Spirited Words (The Freelancers Book 4)

by Lee Isserow

  It was Rafe's, he was gesturing wildly at the ground below. Ana looked away briefly, and caught sight of what he was indicating towards. The axe on the ground. The only weapon that could kill the damn thing.

  She smiled, and surreptitiously moved her fingers at her sides, looping the shadows in her grasp around the axe, covering it in the darkness bit by bit, until it was completely engulfed. She pulled more darkness towards her, creating a thick black cloud at her side, and reached in―but the leshi was upon her before she had a chance to grab the axe from within.

  Rafe hurtled through the air as the beard spun him free, sending him crashing to the rock below with an unhealthy sounding crunch. He gasped, strained for breath. It felt as though the crash landing on the rock fractured a couple of bones in the process, and knocked yet more wind from his chest. The cave around him became blurry, his hands shook, as he tried with all his might to trace out a glyph on his palm.

  The giant ivory-skinned beast whipped across the room in flash, faster than Ana could react. She was in the clutches of its beard, the damn thing's fingers tearing through her clothes, and she was cackling out loud before she had a chance to know what hit her.

  The laughter centred Rafe, brought him back from the world of hurt to the task at hand. He grit his teeth and forced his fingers to stop shaking for a moment, and finished the damn glyph. Air flooded into his lungs as his ribs put themselves back into place. It wasn't a full heal, but it'd do for the moment. He grunted and grimaced as he forced himself to his hands and knees, feeling as though he was doing more damage with every movement. But it didn't matter. There were more important things than his own health.

  He looked over to Ana. He had to help her. She was under the damn thing's control, couldn't use her magicks to break free. . .

  Rafe looked around the cave floor for the axe. It wasn't where he remembered it being. Where it should have been. . . was darkness. A shadow. But not a normal shadow―this shadow was swirling and shifting, like it was alive. An undulating cloud of darkness hovering just above the rock, surging this way and that. Despite being a hapless victim to the beast, Ana still had the axe in her shadow-grasp.

  He crawled over, delved an arm into the shadows, reached around frantically in the darkness, but couldn't find it. He leaned in more, put his whole arm into the shadows, waved his hand around inside, but couldn't feel anything. Tugging his arm out, he grunted to himself. He had taught her too well―of course he couldn't feel a damn thing, she was more powerful than even he had been at full strength. She wasn't just going to use the shadows like an extension of an arm and grab the axe, she had gone overboard and manifested a crack between realms, held it in a pocket dimension to grab as and when she was ready.

  Ana's laughter got louder, it rippled off every surface in the cave. It surrounded him from every angle, and light began to peel into the cavern. Not from above, like the scant daylight that was creeping in, but from the faint pink and purple glimmers emanating out of Ana's mouth as the leshi began to suck up the life from her. He needed to act. Fast.

  His fingers traced out a sigil against his belt. The leather at his waist contorted, elongated down, forming a sheath that contained a slim knife with a matte leather-bound handle. He pulled the blade from the scabbard, it was silver, burned black. No damn use against the leshi. . . not as it was, at least.

  Taking a breath, Rafe closed his eyes, trying with all his might to block out the laughter, to concentrate on the task at hand. Transubstantiation was probably well beyond the scant magick he had left in his blood. . . but he didn't have another option.

  Holding the blade in front of him, he focused his intent, held it right in up front of his eyes and opened them, throwing his hands apart. His fingers danced through the air as he pulled them each a foot from the knife―and it dropped, but only slightly, levitating up and down in the air in front of him. The first step in the casting was done, but it was also the easiest step. . .

  The laughter cycled through his skull again, and he grit his teeth, whispering under his breath, casting a frail cone of silence around him. It wouldn't last long, but it didn't need to last long―not if he could get this right.

  Rafe threw his hands around the blade, first its sides, then round the top and bottom, picturing in his minds eye the change in its cellular make up from silver to iron. His tongue couldn't shift around the words required to make it happen, the ancient cheat codes to transubstantiate matter―but he could think them, loud and clear.

  Throwing everything he had into the intent, every ounce of strength, everything in his being into the act, he could feel the pounding in the back of his skull, but paid it no mind. The solid black of the blade began to gleam, becoming true silver, then it started to tarnish. The knife began to dull, texture rippling to become rough rather than smooth. He tried with all his might to elongate the handle, and change the shape of the blade, to turn it from knife to axe―for some ridiculous reason that he couldn't even begin to comprehend, leshi could only be killed by axes.

  The wooden handle of the knife broke free of the leather bindings that surrounded it―but it only grew and inch, and slowly at that, The blade didn't change shape at all. . . And he could feel his control of the magick starting to fade. The breath was heavy in his chest, the pounding in his head becoming a solid, shunting baseline, fingers of pain darted through his neural tissue, and a shiver ran across his whole body. The knife clattered to the floor.

  He didn't have the strength to fully change it. . . but it was iron now, which was something. If wouldn't be enough to kill the damn thing, but it would certainly work as a distraction.

  He reached over with quivering hands that dripped in sweat, and picked up the knife. The laughter broke through, a barrage of sound he had been holding back washed over him, sending his head spinning. Now wasn't the time to get overwhelmed. He forced himself to his feet. If nothing else, he was going to make this bastard scream. . .

  Taking one last deep breath, and trying to focus through a searing migraine, Rafe charged across the cave, holding the small blade ahead of him. His arms were flexed, ready to use every inch of his strength to drive the pathetic chunk of iron into the creature.

  It slid through the leshi's skin like butter, straight into the beast's back―or at least where Rafe thought its back might be. . . his vision was off, and the creature was close to thirteen feet tall.

  It screeched. A long, thin arm batted for him. Rounded claws passing right in front of Rafe's face, missing him more by luck than anything.

  He tugged the blade across the ivory flesh of the gigantic fiend. It felt as though the knife was made for this purpose, blade destined for cutting the damn thing. It tore through the skin with barely any effort on his part.

  As the screams continued, and another arm came for him, Rafe hung from the knife, pulling it down across the thing's back. He thought he could make out the curve of the spine, the ripple of a tail bone that was oh so close. The beast shrieked a high pitched wail, spitting up pink and purple glimmers into the air. Its feeding had been disrupted. Ana was safe for the moment―but Rafe knew it would be fast to heal.

  He shot up to his feet, twisting the blade, hoping to sever the damn thing's spine and send it to its knees―but in his haste and disorientation, he forgot that leshi don't just have the one spine. They had three. . . One might have been damaged, but the other two were still fully supporting the upper body.

  With an angry growl, it turned to face its attacker, dropping Ana to the ground, the beard already flicking through the air, wrapping around Rafe all over again. It lifted him straight off his feet, slammed him face first into the wall before pulling him close, tearing through Rafe's shirt with its fingers. The round tips crawled across his skin. But Rafe did not laugh―not this time.

  The creature's eyes went wide, it gasped, squealing yet again in a deafening high-pitch. The grasp it had on Rafe weakened, the long, winding white hair of the beard that encased him became dry and lifeless, turning to d
ust around him. Rafe hurtled down towards the hard rock below, landing next to a pool of thick grey slime with another thud that felt as though it cracked his rib cage all over again. He tried to fight through the pain, ground his teeth and forced his eyes to focus.

  Despite the agony, he found himself smiling.

  The axe flew across the room of its own volition, blade ripping through the beast over and over again, sending splatters of thick, purple blood splashing up against the rock. The creature tried to reach for it, grab hold of it before the weapon could strike him again, but it was gone―vanished into the shadows.

  It reappeared on the other side of the room, coming forth from a crack of mirrors as Ana guided it through the realms, throwing her fingers back and forth as she commanded its flight. The weapon tore great chunks from the beast, ripping it to pieces, painting the cave with its juices, until it finally gave up and died.

  Ana grabbed the axe from mid air, and spun it in her palm with a gleeful smile, her cheeks becoming flecked with violet goop. She had yet to put her shadow skills to use in the field, and this was one hell of a way to prove to herself that she knew what the hell she was doing.

  The smile shed, as she realised just how broken Rafe was. “Oh kitten!” she exclaimed, rushing over to his side.

  “Kitten? Really?” he grunted, trying to sit himself up.

  “What would you prefer? 'Oh macho man that's really broken'?”

  “Not much better. . .” he gasped. “Can you. . . give a guy a glyph?”

  Even though she wanted to mock him further, the trouble he was having getting words out was more than a little worrying. Without any further banter, she did as instructed, tracing out symbols on his skin to heal his broken bones.

  Rafe closed his eyes as the fractures and breaks put themselves right. He tried not to think about how her fingers felt so good on his skin. Warm. Repairing his wounds was the closest they ever got to any physical connection. The closest he would let her get.

  As she touched him, he could feel the pounding in his head withdrawing, his magicks returning, her skin meeting his replenishing his low supply back to what counted as 'full'―in a manner that neither of them truly understood..

  “Sure it's it dead?” he asked, stretching his arms out to a chorus of unhealthy cracks. She nodded, and he picked himself up, dusting the dirt of the cave floor from his coat. ”Girl okay?”

  “Yeah, Terrified, but safe.”

  “Good. Lets pack up the pelt and get her home. . . This isn't over yet.”

  “You always say that,” Ana groaned, as she led the way back through the passageway. “Can't you just smile and say 'we won the day, woo!'”

  “Did you see the slime?”

  “You're going to have to be more specific, there was a lot of slime.”

  “In the corner of the cave. . . grey goo,”

  “I guess? I was too busy being tickled, and then doing a monster murder.”

  “Leshi expunge that for one reason, and one reason only. . .”

  Ana sighed as she pulled the mental image of the book back to her mind's eye, leafing through the pages to find whatever the hell Rafe was talking about it.

  Leshi were expert mimics, they could change their form to lure children into their caves. . . and once they had them there, they could regurgitate doppelgängers that took the stolen child's place, siphoning the life force from their parents as they slept.

  She hated to admit it, but Rafe was right. Not only was this job not over―they were going to probably have to kill the doppelgänger, right in front of the girl's parents. . .

  Chapter 19

  Time would heal their wounds

  The door to Day Drinkers turned from dull, unpainted wood, to a thick and black gloss. It burst open, laughter filling the bar as Ana cackled towards her customary seat, Rafe following behind her with a plastic carrier bag that was overstuffed with a pale, leathery looking material that left a snail trail of purple slime on the floor behind him as he walked.

  “I've never seen anyone so glad to have their daughter beheaded.”

  “It wasn't their daughter, and they weren't glad.”

  “Not at first. . . but when it started walking around without a head, they cottoned on.”

  “I told you we should have introduced the real daughter into the mix before killing the duplicate. . .”

  “You don't think that'd have tipped it off?”

  “I think the parents wouldn't have tried to kill us. . .”

  “They barely tried to kill us. And they were happy in the end!”

  “There's just a certain finesse that was missing from the proceedings.”

  “Busy day?” Mallory asked, non-committally

  “We're celebrating! Another job well done.”

  “Another job barely survived. . .” Rafe muttered under his breath.

  “You always seem to be celebrating,” Mallory grumbled.

  “Well, there's lots to celebrate! We saved a girl, reunited her with her parents―“

  “Are you covered in slime?”

  Ana glanced down at her clothes. Between killing the leshi and its doppelgänger offspring, she had made quite a mess. “Totally forgot about that . . . Amazing what you forget when you're busy saving lives, huh?”

  Mallory turned her back on them pour a whisky, and to hide the scowl that fell on her brow as Ana said the words. She was one of those things that Ana had forgotten whilst 'saving lives'.

  “Could you sound more like an arse?” Rafe scoffed.

  “Really, mister 'mysterious anti-hero'? Why can't we pat ourselves on the back every once in a while?”

  “Patting ourselves is one thing, telling everyone you meet about it is totally different.”

  “I don't tell everyone.”

  “You told the clerk at the supermarket last week.”

  “That doesn't count!”

  “And the garbage men.”

  “You're taking this out of context.”

  “You dropped it in when you bought a sandwich for a homeless guy.”

  “He was happy for me!”

  “He was happy to have a meal. . . And given your skillset, you could have done more for him.”

  “Really, you want to get into a disagreement about how we should help the homeless?”

  “I don't want to get into any disagreements.

  Mallory put two glasses of whisky in front of them without saying a word. Even if she wanted to join their discussion, the rapid fire back-and-forth left little room for her to interject. She leaned back against the counter, eyes scanning the room for something―anything―that she might be able to do that would take her away from the conversation.

  Deciding it the only fitting excuse to walk away, she went over to the dishwasher and tugged the door open, once again trying not to listen as the couple traded quips back and forth. Even though she did her best to drown them out again with the hum of the fridges, the occasional phrase came through the white noise, and none of them made a damn bit of sense.

  “You didn't have to cut her in two, as soon as a leshi dupe's skin is broken they start to deflate.”

  “They deflate so boring and slowly! Clefting in twain is more my style, dramatic flair.”

  “Not in front of the parents of the girl, and definitely not before you explain that the Leshi cloned her daughter and it was siphoning their life force from their dreams. . .”

  “I already chopped its head off, what different does slicing the rest of it in two make?”

  It sounded to Mallory once again as though the two of them had spent all day playing some epic, idiotic fantasy game. . . and she was wondering why they never invited her along. Sure, role playing wasn't necessarily her thing, but she couldn't understand how fun a game could be with just two players.

  Closing up the machine, she took the clean glasses over to the counter and began putting them back on the shelves, trying to ignore that Rafe looked as though he had turned away from Ana, and was talking to himself
.

  It wasn't the first time this had happened―the first time she tried to work out if he was wearing some kind of minuscule Bluetooth headset, and was certain he wasn't. It didn't seem to bug Ana that he was pretending to have phone calls, and that was just yet another thing that she found weird as hell about their whole friendship / relationship.

  Rafe knocked his drink back. “Slugtrough is waiting on his leshi skin, I'll drop it round and get us paid.” He picked up the bag that was lying under his bar stool, leaving a puddle of purple ooze on the floor. “Really should have got a better container. . .” he sighed. “Any chance of a door?”

  Ana had walked away, and was leaning over the bar, trying to garner Mallory's attention. Rafe decided that it was better not to disturb her, knowing by now that it would only result in her shouting at him.

  He threw his fingers through the air, dialling his tried and tested alternate door-provider.

  “Hey Tal―”

  “What do you want?”

  “Uh, a door, please?”

  “Get Ana to do it.”

  “She's busy.”

  “Gods dammit, you know we have red rain falling? There are more important things than shuttling you to and fro!”

  “I literally have no idea what that means. . . but thank you?”

  Tali grunted in his ear as she hung up, and he looked around for the door. It appeared over the top of the door to the women's bathroom. With a sigh, he walked over to it, and cast his destination as he reached for the handle, hoping that the clientele wouldn't notice that he was about to disappear into the toilets for the next ten to twenty minutes. . .

  Ana chuckled to herself as she saw Rafe go through the door, and continued to wave for Mallory's attention. She had her back to the bar, shoving glasses on to the shelf with loud passive aggressive clatters and clinks.

  “Mallory. . . Are you okay?”