by Kade Cook
Cimmerian pulls himself back from his wicked ponderings and sighs. He forces himself to smile—an encouragement to allow his guidance with her new gift, giving the monster on his shoulder what he wants, perhaps taking him one step closer to Symone.
“Well, I am glad to know that my efforts have not been wasted.” His words are dry and without emotion.
Unsure whether she should be offended by this statement or whether his demeanor is just the cold, and abrupt person he is, Gabrian lifts the edges of her mouth, and shakes her head no in reply.
“Splendid.” He nods his head and switches his brow. “Now, as you can see, I am at the moment otherwise engaged,” he says, waving his hand over the pile of papers on his desk. “We shall convene with this discussion tomorrow evening at dusk,” he informs, staring at her over the top of his glasses sitting pretentiously on the bridge of his nose, no longer entertaining her with fake charm. His cold black eyes hold onto hers, unblinking. “Is this acceptable?” Cimmerian utters flat and monotone. “Or shall I reorganize everything in order to accommodate your needs?”
Gabrian can’t help but feel the dislike for her within his words—somewhat confused by his sway of attitude toward her. She wishes she could choose a different teacher but knows this must be his way of helping out as an Elder. She bites her tongue, stopping herself from snapping at him and telling him exactly where he can stick his offer, then digs deep down and finds the professional within, swallowing the statement she wishes to say, and retorts with a proper reply, “No, dusk is fine, thank you, Professor.”
“Very well then,” he says, turning his eyes back to his paperwork once again, ignoring her presence.
Gabrian stands in the doorframe, wondering if she should leave, his silence deafening her with his unspoken and immediate dismissal. She raises her eyebrows and tucks her lips in between her teeth, spinning on her heels, and turns her back to him, taking a step forward, and heads to the point of exit. She exhales and lets all her dislike for this man leave her body and hopes his teaching skills are much more appealing than his obvious lack of social skills. If not, she is in for one hell of a roller coaster ride.
47
ABOMINATION FACTOR
Reaching the exit of the college, Gabrian pushes open the door and breathes in the salty air dampened with night’s cool mist. She shakes her head, wondering what she has just gotten herself into. Letting the heavy doors swing shut behind her, she steps out into the night and starts the trek back to her car, hoping she can climb in behind the wheel and drive home without any uncomfortable interactions with anyone.
Gabrian turns her head around, feeling a presence behind her. For a moment, out of the corner of her eye, she catches a silhouette of a female’s shadow with a hint of purple outlining a petite frame, but it slinks out of sight. “Huh, that is weird,” she says, speeding up the march toward her car. Once again, she feels a presence, so she turns quickly, but not quite quick enough. Only a glimpse of the purple haze is caught. Gabrian determines she is too tired for this nonsense. If she appears again, she will be more clever.
Once again, she feels a presence. Annoyed by this cat and mouse game going on, she flares out her grey aura—speckled with violet and iridescent sparks—seeking out the tormentor playing with her. But it is different this time, she can tell. The purple aura before is not of which she has found—and there is not just one, but many.
Her heart jumps through her chest as a throaty caw catches her by surprise as the whooshing of wings lifts loosened strands of her hair with the wind of its close proximity. His calls are loud and somewhat frantic, setting Gabrian into an already uneasy state. “What are you doing here?” she asks the ebony bird as he continues to cause a commotion in front of her then settles on a garbage bin nearby. “You should be fast asleep by now. What has got you out and all worked up, Theo?”
Her eyes glance around, studying her surroundings, and feels the energies getting closer, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand. The tips of her fingers begin to tingle, warming her hands in the coolness of the damp night air. She is being ridiculous. It’s Bar Harbor. People are out and about, living—it is what normal people do. She convinces herself she is just imagining things after the day she has had but the dark messenger will not settle his frantic call. It reminds her of dreams—the ones where she is surrounded by ravens and they keep calling out their warning that something is coming. His black silken head peers around in sporadic movements, straining to see the things hiding in the edges of night, then takes to higher ground, flapping dark wings and moving in the direction of her destination, closer to her vehicle.
Maybe there is something more to this than she can understand, and unable to calm the bird, she answers its unrelenting squawking. “All right, Theo, I am going. Settle down,” she whispers to him, her steps quickening to appease her black-feathered friend. “See? Everything is fine. Now get yourself to bed,” she tells the bird, wishing she was already home in hers, wanting the day to be over.
Satisfied that Gabrian is hurrying, the bird gives one more scolding and decides to do as he is told.
But there are silent whispers in the darkness—she can hear them on the wind.
That thing, one hisses.
It must be dealt with, says another.
Her fingers burn warmer hearing the eerie messages. They cannot be about her, can they? She wonders, especially with Theo’s sudden display of madness and the disturbing ghosts in the mist that taunted her tonight.
Her pace quickens.
“Who is there?” she calls out, her voice loud, but wavers at the end of the inquiry. She should not be afraid, but her heart and senses tell her differently. They shout at her, much like her feathery caller, that she should be very afraid.
There is no vocal reply—only the whispers again. He says to do it quickly…the Boragen abomination must not be allowed to live.
Gabrian’s pulse explodes, this is definitely about her. She thinks about stopping, turning around to face whatever is hunting her, but falters in the act of bravery and instead tucks herself in between the walls of the alley to her right, gifting her with a quick hiding spot for the moment. Her car is too far away for her to get to, even with her speed it would be a miracle to get there in time. She stills her breath and tries to will her body to quiet the loud thumping in her chest and her ears. Preparing to send another energy wave out into the night to locate the position of these things wanting to destroy her, she is distracted by a flash of silver. She jumps backward into the darkness behind her, avoiding the strike but slips, landing on her hands and knees—her footing compromised by a discarded piece of plastic waste someone tossed into the emptiness between the two buildings.
Pushing off the ground and placing some distance between her and the shadowy attackers, Gabrian bounds backward again, this time finding a solid foothold on the ground. She strains to see auras but only finds the antique white of a human. “What do you want from me?” she yells out, panicked, and hopes her voice will carry enough to attract some attention from someone—help.
It does.
But it’s the wrong kind. The bodies closing in on her are not coming to her aid, but to the attackers—filling the small space between her and the point of exit. Their eyes are hidden by the absence of light, but she can feel the coldness in their eyeless stares—moving forward, crowding her backward—making her unsure of what to do next.
Her eyes sting as the stress of her situation mounts, her vision flickers, and she blinks hard against the strange tingling now lingering under her lids. Images in the darkness uncloak, and Gabrian now can make out the outlined details of everything—night vision, a gift from the Derkaz Fellowship, she guesses. Well, that is handy, she jests in a panicked conversation with herself. Now all I need is a way to slow them down so I can find a way to get out of this mess.
With a quick exhale of her breath, a white vapor of air drifts from her lips and a strange grin slips across her face. She lets her focus relax and
drift, the light blue hue that colours her eyes moves and shifts within the tender sheath of her irises as Gabrian envisions crystalline swirls of light expelling from the center of her palms. Her mind paints the picture as the glow grows across the unpleasant littered gravel then climbs up the narrow sides of the alley, lacing the walls in a web of beautiful but deadly shards of ice.
The blackened space in front of her bursts into a flare of royal blue. Talons made of fire claw out from her hands and veins across the dampened ground before her, consuming—claiming it within the blue inferno. The Magik splits and expels outward, climbing meticulously up along the outer walls. It twists and bounces—jumping from side to side in an elegant dance of precision but cruel and definitive in its mission to obstruct the narrow pathway—eager to skewer and mar with razor sharp strands of Isa magic through whatever dares enter into its pristine yet lethal maze.
The shrill cries of her attackers sing out and dance in her ears as they try to follow her. She smiles in triumph, admiring her artwork for a moment, then turns to take her leave only to be halted. Her outerwear, it seems, has not gone unscathed. A layer of intricate weaved ice encompasses all within its path, even Gabrian’s footwear.
“Well, crap!” she grumbles, looking at the frozen mess. Hearing the cracking of ice and the cursing of victims trying to bully their way through the magical web getting louder, Gabrian slips her boots off quickly, not wasting any time. Not able to get past the wall of struggling bodies in front of her, she turns to study the darkness behind. At the far end, she sees a small rectangle that resembles an entry to some degree or at least she hopes. She bursts into a run and reaches for the door, pulling at the knob.
Mother of Pearl, she growls. Locked, but she bears down on the knob and pulls hard. It creaks in her strain but gives way, popping open under the stress of her demand.
Her arm is burning. Gabrian glances down at it to find a long tear in her coat, the edge turning dark, and the scent of copper hits her nose as a fisted hand closes in to make another slice. Throwing her body back and spinning left, Gabrian kicks her left leg out as hard as she can, sweeping the feet out from beneath the attacker. She ducks down and grabs onto the hand holding the knife. Sending an iridescent blue sliver of light flare across his skin, freezing his entire arm to his shoulder, Gabrian kicks out at the man’s hand. The knife, still tightly bound within frozen fingers, clangs toward the collection of men dragging themselves through barricades of icy webs, now laced in crimson.
The handless man sits up, cradling his stump. From within his hold, tiny nubs begin to form—a regenerative display, informing her they are more than human or at least he is.
Boragen. “Why are you hunting me?”
He growls, raising his piercing eyes upward, he glares at her with a sinister grin, eyes showing her something dark, something not right within them.
Hearing his one-track mind still on the hunt to destroy her, Gabrian knows she is wasting time trying to figure out any logic to explain his intense desire to end her. Backing away, Gabrian slinks into the small opened door, searching for another exit.
Pulling the door closed, Gabrian places her hands on each side of it—the blue haze of light escaping around the edges of her hands while she works around the fringes and seals the exit, freezing it shut with her magic in the hope it will slow them down long enough for her to find another way out. Her mind races as she rushes through the building, scrambling to make it through piles of debris within. All the windows are blocked and boarded up. Gabrian runs to the next room, through a narrow corridor. There is a door on her left, and she reaches for the knob, trying to turn it, but it will not budge. Locked or seized up, she is not sure. She only knows unless she gets through she is not getting out. Taking a couple of steps back, she rushes forward and slams her shoulder into the brunt of the door. With a loud crack, the barrier gives but not completely—she’ll have to make another attempt. This time she makes it, her body slicing through the broken wooden door, and tumbles nearly halfway down a case of stairs, then manages to stop long enough to gather her bearings.
Straightening her body around, and bracing herself against the sloping wall, she glances around at where she is—a basement. This is not good but with nowhere else to go, her feet pound loudly on the stairs as she rushes to find the end, only to be greeted by a maze of hallways—three of them to choose from.
“Really? Great! Just great.”
Dim light catches her attention to the right in the distance. It’s not bright like a lamp, more like the hazy glow of a window. Whatever it is, Gabrian takes it as a sign to go in that direction. She has limited options, and hearing the muffled pounding at the iced door above, she knows it won’t hold them for long, and chooses to go to the light.
Slipping her body down through the narrow hallway, a passage between the walls, her mind cannot help but pick up on their hatred—confused as to why they are hell-bent on pursuing her—causing her to wonder if Adrinn is truly back and has something to do with this. It is like they are all under some kind of spell like she had been, all whispering the same instructions without any thought processes of their own. Compulsion, she thinks. It has to be it but why is he trying to kill her? Had he not taken what he wanted last time? If not, she is of no use to him now. She cannot give him what he seeks even if she wanted to. Gabrian is broken—because of him.
Her body slips past exposed walls that hold nothing more than bare framing, lined with gas and electrical lines that have seen their better days. She ends up in a boiler room empty and barren, obviously being refurbished. Glancing around quickly, she notices the source that had drawn her here—a window at the end of the room which allowed the dusk-till-dawn street lamps to be the beacon in the midst of the darkness.
It’s a way out.
A loud crashing sound thunders through the barren building announcing to her that the barrier had been breached, and she is running out of time. Rushing toward the window, her heart falls. The window is indeed big enough to push through easily, but she would have to find a way to pull free the metal security bars wrapped around in a sturdy frame, welded into the wall.
“Bugger! Figures. I have been here for nearly a year and have never seen metal bars on one business, leave it to me to pick the only one that would have it.”
With their footsteps pounding on the floor above her, Gabrian pushes against the open door of the room, hoping to close it without creating too much noise. For now, it is all she has. She needs a plan. Taking a deep breath and concentrating inward, she pulls in all of her essence, even the fragments of human disguise she sometimes displays. She needs to disappear, slip off the radar, until she can figure out how to get through that window.
Gabrian slips her tiny frame in behind the boiler, a makeshift temporary shroud for her physical form, and lowers herself silently to the floor. Quieting her mind, she rummages through the vibrations around her, finding their thoughts, and listens as they grow frustrated in their search for her.
“He said to do it quick. This is taking too long—too much time has been wasted already.”
“What if someone comes looking for her?”
“Then let’s end this game now before anyone does.”
Their footsteps become less frantic. They are hunting as a pack now—no longer rushing but seeking her out. Her senses feel them—all of them from the Realm, Boragen decent. Her mind dives deeper carefully into theirs. Gabrian catches a hint of essence, not quite what she expects—a shadowy image dances through their eyes, one casting out an aura not exact of a Borrower, no not quite. It has a hazy grey tell but it holds something more, a kiss of indigo, of water—hinting the hue of Hydor.
Gabrian gasps. She tries to cover her escaped sound beneath her hand, but it is too late—her hiding spot is compromised. She can hear them moving in toward her, closing in for the kill.
One of them snickers as their direction changes, heading for the broken door upstairs. “Come out, little freak, we just need to talk to you.�
��
Not once does Gabrian recall knives and being stabbed ever being part of any civil conversation she has had. She glances around for something she can use as a weapon but there is nothing—nothing that will help her defend herself against them.
You already hold what you seek, all the protection you need to protect yourself—everything—it is within your very hands, a soft voice whispers inside her head. She stretches her fingers, holding them out in front of her face. You just need to believe in order to see it.
Gabrian nods.
A near invisible blue hue births at the center of her hands, and her eyes rush to the window then back to the door at the edge of the room. It is not much of a barricade, but it will have to do—it will have to be enough. Slipping toward the door, she and places her hands on the edges, hovering over the cracks in the frame like she had upstairs. Glancing over her shoulder once more at her only chance of escape, Gabrian closes her eyes and concentrates, trying to find her icy muse, but it wavers as the pounding of footsteps descending into the basement causing her fingers to heat, juggling her concentration and clouding her mind.
“Where is she? I can’t feel her anymore.”
“She is gone.”
“Are you sure?”
“How could she have gotten out? We closed off all the exits.”
Hearing the confession—a deliberate staging for her attack—sends Gabrian’s state of fear into overdrive. The thrumming in her heart out-drums the sound of their footsteps as they approach. Come on magic…work! She grits her teeth as the ice in her eyes comes to life. Images burst through her mind’s eye in a cold sting and she wills the depth of the magic to move outward through her fingers. The blue iridescent show of Isa appears and flares against the edges of the door. The wildness of her fear fuels the icy magical fire as it burns through her and into the crevices between the wooden frame, clawing ferociously beyond its mark and encasing everything within its wake, stretching the jagged veins of ice down the wall toward the oncoming intruders.