by JM Guillen
I didn’t like them. At all. In fact, I wanted far, far away from them, even more than I wanted to be away from the dead body or the murderers. I stared at them and wiped the sweat from my brow.
It was nauseatingly hot in here. I had to get out.
Ten seconds, Ms. Liz.
I spun, looking crazily around the room, expecting my gentleman friend to be standing right next to me.
“What?” I called to the ceiling. “I wasn’t injured after all! I’m fine!” Panicked, I surveyed the room, trying to find the threat.
Nothing.
Beads of sweat collected on my forehead.
I needed to get out of here. Since there had been a door at one end of the room, maybe there’d be another across from it.
I took three steps in that direction.
From five different locations in the already sweltering room, white light dawned with brilliant savagery. The light briefly outlined the contours of the room, including the door I’d hoped existed, not twenty feet away.
Then the light died, leaving me in blackness for half a second before those same locations violently incandesced. A wave of blinding, white light and searing heat exploded outward.
“No!” Horror washed through me in an instant. Before I could think, my naked skin felt as if I had a very bad sunburn. I threw myself to the side, pressing up against the nearest vat—thankfully dark—and threw up my arms in a vain attempt to shield my face.
In some secret corner of my mind, I felt a subtle clicking, like the turning of an ancient gear. Every ounce of my will poured into a single negation, that fierce cry of “no!” as heat like nuclear fire poured down on me.
The clicking came again, not as subtle. A brief flash of icy pain shot through the same place my gentleman friend had picked at my head. Then the pain faded as suddenly as it came.
Cool air, blessed and sweet, swirled around me.
“Oh.” I gazed out into the room, amazed. It blazed white hot just a few steps out beyond the vat. Already, the corpse of that man boiled and bubbled.
Yet I was safe. Somehow, I wasn’t melting.
I gasped as I felt that same, slithering sensation in one of my nostrils. Horrified at the memory of the worm, I quickly brought a hand up only to find a touch of blood seeping from my nose.
“Gross.” I wiped it away and touched my nose again. Nothing, thankfully.
Cautiously I peered outward. A white haze hovered in the air between me and the rest of the room. Cold sifted off it, but I could feel the blistering heat churning just on the other side, angry as the midsummer sun.
I stared at the impossible haze, my eyes widening. One hand came up, and I took a step toward the solid-looking fog, reaching out, afraid to touch it.
I did that? It seemed impossible, but it had to be true. What had my new friend done to me?
Nervously, I reached forward.
My fingers brushed something smooth and firm and chill. It wasn’t quite invisible, more misty, like solidified air. But I could feel my hand too. Brushing my fingers across the wall, I felt my touch as if I were touching my own arm. Or more precisely, like touching my fingernail. I sensed the scarcest bit of pressure, but I knew it was there.
I could feel it.
Sort of. I couldn’t feel my fingertips sliding across the surface precisely, but I definitely felt the contact. It wasn’t a physical sensation as much as it haunted the edge of my mind.
Every argument I posed against the existence of such things withered and died in the face of that touch.
I had done this. It was part of me, blossomed from the part of my mind that almost skeletal gentleman had fiddled with.
“Well, you said you’d help me,” I muttered softly.
I closed my mouth and squashed the questions bubbling in my brain. I had to get out of here. Even with my barrier I couldn’t survive this heat forever.
“But how?” Speaking to myself was a long won habit from living alone. My brow furrowed in determination as I brought my hand up again. Maybe…?
The wall I had created stretched from floor to ceiling, canting at an angle over me. Could I move it? Or perhaps create a second?
If I was going to avoid being baked alive, I had to find out.
I extended my arm, palm out, in front of me and pushed, expecting it to move like a swinging door or something. Instead I pushed hard. The wall resisted like a loaded dump truck.
But…yes. My wall extended as I willed.
I slowly stretched it all the way to the door, and I stretched along with it, like new space opened in my mind as I pushed.
“Okay.”
Stretching the one wall only did so much. I actually needed a second one to create a safe passage, and the mere thought scared me.
What If I could only create one invisible plane at a time? If the first wall vanished the moment I tried for a second, then that terrible heat would pour over me. I’d roast alive.
“This is fucking mental.” I laughed at the madness of it all. Apparently the stress had pushed me to lapse into my British mother for a moment.
“Bedlam, my dear. It’s sheer bedlam!” I could hear her prim voice in my mind, the memory so clear that my heart ached.
“I’m bound for bedlam alright.” I shook off the thought and stood there for a long moment, contemplating the possibilities. Slowly, I realized I didn’t have a choice.
“In it to win it.”
I took a breath and extended my other arm out. I winced, half-expecting the savage heat to crash down upon me.
A second wall appeared, forming a corridor with the first.
I trembled with the effort. Almost instantly, my nose began to bleed again.
“Oh, God…” I groaned.
I felt much like I had on my second attempt at parkour: insta-sore. Even my brain trembled with the strain. I couldn’t keep this up, not for long anyway. Two walls proved all but impossible to hold.
Time to go.
I sprinted, pushing muscles that felt as if they hadn’t trained in weeks. Yet I ran to the door. I dashed through it just as my walls collapsed.
The superheated air crashed against itself clapping like a burst of thunder. I slammed the door on the immense heat and almost collapsed against the door.
“Go.”
I gritted my teeth as a thousand primal urges twisted in my mind. Terrified, lost and alone, I had no idea where I was or how I got here. More than anything, I just wanted to collapse.
On top of it all, I was still naked.
“Go!”
I ran barefoot down the hallway, only now noticing the sliver of glass in my foot. When I was at the end, I removed it and glanced over my shoulder.
The paint on the door I’d slammed bubbled with the heat from the other side. The air around the door shimmered like a mirage.
“New strategy!” I yelped as I yanked open a random door, hoping for a room with a view.
Instead, I got a stairwell.
I spent precious seconds staring both up and down. With no windows, I had no idea which way led to ground level. For all I knew, I could be dozens of stories from the ground in either direction.
Heat rises, I recalled as I dashed for the downward turn of the staircase. I scrambled down a few steps until I could lean over the rail and see the floor below. I vaulted the railing and landed in a crouch, touching the ground with my hands before standing. I charged the last few steps and came to an abrupt halt.
I faced a single door. No more stairs.
Only one floor down? Maybe I should have chosen up.
Jerking the door open, I charged into a hallway. No windows here. Damn.
The building rumbled under my feet, and a horrid grinding, crushing noise descended, growing to cacophonous levels.
That room must be caving in the building!
The thought was horrific. What could possibly produce that much heat? Surely the building was held up with steel beams…
Apparently, they weren’t enough.
&n
bsp; Panicked, I picked a room at random, threw the door open, and hurled myself inside.
And slammed into a woman heading the other way.
I fell to the ground.
“Oh!” Instinctively, I covered myself. “I’m sorry. You wouldn’t believe—”
I stared up from the floor at a stumbling figure in a black pencil skirt, white button-down shirt, snappy blazer…
…and an ancient gas mask strapped over her face like some crazed insect.
I’m never working for this company. The dress code is far too strict! I thought as the tumult of a partially collapsing building roared around us.
The woman rocked on her high heels, recovered her balance, and jerked her gas mask down to hang around her neck. She glared down at me, brown eyes snapping with anger.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, dumbly. I gave her a chagrined smile as the thundering noise stopped. Maybe the entire building wouldn’t come crashing down on my head right this second.
“Dasnik.” The word had a guttural, eastern European sound to it, gritty and abrupt. The woman reached behind herself and swung an old-fashioned Tommy-gun around on its strap. In an instant she pointed it at me.
“Wait! No, I—!” Frantically, I put my hands in the air, palms out. Every beat of my panicked heart made a cry of No! Stop! I felt, if I could only explain—
Mercilessly, she fired. The gun barked three times and then three more.
I felt the contact well before I opened my eyes. I’d been tapped in the chest three times, once more in the neck, and once in the face.
“Kuvick da Ryssinivik.”
She stared at what hung suspended before her, as unbelieving as I was. The smattering of bullets spun in the misty air, six inches from my nose. Dumbfounded, we both stared as the bullets spun slower and slower, failing to drill through that misty wall of nothing.
“That works!” A bark of wild laughter escaped my lips, born of hysteria and the buzzing, near tickling sensation of the bullets on the far side of my wall. I scrambled to a standing position.
As I stood, the woman’s brown eyes narrowed. She sized up my wall of solidified air. Not very large, she could easily get around it.
“Dasnik korvis.” Her free hand bunched into a fist, and she raised it into the air, snarling as she drew it back as if preparing to punch her way through my wall.
I braced for impact though I honestly didn’t think a punch would do much to it since those bullets had just kind of tickled.
Pale blue streaks and midnight black motes gathered around her clenched fist. The light burned as I stared.
Elizabeth. The light whispered my name, and that cunning, demonic whisper dampened my will. You aren’t enough. You’re naked and alone.
“You can go fuck yourself.” I held my hands up again, trying to steel my wall. Maybe I could make it thicker…
Abruptly, the woman froze. A look of horror blossomed across her pretty features, her brown eyes widening.
“Nein.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“Nine?” I looked at her in confusion. That seemed a random thing to say.
I glanced behind me, certain some slavering monster lurked back there, but I found nothing. I turned back to her as a shiver rippled through her body.
The woman wept, frozen by some terror I couldn’t see. I looked around again, trying to get a grasp on what was happening.
Then her face went slack, and the light around her fist died. Both arms slowly drifted down to her sides. Her gun dangled from its strap, forgotten as she stared straight ahead. Suddenly her head jerked to the side.
I jumped at the abrupt motion.
Her head lurched again. And again. And again. Faster and faster, the rapid bursts of movement made her head spasm like nothing I’d ever seen before, jerking so fast that her head blurred into an indistinct slash of motion.
No human body could move like that. In silent, creeping horror, I backed away, ready to throw up my protective juju.
Suddenly all her lurching motions stopped.
Was she still breathing? I wasn’t sure.
Then her lips eased apart. She exhaled a long breath. A pale-blue cloud, barely distinguishable from my wall, issued into the warming air. It floated up, wafting toward the ceiling as it faded away.
I found myself holding my breath as I stood transfixed.
She didn’t breathe in again but stood completely motionless as a mirrored silver glaze slid over her eyes, turning them alien and cold. I felt the room around me change, as if everything was… doused. The light seemed dimmer, and my thinking became muddier.
For a long moment we stared at each other, unblinking. I tensed, preparing myself for the worst.
But no. She simply looked at me. Those awful, mirror-like eyes drank me in. I could see my reflection in her gaze: long, black hair, damp with putrid goo, hung in limp hanks around vivid blue eyes gone wild and too wide. Like a rabbit facing a wolf, I appeared ready to bolt from the room.
I agreed with the reflected sentiment.
The woman moved smoothly, pushing her gun behind her on its strap. She bowed deeply to me, her face completely expressionless.
“Naar’eth,” she whispered in a voice that echoed in my head and made my heart shiver and want to hide. The word was bent, twisted, a name that hunted the weak and devoured them. It entered my mind like a razor blade, slicing its secret wrath into my thoughts.
She was a Naar’eth now. The woman inside was lost, perhaps damned.
The word etched the creature’s nature into my bones, my dreams, the very center of my being. The woman who would have killed me now hosted a Naar’eth. It would wear her like a costume. The creature would hunt and stalk, do the bidding of its master, until it needed another costume, a fresh host. It was a bound creature that would never, ever die but also never live.
I didn’t know how I knew it. I didn’t really care. I just knew.
The truth of that name burned in me.
My lips quivered as I did my best to close my gaping mouth and gave the Naar’eth a tiny, respectful nod in return, watching the image of my face reflected in her eyes.
“And I do promise to reflect on the best way to help you further.” Mr. Lorne’s words echoed in my thoughts, and I recalled his odd grin on the word ‘reflect.’
That… that was the worst kind of humor.
Okay, really? I rolled my eyes at the thought, muttering. “That’s the last straw. Be as enigmatic as you want. Kidnap me. Try to make me drink your tea…But bad jokes? I’m the superheroine; I make the jokes.” Superheroine? Me? I shook my head ruefully.
I looked to the Naar’eth, trying to avoid those mirrored eyes.
“Is that it then, were you sent by Mr. Lorne?”
The Naar’eth took off the woman’s jacket and held it out. She whispered, but the words sounded so alien that I was reluctant to listen closely. Her native tongue was never meant for human ears.
“I’m going to take that as a yes.” Warily, I took the jacket.
The Naar’eth began to strip out of her clothing as I watched, piling it on the floor. The entire time, a rivulet of sound flowed from her mouth, an unceasing tide of darkly musical lilting that made me shudder. Could she even control it? It seemed almost unconscious, like the almost silent but constant thrum of my pulse.
When she stood nude, the Naar’eth gazed at me quizzically. Then she slipped the machine gun strap back on her shoulder, spun on her heel, and left the room. All the while, her lips twitched as she whispered faint words I couldn’t make out.
She paused a moment in the hallway beyond, peering about as if seeking danger. Then she stepped from my line of sight.
I realized she was patrolling, looking about for whatever danger there might be. I had to admit, the naked Naa’reth would certainly have the drop on anyone she encountered.
The bullets the woman had fired at me had long since stopped spinning. Almost reluctantly I let my airwall evaporate, and they fell to the floor.
&nbs
p; I eyed the clothing, then swiftly scooped it up and dressed. The skirt was tight around my thighs, and the shirt too loose, but they kept me from wandering an unfamiliar building in the buff, for which I was grateful.
The clothing gave me a little more courage, at least.
I hadn’t taken great note of the faint crushing, grinding sounds that pulsed through the room during my encounter with the Naar’eth. Truthfully, anything short of deafening, I’d found all too easy to ignore, but now that things had calmed, the low sound filled my ears again, a lurching, whirring rumble.
The building was still collapsing in upon itself.
I crept through the dimly lit room, hoping more than anything to find a way out. Machinery lined the walls. Some sort of piston frantically pumped off to one side. I peered into the shadowy darkness, noting that collapsing building or no, this mechanism seemed to be purring along nicely.
“But what’s it all for?” I asked softly as I crept deeper inside.
Three flywheels powered a convoluted series of belts slithering through gear-powered motors like a boa constrictor in the rainforest. Huge dials and encased needles littered control banks that took up vast sections of the room.
I studied the dials. “High.” Each of them banked fully into the red, and none of them wavered. I could believe it, listening to the rapid pulse of the great mechanical mass. Whatever it was, it was running like there was no tomorrow.
As I looked, I took a step and almost slipped. Grease from various gears dripped to the floor. Several tin buckets had been haphazardly placed under the connectors, but they didn’t catch it all. Fumes redolent of hot oil shimmered in the air.
Then I saw the door.
The old, round vault door domed outward, all brass and brushed steel and sturdy metal hinges. There wasn’t a handle though, only a metal stamp in the middle of it, proudly proclaiming it to be a product of the Sadhana Corporation.
I stared, drawn to the hatch as surely as a magnet drew iron. Something about it intrigued me; a whole different life waited on the other side of that door. I couldn’t say why I felt that way, but I did. Some deep part of me yearned to pass through that door, some primal scrap of my mind that had an instinctual understanding that I did not.