by LV Lewis
The answer is simple, if not the amount of work needed to get the spell off. Amarie stands before the machine, chanting in a language she’d not known before now. Silver light coalesces over her hands, growing brighter as she continues creating her spell. Raising her arms, the silver light creates a wall, from ground to ceiling of the cavern, around the machine. Slowly, the air becomes like see-through glass, though the device is no longer visible through it. When Amarie stops chanting, the silver light flashes throughout the cavern, touching everybody except herself and Gary. They need to remember everything long enough to finish this. The time to do so is now.
***
The search has been on for hours. The Complex is in its night cycle now, and Gary feels like one of the Nighters on the prowl. Being so focused, between talking again with Morty McAllitar and searching through buildings in military-style raids, he’s barely registered the change of light. Doesn’t matter, he reminds himself, we don’t have time to be scared of the things that go bump in the night. If anything, they’re scared of us tonight.
Gary had collected his guns, including the sniper rifle, before leaving the machine behind. He feels much more comfortable with the familiar weapons in his hands, but having the sword at his side still makes him feel like a badass. A feeling in his stomach warns that he will need the ancient weapon against Doug Sied. He’s not really sure what exactly a sword can do better than a bullet, but he knows to trust that feeling.
The last shakedown yielded a long-shot clue to finding Doug Sied. An acquaintance of Morty’s knew that Doug has been hanging out in the west end of the Complex, near the Elven Embassy building. Apparently he keeps a laboratory in one of the apartments to practice alchemy and build his inventions. Gary and Amarie are nearly there now, riding a borrowed Glyder from Climintra headquarters.
Coming into view of the apartment, Gary sees a lit window. The hunter in him jumps at the bit, determined to finally catch their quarry. The logical side of him automatically believes it’s a trap, designed to get Amarie inside and then kill her, probably with an alchemical bomb, like the goblins in the cavern were using. The Glyder slows to a stop by the front door.
Gary climbs off first, his right hand automatically reaching for his gun. Holding the weapon in both hands straight out in front of him, Gary ignores the lit window and circles around the building first. Nothing. Shaking his head as he comes back to the window, Gary checks the room through the pane. Alchemical items are strewn everywhere. Empty vials lay broken on the floor. A viscous, green liquid is puddled on the ground by the door. Machinery and filled vials are knocked over on the tables, as are the benches where, presumably, Sied sat to work. Either he went through his own stuff in a huge hurry, looking for something specific, or somebody already ransacked the place.
Gary’s fear of shadows is trying to swallow him whole. Every fiber of his being is convinced that, at any moment, something will jump him from the shadows. Swallowing hard, he looks over at Amarie and shakes his head.
She climbs off the Glyder and looks in the window herself. In the meantime, Gary is switching between shadows with his eyes, hypersensitive to any possible movement. Come on man, we’ve made it this far, let’s not lose it now. Forcing himself to close his eyes, Gary breathes through his mouth with big gulps, slowly letting them out. Amarie looks over at him with worry, and all he can do is continue breathing in a controlled manner. When his heart reaches a normal level of excitement, Gary looks down at the ground.
“Sorry. I have a light form of PTSD. Essentially, I’m afraid of the dark, and sometimes my anxiety turns into fear that something is going to get me. I’m having an attack now, and I don’t know how long the breathing techniques will work.”
“I don’t blame you, Gary. This search has taken hours and we still don’t have him. We’ll see about getting you help later, but for now, I need you.”
Hearing her say she needs him bolsters the primal, protective area of Gary’s soul. It doesn’t stop the fear, not by any means; rather, it reminds him of his inherent job as Amarie’s mate. Her soul is demanding his do its job, and he knows he’ll die to honor that. When you’re willing to die for somebody, fear cannot possibly keep its claws in you.
“I needed to hear that. Let’s finish up here.”
He hears the confidence in his voice, feels it; even if it sounds false, he knows otherwise. His breathing evens out and soon, even the tightening in his chest dissipates. Since meeting Amarie, Gary believed she was a beautiful flower bending to the will of the wind. More and more, he’s seeing that she’s not just another lovely thing, that there is a solidness to her that she does not always project outwards. How had he made it through life without her before? Clueless about that, he concentrates back on the apartment.
“I should go in, see if he’s hiding somewhere beyond that room,” Gary offers.
“You’re still trying to protect me. I told you . . . ”
“This time, you’re gonna let me. We’re dealing with a Meta who uses magic, alchemy, and controlled several hundred people at once. I won’t have kept you alive against all that only for an explosion to take you out. I wouldn’t be able to take it, Amarie.”
Amarie reaches up and caresses his cheek, then locks her lips over his with the sweetness of honey and the urgency of a snake bite. “Keep me safe, then. Do it. But I can’t lose you, either.”
Gary allows time for her kiss to sink into his lips before heading for the door. Trying the door, he isn’t surprised it’s locked. Well, there’s an easy way in. Motioning for Amarie to move away, he takes the butt of his gun and smashes the window. The crisp sound of glass shattering seems loud enough to wake up the neighborhood. Gary doesn’t wait to find out. He breaks out the larger leftover shards of glass, then runs the gun along the bottom of the sill until he can climb through without losing any body parts.
Inside, he takes a moment to check for any sign of a trap, but finds no wires or ropes, and moves toward the far door where the green puddle remains undisturbed. This door is also locked, which catches him off guard, and he slips a little bit in the fluid. Flames rise up from the center of the puddle, catching his pants on fire and quickly spreading up. Shit! There must have been a second compound in the puddle and I mixed it all together when I slipped!
Thinking fast, Gary strips off the ammo belts across his chest and the rifle, dropping them on the floor away from the flaming puddle. With haste, he removes his shirt and tries to smother the flames beginning to burn through his pants. Suddenly, with a thwip sound, all the flames disappear. For a few moments, Gary can’t breathe, and begins to choke, bringing his fear back with vengeance.
Amarie’s calming voice comes through the broken window, “Settle down, love. I surrounded you in carbon dioxide to kill the flames. The oxygen is back now.”
Daring to take a deep breath, Gary finds she is correct. Pushing the fear and anxiety partway back down, Gary stares sheepishly at the puddle. No, we are not going to get angry at inanimate objects. Absolutely not. Fuck you, puddle.
Carefully avoiding it this time, Gary kicks the door beyond it open and heads into the next room. The light from the laboratory does not reach far into here, and soon Gary is draped in darkness. The hair on his legs is giving off the obnoxious odor only burned hair can provide. He’s having to consciously push away the memory of being on fire in order to move forward.
Paintings line the walls here, but there is no furniture or giveaway for what the room is actually used. Gary moves on through. Here he finds a large, well-crafted table with an unlit candelabra as a centerpiece. Still no sign of life, or even that this place is lived in.
Gary now must choose whether to go left or right. Peering each way, he decides that going left will lead him into the kitchen. Aside from his stomach rumbling, he’s not interested in pots and pans. Turning into the room on his right, Gary is well aware of the inky blackness surrounding him.
In front of him, he sees the outline of a bed, possibly twin-sized. Squint
ing, he makes out an alarm clock on an end table, but it is as blank as the rest of the apartment. Gary takes two more steps into the room, making sure he’s looking into every corner, but it appears the search here is a no-go.
His right arm is grabbed by something unseen, then his eyes are blasted with bright lights of every color. Fear and anxiety rush up from his core, quickly spreading into his arms and legs in an overloaded version of fight or flight as adrenaline pumps indiscreetly from his brain and into his appendages. A roar escapes from his mouth as he tries to get his sight back. He thinks he hears Amarie yelling for him downstairs but his ears are too full of blood to be sure he’s hearing anything at all. He smells vanilla and popcorn, but that can’t be right. Unable to get any definitive information from any of his senses, Gary starts thrashing. Whatever grabbed his arm let go long ago, he thinks, but he moves in that direction anyway. When he hits a wall, he falls backwards and smacks his head on the concrete floor, though he feels nothing. Regardless, blackness is washing over him, and he welcomes it as it slowly releases him from the nonstop pummeling of misdirecting accounts of events from his senses.
***
He awakens with a start and a headache trying to pound his head into the floor. His eyes pop open and immediately become dazzled by the soft red light of a fire shining on what he assumes is the ceiling. Anxiety is rising in his chest and his breath is trying to choke him. Wheezing, he tries to sit up, but a hand on his shoulder stays him.
“Gary, don’t try to get up just yet. I’m here with you, you’re safe. You found Doug Sied. You can get up when you’re breathing normally.”
“Amarie. Damn, I love you. I feel better, good enough to get a good look at you. I caught Sied? When?” Oh fuck, I can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t . . .
Gary forces his way up; he needs to be vertical in order to breathe again. His senses are still on fire, and he smells popcorn. The rush from sitting up causes his head to pound harder, and he groans heavily into his hands.
Through his fingers, he sees at least six pairs of feet. That’s strange. Amarie takes his hand and places something there. It’s cool to the touch.
“Here, drink up. It’ll settle your stomach.”
Realizing now that his right side is wet, he looks down and finds a puddle of bile. Aw c’mon! Some warrior I turn out to be.
The water feels like a magic tonic going down, fixing everything wrong as it floats through him. Finally able to look up, he sees a goblin watching his every move with caution and fear in his eyes. Gary shakes his head. You got nothing to worry about from me right now, Sied. I’m down for the count.
“Hello, Gary Locke. I have a story for you,” the goblin offers.
Finale
The goblin staring at Gary is chained hand and foot, the heavy links clinking to Sied’s constant movements. Sied’s scales are, by far, the brightest yellow Gary has seen in the species. With an outline of green around most of those scales, Sied’s appearance is that of an ill creature, worthy of pity. Working against him, though, is the uncanny intelligence in his red eyes, which emanate hatred for everyone in the room. Gary knows the expression exuded by this creature. Sied feels he’s too smart for dealing with imbeciles. Then how did you get caught?
Other than Sied and Amarie, there are five other people in the living room. Glad they aren’t cramped in the bedroom together, Gary starts looking over who is present. The first two are no surprise, Amarie’s bowman guards. The next two are strangers to him, but wear a Climintra uniform, same as his. The fifth is Major Yenton and his miraculous mustache. Good, plenty of people to finally make an official arrest.
“Go on, Mr. Sied, tell your story,” Yenton orders.
Sied’s sigh is bored. Gary is getting angry. What right does this yellow-bellied bastard have, to consider a high body count boring? Amarie’s hand comes down gently on Gary’s shoulder, and he realizes he’d started standing up. Crossing his arms, his sits down again, matching the goblin’s smirk with a grimace.
“Congratulations on catching up with me, Sergeant. Kudos. Well done,” Sied begins, clapping his hands together mockingly.
“You don’t look surprised,” Gary grumbles.
“Oh, I’m not. I’ve been waiting for you all to catch up to me. All this planning, the actual footwork, it’s been exciting.”
Gary grits his teeth hard enough they hurt. The goblin is toying with them.
“How about you just start with why you possessed Prince Erihstoll Habbernock,” Gary insists.
“Isn’t my plan quite obvious at this juncture, Mr. Locke? The two most powerful houses in Ama Seldova were the Elves and the Fairies. Humans managed to secure a position within the new government with bullying techniques, and every other daytime Meta is currently represented within it as well. All, that is, save goblins. The most intelligent race, completely ignored, despite the public narrative that all were to be forgiven, their slate wiped clean. No, we continued to be considered sub-class, unworthy of the goal. Then the Complex is created, and once again, goblins are given no official representation in its governing. Why? Because again, Elves and Fairies find us too ugly, too repugnant, and too easily forgotten, despite our proven brilliance in both war and thought.
By toppling two houses in the Complex, which I’ve done, my brethren will be able to take a righteous place at the table of power. My purpose, Mr. Locke, is purely political.”
“Don’t you realize that, by being caught and admitting your guilt in causing hundreds of deaths, you’re ruining any chance of the powers that be allowing goblins anywhere in the government? Sure, they can petition, but goblins’ bad image is further tainted by what you’ve done. Forgiveness, as you are well aware, will not come from the other races.”
“I have given them the power, Mr. Locke. Not just my own brethren, either. The Nighters know they’ve been ignored for all these years, too. Oh, sure most of them are closer to beasts than intelligent creatures, but again, Humans have been accepted, so . . . there’s always hope.”
“So you still think you’ve won? Everybody you enslaved is either dead, or have their minds back again,” Gary continues.
“This grows tedious. Let me ask you something instead. Does Queen Vanyarin actually believe nobody will remember the machine? Oh I know, I’m not supposed to talk about it, but I wasn’t there when she cast the spell, was I? Was I? I can’t recall at the moment. That’s some quite powerful magic. Magic that has existed for ages beyond our understanding. Do we really think we control that? Even sprites, who live half in the stream of the Beam, hold a nearly religious respect for the power they bathe in. Why don’t they rule the universe? Because the Beam is much more than an energy to be manipulated. It is the originator. God, if you will. Very few peoples, outside of sprites, get to touch God. I guarantee, whatever she told you, Queen Vanyarin, it was a lie. And, of course, you fell for it. You’ve a lesser mind than I.”
“She said the machine was a simple toy for her to play in, but that without purpose, it does nothing but exist,” Amarie counters.
Sied smiles viciously. “And you believe God would do something with absolutely no purpose? I’m confident, not because I expect to live past this night, but because I know what comes next. I can manipulate God. I did, but only because my intentions were in line with the Beam. I am just a seed of its will, as is everybody who is touched by it. Which includes you two, yes it does.”
“Gary. I think . . . I think he needs to die. Now,” Amarie whispers.
“Oh yeah! End my life, Mr. Locke. That’s going to stop the sprouting of each seed I’ve already planted. Please, end my days of flesh.”
Gary stares at the queen of Elves. “What the fuck are you talking about, Amarie?”
“He’s still controlling the machine, love. He’s still a part of it. I only released those enslaved by the machine, but I couldn’t release someone who wanted to be melded with it. He wants to be part of it. I don’t think he ever controlled it, he’s just a willi
ng participant. Which means the machine still has somebody guiding the Beam’s full intentions.”
“I don’t understand, Amarie. You’re talking way above my paygrade.”
“She might be telling the truth, Mr. Locke. Or, possibly, she’s still willingly under the machine’s directive. Hell, maybe you are, and it’s making you see what it wants you to see.”
The bowman Gary argued with earlier is beginning to get antsy. Major Yenton appears frozen in time. What the fuck is going on? Shadows pour in through the windows, shaped like claws and covering the faces of everybody in the room, twisting their faces into evils beyond imagining. One last shadow stretches cold fingers over Gary’s face but instead of darkness, he sees the truth. All these bastards are monsters. I need to kill all of them.
That can’t be right. He was standing with allies, with Amarie, not enemies. The monster that used to be his lover draws her sword from her scabbard. The Yenton monster draws its stun gun. Both bowmen draw back and aim at him. No! I’m one of you. The shadows took me, too. Gary has no choice, drawing his guns, he aims at Amarie and the bowman he’d argued with. If the Metas are going to attack me, I’ll destroy them all. The rage of the war he’d spent years fighting comes back to him. Every hopeless moment, every comrade’s death, and every successful kill invades his mind, tightening his grip on the triggers. They’re just monsters, he reminds himself.
A lone voice wafts through the madness overtaking him. At first shallow, swallowed up by the rage, it still manages to break through enough to be recognizable. A single sentence. The one that set him on this path, and not least of all, the one that led him to love.