler. Come in, please.”

  Overhead, lightning flared. The radio crackled with static, but failed to produce any voices.

  Kurt scowled. Why didn’t the others respond? Perhaps the storm was somehow responsible.

  Whatever the problem was, he’d evidently have to find his comrades the hard way. He set off running across the rooftops, bounding from one to the next. His trained acrobat’s balance and mutant clinging power kept him from slipping, even on the slick surfaces produced by th
e rain, just as his powerful legs managed the leaps without difficulty. Periodically he teleported a few hundred feet, so as to cover more ground.

  After a time, he noticed a snapping sound. His intuition told him that it might have been going on for awhile, but until that moment, his ears hadn’t been able to separate it from the hiss and clatter of the downpour. Crouching atop the gabled rooftop of an old house with the boughs of an ancient elm tree looming over him, he strained to hear it more clearly. When it came again, he was able both to discern that it was coming from somewhere off to his left and to identify it as gunfire.

  He smiled grimly. If someone was shooting at someone else, it was a good bet that one or more of his comrades were involved somehow. He chose a destination, the top of another tall tree down the street, and willed himself there.

  Hugging Vlad was like holding a pillar of granite, as if the tall man had no body heat at all. Up close, he had a faint putrid odor.

  But neither the cold nor the smell repulsed Ororo. Feeling lightheaded with the desire that had suddenly come upon her, she lifted her face.

  To her surprise, her rescuer didn’t press his lips to hers. Instead, moving slowly, evidently savoring the moment, he inclined his head to the side to kiss her on the neck.

  For some reason, his action sent a thrill of terror jangling down her nerves. Instinctively she drew upon her power, and a jolt of crackling electricity leaped from her body to his. Startled, he flinched, and she twisted from his grasp, retreating back into the wind and the rain.

  “I’m sorry!” she said, chagrined by her inexplicably violent reaction yet somehow trusting it nonetheless. “I can’t, not now, not yet. Perhaps once I remember—” Her words caught in her throat as she saw his tender, lover’s expression melted into the rapacious stare of a lion closing in on a crippled gazelle.

  “Oh, yes, you can, my angel,” he said. “You can and you will. It’s time to embrace your destiny and rule the night at my side. I didn’t want to woo you roughly, but I will if necessary. You’ll thank me once you ascend to your new estate.” He glided after her, eyes crimson, fangs bared.