The Gift

by A. F. Henley

  August lowered his voice to a near whisper. "I don't trust you. You're no better than him. You drugged me, you hurt me."

  Closer still Morana stepped. "He wanted me to. It's always him with the iron fist and the cold heart. He is so bitter, August. But once he is gone, then you'll see the real me." She licked her lips as August forced himself to move closer. "You will see then that I would never hurt you. I know you, August. I know you are kind and good and honest. I only seek to give you your heart's desire. Of course, I also wish to get what I want at the same time. But, boy, believe me. We could be lords above all men."

  Again August nudged closer, and again Morana followed his movement. "Would Doren be safe?" The closer they got, the lower August made his voice so that Morana had to strain to hear him.

  "Safer than in his mother's arms."

  "Would you be nice to me?"

  "Oh, baby boy," she laughed huskily. "I would be so nice to you. No one has ever been so nice as I could be. There is a whole world out there that you do not know yet. The power that you could find to use, the forces we could search out together! August, you would be invincible."

  "I would?"

  "We would," Morana said. "You and me and Doren."

  "You?" August mumbled, training his eyes on Morana's, locking their gazes, softening his expression and pleading silently for Morana to come closer, just come closer.

  "Yes," she replied, voice trembling.

  August leaned towards the glass. "And me?"

  "Yes!" Morana all but breathed against the glass she was so close. "You and me."

  August lifted his hands, spreading them, palms flat against the cold. "Show me, Morana," he murmured. "Show me how it could be."

  Anton

  Oh, such terrible fun, Anton chuckled to himself. What a wicked way to train a dog; what a wicked thing to enjoy it so much. Poor little fella: afraid of the dark, afraid of the teeny weeny room. He reached for his seatbelt and, just as he was about to clasp it shut, Anton released it as though he had been set on fire. "Fuck!" he gasped.

  "Sir?"

  "That fucking little prick!" He threw open the door and jumped out of the van. "Take him to the meeting place. But leave him in the van. I will meet you there shortly."

  "Sir?" The driver looked apprehensively into the rear-view mirror. "You want me to take him alone, sir?"

  "Fuck!" Anton slapped his forehead in frustration, repeating it again as if the sting went along with the expletive. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! I do not have time for this. I do not have time for your questions and your trepidations. Damn it, man, do as you're told!"

  He slammed the van door and began to retrace his steps into the stadium. That sniveling, iniquitous, manipulative little prick! Hell, maybe Morana had been right. Maybe August would be perfect for the job after all. Apparently August did have the ability to slide on his belly when required, apparently being a snake came easy.

  He walked faster, hurrying down the hall, while sweat started to bead on his forehead. With every step the weight of the blade in his jacket bumped against his chest. It was comforting. And comfort was a welcome follower to his travel at that moment. Oh, Morana, he mused. You stupid cow. You can't even see that he's playing you. I can see it from hundreds of feet away and you can't from a few inches? You're so blinded by your own libido that you allow that prick to lead you by your pussy, tempting and teasing you to come, come, come.

  He knew she'd been getting weak. He had been right to worry about her. He'd been an idiot to let her talk him into allowing her to do this one thing. Try and replace him? To try and replace him nonetheless? What a simpleton. What a fool.

  Reaching the bubbling point of frustration, Anton growled out loud and began to run down the slick basement stairs just as the thought of her reaching for the glass came to his searching mind. His eyes flew wide. No, Morana! You stupid, mournful sod, don't you dare!

  He saw Morana's greed pulling her hands to the glass, wanting, needing to feel the boy, desperate to connect with him. Like that would somehow make August come willingly? He watched Morana's mind's eye focus on August's parted lips, felt her desire to push her tongue inside of it, and Anton slammed through the door of the containment room just in time to see Morana's hands touch the surface of the glass, connecting the two of them palm to palm. August turned slowly, already pulling, and smiled at Anton coldly.

  "Fuck you," August mouthed as the inch thick glass shattered into thousands of pieces, drenching the three of them with shards as August reached forward and grasped Morana's wrists, magnifying his efforts with skin to skin. He drew Morana's power into a circle as long fingers of glass arced into the air, falling, spinning, and shattering on the stone around the two of them. Not a single piece pierced August's flesh. Morana was not so protected.

  Still holding both Morana's hands, August picked the woman up and flung her. Her bony body hit Anton hard, the two of them tumbling, and in one quick vault August was in the room—two more steps and he was at the open doorway. He turned and stared at Anton, his eyes cold. "I will still find a way to kill you, Anton. Count on it."

  Anton heard his steps echo down the hall and every racing beat of sole made the tension in Anton's head grow. Yet another game of catch-me-if-you-can. Just what he needed.

  Growling in exasperation Anton stood, shaking, desperate to release some of the vile energy that coursed through his blood. Without a second thought, he lifted Morana off the ground and tossed what could only be an already broken body yet again. Demons did not wail so profoundly as what that woman could manage, Anton thought. Angry, nasty, mind-stealing demons …

  "I warned you." He tried to control the shake in the words, but failed at restraining the spit from spraying off his lips. "I warned you that I would not tolerate any more mistakes. I warned you that I would not tolerate any deviance. You have thwarted me once too often and I do not abide a traitor."

  She should never have underestimated him, he thought, forcing the anger to fall from his face. He was far past simple emotion. Resolve had planted and Anton fully intended to see it through. He acted quickly. If she had a moment to react, it would be long enough. In a well-learned grab and draw, Anton reached into the inner pocked of his jacket, grasped the blade and flicked the butterfly handle open. Without a single hesitation, he turned towards Morana and plunged it into her heart.

  She didn't scream. Her eyes flew to his and she chuckled. Then she wheezed a laugh. "You stupid man. You stupid, foolish, self-indulgent man." She struggled to make her voice strong, volume lost to the way her breath failed. "You think you're so smart but you don't realize that you can't do this without me. You can't pull this off on your own."

  Pained laughter dissolved to a gurgle. "You … will … fail."

  Anton rolled his eyes and gave a good twist to the handle buried in her chest, imagining himself slicing Morana's heart in two. "God damn you woman, shut up and die."

  She opened her mouth, drew a breath, and the shine slipped away from her eyes.

  "Finally." Anton stood, thumbed a single drop of blood from his face with a grimace and squatted to the ground to use Morana's skirt to wipe the tip of the digit clean. As an afterthought he drew the blade through the fabric as well, nodded, and gripped the handle once again. Then he turned towards the hallway.

  "Oh, August," he called. "Where are you, gorgeous?"

  The Boys in the Band

  "This way, hurry!" Dawson led them out into the darkness. In the stillness of falling night they could hear the crowd mingling not too far away, waiting to catch a glimpse of the star that could be, at that very moment, fading into oblivion. Dawson stopped and waited.

  "Daws!" Geoff frowned at the sudden pause. "What are you waiting for? We need to find August and Doren before Anton does."

  "Too late for that," Cooper confirmed what the rest of them already knew. "But we still need to find them. How we gonna do that?"

  "I'm not sure." Curtis shook his head. "But if Dawson says we need to stop for a minute we
're going to stop. So just stop and wait." Like lost puppies they waited against the wall, shifting their stances, listening to the emptying lot, and watching the disappearing people while they tried not to appear like lurkers.

  When the silence of their empty corner was disrupted by the sound of an approaching engine and a long black limo began touring the edges of the building—slowing, moving forward again, hesitating at each door—they all looked at each other in panic.

  It was Geoff that offered the: "Let's get out of here. We have no idea who that fuck is. He could be part of Anton's group."

  "Yes," Dawson agreed, not moving. "Yes, I believe he is." The car pulled up beside them and the passenger window lowered slowly.

  "Gentleman," the driver said with perfect calm. "I believe you need a lift?"

  Curtis stepped forward, Geoff close behind. "No. Our plans have changed. We're not going back to the hotel."

  The driver leaned into the light. It wasn't their previous driver after all—someone different—someone that none of them had ever seen before. "Of that, I am quite certain. But if you want to find your friends you need to come with me. I can take you to where they are. Or, in the case of the assistant, where he will soon be."

  Curtis eyed the driver carefully. "Thanks for the offer, but we're good just the same. We'll work it out on our own. Nothing personal, buddy, but I 'm just not sure we can trust you."

  "No," the driver said, checking his rear-view, "you can't be sure you can trust me. But you have to trust someone. Otherwise you're just four guys standing in the dark. What can I, one little man, do to harm the four of you? Especially," he nodded at Geoff, "with him around?"

  Four faces hardened into frowns. Curtis' eyes narrowed. What did this driver know? And how did he know it? Worse, by knowing it, did that make him dangerous?

  He glanced at Dawson. "Well? Have a look. Do we get in the car or take our chances?"

  Dawson nodded. "Been there. Done that. And I don't think we have a choice. Cooper, what's your take? Can you get a read?"

  Cooper concentrated. Flashes of a night not too long past filled his mind as he read the driver's memory: driving August to a huge house in the middle of nowhere; watching the house, waiting for a sign; August stumbling out of the front door and running down a driveway; pulling up beside an iron gate and pushing a button. "He's helped once before somehow. With August. He works for Anton, but he doesn't. I think he's here to help."

  The driver slid over the seat until he was perched by the passenger window. He leaned out of the car. "You don't have a lot of time. I promise you that I don't mean any of you harm. And while I realize that my promise means nothing to you, it's all that I can give. We may not be able to change destiny, my friends, but we can do our best to make sure that both sides get their fair share of time on the field." He paused, sizing up the group of them. "So that when it comes time to make the choice, all the options are there. August needs to find Doren. Which means you guys need to find August. So, please. Just get in the damn car."

  Curtis looked at Dawson. Dawson looked at Cooper. Cooper looked at Geoff.

  "Come on guys," Curtis said, reaching for the door. "Let's get in the damn car then."

  Medea

  She stared at the crumpled body on the floor; the gaping wound in Morana's chest now stilled of its heaving, mouth open and eyes fixed. Medea dropped to her knees, red hair falling like a drape over her shoulder, and picked up Morana's lifeless hand. The same hand that had, on so many occasions, been the one placed against her; the one that repaired her and fixed her after his hands had been too harsh. How many times had he ripped and tore at her, to walk away and leave her bleeding and broken? And every time it had been Morana who would come to stroke away the pain and murmur soothing sound to the demons that raged in her mind. It had been Morana who told her, no more than a child then, not to scream, to never cry. Morana had been so wise—so very, very wise. For it had been Medea's refusal to stay broken that made her interesting. Otherwise, she would have been dead long ago, like so many others along the way.

  Morana had been the closest thing to a mother that Medea could remember, as wrong as the concept might be used on one who'd shared so many intimate moments.

  And who now? Who would put her back together again? Who would stop the bleeding and smooth away the devil's marks? Who would reach for her with kindness?

  Medea dropped the dead woman's hand and reached up to close Morana's eyes and jaw.

  Fury burned in her, raced in her, and it brought a calm focus that she rarely experienced. Medea stood and turned towards the door. His reign had gone on long enough. Anton would die for what he'd done.

  "And that," Medea whispered to the empty room, "is a promise."

  August

  He leaned against the wall, willing his breath to return and his heart to calm its erratic beating. "Where the hell are you?" he asked the empty corridor. "Why can't you hear me?"

  Every corridor looked the same. Every passage and door seemed to lead to nowhere. Not a single exit sign shined from above; there were no posted directions. He couldn't even find a fire alarm or he would have pulled it. How the building had ever passed a fire inspection, August couldn't imagine.

  Soft light caught the corner of his eye; through the frosted window of a heavy door it flicked and twisted; beckoning him. An exit? Just beyond? Someone working? Surely light had to be a good sign, somehow? He moved towards the door like an animal sniffing food from a stranger's hand. He'd give just about anything to have the ability to see around this corner like Dawson could. He wished he could just bust through the walls like Geoff might. But he wasn't that cool. Without someone else's ability, without someone else to feed from, he was nothing. Really, he thought, at the end of the day he was no more than a parasite. A thief. A user.

  With a huff of frustration and a shake of his head, August firmed his shoulders. He was being stupid. Self-pity and doubt wouldn't do him a damn bit of good at the moment. Save it for tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow would be the time for consideration, questions, angst and planning. Today he had to act.

  August steeled himself and yanked open the door.

  Anton

  With a chuckle and an elaborate slide forward, Anton grabbed August the second he walked through the doorway, catching August's neck in a chokehold and securing his arm, twisting it behind his back. The way August's growl sharpened into a cry of pain when August was shoved up against the wall was breathtaking.

  "Like a moth to a flame," Anton whispered in August's ear. "You make it too easy, boy."

  He caught his own giggle the moment it started, the sound too loud and too maniacal even to his own ears. "Oh, my," he teased as August struggled in his grip, "that almost feels nice, August. If I wasn't so damn busy right now I could probably let you keep squirming up against me for hours."

  August's fingers scrabbled to Anton's forearm as Anton increased the pressure on his throat. "Maybe a game for another time, hmm? Right now though, August? I need you to sleep."

  August began to wheeze and Anton hummed in time to the sound. "Sleep tight, boy," Anton said, rubbing his cheek against August's hair, smelling shampoo and cologne, sweat and fear. The struggling weakened, August slackened against him, and Anton smiled. "Sweet dreams."

  He turned August in his arms and checked August's eyes and chest. Still breathing. Shallow. But that was fine. August's eyes were rolled back into his head. Also good. He needed August alive but he could afford no further delays. Whistling, Anton hoisted August in his arms and headed through the office towards the interior door.

  As an afterthought he stopped, stepped back into the room, leaned over the table, and blew out the flickering candle.

  We Are

  Family

  Doren

  "Wake up, Doren."

  The voice was as soft and gentle as summer rain but Doren turned his head away from it. Sleep was the only solace; sleep softened the darkness and quieted the noises his imagination made real. He had
felt the vehicle travel, felt it rumble and roll and jostle him to God only knew where. At the moment, however, it was still and silent, and the comfort of sleep had provided him peace and calm.

  "Doren," it came again. "You must be strong."

  Such a familiar voice, yet so far away. So quiet, yet so deep inside his mind. Doren searched it out, reached for it, and the spark of familiarity brought a face to him. "Diana," he mumbled, scrambling to find purchase and right himself. "I'm lost, Diana; I'm scared."

  "Be still, Doren." The voice faded and brightened, brightened then faded. "Be still and find your power."

  "I can't," he hollered. Sound echoed and blasted in his tiny metal tomb and he squeezed his eyelids closed until it faded. "It's gone. Everything's gone." He swallowed back a rush of pain. "August's gone."

  Diana's thoughts brushed past him like a breeze. "No, Doren. He can't be gone. He is your light. Sometimes you can't see it, sometimes the clouds get in the way, but it's still there. It's always there. Find your light."

  "It's so dark," he whispered, "and the locks … I can't do it."

  "If you want to find it then you will. Open your eyes and look for it."

  Stillness settled once again into the empty space.

  Shaking, Doren felt for the wall and stood. With his eyes still closed Doren raised his face to the roof of the van. Be there, he thought. Please, Auggie, please be alive.

  He felt it in his stomach first; then his chest and his throat. He hummed to it, barely there at all, but as he added his own voice to the notes, as it rebounded over metallic surfaces to find him again, the sound filled the van and took it over.