Tina Storm: Demon Hunter (Storm Force #0.1-#0.5)

by Lissa Bilyk

TINA STORM: DEMON HUNTER

  STORM FORCE #0.1-#0.5

  Formerly published as ‘Storm Front’

  By

  Lissa Bilyk

  * * * * *

  Tina Storm: Demon Hunter

  (Storm Force #0.1-#0.5)

  Copyright (c) 2011 by Lissa Bilyk

  Cover image: Andrey Kiselev | 123RF

  Kindle Edition License Notes

  * * * * *

  THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

  I first noticed the pale teenager at the mall when I was busking. She was dancing along with my music, staring at me, her large pale blue eyes never wavering, white-blonde hair swinging free down her elegant back. It was winter, and there was a cold wind biting at the shoppers’ exposed skin, but she was wearing a sleeveless top, and her wispy grey skirt fluttered as she twirled.

  I had never seen her before.

  There was another strange girl in my life, too. Tina Storm (a magnificent girl, her hair blue-black and her eyes the brilliant purple-grey of gathering storm clouds) was new to my school. She didn’t choose to make any friends, instead spending her lunchtimes in the library reading quietly about Germanic myths and legends; yet I had noticed a spark of intelligence and alertness in her storm-coloured eyes: she didn’t miss a thing. I asked my friends if they had observed her as anything other than a quiet, shy bookworm. They all said no, and dismissed my questions. But I was intrigued.

  It seemed the dancer from the mall was as intensely interested in me and my music as I was in Tina Storm. I saw her fluttering in dance so often over the next few weeks that at one stage I fancied she was stalking me. She would appear when I was on the bus, or at the library, or the music store, checking out new guitars. Whenever I tried to make eye contact and smile in recognition she would turn away and seem involved in something else, as if I wasn’t what she was interested in after all. The only time she acknowledged me was when she was dancing to my music, her pale gaze locked on mine.

  Tina, on the other hand, approached me. She caught me in the library, rushing to finish an English essay on Benjamin Franklin. I was so involved in reading about the kite experiment and lightning that at first I didn’t realise she was there, standing patiently by my side.

  “Hi,” she said brightly, her lavender eyes flashing with what appeared to be a mixture of confidence, sensuality and glee. “I’m Tina.”

  “I know,” I answered. Not the best of responses, but she was awfully pretty and my throat seized up on me. I took a deep breath to try and settle my hormones. “I’m Micah. You’re in my science class.”

  “I know,” she replied with am amused smile, her teeth brilliantly white. “You got the highest score out of everyone on the natural phenomenon test. D’you like nature?”

  “I like music more,” I managed to tell her.

  It was the beginning of something special.

  When Tina and I were in town together, I didn’t see the pale dancer with the large eyes. I only saw here when I was by myself. My science and music grades rocketed. Tina inspired me to write heaps of songs mostly about her, and when I performed them in public, I got a larger taking than usual. Then the dancer watched me with a sort of melancholy expression on her open, youthful face, and her dancing, though enticing, conveyed a heartfelt sorrow. I don’t think she liked my Tina songs.

  So I wrote one about her.

  I called it, ‘Dream Dancer.’

  I recorded my Tina songs one day in my bedroom, and on a whim, I recorded the dancer’s song, too. When I played them back, I realised something had gone wrong with my equipment: Tina’s songs crackled with electrical interference, and ‘Dream Dancer’ was just a soft low moaning like wind rushing through trees, or waves crashing on a beach, though I fancied I heard a girl’s voice singing an elusive melody. Afterwards, I felt like I had done something wrong. I felt like I had betrayed Tina by writing about someone else. So I decided to never play ‘Dream Dancer’ again, and not tell Tina about it.

  My final exams pounced on me before I realised it was November. I passed science and music with flying colours. I didn’t do so well at maths, but my Benjamin Franklin essay had helped my English score. I took Tina to the Leaver’s Dinner. She looked stunning in a blue-black gown that matched her luminous hair and made her lavender eyes glow. When I took her home, I kissed her in the moonlight.

  Summer began, and with it, summer storms that intrigued my new girlfriend and was her namesake. I saw the pale dancer around the town: near the primary school; the local shopping centre; and the mall; but most often at the beach, and only when it was cloudy, with a promise of rain.

  I was busking in town when I saw her for the first time in weeks. Tina had gone off to buy some folklore books, and I was playing some contemporary songs. When I saw the dancer emerge from the bustle of shoppers, my fingers immediately began the opening chords of her song, and before I could stop myself I had played the whole thing. The crowd of shoppers hadn’t stopped in their never-ending rush to spend, spend, spend – but there were two solitary figures in the crush of bodies: the dancer, looking like I had just called her an insulting name; and Tina, clutching a shopping bag close to her body and gaping in horror from her dancing rival to me. She said something: a name I think, but I couldn’t hear it.

  After, Tina never mentioned the incident. She pretended it had never happened. But I noticed that her jealousy grew whenever we were in public. Soon she was like me, watching almost jealously from out of the corner of her eye in case the dancer showed up and took my attention away from her. She had her reasons, of course. Completely understandable.

  It was a few weeks before Christmas. Tina and I went to the beach, me with guitar in hand. I sat on the sand and randomly strummed while she indulged her inner child and built sandcastles. I didn’t notice the sky get overcast, but I felt the chill minutes later as the sun was swallowed by purple storm clouds. Tina shivered, looked around and swore, her eyes reflecting the banking clouds. The beach was deserted. Everyone else had gone home, seeking shelter from the oncoming storm.

  “It’s only clouds, Tina,” I said gently. “Nothing to swear about.”

  Then I heard the voice. Strange, musical and ethereal, the inhuman voice drifted towards me over the sand. The rumble of thunder overpowered the melody for a few seconds, but then it was back. I set aside my guitar, searching the water for the source of the song.

  “Micah,” Tina said urgently. “You have to leave. Now.”

  “Why?” I managed to ask, my mind a little fuzzy. Without noticing, I had started walking towards the ocean and the unknown singer. Tina yanked at my hand, trying to break the reverie, but the power over me was too strong. Hardly aware of what I was doing, I stepped into the water.

  From the white churning waves the pale dancer – my dream dancer – emerged, her blonde hair streaming down her back like a drowned swimmer. Her wet clothing clung to her frail body, but she sang a beautiful melody, as sweet and seductive as summer fruit, wrapping itself tight around me and refusing to let go. There was a flash of light and another rumble of thunder, louder, closer, rolled over the three of us. It interrupted the spell briefly but she quickly regained control, pale blue gaze locked on mine and drawing me in, enticing, cajoling, coercing. She was the centre of my vision, all I could hear, filling me with longing to be with her and her rapturous voice. Nothing else mattered. I had to reach her.

  There was an enormous flash of light, a sonic boom of noise, the smell of hot metal, burned flesh. I was blinded and the water swelling around my knees grew hot. I fell back into the water with a splash. Then silence. The singing had stopped. I blinked to clear my eyes but the after-image
of the pale girl was still burning in my confused mind. A wave nearly knocked me over and I spluttered, looking around for Tina.

  She was still there behind me, legs planted firmly in the sand, one arm reaching for the heavens and the other thrown out towards me – or the pale dancer who had disappeared.

  “Are you all right?” she asked in a flat, emotionless tone.

  “What was that?” I cried in horror. “What happened?”

  “That,” she replied, pulling me from the water that swirled, agitated, about my knees, “was a nix; a German mermaid. I’ve been hunting her for some time. She called herself Lorelei.”

  “You… killed her?”

  “Vanquished,” she corrected. “It was either her or you. I knew she was after you; it seemed only right to become your friend. I managed to keep her away for a while, but she was getting desperate.”

  “I don’t understand,” I wailed, stung by the lack of emotion in her voice. Was this the other side of betrayal, because I had dared to write a song about another girl? “Didn’t – don’t you… like me?”

  Her voice softened and she managed a small smile, guilt lacing the edges of her distinctive eyes. “You’re in shock. Go home, get some sleep.” She pecked me on the cheek. “I’m not too good at good byes, Micah. You’re a really nice bloke. But… there are other people who need me, too.”

  And just like that, she wasn’t mine anymore. But then, she never really had been.

  I stayed on the beach until it grew dark, clutching my guitar, trying desperately to remember the melody of the songspell the nix had woven over me. I wouldn’t watch Tina walk away. I had dozens of songs to remember her by. I had nothing to remember the nix.

  Now, whenever there is a thunderstorm, I watch for lightning, and wonder what it was that Tina had just vanquished.