Sorceress Super Hero

by Darius Brasher

  “I laugh in the face of heat stroke,” I said, though I was more concerned about Daniel getting heat stroke with that black jacket on.

  Daniel bent over to rummage through a trash bin. He pulled out a half-eaten donut. He squeezed and sniffed it. The pastry must’ve passed inspection, because Daniel dusted dirt and ants off and put it on a piece of carboard on top of his cart. Tonight’s dinner, maybe.

  I pulled my bag off my back again and rummaged through it for my wallet. “This is not the best place for you to be, Daniel. The people around here are too hoity-toity. I’m surprised the police haven’t already hassled you.” The cops usually made sure D.C.’s sizable homeless population stayed out of wealthy areas and the areas tourists frequented. The cops funneled the homeless to the poor areas, especially Southeast D.C., and let them run wild there.

  “I fear only the Almighty Father, not men and their weapons,” Daniel said as he played with the coins in his pocket again. His brown eyes were intelligent and knowing, like they had seen everything.

  “Uh-huh,” I grunted noncommittally as I pulled out my wallet, not wanting to get into a religious discussion, though I wondered what kind of father would let so many of his children live on the street like animals. I also wondered how Daniel had become homeless. He did not seem crazy or like he had substance abuse problems like so many other homeless people did.

  I looked down. I had forty-six dollars in my wallet. With all the bills I was behind on and with no money coming in for the next couple of months, I needed to hold onto all the money I could. However, I always made a point to give Daniel some money when I saw him. I sighed. Why couldn’t one of these rich douchenozzles around here hook Daniel up?

  I pulled out a couple of ones. I started to hand them to Daniel, but I hesitated when my eyes fell on the half-eaten donut. Yeah, I had debts and bills to pay, but this guy was sifting through garbage for something to eat. I cried because I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet. Helen Keller said that. That guilt-tripping blind bitch.

  Before self-interest changed my mind, I pulled all the money I had out of my wallet and thrust it into Daniel’s hands. “Buy something decent to eat. Water too. It’s a hot day. And I’d suggest you move on to another part of the city. I’d hate for you to get arrested for vagrancy.”

  Daniel’s eyes moved from the money in his hands back to my face. “May God bless you, child.” The money disappeared into his pants pocket.

  “Thanks,” I said, slinging my bag over a shoulder again. “I need all the help I can get.” I turned away before I changed my mind and snatched some of the much-needed money back. Nobody likes an Indian giver.

  Daniel and I separated, with me continuing up the street toward the bus stop. I wondered how much money I had left on my Metro card. I hoped I had enough to pay for the bus home. Though I didn’t regret giving Daniel money, I wished I had held onto a couple of bucks to make sure I could cover bus fare. Maybe Oscar had been right about me being impulsive.

  “Help! Somebody help!” a woman’s voice cried, piercing my thoughts of how broke I was.

  A stoop-shouldered old black woman was being pulled into an alley up the street by three young men in t-shirts and sagging jeans. The black and brown-skinned youths looked like extras from a bad movie, some racist casting director’s idea of what a big-city thug looked like. The old woman swatted at the young men with her purse ineffectually.

  The thugs and their victim disappeared into the alley, with the old woman’s cries for help trailing behind them. There were plenty of pedestrians and passing cars, but no one stopped to help the woman, or even looked in her direction. Maybe everybody was too busy making money and amassing power to make time for a little old lady. So many lawmakers to bribe, so little time.

  Where’s a Hero when you need one? I thought for the second time in just a few days. I groaned as I pulled my knapsack over both shoulders, knowing I’d have to step up again. First Daniel, now this. Was I the only person in this selfish, self-involved city who did the right thing?

  My bag secure, I ran up the street toward the alley the woman had been pulled into. People turned to stare as I dodged around them. They noticed me, but not an old lady screaming her head off. I guess the old lady’s mistake was in not being a white woman wearing a half-wet blouse containing bouncing boobs and who was running like a demon was chasing her.

  I darted into the alley. The alley was shrouded in shadow thanks to the tall buildings on either side of it. I was swallowed by gloom, like I had entered a different world.

  I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the comparative darkness. Garbage and trash bins lined either side of the alley. The smell was a potent mix of rotten vegetables, decaying meat, and moldy coffee grounds.

  The alley dead-ended against the side of another building. The old woman was on the ground, cowering with her back against the end of the alley. Her eyes were wide with fear. The three thugs stood around her. Their backs were to me.

  I skidded to a stop a few feet behind the three yahoos. I was breathing hard thanks to my sprint. My back ached where the gargoyle’s claws had raked me.

  The little old black lady was tiny compared to the three thugs. I said, “Didn’t anyone ever teach you knuckleheads to pick on someone your own size? Really, hassling an old lady? Did you run out of puppies to kick?”

  The three turned around to face me. Two black, one Hispanic. They were my height or taller, no older than twenty. Lean guys, corded with muscle. They were risking imprisonment to rob someone unlikely to have much. D.C. street thugs at their finest.

  Oscar’s ear beating about not using magic in front of mundanes still rang in my ears. No matter. I didn’t need spells. Me against three mundanes? I liked my chances. This was actually just what the doctor ordered. I’d take my frustrations out on these criminal masterminds, and maybe pound some sense into them at the same time. Win, win.

  The old woman rose to her feet. Surely she wasn’t trying to help me. While I admired her spunk, she was liable to get hurt.

  “Get out of here lady,” I said. “I got this.”

  The woman didn’t flee. Instead she lifted a hand to her throat where an amulet hung from a chain. “Help! Somebody help!” came the voice I had heard on the street. The lady hadn’t moved her mouth; rather, the voice came from the amulet itself. Magical ventriloquism, no doubt on a frequency only a citizen of the magical world could hear. No wonder no one else had reacted to the woman’s screams.

  The woman’s lined black face split into a wide, satisfied grin. Her teeth elongated, becoming yellow fangs. She dropped to all fours, her body shimmering as it transformed, becoming bestial.

  In the blink of an eye, the supposed little old lady changed into a giant, furry, hissing, terrifying rat. It was the size of a Rottweiler on steroids.

  The young men transformed too. They shimmered into two-legged creatures with rat heads. The heads had beady black eyes, and long narrow mouths full of rows of fangs, with four sharp, discolored incisors poking out the front. The three had humped backs. Their legs were angled at the knees, making them stand at a half-crouch. Even stooped over, they still stood taller than I. Their hands were four-fingered and ended in claws that looked like they could disembowel you with a swipe. Their long, brownish-orange tails looked like steel cables. The two who had been black men had pitch-black fur; the formerly Hispanic one had matted dark brown fur. Short leather loincloths concealed their bulging private parts.

  Wererats. Part man, part rat, all nightmare. I knew them by reputation but had been fortunate enough to not have encountered them before.

  The wererats shifted position so they were in a diamond shape, with me in the center. They moved gracefully, flowing like water, despite how clumsy their bodies looked.

  I was disgusted with myself. So much for rescuing an old lady. I didn’t need Admiral Ackbar to tell me this was a trap. Like an inexperienced fool, I had fallen for the helpless little old lady trick. What was next, me smelling someone’s fing
er? There was a village somewhere that was missing me, its prize idiot.

  I had been confident when I thought these guys were mundanes. But me against four wererat Otherkin? I did not like my chances.

  So, I did what any butt-kicking sorceress bodyguard on unpaid leave would do in this situation:

  I pointed over the shoulder of one of the wererats. "Oh my God! Look at all that cheese!" I cried.

  I didn't wait to see if they were as gullible as I was. I feinted to the right, spun to the left, juked around one of the monsters, and took off running toward the alley’s exit.

  CHAPTER 5

  I only made it a few steps away from the wererats when something whipped around my ankle. It went taut. I tripped. I toppled over like a felled tree. I caught myself with my hands before I face-planted. The sore hand I had punched the gargoyle with howled in protest.

  I rolled over. The end of the brown wererat’s tail was wrapped around my leg like a boa constrictor. I kicked at the coil, trying to free myself. Despite giving it a couple of solid whacks, the tail did not budge. If anything, it tightened, making me gasp in pain.

  I waved my hand, starting to trigger a spell. Before I could get it off, the brown wererat twisted its body, picking me up by my leg and flinging me into the air. His tail fell away from my ankle. I went spinning like a fastball.

  I slammed into an alley wall. The wind was knocked out of me. I saw stars. I bounced off the wall, collapsing into a pile of trash below.

  The giant rat leaped on me. Its fangs snapped at my throat. Instinctively, I threw my arm up, getting my forearm under her neck, keeping her from biting my face off. She was strong. Heavy too. Her squirming weight pressed down on my chest like a pestle on a mortar. I gagged in desperation mixed with disgust—her breath smelled like a rotting corpse stuffed with putrefied garlic.

  I couldn’t get her off with brute force. I desperately focused my will, waved my hand, and gasped, “Ventus!”

  Trash swirled in the air as concentrated gale force winds lifted the giant rat off me. She hurtled through the air, smashing into the wall on the other side of the alley with a loud thump and an inhuman squeal. She stuck on the wall for a split second before sliding down into the garbage below like she was a wet spitball. Now she knew how it felt.

  I struggled unsteadily to my feet. I used the summoned wind to pelt the male wererats with garbage, hoping to get a chance to catch my breath.

  No such luck. They sprang out of the trash storm and at me like monsters out of a bad dream. They attacked, slashing at me with their claws, all three at once. Chivalry truly was dead.

  The windstorm died as I lost my concentration. I struggled to keep the wererats from landing a lethal blow. Claws raked my forearm, drawing blood. My foot shot out, connecting with the leg of the offending black wererat. There was a satisfying crunch. Screeching in agony, the wererat toppled to one knee, his leg no doubt broken.

  I clouted another on the side of the head. Holy hard heads! I hurt my arm probably as much as I hurt the wererat. He staggered but immediately recovered. He counterattacked in a blur of fur and claw, accompanied by his fellows. I blocked or avoided some of their blows, but not all.

  They didn’t let up for a second, not giving me time to cast a spell or room to escape. Hand-to-hand and three-on-one, I was outmatched. I knew it, and they knew it. It was only a matter of time before it was night-night Sage.

  In my dangerous line of work, I had often thought about what might eventually get the best of me and take me out. Wererats had never even occurred to me. What a revolting way to go.

  A big blur of white dropped out of the sky, landing in the alley behind the wererats. The large, white-garbed figure grabbed the arm of a wererat that was about to swing down on me like a sword.

  An angel?

  The all-white figure didn’t have wings, but he did have a mask and cape.

  Not an angel. A Hero.

  The Hero yanked on the wererat’s arm. The Otherkin shifter went flying. The giant rat, having recovered from me slamming her against the wall, leaped at the Hero’s face, snarling at a high pitch that made my ears hurt. The Hero, moving faster than I would have thought such a big man could, dodged out of the way. The Hero grabbed the rat’s foreleg as it sailed by. The Hero spun, using the rat’s momentum against it to slam it against a wall.

  I kicked the face of the wererat who had only one working leg. Blood sprayed. The wererat’s head twisted sharply, and his body hit the ground. The other wererat, the one with the dark brown fur, slashed at me with his claws. I blocked his arm, grabbed it, twisted, and turned. I slammed him face-first into the alley wall. He bounced off it and fell heavily. On his way down, a bit of his fur got caught on a jagged piece of metal sticking out of the trash.

  Thanks to the Hero, the tide had dramatically and quickly turned. Obviously seeing the writing on the wall, one of the wererats let out a sharp whistle that sounded like a train’s. He and all the others shimmered again, turning into normal-sized rats.

  Before I or the Hero could react, all the wererats scurried for a nearby sewer grate. The one whose leg I had probably broken dragged his foot as he scampered away, but even he was too quick for me to grab before he disappeared down a slit in the grate after his faster friends.

  Just like that, the Hero and I were suddenly alone. The Hero’s face was turned toward the sewer grate.

  “Well, that’s certainly a new one,” he said in a deep voice. He sounded bemused. “And I thought I’d seen everything.” While he faced away from me, I bent over and quietly pocketed the bloody tuft of wererat fur that had snagged on the piece of metal.

  Now that I was no longer fighting for my life, I got a better look at the Hero. He was pro basketball player tall, perhaps as tall as seven feet. He was broad-shouldered, and well-muscled. Something ancient and primal stirred within me at the sight of his powerful body. His costume, which covered him from head to toe, was more off-white than lily-white. His matching cape was so long it almost touched the ground. His costume completely covered his face, not even having holes for his eyes, mouth, and ears. A utility belt was around his waist.

  I felt something on my head. I pulled something green, squishy, and smelly out of my hair. Gross. My clothes were a mess, like I had been doing exactly what I had been doing—rolling around in the trash with vermin. I looked and felt like a bag lady. I felt embarrassed this big, strong Hero was seeing me this way, then chided myself for the stupid emotion. I had bigger fish to fry than the first impression I was making.

  I glanced at the sewer grate. I didn’t like the fact the wererats had caught me with my pants down. I was eager to settle the score. If I was at one hundred percent and a Hero wasn’t breathing down my neck, I might have been dumb enough to follow the wererats and find out why they had attacked me. But I was not at one hundred percent. My arm bled, my back felt like the stitches had opened, and I was as well-shaken as a cocktail.

  I ached to sit and catch my breath, but this was no place to linger. I was already in enough trouble with the Conclave without getting into a conversation with a Metahuman mundane about wererats.

  “I’m hurt. I need to get to a hospital,” I said. I took a couple of steps toward the mouth of the alley.

  “Not so fast,” the Hero said, blocking my path. “I want to talk to you.” His voice was slightly muffled from his mouth being covered. It was like talking to a pillowcase.

  “Later,” I said, sidestepping him. I’d only gotten a few more steps before I felt his vise-like grip on my shoulder, stopping me.

  My adrenaline already sky-high thanks to the wererats, my temper was on a hair-trigger. Besides, Hero or no Hero, hunk or no hunk, you did not get to put your hands on me without permission.

  Before I consciously thought about it, my elbow shot out. It struck the Hero in the groin. He grunted in pain and surprise. His hand fell away from me. I took off running for the alley’s opening.

  I had almost made it out of the alley when I felt an exp
losive pain in my chest. Fireworks seemed to go off right behind my eyes. I looked down to see the costumed hand and forearm of the Hero sticking through my chest. There was no blood. His arm was now translucent; I saw the dirty ground of the alley through it. It was as if the Hero had turned into a phantom and shoved his arm through me.

  “I’ve ached to have a man inside of me before, but this isn’t what I meant,” someone said, as if from far away. As my eyes fluttered closed and I slumped to the ground, I realized that someone had been me.

  An expanding darkness in my mind swallowed me whole.

  * * *

  I dreamed of wererats, street thugs, Heroes, my body being torn apart at the seams and put back together again, and of me being poked and prodded. I had dreamed of being poked and prodded before, but those dreams had involved fewer medical instruments and a lot more nudity.

  I felt a sharp prick in my arm. I was jolted awake as if I had just mainlined a pot of coffee. My eyes snapped open. A woman in a white lab coat with a needle in her hand opened the door to the room I was in. She closed the door behind her, and I was alone.

  Alone, but alone where? The room I sat in gave me no clue. It was completely nondescript with white, windowless, featureless walls. The floor was metallic, and a dull silver in color. A small, four-legged table was directly ahead of me. My backpack was on it. The door the woman had walked out of was beyond the table.

  I looked and smelled like the trash the wererats had thrown me into. I sat in a black padded chair. I was strapped into the chair with leather bands around my ankles, wrists, and waist.

  I tried to move. I could wiggle, but that was all I could do thanks to the leather restraints. The slight movement made my stomach flip and my head feel like it was about to slide off my neck.

  The claw wounds on my arm had been treated and bandaged. It felt like the cuts on my back had been freshly treated too. And unless I missed my guess, I had been given painkillers. Considerate, except for the tying me up part.

  Putting aside my treated injuries, I felt weird. I felt hollow, weak, and achy, like I was getting over the flu.