So on he ran.
The street he ran down grew more deserted the further he traveled until there was not a single pedestrian to be seen. The sky above the end of this next street was darkened by a whirlwind of clouds. Lightning flashed deep within this chaos, illuminating the houses below it. Shadows were heavy and the last house on the corner was completely covered with the moving mass of them, as if alive.
He lowered the dark goggles and settled them over his eyes. Here the aural compass would not suffice. He needed to view the chaos with his eyes. The world before him darkened, but the shadow covered house was ablaze with alternating lights of electric blue and sickly green.
The material world dropped away and Niko could now see the energy trails emanating within the building and from deep in the obscuring cloud mass. Reaching up with his free hand, he turned a small dial along the outer frame of his goggles. It clicked once. The pattern in the cloud changed and became less opaque.
He could now view what was transpiring within the unnatural cloud formations above the houses. A lump of sickly, brackish hued tentacles, much like an octopus, was pulsing, attempting to push its vast bulk through a huge dark hole in the sky. He watched this repulsive scene, dread building in his stomach. That dark void was a jagged slash against the blue summer sky. He thought he could see stars out beyond the tentacled horror.
He cursed. This was not good. Not good at all. He prayed that he would not have need of the book. He touched his side where the old book rode in the hidden pocket, then looked over his rifle quickly once more. He pushed down that dread before it had chance to engulf him. For some reason, his brother’s care-free, laughing face came to him in that moment, lending him a courage that he could feel. His mind flashed back to those younger days when Dane and he would stay up late, far into the night, talking of the grand plans for the future they would both share. Niko smiled and felt his spirit lighten. His brother was there beside him then, urging him on.
This was it.
The chanting continued.
Denis stepped forward and descended as quickly as he dared. What fresh hell was he about to plunge into? He struggled to contain the insidious tendrils of growing fear and horror. He kept one thought on the girl’s safety and one on his own need for iron courage.
The house trembled and shook, sending him jumping forward to grab the hand rail of the heaving basement stairs. He managed to save himself from a tumble downward. Strange colored lights were flashing upward from below. The air felt thicker here and it was a struggle to breathe. His heart thudded in his chest and his palms were slick on the railing. He wiped them on his pants.
Jesus Christ. Get a hold of yourself, Denis lad. He shook his head with a deliberate effort as he tried to keep a grip on his sanity. He felt like he was slipping again. He squeezed his eyes shut as flashes of muzzle fire and the crashing shatter of cannon fire swept through his mind. Battlefield slaughter played across the landscape of his closed eyelids.
The girl’s screams grew more frantic.
Shite! Move it!
He descended the stairs as quickly as he could, trying not to trip and kill himself before he could execute a rescue.
The scene before him was cut straight out of a nightmare, and he had walked directly into the middle of it.
He stood in place on the bottom stair step frozen, pistol held securely in one hand, the other gripping the railing in an effort to keep himself upright. Time seemed to slow down as he scanned the lower level of the house. Cellar wasn’t quite the right word because the upper end of the area was carved away into the earth, extending the surface area by about 20 or so feet. It was dressed out with fieldstone and supported in places with several mortared brick pillars. An intricately carved arch demarcated the line between the two rooms. The keystone of this arch displayed some sort of odd line drawing, the shape of what appeared to be an eye bisected by a bolt of lightning, like ancient cave drawings he had seen in a museum once.
Nestled within this cave-like extension, a massive black basalt altar squatted like a torpid toad. Carved with runes and sigils, it exuded an air of watchful anticipatory power. A young girl was manacled and chained to the top of this repulsive piece of rock. Her pale flesh was a sharp contrast against the black stone.
Another dark robed figure stood before the altar, an evil looking dagger held in one outstretched hand, the fingers of which ended in sharpened, black-tipped nails. The other hand was clenched in a fist. The figure was chanting, the words projected skyward and amplified.
Denis blinked. The sickly green aura surrounding the robed being bordered on palpable and he swallowed the foul taste welling up in his mouth.
Both the girl and the figure turned their heads towards Denis.
She thrashed in her bindings. “Sweet Jesus, help me!” She screamed, her terror stricken eyes pleading with him.
He took a step forward, raising the Dragoon. This is insane.
Niko gave the swirling mass surrounding the house only a brief moment of inspection. Although this was a new phenomenon, he did not wish to linger in observation. A wave of exhaustion swept over him as the sedative-like by product effect of the chanted ritual tugged at his consciousness.
Wincing, he shook his head.
The steps up to the shattered front door beckoned. He set his shoulders and settled the rifle’s grip in his hand.
He eyed the destruction of the door as he climbed the steps, his footsteps sounded hollow in the thick, warm air. His hand absently twisted and clenched the rubber grip.
Thunderous words echoed in waves from the sky, assaulting his ears and threatening his sanity. Startled, he jerked his head upward as those eldritch words rang clear and insistent, vibrating deep inside his chest and sinking into bone.
Muttering a curse in Serbian, he leaned against the door jam and flipped open his coat. He shook his head and drew forth the book, gazing with reluctant satisfaction at its cover. The metal sigil glowed a deep blue.
“Hazel, my dear. It looks like I do indeed have need of your book.” He thanked the open-minded young librarian.
Cradling the rifle in the crook of his arm, he freed his weapon hand to flip through the parchment pages. He tried to ignore the vast pounding of the incantation as it reverberated from the aether. He closed his eyes, letting his mind clear. One by one he felt through the dry pages until the tell-tale twitch in his fingers gave away the proper verse.
There! He scanned the stanza once, quickly acquainting himself with the ancient words, then returned to the beginning. Thunder rumbled again and something in that morass of hell-spawned clouds growled. He looked up, grimly steeling himself as his thumb bookmarked the page. He entered the darkened maw of the brownstone.
The air was heavy and thick.
Denis held his weapon steady despite the terror gripping his stomach. He gritted his teeth and struggled to breathe.
“Drop that dagger and let the lady go!” he demanded with clenched jaw as his mind struggled to process what was going on down here.
The eyes of the robed man narrowed to slits as he lowered his clenched fist. The dagger gleamed wickedly in the candlelight.
Denis pushed down his fear and willed himself forward another step. His heart was a pounding drum in his chest but his weapon arm was a rigid plank. He sighted down the barrel.
Without missing a beat, the man halted his chanting, letting the reverberating echoes keep the summoning words alive.
“Idiot.” he said, then spat out a hissing string of unintelligible words as he flung out his free hand, palm up, at the same time Denis pulled the trigger.
In the time he took to blink, the Dragoon roared, and Denis flew backward, hitting the opposite wall.
Denis likened the experience to being thrown from the resulting force of a too close artillery blast. That same over-sized hand simultaneously slamming into and lifting him up as it launched him several yards into the air. It was not something he expected to relive again.
The shot fr
om the Dragoon had gone wide, missing the black figure. The robed man laughed wickedly and continued his chanting where he had left off then lowered the dagger toward the heart of the struggling young girl.
Denis’ shoulder was on fire and he felt nauseous. He shook his head, trying to blink away the stars. He rolled over, ears ringing with a bell toll. He looked down to see his hand was still tight around the weapon’s handle. Somehow, he had managed to maintain his grip on the Dragoon.
He had to get up.
As Denis lifted himself off the stone floor, an explosion from above rocked the house. Timber and stone shrieked in protest, mixing with the screams of the girl. He dropped flat and instinctively covered his face and head.
From above them another voice rang out, strong, clear, and with what sounded like a retort or defiant counter chant. The force of these new words pushed against the power of the eldritch summoning. The air was a hot band of energy, crackling and spitting streams of blue and green electricity into the air like hissing snakes.
Robes flapping, the man stumbled, cursing.
The floor heaved sending dust and dirt sifting down upon them.
Denis winced, coughing dust, and pushed himself up, taking aim at the figure once more. There was absolutely no way he could miss this shot.
His head was an anvil and the girl’s cries of helpless terror were the hammer.
Focusing, he noticed a small statue, grotesquely evil, at the foot of the altar and glowing with hunger as if in anticipation of a tasty meal. It pulsed with a sickly green inner light, and seemed to Denis as if it was drawing breath.
The robed man had regained his footing and was now wielding the dagger over the girl. A sense of urgency was evident in his movement. With a taloned hand he roughly grabbed and wrenched her head back by the hair, frantically resuming the chant, as he positioned the dagger for the sacrificial stroke.
The young girl heaved her body against the chains.
The robed man tensed and the dagger plunged downward.
Denis pulled the trigger twice.
His aim was true. The .44 slugs caught the man in the upper chest and spun him around, sending him staggering backward several paces, the dagger flying from his grasp, as he lost his footing and toppled over.
The statue’s glow dimmed perceptibly.
Above them, the dying echoes of the summoning chant were overwhelmed by the new voice.
Something skyward was not too pleased with this new development. A deep bellow full of anguish followed the arrival of this new voice.
The black robed man echoed his frustration with a hideous scream.
What the hell? Astonished, Denis watched as the man righted himself, debris falling from the deep folds in the robe, apparently unharmed by the bullets lodged in his body.
He gave a wet cough and pushed back the hood to reveal a pale, long haired, weasel faced man, eyes feverishly bright and awash in madness, with lips drawn back in a snarl and flecked with white froth.
“You meddlesome bastard.” He winced and growled through clenched teeth. Limping slightly, he advanced on Denis, cursing.
The echoing chorus of the new chant faded away.
Another explosion from upstairs rocked the house. The cellar ceiling rained splinters of wood and stone down upon them all. A thick cloud of dust kicked up, plunging the already dim room into deeper shadow.
Shite. As Denis rose, something slammed into the cellar door frame and upper stairwell with enough force to rattle his teeth. He could hear the shriek of metal. A faint odor filled the opaque air, the door now lay in a crumpled heap of charred and splintered wood at the bottom of the steps.
He struggled to his feet and backed up, bringing the Dragoon to bear on the black robed fanatic. He peered into the gloom and could just make out the silhouette against the fitful candlelight from the altar.
The black robed man drew himself up and muttered something in that harsh, ancient language. Denis could now see the man’s aura glowing that sickly green again. He felt the power emanating off of him. Denis’ eyes darted about the room. His back against the wall, he wasn’t sure what he could do now. No other way out that he could see. Slow him down enough to get the girl and flee?
That would have to do.
“You already know that weapon is useless, you pathetic mortal slug.” The voice slithered with contempt across the emptiness between them. Denis watched him take a limping step forward.
He frowned. “Probably” he admitted, the Dragoon’s hammer made a solid click as he thumbed it back. “But, I’m thinking your little shindig here has been ruined, at least.”
The black robed man laughed and raised his arm.
Denis sighted on his chest and pulled the trigger.
The world erupted in a cascade of bluish-white light.
For the third time that day Denis found himself flat out on the floor. The stone was refreshingly cold against his cheek. It felt good. Perhaps he should just stay here. Colored stars swam across his vision. He blinked rapidly, trying to banish them as he lifted his head to survey the damage.
What the hell was that anyway?
The cellar was a chaotic mess of stone and fallen timber. He lay sprawled several feet from where he had been standing. He coughed and looked around for the black robed man.
Nothing.
The silhouette of a man emerged out of the smoky haze. At first, Denis thought it was the black robed figure until he noticed the long coat flapping. He lifted himself on one arm and looked up as a slender hand reached down to him.
“Take my hand. We must act quickly!” The voice was strong and carried a hint of foreign lands.
Denis grabbed for the stranger’s hand and levered himself up, wincing in pain as he did so. His whole body felt like one large patch of road that had been trampled over by a herd of cattle.
“Thanks,” he grunted, standing straight. He stretched his back and eyed the strange weapon in the new comer’s hand and noted his long coat, suit, and goggles.
His eyes widened and he grabbed his arm.
“Wait a minute!” he said, practically yelling. “It’s you - from the street, back at the coffee house - outside!” he faltered, stumbling over his words.
The young man smiled at him, then turned toward the altar and the chained form of the young girl. “Yes, I remember you there. I thought I might be seeing you again.” He said over his shoulder.
Denis stared at him.
He continued walking and added, “Admittedly, just not this soon.” He shrugged. “No matter.” He waved a hand at Denis. “Nikola Tesla, at your service, my friend.” He turned at the waist to take in the room and gestured for Denis. “And now we must make haste and finish this.” He pointed down to the girl. “We must see to this young lady.” He quickly made his way over toward the grotto.
Denis blinked, still rather stunned from ordeal. “Yes, of course.” He shook his head to clear it as he hurried over to Niko and the girl.
Spying his gun en route he stooped quickly to scoop it up. “My name is Denis Malone.” He said.
“Well met, Denis Malone.” Niko replied.
“What is...was this?” Denis asked as he joined Niko at the altar. “What the hell was that thing in the sky? Sounded like an animal.” He looked at the spot where the black robed, weasel face man had stood. “And what the hell happened to that black robed jackass?” He demanded, holstering his weapon, and nodded at the empty space before him.
Niko bent his six foot plus frame over the altar and lifted the girl’s manacled arm. “So many questions, my friend.” He checked the girl’s pulse. “The explanation to what has occurred here will take much time. Time we do not have.” Satisfied, he set the girl’s arm down and looked up at Denis. “Please” he gestured to the girl. “She is alive and we must free her.”
Denis looked at the manacles and chains trapping her limbs and snorted. “Yea, but with what?” He spread his arms wide. “I forgot to pack my bolt cutters this morning.”
; Niko snorted. “We might find something if we look about.” He lifted a manacled arm to show him the keyhole. “Perhaps a key?” he asked with raised eyebrow.
“That would be too easy.” Denis mumbled. His eyes frantically searched the floor and walls near the altar. Nothing.
Two flameless candles sat upon a small intact wooden table near the back wall. He ran over to check, his eyes frantically darting about the wall and floor. There! Hanging from a rusty iron hook set in the wall almost at eye level, was a key.
“Well, what do you know?” he said, grabbing them. He rushed back to the altar and began unlocking manacles. “So, how about it, kid.” He asked, freeing the girl’s legs. “Going to tell me who that was?” He moved to unlock a wrist, then stopped. “What the hell are you doing down there?” He asked looking down at Niko.
The young man talked as he knelt on the floor, examining a small square box about the size of an alarm clock which he had produced from within the depths of his coat. “Please, Denis, you must take care of the girl.” He said. “The stairs are unstable, but intact.” He nodded to himself and twisted a dial. It clicked as he advanced it several turns. “Go, my friend.” He smiled up at Denis reassuringly. “I shall be along shortly.”
Denis was about to argue when the girl began to stir. He went back to unlocking the locks on her wrists. He lightly tapped her face with the back of his hand. “Little lady, time to get the hell out of here.”
Her eyes fluttered open and her eyes widened. Flustered and frightened she thrashed and twisted about. “What?” She began to cry.
Denis removed his coat and wrapped it about her shoulders. “Shh, little lady it’s okay, you’re safe now,” he assured her with soft words.
She let out a choked sob and fell against his shoulder. He could feel her quivering body through the coat. He gathered her up as gently as he could, lifting her against his chest. She was as light as a fawn and just as fragile. Denis held her close, whispering comforting words, as he started for the scorched stairs.
Tesla & Malone - Lightning's Call - Book One Page 6