Everlasting: Salvation Prologue
There is a World...a Reverie...where magick exists everywhere and in everything. This is the Secret World that a rare, few mortals ever witness—a World that co-exists with mortal reality. The Secret World is the home of the eldritch: the supernatural creatures of legend and myth, those that are everlasting. However, they are actually quite real and living in the Real World.
But since the Death Knell began roughly twenty to thirty years ago, everyone...mortals and eldritch...are in grave danger from demons, supernatural threats, and even alien abominations. The burden has fallen to the eldritch to guard their dominions in the Real World—and the mortals who reside there—as well as the Secret World against these threats. The Death Knell has given rise to many horrors which have been crossing the barriers between the realms within the Secret World, as well as passing into the Real World.
But since the Death Knell began roughly twenty to thirty years ago, everyone...mortals and eldritch...are in grave danger from demons, supernatural threats, and even alien abominations. The burden has fallen to the eldritch to guard their dominions in the Real World—and the mortals who reside there—as well as the Secret World against these threats. The Death Knell has given rise to many horrors which have been crossing the barriers between the realms within the Secret World, as well as passing into the Real World.
-1-
Kira's progress down the dark alley was silent and hurried. She
always prayed—generically—to not be noticed. The sultry July night pressed down on her as the sounds of New Bellwich's late night revelries drifted in from the main streets of the French Quarter—where the largest collection of historical and ethnic clubs, bars, and restaurants resided. The clanging bells of the streetcars joined in with the noise of the crowds, both locals and tourists. A luminous summer night's moon hung heavy in the dark sky. Moonlight interlaced itself with the shadows to create patches of glowing light. Slightly hunched over, Kira attempted to keep to the shadows and remain invisible as she made her way “home”. Dressed in a long, dirty—and stolen—black coat over a dark blue top and black, torn jeans, both also in need of either washing or being trashed, the slim girl nearly did blend in with the darkness of the shadows; yet she stood out starkly in the moonlit patches. Although the coat made her too warm, she had no choice but to keep it securely with her. Thievery was rampant out on the streets.
Kira's brown eyes darted back and forth, sweeping the alley in front of her. She also kept an ear out for unfamiliar and threatening sounds behind her. Always having had excellent hearing, the girl had grown used to picking up more sounds than most people. Kira tried to keep her eyes from wandering too far from where she was heading. Otherwise, she...saw things that couldn't possibly be real.
Tonight's forage for food hadn't been as revolting as other nights—digging through trash still make Kira sick, but she had to eat. The skinny young woman had found a restaurant trash can containing a full bag of rolls and fully wrapped pats of butter...before the rats, bugs, and even the other homeless had gotten to the unspoiled food. Plus there had been several whole apples that were, despite the bruises, still edible. Kira carried her find in a plastic shopping bag. She held it tightly to her as she peered around the corner of a building before crossing the small side street and continuing on down the trash-filled alley.
This was the third night, or so Kira thought, of the beginning of the end of the anti-psychotic medications that had coursed through her body for the last several months. For some reason she'd never really felt the full effect of the drugs, but neglected to inform the doctors of that strange occurrence. Nevertheless, she could feel them leaving her blood stream. She was both relieved and fearful of what the end would bring when she was free of the drugs.
Brushing aside a stray brown strand of hair, Kira swept it in with the other lank strands that hung down her back. As she approached the abandoned building—a faded putrid green with graffiti that obscured the chipped painted name of the former business—she paused behind an old, abandoned dumpster. Abandoned apparently with something dead inside. Covering her nose at the smell, the young woman glanced around anxiously at what had been her home for the past two weeks. The only person Kira saw was the old, deformed man who lived in a large box “home” at the end of the alley. She had rarely seen more than his black fingernails or a glimpse of his skin—blistered and discolored. He left Kira alone and she gladly ignored him. The dead smell even permeated the end of the alley, and the stench was what Kira imagined a corpse would smell like. She didn't get too close to the end of the alley or the old man. Although she didn't consciously realize it, most everyone in the dirty, forgotten back alleys of what was considered a good city in which to live left the crazy, young woman alone.
Probably because she was crazy. Insane. Psychotic. Afflicted with bizarre delusional disorder possibly with schizophrenia, where the delusions were strange and completely implausible. At least that's what the doctors at New Bellwich's Creedmoor Psychiatric Hospital had diagnosed. Kira was inclined to agree with them, after everything she'd experienced in the past five months.
Like the angel who had recently helped her escape the hospital two weeks ago. Kira didn't like to dwell on that encounter—it was crazy to even think that angels existed, especially when one appeared as a teenage boy with large, white feather wings and a bit of a glow about him. Kira shook her head to dispel the image, refocusing on her surroundings. No, somehow she'd managed to leave Creedmoor on her own after five months.
Feeling safe enough to enter the putrid green building at the edge of New Bellwich's French Quarter, Kira dashed across the shadowy alley and pushed open the squeaky, old door. As she entered the dark building, her mind still insisted on continuing the forbidden train of thought. The angel delusion hadn't been the worst thing she'd witnessed—the most horrifying was the brutal slaying of her parents in their home six months ago. By something that shouldn't have existed...creatures terrifying, misshapen, and fiendish.
That's when Kira ran away. That's when Kira lost her mind.
Only back then, she remembered as she made her way familiarly into a small, empty area with boarded up windows, her name hadn't been Kira. She still didn't remember what her name had been or where she lived—that proved she was crazy, didn't it? Kira—a strange name to her ears—was the name that came out of her mouth when the New Bellwich police arrested her. Her fingerprints hadn't turned up in the system, nor was there a missing persons out that resembled her. Eventually, through the court system, she'd been committed to Creedmoor because of what she kept repeating to the police.
Committed as just Kira. No last name.
always prayed—generically—to not be noticed. The sultry July night pressed down on her as the sounds of New Bellwich's late night revelries drifted in from the main streets of the French Quarter—where the largest collection of historical and ethnic clubs, bars, and restaurants resided. The clanging bells of the streetcars joined in with the noise of the crowds, both locals and tourists. A luminous summer night's moon hung heavy in the dark sky. Moonlight interlaced itself with the shadows to create patches of glowing light. Slightly hunched over, Kira attempted to keep to the shadows and remain invisible as she made her way “home”. Dressed in a long, dirty—and stolen—black coat over a dark blue top and black, torn jeans, both also in need of either washing or being trashed, the slim girl nearly did blend in with the darkness of the shadows; yet she stood out starkly in the moonlit patches. Although the coat made her too warm, she had no choice but to keep it securely with her. Thievery was rampant out on the streets.
Kira's brown eyes darted back and forth, sweeping the alley in front of her. She also kept an ear out for unfamiliar and threatening sounds behind her. Always having had excellent hearing, the girl had grown used to picking up more sounds than most people. Kira tried to keep her eyes from wandering too far from where she was heading. Otherwise, she...saw things that couldn't possibly be real.
Tonight's forage for food hadn't been as revolting as other nights—digging through trash still make Kira sick, but she had to eat. The skinny young woman had found a restaurant trash can containing a full bag of rolls and fully wrapped pats of butter...before the rats, bugs, and even the other homeless had gotten to the unspoiled food. Plus there had been several whole apples that were, despite the bruises, still edible. Kira carried her find in a plastic shopping bag. She held it tightly to her as she peered around the corner of a building before crossing the small side street and continuing on down the trash-filled alley.
This was the third night, or so Kira thought, of the beginning of the end of the anti-psychotic medications that had coursed through her body for the last several months. For some reason she'd never really felt the full effect of the drugs, but neglected to inform the doctors of that strange occurrence. Nevertheless, she could feel them leaving her blood stream. She was both relieved and fearful of what the end would bring when she was free of the drugs.
Brushing aside a stray brown strand of hair, Kira swept it in with the other lank strands that hung down her back. As she approached the abandoned building—a faded putrid green with graffiti that obscured the chipped painted name of the former business—she paused behind an old, abandoned dumpster. Abandoned apparently with something dead inside. Covering her nose at the smell, the young woman glanced around anxiously at what had been her home for the past two weeks. The only person Kira saw was the old, deformed man who lived in a large box “home” at the end of the alley. She had rarely seen more than his black fingernails or a glimpse of his skin—blistered and discolored. He left Kira alone and she gladly ignored him. The dead smell even permeated the end of the alley, and the stench was what Kira imagined a corpse would smell like. She didn't get too close to the end of the alley or the old man. Although she didn't consciously realize it, most everyone in the dirty, forgotten back alleys of what was considered a good city in which to live left the crazy, young woman alone.
Probably because she was crazy. Insane. Psychotic. Afflicted with bizarre delusional disorder possibly with schizophrenia, where the delusions were strange and completely implausible. At least that's what the doctors at New Bellwich's Creedmoor Psychiatric Hospital had diagnosed. Kira was inclined to agree with them, after everything she'd experienced in the past five months.
Like the angel who had recently helped her escape the hospital two weeks ago. Kira didn't like to dwell on that encounter—it was crazy to even think that angels existed, especially when one appeared as a teenage boy with large, white feather wings and a bit of a glow about him. Kira shook her head to dispel the image, refocusing on her surroundings. No, somehow she'd managed to leave Creedmoor on her own after five months.
Feeling safe enough to enter the putrid green building at the edge of New Bellwich's French Quarter, Kira dashed across the shadowy alley and pushed open the squeaky, old door. As she entered the dark building, her mind still insisted on continuing the forbidden train of thought. The angel delusion hadn't been the worst thing she'd witnessed—the most horrifying was the brutal slaying of her parents in their home six months ago. By something that shouldn't have existed...creatures terrifying, misshapen, and fiendish.
That's when Kira ran away. That's when Kira lost her mind.
Only back then, she remembered as she made her way familiarly into a small, empty area with boarded up windows, her name hadn't been Kira. She still didn't remember what her name had been or where she lived—that proved she was crazy, didn't it? Kira—a strange name to her ears—was the name that came out of her mouth when the New Bellwich police arrested her. Her fingerprints hadn't turned up in the system, nor was there a missing persons out that resembled her. Eventually, through the court system, she'd been committed to Creedmoor because of what she kept repeating to the police.
Committed as just Kira. No last name.
-2-
Now as she huddled down on her bed of cardboard and old rug remnants and leaned back against the decaying wall, Kira belatedly thought that she shouldn't have been talking about monsters and demons and fires to the police or the doctors at Creedmoor. That sort of talk would install the “I'm crazy” sign over anyone's head. Luckily she never did mention her parents' being killed, though. She mostly babbled incoherently or didn't say much of anything.
Everyone knew there weren't really any supernatural creatures. They were just stories and old legends or myths...at least, that's what the doctors attempted to convince Kira of during their sessions. Finally she had just ceased talking altogether. It was easier to simply withdraw. What was the point of talking anymore, Kira had thought back then. Obviously, she had lost her rational mind. From what the doctors had said, thinking she probably wasn't listening, was that Kira had withdrawn from reality.
So why didn't she feel crazy deep down, the skinny, dark-haired girl wondered as she bit into a bread roll smeared with clumps of butter. She shook her head, her dirty, lank hair framing her pale face. Kira was confused, anxious, and mostly scared, wondering how she was going to survive long term. Look where she was after being on the streets barely two weeks. No, actually she didn't want to look, Kira thought rebelliously. She closed her eyes to block out the ugly, semi-dark interior of the abandoned building where the moonlight trickled in through the holes in the walls and the cracks in the boards over the windows.
Everyone knew there weren't really any supernatural creatures. They were just stories and old legends or myths...at least, that's what the doctors attempted to convince Kira of during their sessions. Finally she had just ceased talking altogether. It was easier to simply withdraw. What was the point of talking anymore, Kira had thought back then. Obviously, she had lost her rational mind. From what the doctors had said, thinking she probably wasn't listening, was that Kira had withdrawn from reality.
So why didn't she feel crazy deep down, the skinny, dark-haired girl wondered as she bit into a bread roll smeared with clumps of butter. She shook her head, her dirty, lank hair framing her pale face. Kira was confused, anxious, and mostly scared, wondering how she was going to survive long term. Look where she was after being on the streets barely two weeks. No, actually she didn't want to look, Kira thought rebelliously. She closed her eyes to block out the ugly, semi-dark interior of the abandoned building where the moonlight trickled in through the holes in the walls and the cracks in the boards over the windows.
-3-
The gargoyle perched on the roof's ledge that encircled the four story building. Dark, granite claws on both feet and hands gripped tightly as he crouched, creating indentations in the stone. His full, monstrous form had been summoned this night, having crawled from deep within the Abyss inside. Sharply pointed ears twitched, listening, while red, glowing eyes studied the sidewalk below. Heavy with noisy pedestrians strolling between bars, heading to clubs, or in search of a restaurant, no one bothered to glance up into the night sky to see the gargoyle perched above them. The clanging of the streetcar bells, music from the clubs, and horns honking added to the clamor below him. No one saw the gargoyle searching for a sinner. Although sin-eating drove him constantly toward his ultimate madness and death—the Horrification—the gargoyle required sustenance to live. He had no choice. He snarled, emitting a low, rolling growl while stone fangs glistened darkly in the moonlight over New Bellwich.
Shortly the gargolye was drawn to watch an youngish man with neatly cut dark hair and a goatee. He could have been a college student at the University of New Bellwich in between semesters. The young man walked with confidence, and appeared pleasant and out to enjoy the night. The gargoyle inhaled deeply, smelling the sin, and rose to his full height—close to seven feet.
Huge wings extended behind him—bat-like and leathery—as the granite gargoyle lifted into the dark sky to follow the sinner. The excitement of the coming feeding began to vibrate through his body. He flew silently. The lustful, darker side of the creature anticipated the pleasure of feeding, of the raw emotions that otherwise it was doomed to be denied. But deep inside where the good of the spirit of the gargoyle resided, the upcoming sin-eating repelled and tormented him.
But without feeding he would die.
Each feeding only led one step closer to the heavy price of the Horrification—of the eventual release of the monster once and for all. The gargoyle was both drawn to and repelled by the sins of mortals.
Suddenly the time was upon him. The sinner had turned into a short, deserted alley, leaving the safety of the crowds behind. The gargoyle swooped down effortlessly and landed with a muffled thunk—the sound of heavy stone being dropped gently upon the asphalt. The monstrous form fought briefly with his spirit inside to remain in control, for he wanted the feelings to be powerful tonight; to rush through his body and awaken his senses.
The gargoyle allowed himself to be heard.
The young man turned quickly to glance behind him, jumping slightly at the noise. He gave a yell of utter shock and froze in horror.
The huge creature, graceful despite being made of living stone, stepped forward with his stone limbs outstretched. He grasped the young man's head between his clawed hands, gently, almost lovingly with no pressure. He threw his head back and opened his mouth, sharp teeth and fangs protruding, as the sin began to wash over him. The memories the gargoyle sought came slamming into his head in pulsing flashes of experience. Feelings and sensations, where usually there were none, shot through the creature. He began to re-live the sinful memories of the young man's secret brutal rape as if he were experiencing it right then and there. As if the gargoyle was the sinner. For the moment the evil inside the creature came forth and enjoyed the sin and violence. He began to feel the power and control, see the frightened and half-clothed young woman under the bridge, feel her soft skin and hair, and her terrified breath on his skin. The gargoyle took in the perverted and twisted thoughts of the young man, and experienced the sick pleasure of the brutal rape and subsequent murder. The darkness in the creature felt the raw emotions and sex act and was drawn to the sin, as was his torment in life.
At the same time the spirit of good and protectiveness was utterly repelled by the sin and the sinner. The gargoyle also felt the need to protect other women from this evil-doer.
The encounter lasted only moments before the gargoyle released the young man from his grasp. Both stood still for a moment, bodies vibrating with pure emotion.
For at the same time the gargoyle had been eating his ultimate sin, the young rapist and murderer had also violently relived the encounter with the young woman whose name he hadn't even known. In a revelation of what he'd truly done, how he had sinned, the young man broke down, there in the deserted alley. He became distraught, grief-stricken, and repulsed at himself. He was horribly ashamed. Guilt and repentance flooded his entire body and soul. Tears coursed down his face as his body shook with emotion.
He knew he deserved to die.
As the young man lifted his eyes to meet the gargoyle's, which had reverted to a light gray stone color, the creature placed a clawed hand on the sinner's sweat-soaked forehead.
“I pass on to you the Curse of Absolution,” the creature intoned in a deep, low voice—a voice that was soothing as well.
Suddenly the young man cried out and dropped to his knees. As he understood the extent of his sin and accepted the curse, he felt a release from his guilt and what it was like to be completely forgiven.
The gargoyle nodded. He had lost the sensations—both emotional and physical—of the sin and desperately craved more. The stone creature inhaled deeply to regain control. He knew that every sin he ate brought him one step closer to giving into his torment and losing his own spirit and soul. When the monster of the Horrification emerged from the cold Abyss deep inside him, that monster would be hunted and killed by his own kind.
“Am...am I going to die now?” the young man asked in barely a whisper. Fear crept into his voice. Now that he was cleansed, he wanted to have another chance. He would do better this time around. He would be a better person.
The gargoyle half-nodded his large head, his pointed ears twitching. “You are. Violently and brutally. As you deserve. This is your punishment, this is what you accept with the Curse of Absolution. Perhaps tonight, perhaps tomorrow...,”
“Please don't kill me!” the young man begged, still on his knees. He clasped his hands together and held them up, tears streaming down his face. He rocked back and forth. “I can be a different person now! I will be a better person, I promise! I'll make up for what I did!”
The gargoyle shook his head slowly. He looked away briefly, as if listening. “You will not die by my hand tonight, it has been decided,” he said solemnly and quietly. “But by those that you do not know. You cannot hide, escape, or thwart those that will kill you. For that is your fate and punishment.”
The young man began to scream.
Shortly the gargolye was drawn to watch an youngish man with neatly cut dark hair and a goatee. He could have been a college student at the University of New Bellwich in between semesters. The young man walked with confidence, and appeared pleasant and out to enjoy the night. The gargoyle inhaled deeply, smelling the sin, and rose to his full height—close to seven feet.
Huge wings extended behind him—bat-like and leathery—as the granite gargoyle lifted into the dark sky to follow the sinner. The excitement of the coming feeding began to vibrate through his body. He flew silently. The lustful, darker side of the creature anticipated the pleasure of feeding, of the raw emotions that otherwise it was doomed to be denied. But deep inside where the good of the spirit of the gargoyle resided, the upcoming sin-eating repelled and tormented him.
But without feeding he would die.
Each feeding only led one step closer to the heavy price of the Horrification—of the eventual release of the monster once and for all. The gargoyle was both drawn to and repelled by the sins of mortals.
Suddenly the time was upon him. The sinner had turned into a short, deserted alley, leaving the safety of the crowds behind. The gargoyle swooped down effortlessly and landed with a muffled thunk—the sound of heavy stone being dropped gently upon the asphalt. The monstrous form fought briefly with his spirit inside to remain in control, for he wanted the feelings to be powerful tonight; to rush through his body and awaken his senses.
The gargoyle allowed himself to be heard.
The young man turned quickly to glance behind him, jumping slightly at the noise. He gave a yell of utter shock and froze in horror.
The huge creature, graceful despite being made of living stone, stepped forward with his stone limbs outstretched. He grasped the young man's head between his clawed hands, gently, almost lovingly with no pressure. He threw his head back and opened his mouth, sharp teeth and fangs protruding, as the sin began to wash over him. The memories the gargoyle sought came slamming into his head in pulsing flashes of experience. Feelings and sensations, where usually there were none, shot through the creature. He began to re-live the sinful memories of the young man's secret brutal rape as if he were experiencing it right then and there. As if the gargoyle was the sinner. For the moment the evil inside the creature came forth and enjoyed the sin and violence. He began to feel the power and control, see the frightened and half-clothed young woman under the bridge, feel her soft skin and hair, and her terrified breath on his skin. The gargoyle took in the perverted and twisted thoughts of the young man, and experienced the sick pleasure of the brutal rape and subsequent murder. The darkness in the creature felt the raw emotions and sex act and was drawn to the sin, as was his torment in life.
At the same time the spirit of good and protectiveness was utterly repelled by the sin and the sinner. The gargoyle also felt the need to protect other women from this evil-doer.
The encounter lasted only moments before the gargoyle released the young man from his grasp. Both stood still for a moment, bodies vibrating with pure emotion.
For at the same time the gargoyle had been eating his ultimate sin, the young rapist and murderer had also violently relived the encounter with the young woman whose name he hadn't even known. In a revelation of what he'd truly done, how he had sinned, the young man broke down, there in the deserted alley. He became distraught, grief-stricken, and repulsed at himself. He was horribly ashamed. Guilt and repentance flooded his entire body and soul. Tears coursed down his face as his body shook with emotion.
He knew he deserved to die.
As the young man lifted his eyes to meet the gargoyle's, which had reverted to a light gray stone color, the creature placed a clawed hand on the sinner's sweat-soaked forehead.
“I pass on to you the Curse of Absolution,” the creature intoned in a deep, low voice—a voice that was soothing as well.
Suddenly the young man cried out and dropped to his knees. As he understood the extent of his sin and accepted the curse, he felt a release from his guilt and what it was like to be completely forgiven.
The gargoyle nodded. He had lost the sensations—both emotional and physical—of the sin and desperately craved more. The stone creature inhaled deeply to regain control. He knew that every sin he ate brought him one step closer to giving into his torment and losing his own spirit and soul. When the monster of the Horrification emerged from the cold Abyss deep inside him, that monster would be hunted and killed by his own kind.
“Am...am I going to die now?” the young man asked in barely a whisper. Fear crept into his voice. Now that he was cleansed, he wanted to have another chance. He would do better this time around. He would be a better person.
The gargoyle half-nodded his large head, his pointed ears twitching. “You are. Violently and brutally. As you deserve. This is your punishment, this is what you accept with the Curse of Absolution. Perhaps tonight, perhaps tomorrow...,”
“Please don't kill me!” the young man begged, still on his knees. He clasped his hands together and held them up, tears streaming down his face. He rocked back and forth. “I can be a different person now! I will be a better person, I promise! I'll make up for what I did!”
The gargoyle shook his head slowly. He looked away briefly, as if listening. “You will not die by my hand tonight, it has been decided,” he said solemnly and quietly. “But by those that you do not know. You cannot hide, escape, or thwart those that will kill you. For that is your fate and punishment.”
The young man began to scream.
-4-
With a downward thrust of his black, leathery wings, the gargoyle rose into the dark sky. The living stone creature flew to the top of an abandoned building in the French Quarter. As he landed, the Celestine spirit inside the gargoyle began to transform back into the human-looking simulacrum—high-tech rubber flesh over a one-piece granite skeleton that resembled a good-looking male mortal who would claim to be thirty-six if asked. Short light brown-blond hair and blue eyes appeared, as did jeans, a button-down shirt over a white t-shirt, black boots, a black leather duster that was out of place with the heat, and his police-issued revolver. His badge, always in his pocket when off-duty, pressed against his hip.
Detective Ryan Laurent of the New Bellwich police force stood still under the bright summer moon. He stared over the other buildings at the great Mississippi River. He was completely motionless, even his chest as he had no real need to breathe unless among mortals. Ryan longed for the emotion that he had just fed upon, but shook his head. Enough. He was fed. He must remain in control.
Detective Ryan Laurent of the New Bellwich police force stood still under the bright summer moon. He stared over the other buildings at the great Mississippi River. He was completely motionless, even his chest as he had no real need to breathe unless among mortals. Ryan longed for the emotion that he had just fed upon, but shook his head. Enough. He was fed. He must remain in control.
-5-
A black-robed figure, his face hidden by a heavy cowl, leaned on an ornate cane in the shadows of the alley. A feral cat slunk around the corner only to hiss violently with its back arched, then turn tail and run. The night had moved into the wee hours. The streets were slowly emptying of pedestrians, and the few left were either changing venues to dance or drink away the remaining few hours or making their way home. Only the occasional trolley bell could be heard, each one dropping off the last riders of the night before heading to the station.
“There,” he said, his voice revealing nothing about his age, only a vague, Eastern European accent.
He gestured with his cane to an abandoned, putrid green building at the end of the alley in the French Quarter. A few clouds passed over the moon, shrouding everything in darkness for a brief time before the streams of moonlight reappeared. Both individuals were intent on the lower part of the building and didn't bother to look to the roof.
“She's in that one,” he repeated to the nearby orc—a hideous, olive-green colored brute which inhabited many a child's nightmares.
Through the darkness the squat, bowlegged orc had no trouble seeing clearly. He grunted in acknowledgment and bobbed his head that he understood which building the girl he was to capture was in. Although he wasn't the most intelligent of his kind, Malg knew how to capture prey.
“Uhh, Master...I go get her now,” he grunted, his protruding lower jaw opening and closing to reveal large, lower canines that jutted upward like tusks, as well a mouthful of strong-looking, crooked teeth.
“Do not harm her, Malg,” the cloaked figure warned menacingly. “She's needed alive... conscious or not, it doesn't matter, but it is imperative she be alive and unharmed.”
“I not harm her, Master,” the orc grunted reluctantly as he began to advance toward the building.
The hooded figure melted further into the shadows as he retreated from the scene to await the girl's capture. There was a van waiting silently on a side street. Finally, he and his brethren would have their weapon back.
On the roof of the building, Detective Ryan Laurent paused in his visual admiration of the river and the lights of New Bellwich's Riverwalk. Although he didn't internally experience the beauty spread before him, he could appreciate the aesthetics of that beauty. His pause was due to the fact that an orc was making his way down the alley. Detective Laurent knew if the hideous creature glanced up...or smelled him...that the orc would see him as if it were merely sunset out. Ryan could see the orc clearly in the dark as well. At least the playing field would be equal, he thought.
The detective watched for a moment, then decided he wasn't in personal danger. He turned his attention back to the night, not caring what the orc was up to at this point. It wasn't unusual for the underground dwellers to occasionally venture to the surface.
Ryan Laurent wasn't concerned, that is, until he heard the scream of pure terror from the building below him. Then it was his duty...as a cop of the city and a living gargoyle...to protect and defend. He levitated quickly down to the ground, not bothering with the black feathered wings--wings that were magickally hidden from mortal view--of his simulacrum form.
“There,” he said, his voice revealing nothing about his age, only a vague, Eastern European accent.
He gestured with his cane to an abandoned, putrid green building at the end of the alley in the French Quarter. A few clouds passed over the moon, shrouding everything in darkness for a brief time before the streams of moonlight reappeared. Both individuals were intent on the lower part of the building and didn't bother to look to the roof.
“She's in that one,” he repeated to the nearby orc—a hideous, olive-green colored brute which inhabited many a child's nightmares.
Through the darkness the squat, bowlegged orc had no trouble seeing clearly. He grunted in acknowledgment and bobbed his head that he understood which building the girl he was to capture was in. Although he wasn't the most intelligent of his kind, Malg knew how to capture prey.
“Uhh, Master...I go get her now,” he grunted, his protruding lower jaw opening and closing to reveal large, lower canines that jutted upward like tusks, as well a mouthful of strong-looking, crooked teeth.
“Do not harm her, Malg,” the cloaked figure warned menacingly. “She's needed alive... conscious or not, it doesn't matter, but it is imperative she be alive and unharmed.”
“I not harm her, Master,” the orc grunted reluctantly as he began to advance toward the building.
The hooded figure melted further into the shadows as he retreated from the scene to await the girl's capture. There was a van waiting silently on a side street. Finally, he and his brethren would have their weapon back.
On the roof of the building, Detective Ryan Laurent paused in his visual admiration of the river and the lights of New Bellwich's Riverwalk. Although he didn't internally experience the beauty spread before him, he could appreciate the aesthetics of that beauty. His pause was due to the fact that an orc was making his way down the alley. Detective Laurent knew if the hideous creature glanced up...or smelled him...that the orc would see him as if it were merely sunset out. Ryan could see the orc clearly in the dark as well. At least the playing field would be equal, he thought.
The detective watched for a moment, then decided he wasn't in personal danger. He turned his attention back to the night, not caring what the orc was up to at this point. It wasn't unusual for the underground dwellers to occasionally venture to the surface.
Ryan Laurent wasn't concerned, that is, until he heard the scream of pure terror from the building below him. Then it was his duty...as a cop of the city and a living gargoyle...to protect and defend. He levitated quickly down to the ground, not bothering with the black feathered wings--wings that were magickally hidden from mortal view--of his simulacrum form.
-6-
Inside the mostly dark building, Kira lay on the cardboard boxes and carpet pieces that were her makeshift bed. Her muscles were uncomfortably tensed and her breathing shallow and anxious. She was listening to the sounds of the night outside, separating the normal from the possibly threatening. Her better than normal hearing made this task easy but nerve-wracking. However, sleep coaxed her to succumb to its embrace. The skinny, dark-haired young woman was physically and mentally exhausted. Out on the streets, there never really was a good time to sleep...there were dangers both during the day and the night. But whenever Kira slept, her dreams were chaotic, sometimes surreal, and usually...well, frightening. Her dreams scared the hell of out Kira, actually. Just another nail in the old insanity coffin, so to speak. They seemed so real that she believed them until she awoke back in the real world.
Kira finally began to drift off with her back against the dirty wall, huddled on top of her long coat. Her arms were wrapped around her satchel and her plastic bag of food was tucked behind her bent legs. The humidity was stifling inside the building. She felt a thin film of sweat on her skin, and her clothes were damp. Kira hated that she smelled so awful and was dirty, but there were no places to bathe properly. At least not for someone who had escaped a mental hospital. It did make her take pause, though...if she were insane, would she care about personal hygiene?
Weariness soon wore her completely down, and Kira felt her eyes grow heavy. If an angel really had aided her in escaping Creedmoor, maybe he would continue to watch out for her. With a final shallow breath, the dark-haired young woman unknowingly entered the Dreamworlds and began to take the slow, deep breaths of sleep.
It was at this moment that the menacing-looking orc crept through the broken door, crossed the room half way, and stared at his sleeping victim.
In her sleep Kira sensed she was no longer alone in the abandoned building. With a gasp that hurt her chest, Kira snapped open her eyes. She felt herself being pulled physically from her dreams and was disoriented for a moment. In a delayed reaction that could have cost her life, the young woman shut her eyes tightly for a brief second. She was hoping that she was still dreaming her bizarre, crazy dream that now included a monster with puke green skin and too many teeth.
But when Kira opened her eyes for the second time, she knew she was awake. She felt the carpet, cardboard, and hard floor beneath her and was tangled in her coat. The stooped over, heavyset person...no, not a human but something else, a monster...with the too huge head, long arms, green skin, and ugly face with tusks suddenly lunged at her. His footsteps thudded heavily across the dusty and littered floor.
Kira screamed. She hadn't screamed in such terror since the murder of her parents. She scrambled to her feet and nearly tripped over her coat. There was a snuffling sound as wide nostrils, shaped almost like a snout, neared her face and began to sniff her like a dog. Yellow eyes stared into her brown ones. She almost vomited from the rancid odor of its open mouth, and indeed heaved a few times. Her body shook violently with dread.
The monster quickly had her wrists squeezed together in one large hand before Kira could react. He turned her around to face the wall. She began to struggle as her arms were held captive against her own stomach and screamed again. The other leathery hand closed over her mouth. She could feel herself being gathered into one large arm and pressed against the horrid creature's body like a doll.
Oh my god, it's all real!...but how can it be real? was the only coherent thought that ran through her terrified mind.
“You stop!” a rough voice rasped in her ear.
The evil sound of the voice sent shudders down her spine and death seemed imminent.
“You come with me and be quiet—or I kill you. No, wait, not supposed to kill...then I hurt you...something bad,” the creature threatened.
Kira finally began to drift off with her back against the dirty wall, huddled on top of her long coat. Her arms were wrapped around her satchel and her plastic bag of food was tucked behind her bent legs. The humidity was stifling inside the building. She felt a thin film of sweat on her skin, and her clothes were damp. Kira hated that she smelled so awful and was dirty, but there were no places to bathe properly. At least not for someone who had escaped a mental hospital. It did make her take pause, though...if she were insane, would she care about personal hygiene?
Weariness soon wore her completely down, and Kira felt her eyes grow heavy. If an angel really had aided her in escaping Creedmoor, maybe he would continue to watch out for her. With a final shallow breath, the dark-haired young woman unknowingly entered the Dreamworlds and began to take the slow, deep breaths of sleep.
It was at this moment that the menacing-looking orc crept through the broken door, crossed the room half way, and stared at his sleeping victim.
In her sleep Kira sensed she was no longer alone in the abandoned building. With a gasp that hurt her chest, Kira snapped open her eyes. She felt herself being pulled physically from her dreams and was disoriented for a moment. In a delayed reaction that could have cost her life, the young woman shut her eyes tightly for a brief second. She was hoping that she was still dreaming her bizarre, crazy dream that now included a monster with puke green skin and too many teeth.
But when Kira opened her eyes for the second time, she knew she was awake. She felt the carpet, cardboard, and hard floor beneath her and was tangled in her coat. The stooped over, heavyset person...no, not a human but something else, a monster...with the too huge head, long arms, green skin, and ugly face with tusks suddenly lunged at her. His footsteps thudded heavily across the dusty and littered floor.
Kira screamed. She hadn't screamed in such terror since the murder of her parents. She scrambled to her feet and nearly tripped over her coat. There was a snuffling sound as wide nostrils, shaped almost like a snout, neared her face and began to sniff her like a dog. Yellow eyes stared into her brown ones. She almost vomited from the rancid odor of its open mouth, and indeed heaved a few times. Her body shook violently with dread.
The monster quickly had her wrists squeezed together in one large hand before Kira could react. He turned her around to face the wall. She began to struggle as her arms were held captive against her own stomach and screamed again. The other leathery hand closed over her mouth. She could feel herself being gathered into one large arm and pressed against the horrid creature's body like a doll.
Oh my god, it's all real!...but how can it be real? was the only coherent thought that ran through her terrified mind.
“You stop!” a rough voice rasped in her ear.
The evil sound of the voice sent shudders down her spine and death seemed imminent.
“You come with me and be quiet—or I kill you. No, wait, not supposed to kill...then I hurt you...something bad,” the creature threatened.
-7-
“Actually, none of those events are going to occur...not here, not ever,” a commanding, deep voice said from the darkened door way. “Let the girl go, orc.”
Detective Laurent's voice was devoid of emotion as he stepped into a bit of moonlight so the victim could hopefully see him and realize that help had arrived. He knew the orc could see him already.
Malg roared in anger at being thwarted from his mission. He cruelly began to squeeze his captive, a murderous grin on his ugly face.
A strangled, agonized sound erupted from Kira as she felt her mid-section being compressed. She felt bones crack and cried out in pain. Sharp claws dug deep into her stomach, ripping through her shirt and drawing blood. The red liquid began to drip out and run down her front in rivulets, soaking her black jeans. As she gasped for air, she tried to determine if she'd imagined a voice...the voice of her angel?...a moment before. But her vision and hearing began to fade as her body struggled without oxygen.
Ryan was aware he had mere seconds to react before the girl was dead. He launched himself at the thick-bodied, savage orc. Ryan's granite skeleton was hard enough to deliver a painful blow to the orc as his shoulder hit the creature in the side. The creature dropped a nearly unconscious Kira as he was slammed into the rotting wall. Although he broke through the plaster and wood, the orc didn't land in the next room as Ryan had intended. He hauled himself out of the rubble and to his feet with a roar.
Malg was enraged that his plans had been interfered with. His Master would be angry if he didn't deliver the girl as ordered. But his anger brought out his base orkish nature, and Malg now only hungered to kill. He roared again, his mouth opening wide to expose his thick, red tongue as he reached down and gripped the girl by the front of the neck. Malg squeezed and lifted her up off her back as he charged the stranger.
Kira had felt herself be thrown to the ground. She began to lose consciousness with the excruciating pain when she hit. But the pressure on her throat brought her partially back, gasping and clutching at the large hand around her throat as she was dragged across the hard floor.
Ryan knew the girl had but seconds to live. His job was to protect and protect he would. Drawing his gun faster than any mortal, he brought his arm out straight and pulled the trigger twice in succession. He could afford to shoot twice. Ryan knew he wouldn't miss. Two small red dots suddenly appeared in the orc's green, bumpy forehead. His head jerked backwards, and a surprised burst of air erupted from the orc as he realized he had been shot. His hold loosened on the girl's neck, and he dropped her body as he fell heavily to his knees.
The blood flowered from the small holes, then began to stream down the creature's grotesque face. Yellow eyes opened wide. He swayed back and forth several times then toppled backward, making a loud thud as he hit.
There was precious little time to lose. Ryan had no idea if there was a chance the orc could heal himself if he were strong enough. The orcs' magickally re-engineered genetics allowed them to survive injuries that would kill a mortal. But Ryan didn't know if that included gunshot wounds to the head, and waiting around to find out wasn't in the night's plans. For a moment he struggled as the urge to feed upon the orc's many sins slammed into his mind and body. The sensations and emotions Ryan could potentially experience would be exquisite. He could escape his stone prison to feel the lustful, dark pleasures of life yet again. He tightly clenched one fist to gain control. The celestine spirit inside fought against the gargoyle's monster. With a half groan, half yell, Ryan brought his focus back to not wanting to be around if the orc managed to wake up any time soon.
Keeping his gun in one hand, Detective Laurent knelt down by the young woman on the floor. He checked her vital signs, then gently brushed her dirty hair away from her face.
“Can you hear me?” he said as loudly as he dared. “Miss, I have to get you out of here.”
Kira heard the authoritative voice through a thick fog of pain and utter agony. She didn't know where she was anymore, only that it was dark and her body felt broken and her throat burned. She moaned loudly. Blood trickled down her sides and was smeared across her stomach. There was a bluish glowing near her. Perhaps her angel had rescued her again after all.
Her dry mouth and ravaged throat could barely form words, but she thought she asked, “Are you an...an angel?”
Kira tried to open her eyes but barely manage a slit as her face turned toward the moonlight that was shining in from the holes and cracks in the wall behind whoever was near her.
“Not hardly,” Ryan mumbled, realizing the girl was in no condition to walk or leave on her own. “This might...no, this will hurt,” he warned louder.
Ryan quickly glanced around in the semi-darkness—which seemed light enough to him—and spotted a few meager possessions. He glanced inside a plastic shopping bag to see only bread and apples that had seen better days. He left that on the floor. But he slung a long strapped satchel across his chest, checking to make sure it was buckled closed.
There was a low, deep moan behind him. Ryan glanced over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes. It was possible the orc's brain was different enough that the bullets hadn't hit anything vital and was healing around the bullets. He wasn't an expert on orc physiology—he actually preferred them all dead. Or the creature could still be dying.
Ryan wasn't going to stay around long enough to find out. As it was, the girl might be dying herself. He draped her long coat over her prone body and scooped her up easily. Having a granite skeleton had its advantages when strength was required. She cried out again and grew paler than she currently was. Beads of sweat broke out on her dirty forehead. Then Ryan felt her body go limp.
“Good,” he said matter-of-factly, “now you won't feel the pain.”
Pivoting agilely, Ryan Laurent strode toward the door through the darkness, giving the downed orc a wide berth. Once out into the alley, he debated. He glanced in the direction of the hospital, the taller building showing its top floors over the roofs of the ones surrounding him in the French Quarter. His eyes focused on the sign that no ordinary mortal would have been able to read. The hospital or his home? He shook his head. Too many questions with answers he wasn't prepared to give if he chose the hospital, and they wouldn't understand at any rate. He'd take her to his house for now and check the extent of her injuries. He had friends who could provide assistance.
Ryan extended his heavy, black feather wings—a sign that he still possessed more of his celestine spirit's innate goodness, rather than the evil of his gargoyle prison. There was only the barest hint of black leather, like a bat's wings, that marked his descent into the horrification once again. He levitated in the air high enough to not be seen then began to fly through the night.
Detective Laurent's voice was devoid of emotion as he stepped into a bit of moonlight so the victim could hopefully see him and realize that help had arrived. He knew the orc could see him already.
Malg roared in anger at being thwarted from his mission. He cruelly began to squeeze his captive, a murderous grin on his ugly face.
A strangled, agonized sound erupted from Kira as she felt her mid-section being compressed. She felt bones crack and cried out in pain. Sharp claws dug deep into her stomach, ripping through her shirt and drawing blood. The red liquid began to drip out and run down her front in rivulets, soaking her black jeans. As she gasped for air, she tried to determine if she'd imagined a voice...the voice of her angel?...a moment before. But her vision and hearing began to fade as her body struggled without oxygen.
Ryan was aware he had mere seconds to react before the girl was dead. He launched himself at the thick-bodied, savage orc. Ryan's granite skeleton was hard enough to deliver a painful blow to the orc as his shoulder hit the creature in the side. The creature dropped a nearly unconscious Kira as he was slammed into the rotting wall. Although he broke through the plaster and wood, the orc didn't land in the next room as Ryan had intended. He hauled himself out of the rubble and to his feet with a roar.
Malg was enraged that his plans had been interfered with. His Master would be angry if he didn't deliver the girl as ordered. But his anger brought out his base orkish nature, and Malg now only hungered to kill. He roared again, his mouth opening wide to expose his thick, red tongue as he reached down and gripped the girl by the front of the neck. Malg squeezed and lifted her up off her back as he charged the stranger.
Kira had felt herself be thrown to the ground. She began to lose consciousness with the excruciating pain when she hit. But the pressure on her throat brought her partially back, gasping and clutching at the large hand around her throat as she was dragged across the hard floor.
Ryan knew the girl had but seconds to live. His job was to protect and protect he would. Drawing his gun faster than any mortal, he brought his arm out straight and pulled the trigger twice in succession. He could afford to shoot twice. Ryan knew he wouldn't miss. Two small red dots suddenly appeared in the orc's green, bumpy forehead. His head jerked backwards, and a surprised burst of air erupted from the orc as he realized he had been shot. His hold loosened on the girl's neck, and he dropped her body as he fell heavily to his knees.
The blood flowered from the small holes, then began to stream down the creature's grotesque face. Yellow eyes opened wide. He swayed back and forth several times then toppled backward, making a loud thud as he hit.
There was precious little time to lose. Ryan had no idea if there was a chance the orc could heal himself if he were strong enough. The orcs' magickally re-engineered genetics allowed them to survive injuries that would kill a mortal. But Ryan didn't know if that included gunshot wounds to the head, and waiting around to find out wasn't in the night's plans. For a moment he struggled as the urge to feed upon the orc's many sins slammed into his mind and body. The sensations and emotions Ryan could potentially experience would be exquisite. He could escape his stone prison to feel the lustful, dark pleasures of life yet again. He tightly clenched one fist to gain control. The celestine spirit inside fought against the gargoyle's monster. With a half groan, half yell, Ryan brought his focus back to not wanting to be around if the orc managed to wake up any time soon.
Keeping his gun in one hand, Detective Laurent knelt down by the young woman on the floor. He checked her vital signs, then gently brushed her dirty hair away from her face.
“Can you hear me?” he said as loudly as he dared. “Miss, I have to get you out of here.”
Kira heard the authoritative voice through a thick fog of pain and utter agony. She didn't know where she was anymore, only that it was dark and her body felt broken and her throat burned. She moaned loudly. Blood trickled down her sides and was smeared across her stomach. There was a bluish glowing near her. Perhaps her angel had rescued her again after all.
Her dry mouth and ravaged throat could barely form words, but she thought she asked, “Are you an...an angel?”
Kira tried to open her eyes but barely manage a slit as her face turned toward the moonlight that was shining in from the holes and cracks in the wall behind whoever was near her.
“Not hardly,” Ryan mumbled, realizing the girl was in no condition to walk or leave on her own. “This might...no, this will hurt,” he warned louder.
Ryan quickly glanced around in the semi-darkness—which seemed light enough to him—and spotted a few meager possessions. He glanced inside a plastic shopping bag to see only bread and apples that had seen better days. He left that on the floor. But he slung a long strapped satchel across his chest, checking to make sure it was buckled closed.
There was a low, deep moan behind him. Ryan glanced over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes. It was possible the orc's brain was different enough that the bullets hadn't hit anything vital and was healing around the bullets. He wasn't an expert on orc physiology—he actually preferred them all dead. Or the creature could still be dying.
Ryan wasn't going to stay around long enough to find out. As it was, the girl might be dying herself. He draped her long coat over her prone body and scooped her up easily. Having a granite skeleton had its advantages when strength was required. She cried out again and grew paler than she currently was. Beads of sweat broke out on her dirty forehead. Then Ryan felt her body go limp.
“Good,” he said matter-of-factly, “now you won't feel the pain.”
Pivoting agilely, Ryan Laurent strode toward the door through the darkness, giving the downed orc a wide berth. Once out into the alley, he debated. He glanced in the direction of the hospital, the taller building showing its top floors over the roofs of the ones surrounding him in the French Quarter. His eyes focused on the sign that no ordinary mortal would have been able to read. The hospital or his home? He shook his head. Too many questions with answers he wasn't prepared to give if he chose the hospital, and they wouldn't understand at any rate. He'd take her to his house for now and check the extent of her injuries. He had friends who could provide assistance.
Ryan extended his heavy, black feather wings—a sign that he still possessed more of his celestine spirit's innate goodness, rather than the evil of his gargoyle prison. There was only the barest hint of black leather, like a bat's wings, that marked his descent into the horrification once again. He levitated in the air high enough to not be seen then began to fly through the night.
-8-
As he crept through the alley's darkness after dispatching Malg to capture the girl, the black cloaked figure laughed softly to himself. He was imagining the accolades and apologies that would be forthcoming when he, Brother Leos of the Sons of Belial, brought home the lost weapon, the immortal merodach that had somehow slipped from their collective grasp six months ago. The one who, under the guidance of the Sons and their Leviathan magick, would finally help the secret, ancient sect wipe the dragons from the face of the earth. Brother Leos hadn't yet informed his brethren of the girl's whereabouts...no, this secret deed of his would assure his reinstatement back in the order. He would deliver the girl home. She would then learn for the first time of her destiny. And he would be rewarded and admired.
He paced in the darkness near the waiting van parked on a side street.
It was due to his deep and self-centered thoughts that the figure in black never saw death come for him. Had he had the time to dwell on his demise, Brother Leos would have been disappointed and insulted that his life ended without drama or fanfare, given his high opinion of himself. But he went quickly and quietly in the shadows of New Bellwich, merely sucked down into an instantly appearing black, liquid-like hole before him in the sidewalk. There were no witnesses, nor would there be any trace of him in any of the worlds ever again.
Now there was no one, except Detective Ryan Laurent, who knew the exact whereabouts of the young woman that the Sons of Belial sought. And even Ryan had no concept of her true nature and original destiny.
He paced in the darkness near the waiting van parked on a side street.
It was due to his deep and self-centered thoughts that the figure in black never saw death come for him. Had he had the time to dwell on his demise, Brother Leos would have been disappointed and insulted that his life ended without drama or fanfare, given his high opinion of himself. But he went quickly and quietly in the shadows of New Bellwich, merely sucked down into an instantly appearing black, liquid-like hole before him in the sidewalk. There were no witnesses, nor would there be any trace of him in any of the worlds ever again.
Now there was no one, except Detective Ryan Laurent, who knew the exact whereabouts of the young woman that the Sons of Belial sought. And even Ryan had no concept of her true nature and original destiny.
-9-
After the gargoyle in his simulacrum form had flown away with the human girl that had encroached upon his alley for the past two weeks, the ghul cautiously peered out from inside the tangle of large boxes and debris that covered the sewer entrance. The entrance that led to deep, hidden underground tunnels of the city. One of the undead creature's abnormally large hands, tipped with black fingernails, gripped the side of a metal sheet tightly, wondering if she was gone for good. The other hand scratched and picked anxiously at decaying skin hanging from his face. During the times he wasn't hiding out below ground—or being chased away by the other ghuls—he'd sniffed the air and spied upon the human girl, hoping she would die and he could finally eat.
But she had continued to survive.
The grotesquerie ghul, one who had greedily drank too much of the Elixir of Undeath and overdosed, had changed into a gruesome creature almost immediately. He'd been ostracized and forced to fend for himself, chased out of the tunnels and into the horrid upper world where he wouldn't survive long on his own.
But now there was nourishment. He sniffed the air harshly, his festering and peeling skin moving unnaturally on his bones. He had been unable to consume dead flesh for days now and was near real death from grave rot. His mental state was deteriorating rapidly, as well. The ghul sniffed again and slowly crept out of hiding. Permanently hunched over, he shambled awkwardly and slowly toward the abandoned building. The corpse smell lingered around him, for it hadn't been the dumpster that the girl had smelled but his own stench. Constantly glancing over his shoulder, the ghul hesitated by the open door, smelling the interior of the building.
He detected the delicious scent of death—of fresh death. His mouth watered and large globules of drool dripped from the corners. Lurching inside, for he was overcome with real death's weakness, the ghul approached the dead orc. He sniffed the corpse like a dog and stuck out a sore-infested tongue for a lick. He tasted the blood from the wounds, licking and slurping to quench his thirst before his hunger. Hunched down over the body, the ghul opened his mouth wide and clamped down on a meaty thigh, shaking his head as his large incisors pierced the thick, leathery flesh. Finally breaking through the skin and muscle, the ghul ripped out a large chunk of flesh. As the orc's blood hadn't pooled yet, what was left in the leg oozed over the meat. The ghul's oversized, odd angled teeth bore down and reduced the meat to pulp amid grunts and groans of frantic eating. While still chewing the ghul gripped the thick leg and worked to snap the bone that was glistening white through the muscle. He gnawed at the bone to reach the marrow inside.
Suddenly he stiffened and listened, then yelled angrily in gibberish--the language of the ghuls'-- in the direction of the door. Others of his kind who had been underground near the tunnel entrance had smelled death as well and were investigating. The ghul was too weak to fight, but managed to rip off the entire leg and scurry into a dark corner. The others scrambled inside the building and pounced on the dead corpse.
Soon the abandoned building was filled with the sounds of animal-like ghuls feasting on the dead orc. By morning there would be little, if anything at all, remaining.
But she had continued to survive.
The grotesquerie ghul, one who had greedily drank too much of the Elixir of Undeath and overdosed, had changed into a gruesome creature almost immediately. He'd been ostracized and forced to fend for himself, chased out of the tunnels and into the horrid upper world where he wouldn't survive long on his own.
But now there was nourishment. He sniffed the air harshly, his festering and peeling skin moving unnaturally on his bones. He had been unable to consume dead flesh for days now and was near real death from grave rot. His mental state was deteriorating rapidly, as well. The ghul sniffed again and slowly crept out of hiding. Permanently hunched over, he shambled awkwardly and slowly toward the abandoned building. The corpse smell lingered around him, for it hadn't been the dumpster that the girl had smelled but his own stench. Constantly glancing over his shoulder, the ghul hesitated by the open door, smelling the interior of the building.
He detected the delicious scent of death—of fresh death. His mouth watered and large globules of drool dripped from the corners. Lurching inside, for he was overcome with real death's weakness, the ghul approached the dead orc. He sniffed the corpse like a dog and stuck out a sore-infested tongue for a lick. He tasted the blood from the wounds, licking and slurping to quench his thirst before his hunger. Hunched down over the body, the ghul opened his mouth wide and clamped down on a meaty thigh, shaking his head as his large incisors pierced the thick, leathery flesh. Finally breaking through the skin and muscle, the ghul ripped out a large chunk of flesh. As the orc's blood hadn't pooled yet, what was left in the leg oozed over the meat. The ghul's oversized, odd angled teeth bore down and reduced the meat to pulp amid grunts and groans of frantic eating. While still chewing the ghul gripped the thick leg and worked to snap the bone that was glistening white through the muscle. He gnawed at the bone to reach the marrow inside.
Suddenly he stiffened and listened, then yelled angrily in gibberish--the language of the ghuls'-- in the direction of the door. Others of his kind who had been underground near the tunnel entrance had smelled death as well and were investigating. The ghul was too weak to fight, but managed to rip off the entire leg and scurry into a dark corner. The others scrambled inside the building and pounced on the dead corpse.
Soon the abandoned building was filled with the sounds of animal-like ghuls feasting on the dead orc. By morning there would be little, if anything at all, remaining.
-10-
That night, or by now the wee hours of the next morning, the summer moon shone down upon a old, well-kept mansion located in Landry Pointe on the west side of the city. Landry Pointe was considered New Bellwich's outskirts with nothing but bayous and woods beyond the moneyed, private estates. The brick, white wood, and white pillared mansion was surrounded by grass, lush gardens full of free-standing statues, ancient trees, and private land. The estate was enclosed by a high stone and iron fence complete with small replicas of medieval gargoyles in strategic positions. The air was thick with humidity and quiet in the darkness, save for the nocturnal insects. Somewhere in a nearby shed a generator hummed methodically, helping to power the air conditioner. Although the home's owner did not require the cooling air, guests appreciated it and the furnishings survived longer. On the second story a light shone from around a closed, filmy white curtain that covered the window. There was no movement in the house save for two shadows that moved occasionally across the window.
* * * * *
“A fantast,” Ryan said to Na'ethal.
The doctor was sitting on the bed, his waist-length, white-blond hair pulled back into a long braid that hung down his back.
Ryan glanced over to the nightstand and at the digital clock that read 2:13, then back to the doctor. Na'ethal had turned his head away from the young woman to look at him.
“You think that's what she is?” Na'ethal, the elven doctor asked curiously.
Both men turned back to the young woman laying sedated on a guest bed in Ryan's house. She was resting on an old quilt and covered with a thin sheet pulled up to her waist. On the rose carpeted floor was a bloodstained sheet on which Ryan had originally lain her. She still wore her dirty, bloody clothes, although the top was open up to her breasts where Na'ethal had cut the material in order to examine her midsection.
Na'ethal continued securing the bandages over and around the deep scratches he had cleaned and carefully sutured together. He suspected there could be cracking or even breakage of the rib cage area. A flexible ice pack lay across her throat where the orc's hand print was visible in the bruising. The doctor wouldn't know if her vocal cords had been damaged until he could hear her speak.
Ryan half shrugged and continued staring neutrally at the young woman. “She could be. I'm fairly certain she saw the orc for what he was...I could tell by her scream. That was pure terror. And she asked if I were an angel.”
Na'ethal gave an ironic laugh. “Well, her physiology appears normal, mortal...at least without testing, x-rays, an MRI, blood work...and the like. As far as her general health, I couldn't tell you without an exam.”
Ryan nodded again. He moved to a small table and peered into the paper grocery bag Na'ethal had brought at his request. Reaching in he began to remove several small bottles of water, plus various kinds of pudding, jello, and yogurt. A box of plastic spoons was included. Ryan had no need to eat or drink, as all his sustenance came from sin-eating. Although, if necessary, he could fake chewing and swallowing, catching the food in small storage pouches in his artificial body that were emptied later. But for the most part he kept very little food in the house.
“Mortal then,” he declared. “Can possibly see the Reverie and is aware of the Secret World. We'll have to see what else she knows when she wakes up. If she can travel to the Astra and Dreamworlds, then she's a fantast.”
The elvin doctor rose gracefully and stepped into the attached bathroom to wash his hands. “I've given her a mild sedative for now,” he called out over the running water. “I don't want her too far under until I know the extent of her injuries. But she should sleep through the night at least.”
Na'ethal seemd to glide back out into the room. Like all elves, he was almost too excruciatingly beautiful to look at...tall, bright emerald green eyes, perfect physique, pointed ears, fair skin that glowed, and an aura about him that could cause mortals to feel physical pain at his beauty. Had he not continued the use of the magickal glamour--the innate ability of masquery that all elves could perform--to transform his features and blend in with the humans, Na'ethal would have been unable to live in the Real World, much less be a doctor. For tonight, though, he had dropped his human appearance masque for this visit with his old friend.
“So, what are you planning to tell her when she does wake up?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “As a matter of fact, what are you going to do with her?” he asked curiously.
Ryan shrugged again. “Depends on what she wants to do, I suppose,” he answered vaguely.
“You don't even know who she is, Riain,” Na'ethal cautioned, pronouncing the name RAYahN, the one Ryan had used when they'd first met in another lifetime for both of the eldritch. “I understand your need to protect, but remember who...and what you are. A police officer can't just keep a young woman at his house, especially one he doesn't know.”
“Nor a gargoyle, right? For when the time comes that I turn evil?” Ryan turned to the elf after having finished putting out the food.
Na'ethal began to gather up his bag and supplies. “I'm just watching out...for both of you,” the doctor said evenly.
The two eldritch headed for the door. Ryan left the bathroom light on and the door half closed, but flicked off the main switch. The room was bathed in a soft glow.
“I've been in this simulacrum for twenty years now,” Ryan reminded his friend, gesturing vaguely to his advanced rubber and granite artificial body. “The taint of evil hasn't advanced hardly at all this time around. I'm being more cautious and controlled.”
Na'ethal was silent as they walked down the wide hallway and headed down the two levels of stairs to the foyer. He and Ryan shook hands. The doctor had Ryan promise to try to at least convince the young woman to visit his office for a follow up exam. He was worried about her injuries, especially her ribs.
* * * * *
“A fantast,” Ryan said to Na'ethal.
The doctor was sitting on the bed, his waist-length, white-blond hair pulled back into a long braid that hung down his back.
Ryan glanced over to the nightstand and at the digital clock that read 2:13, then back to the doctor. Na'ethal had turned his head away from the young woman to look at him.
“You think that's what she is?” Na'ethal, the elven doctor asked curiously.
Both men turned back to the young woman laying sedated on a guest bed in Ryan's house. She was resting on an old quilt and covered with a thin sheet pulled up to her waist. On the rose carpeted floor was a bloodstained sheet on which Ryan had originally lain her. She still wore her dirty, bloody clothes, although the top was open up to her breasts where Na'ethal had cut the material in order to examine her midsection.
Na'ethal continued securing the bandages over and around the deep scratches he had cleaned and carefully sutured together. He suspected there could be cracking or even breakage of the rib cage area. A flexible ice pack lay across her throat where the orc's hand print was visible in the bruising. The doctor wouldn't know if her vocal cords had been damaged until he could hear her speak.
Ryan half shrugged and continued staring neutrally at the young woman. “She could be. I'm fairly certain she saw the orc for what he was...I could tell by her scream. That was pure terror. And she asked if I were an angel.”
Na'ethal gave an ironic laugh. “Well, her physiology appears normal, mortal...at least without testing, x-rays, an MRI, blood work...and the like. As far as her general health, I couldn't tell you without an exam.”
Ryan nodded again. He moved to a small table and peered into the paper grocery bag Na'ethal had brought at his request. Reaching in he began to remove several small bottles of water, plus various kinds of pudding, jello, and yogurt. A box of plastic spoons was included. Ryan had no need to eat or drink, as all his sustenance came from sin-eating. Although, if necessary, he could fake chewing and swallowing, catching the food in small storage pouches in his artificial body that were emptied later. But for the most part he kept very little food in the house.
“Mortal then,” he declared. “Can possibly see the Reverie and is aware of the Secret World. We'll have to see what else she knows when she wakes up. If she can travel to the Astra and Dreamworlds, then she's a fantast.”
The elvin doctor rose gracefully and stepped into the attached bathroom to wash his hands. “I've given her a mild sedative for now,” he called out over the running water. “I don't want her too far under until I know the extent of her injuries. But she should sleep through the night at least.”
Na'ethal seemd to glide back out into the room. Like all elves, he was almost too excruciatingly beautiful to look at...tall, bright emerald green eyes, perfect physique, pointed ears, fair skin that glowed, and an aura about him that could cause mortals to feel physical pain at his beauty. Had he not continued the use of the magickal glamour--the innate ability of masquery that all elves could perform--to transform his features and blend in with the humans, Na'ethal would have been unable to live in the Real World, much less be a doctor. For tonight, though, he had dropped his human appearance masque for this visit with his old friend.
“So, what are you planning to tell her when she does wake up?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “As a matter of fact, what are you going to do with her?” he asked curiously.
Ryan shrugged again. “Depends on what she wants to do, I suppose,” he answered vaguely.
“You don't even know who she is, Riain,” Na'ethal cautioned, pronouncing the name RAYahN, the one Ryan had used when they'd first met in another lifetime for both of the eldritch. “I understand your need to protect, but remember who...and what you are. A police officer can't just keep a young woman at his house, especially one he doesn't know.”
“Nor a gargoyle, right? For when the time comes that I turn evil?” Ryan turned to the elf after having finished putting out the food.
Na'ethal began to gather up his bag and supplies. “I'm just watching out...for both of you,” the doctor said evenly.
The two eldritch headed for the door. Ryan left the bathroom light on and the door half closed, but flicked off the main switch. The room was bathed in a soft glow.
“I've been in this simulacrum for twenty years now,” Ryan reminded his friend, gesturing vaguely to his advanced rubber and granite artificial body. “The taint of evil hasn't advanced hardly at all this time around. I'm being more cautious and controlled.”
Na'ethal was silent as they walked down the wide hallway and headed down the two levels of stairs to the foyer. He and Ryan shook hands. The doctor had Ryan promise to try to at least convince the young woman to visit his office for a follow up exam. He was worried about her injuries, especially her ribs.
-11-
From the large, wooden floored foyer, Detective Laurent turned left and entered the living room, a room from which he could see the ornately carved front stairs and foyer. And the heavy front door, which he had left unlocked. Ryan had a much grander and larger house than he could possibly ever need, but the old, restored mansion had been “in the family” for generations. It was a beautiful old house, inside and out...a beauty that Ryan could appreciate visually but for which he was doomed to have no emotional feelings due to his gargoyle nature.
At least the people of New Bellwich believed it had been in his family for all these years. They would be shocked to learn the same being had inhabited the mansion each time. Ryan had moved here after his “uncle” died...an uncle who had been named Ryland Laurent. The celestine spirit had not lasted barely 30 years in that simulacrum before the Horrification had overcome the spirit. The monster within the cold abyss was hunted and destroyed for becoming tainted with evil. As Ryland, the celestine spirit had grown more accustomed and familiar to the city he had already lived in under various identities. Plus he was tied to the mansion in more than just spirit. For underground in the secret chamber were future simulacra and the necessary tools for the rebirth ritual. Ryan Laurent had “moved in” after the rebirth.
Ryan drew his thoughts back to the young woman upstairs. He was most certainly not going to keep the girl against her will, nor insist that she remain, no matter what her physical condition. The choice had to be hers alone. Ryan, however, would attempt to convince her to stay for her own good.
Turning down one of the antique lamps—one of many antiques in the house—Ryan sat down in chair to watch and listen. As he needed no sleep he could afford to remain awake throughout the rest of the night. If the girl did wake up and attempt to leave, he thought it best to be seated in case she could see his wings. Normally, mortals could not see the black feathered appendages as they existed in the Reverie until he needed them.
At least the people of New Bellwich believed it had been in his family for all these years. They would be shocked to learn the same being had inhabited the mansion each time. Ryan had moved here after his “uncle” died...an uncle who had been named Ryland Laurent. The celestine spirit had not lasted barely 30 years in that simulacrum before the Horrification had overcome the spirit. The monster within the cold abyss was hunted and destroyed for becoming tainted with evil. As Ryland, the celestine spirit had grown more accustomed and familiar to the city he had already lived in under various identities. Plus he was tied to the mansion in more than just spirit. For underground in the secret chamber were future simulacra and the necessary tools for the rebirth ritual. Ryan Laurent had “moved in” after the rebirth.
Ryan drew his thoughts back to the young woman upstairs. He was most certainly not going to keep the girl against her will, nor insist that she remain, no matter what her physical condition. The choice had to be hers alone. Ryan, however, would attempt to convince her to stay for her own good.
Turning down one of the antique lamps—one of many antiques in the house—Ryan sat down in chair to watch and listen. As he needed no sleep he could afford to remain awake throughout the rest of the night. If the girl did wake up and attempt to leave, he thought it best to be seated in case she could see his wings. Normally, mortals could not see the black feathered appendages as they existed in the Reverie until he needed them.
-12-
Kira woke with a start as her eyes snapped open. She gasped for breath. The action hurt both her throat and her ribs, as well as dislodged the cold ice pack on her throat. She blinked, disoriented. The last she remembered she'd been under attack by the...the whatever it was, for it certainly hadn't been human. But here there was silence...and something soft over her. A sheet. And she wasn't laying on the hard floor of a disgusting, abandoned building. Kira felt around with her hand, confirming she was laying on a bed. Anxiety and fear crept into her. Where was she?
Her first attempt to jump out of bed was met with a great deal of pain in her ribs. She thumped down onto the floor on her hands and knees, doubled over, and gasping painfully for breath as the pain wracked her midsection. Kira swore and closed her eyes, resting her forehead on the soft mattress. A few moments passed, then Kira tried to gain her feet again but more cautiously this time. She held an arm over her ribs.
After succeeding in sitting carefully on the bed, the dark-haired girl studied her stomach. She frowned at the bandages and ripped shirt. Then she spotted the bloodstained sheet on the floor and shuddered. Her blood, she was sure. What the hell had happened? How did she get here? Wherever “here” was? Kira thought back through jumbled thoughts and tried to remember. While processing her thoughts, Kira caught sight of the food and water. Despite her fear and confusion, her stomach and hunger took over. She grabbed a bottle of water and began to gulp, but gagged as her aching throat protested the hard swallowing. Panting she let the pain subside then began taking small sips of the reviving liquid. Small mouthfuls of the soft foods also made their way into Kira, making her feel somewhat more human.
Not wanting to get sick from eating too much, Kira found her satchel on a chair and dumped the rest of the food containers and bottles of water inside. Finding her boots against one wall, she quickly pulled them over her dirty socks. Her jeans were stiff and sticky with her own blood, and she was a disgusting, walking mess...but she had to escape. Fear of being locked up again overrode the fact that she was safe indoors and away from the monster that had attacked her.
Creeping across the hardwood floor, she peeked out the open door. A dim hall chandelier, elegant and large, was softly lit but there were no other sounds or voices. It was creepy actually. Kira held her breath, listening...but still heard nothing. She moved lightly down the hall, staying on the old-fashioned, red carpet runner adhered to most of the width of the wood floor. Before heading down the two leveled staircase, she peered back over her shoulder to make certain no one was ready to murder her with an ax or knock her over the head.
Still Kira heard nothing. Was it possible she was alone? By the time she'd cautiously crept down the staggered staircase, she was more confident about escaping. She paused before she reached the bottom to glance at the painted artwork of frightening gargoyles atop a medieval stone church. Kira shuddered. She glanced to her right to at a small alcove containing an old organ and two cushioned benches. Then she hobbled faster across rug on the dark wood foyer, her eyes locked on the front door. It was when she had her hands on the long door handles ready to twist them downward, throw the door open, and bolt that she heard it.
“If you're going to leave at least let allow me to give you cleaner clothes and more food.”
The same voice she'd heard in the abandoned building after that monster had nearly squeezed her to death. The voice of her angel? But no, he'd said he wasn't an angel—at least that's what Kira thought he meant.
She turned her head slowly to her left in the direction of the calm, deep voice, still clutching the door handles tightly. Kira gazed into the large living room. He was sitting in a comfortable-looking, high-backed chair. One light was turned on low but Kira could see the man clearly. He made no attempt to rise, but sat with one ankle crossed over the opposite knee and his hands—large, strong hands—lay comfortably on the arm rests. Kira stared. She noticed he had several tattoos on his bare arms. The man was older than her, with brownish-blond spiky hair and a clean cut appearance. He wasn't smiling nor was he frowning or looking angry...or psychotic. He merely watched her with a neutral expression.
Knowing she ought to run...run as far as she could...Kira, who was braver and tougher than she gave herself credit for, stared back. She narrowed her eyes.
“Who are you?” she asked warily in a slight rasp. She swallowed heavily with the effort of talking.
“Detective Ryan Laurent, 6th Precinct, New Bellwich Police Department. And you are...?” Ryan answered and asked politely in return.
Crap! A damn police officer! Kira thought with rising panic. The last time she'd encountered the cops, she had ended up committed at Creedmoor, at the loony bin. Never mind that she probably belonged there, she had no intention of returning.
Kira shook head slowly.
“That's fine,” Ryan said calmly, “if you don't want to tell me your name, you're under no obligation.”
Kira thought again that she really ought to run, even if her ribs were screaming out in pain. Just then the man...Detective Laurent...clicked something in one hand. Several more lights came on and brightened the room and foyer. She could see more of the old elegance of the house, and of the man sitting in the chair.
“Why don't we talk from where we are,” Ryan suggested. “The door is unlocked, and you can leave whenever you want. I'll sit here and not move.”
Indeed Kira had noticed that except for the turning on of the lights, the man had literally been as still as a statue. Kira stayed by the door but turned a little toward the living room. She let go of one of the door handles with one hand and brushed her hair out of her face. A part of her really didn't want to go back outside to the streets.
“I'm not going to hurt you, I promise,” Ryan said, trying to sound assuring.
Kira swallowed and licked her lips, which felt dry again.
“How did I get here?” she asked hesitantly.
It seemed unreal to be having a conversation with someone who could potentially murder her, despite his promise. Or worse, rape and then murder her...or even worse yet, keep her here to rape and torture over and over again! Her breathing increased and flooded her body with adrenaline. Kira turned the door handle to make certain it was unlocked. It was.
Ryan's voice stayed neutral and calm. Actually he could have naturally spoken no other way, except through practiced pretense of showing emotions he did not feel.
“I found you under attack in the abandoned building I presume you were living in. I ran the man off and brought you here as you seemed injured,” he began to explain.
Kira stared for a moment her eyes beginning to flash. Then she shook her head angrily. “You are such a liar!” she yelled, although it came out more rasping than loud.
Part of her couldn't understand her sudden anger but it came out anyway. She pointed a finger at him as she unconsciously left the safety of the front door. Kira stepped into the open arched entrance of the living room. She remembered now most of what happened.
“No! That wasn't a...a man! I don't care what the doctors said at the hospital, there are monsters and that was one of them! No human looks like...like that! He...it squeezed me almost to death, but you fought him. I remember crashing and fighting...then gun fire. Oh! You shot him? Is he dead?”
Kira stood with her brown eyes wide open. What if it came for her again?
“I'm not certain,” Ryan answered honestly. “But I guarantee the creature...it was an orc...doesn't know where you are. And you are correct, I'm sorry I lied. Events did happen as you remember them. I wasn't sure how much you knew about..well, about what had occurred.”
“Oh,” Kira replied, the fire of anger dying within her. Did Detective Laurent just admit he shot a monster? Kira blinked. “But...but why did you bring me here? Why not a hospital?” she asked quietly. Although she wasn't sure she would have wanted to be in another hospital again.
Without realizing it, Kira had entered the living room further and was leaning against the wall. She was incredibly tired and her ribs ached something dreadful. She noticed the man...Detective Laurent...still hadn't moved. He seemed quite comfortable sitting in one spot.
“Honestly, there would have been too many questions that I didn't want to answer. Also I would have probably had to leave you...alone,” he said quietly. “I had a very skilled doctor friend examine you and patch you up a bit. He'd like to see you again, if possible...,” Ryan left off there, leaving the girl to decide later for herself.
Kira shrugged. “Maybe,” she said absently. If her injuries didn't get better, she'd have to see someone. “I don't have any money,” she added.
Ryan smiled slightly. “That won't be a problem.”
Kira was silent for a moment. She glanced over at Detective Laurent. He was merely watching her, but not in a creepy way. At least she didn't feel creeped out...more, well, protected actually. Like he was watching out for her, not just watching her. She felt nothing evil about him; although how she knew that, Kira had no idea. It was just a feeling. It didn't hurt that he was actually quite good-looking, too. She finally gave in to her pain and eased into a chair by the wall. Her satchel thudded to the floor. She sighed heavily.
“Well, I won't be running anywhere tonight,” she admitted reluctantly. “Everything hurts too much. I guess if you're lying and plan to kill me...or worse..., then that's how it's going to be.”
Ryan shook his head. “There won't be any killing...or worse...here tonight, or any night, I promise you that. You are safe here.”
Kira hadn't been or felt safe in six long months...and before that she didn't remember much anyway. The idea was excruciatingly tempting.
“Kira,” she said suddenly. “My name...it's Kira. I don't remember my last name, so don't ask. And I've been told I'm insane..literally. Schizophrenic and delusional, so don't say I didn't warn you, Detective Laurent.”
Ryan nodded. “Kira,” he repeated. “I consider myself warned, thank you. But call me Ryan, if you wish.”
Now it was Kira's turn to nod. “Now what?” she asked tiredly, her whole body, mind, and soul feeling drained.
Ryan shrugged. “If you think you can make it upstairs, you should sleep...apparently the sedative the doctor gave you didn't work very well,” he added. “Maybe eat more food first. I can find you some clean clothes to wear and you can wash up tomorrow. Then more food...after that, perhaps we can talk again.”
Now I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am insane, Kira thought. I'm actually going to stay the night and sleep in a strange man's house. She painfully pushed herself to her feet and felt the blood drain from her face. Slight nausea overcame her. Still Detective Laurent...Ryan...remained in his chair. But at least he wasn't moving to attack her. Kira picked up her satchel and, almost as if defeated, turned and headed for the staircase.
“There's aspirin in the bathroom,” Ryan called out almost casually from the other room. “Call out if you need anything during the night. I'll hear you.”
The dark haired, skinny, injured young woman began to climb each step with slow, labored steps. She clutched her ribs with one hand. Morning...if she survived...would bring whatever it would bring.
Her first attempt to jump out of bed was met with a great deal of pain in her ribs. She thumped down onto the floor on her hands and knees, doubled over, and gasping painfully for breath as the pain wracked her midsection. Kira swore and closed her eyes, resting her forehead on the soft mattress. A few moments passed, then Kira tried to gain her feet again but more cautiously this time. She held an arm over her ribs.
After succeeding in sitting carefully on the bed, the dark-haired girl studied her stomach. She frowned at the bandages and ripped shirt. Then she spotted the bloodstained sheet on the floor and shuddered. Her blood, she was sure. What the hell had happened? How did she get here? Wherever “here” was? Kira thought back through jumbled thoughts and tried to remember. While processing her thoughts, Kira caught sight of the food and water. Despite her fear and confusion, her stomach and hunger took over. She grabbed a bottle of water and began to gulp, but gagged as her aching throat protested the hard swallowing. Panting she let the pain subside then began taking small sips of the reviving liquid. Small mouthfuls of the soft foods also made their way into Kira, making her feel somewhat more human.
Not wanting to get sick from eating too much, Kira found her satchel on a chair and dumped the rest of the food containers and bottles of water inside. Finding her boots against one wall, she quickly pulled them over her dirty socks. Her jeans were stiff and sticky with her own blood, and she was a disgusting, walking mess...but she had to escape. Fear of being locked up again overrode the fact that she was safe indoors and away from the monster that had attacked her.
Creeping across the hardwood floor, she peeked out the open door. A dim hall chandelier, elegant and large, was softly lit but there were no other sounds or voices. It was creepy actually. Kira held her breath, listening...but still heard nothing. She moved lightly down the hall, staying on the old-fashioned, red carpet runner adhered to most of the width of the wood floor. Before heading down the two leveled staircase, she peered back over her shoulder to make certain no one was ready to murder her with an ax or knock her over the head.
Still Kira heard nothing. Was it possible she was alone? By the time she'd cautiously crept down the staggered staircase, she was more confident about escaping. She paused before she reached the bottom to glance at the painted artwork of frightening gargoyles atop a medieval stone church. Kira shuddered. She glanced to her right to at a small alcove containing an old organ and two cushioned benches. Then she hobbled faster across rug on the dark wood foyer, her eyes locked on the front door. It was when she had her hands on the long door handles ready to twist them downward, throw the door open, and bolt that she heard it.
“If you're going to leave at least let allow me to give you cleaner clothes and more food.”
The same voice she'd heard in the abandoned building after that monster had nearly squeezed her to death. The voice of her angel? But no, he'd said he wasn't an angel—at least that's what Kira thought he meant.
She turned her head slowly to her left in the direction of the calm, deep voice, still clutching the door handles tightly. Kira gazed into the large living room. He was sitting in a comfortable-looking, high-backed chair. One light was turned on low but Kira could see the man clearly. He made no attempt to rise, but sat with one ankle crossed over the opposite knee and his hands—large, strong hands—lay comfortably on the arm rests. Kira stared. She noticed he had several tattoos on his bare arms. The man was older than her, with brownish-blond spiky hair and a clean cut appearance. He wasn't smiling nor was he frowning or looking angry...or psychotic. He merely watched her with a neutral expression.
Knowing she ought to run...run as far as she could...Kira, who was braver and tougher than she gave herself credit for, stared back. She narrowed her eyes.
“Who are you?” she asked warily in a slight rasp. She swallowed heavily with the effort of talking.
“Detective Ryan Laurent, 6th Precinct, New Bellwich Police Department. And you are...?” Ryan answered and asked politely in return.
Crap! A damn police officer! Kira thought with rising panic. The last time she'd encountered the cops, she had ended up committed at Creedmoor, at the loony bin. Never mind that she probably belonged there, she had no intention of returning.
Kira shook head slowly.
“That's fine,” Ryan said calmly, “if you don't want to tell me your name, you're under no obligation.”
Kira thought again that she really ought to run, even if her ribs were screaming out in pain. Just then the man...Detective Laurent...clicked something in one hand. Several more lights came on and brightened the room and foyer. She could see more of the old elegance of the house, and of the man sitting in the chair.
“Why don't we talk from where we are,” Ryan suggested. “The door is unlocked, and you can leave whenever you want. I'll sit here and not move.”
Indeed Kira had noticed that except for the turning on of the lights, the man had literally been as still as a statue. Kira stayed by the door but turned a little toward the living room. She let go of one of the door handles with one hand and brushed her hair out of her face. A part of her really didn't want to go back outside to the streets.
“I'm not going to hurt you, I promise,” Ryan said, trying to sound assuring.
Kira swallowed and licked her lips, which felt dry again.
“How did I get here?” she asked hesitantly.
It seemed unreal to be having a conversation with someone who could potentially murder her, despite his promise. Or worse, rape and then murder her...or even worse yet, keep her here to rape and torture over and over again! Her breathing increased and flooded her body with adrenaline. Kira turned the door handle to make certain it was unlocked. It was.
Ryan's voice stayed neutral and calm. Actually he could have naturally spoken no other way, except through practiced pretense of showing emotions he did not feel.
“I found you under attack in the abandoned building I presume you were living in. I ran the man off and brought you here as you seemed injured,” he began to explain.
Kira stared for a moment her eyes beginning to flash. Then she shook her head angrily. “You are such a liar!” she yelled, although it came out more rasping than loud.
Part of her couldn't understand her sudden anger but it came out anyway. She pointed a finger at him as she unconsciously left the safety of the front door. Kira stepped into the open arched entrance of the living room. She remembered now most of what happened.
“No! That wasn't a...a man! I don't care what the doctors said at the hospital, there are monsters and that was one of them! No human looks like...like that! He...it squeezed me almost to death, but you fought him. I remember crashing and fighting...then gun fire. Oh! You shot him? Is he dead?”
Kira stood with her brown eyes wide open. What if it came for her again?
“I'm not certain,” Ryan answered honestly. “But I guarantee the creature...it was an orc...doesn't know where you are. And you are correct, I'm sorry I lied. Events did happen as you remember them. I wasn't sure how much you knew about..well, about what had occurred.”
“Oh,” Kira replied, the fire of anger dying within her. Did Detective Laurent just admit he shot a monster? Kira blinked. “But...but why did you bring me here? Why not a hospital?” she asked quietly. Although she wasn't sure she would have wanted to be in another hospital again.
Without realizing it, Kira had entered the living room further and was leaning against the wall. She was incredibly tired and her ribs ached something dreadful. She noticed the man...Detective Laurent...still hadn't moved. He seemed quite comfortable sitting in one spot.
“Honestly, there would have been too many questions that I didn't want to answer. Also I would have probably had to leave you...alone,” he said quietly. “I had a very skilled doctor friend examine you and patch you up a bit. He'd like to see you again, if possible...,” Ryan left off there, leaving the girl to decide later for herself.
Kira shrugged. “Maybe,” she said absently. If her injuries didn't get better, she'd have to see someone. “I don't have any money,” she added.
Ryan smiled slightly. “That won't be a problem.”
Kira was silent for a moment. She glanced over at Detective Laurent. He was merely watching her, but not in a creepy way. At least she didn't feel creeped out...more, well, protected actually. Like he was watching out for her, not just watching her. She felt nothing evil about him; although how she knew that, Kira had no idea. It was just a feeling. It didn't hurt that he was actually quite good-looking, too. She finally gave in to her pain and eased into a chair by the wall. Her satchel thudded to the floor. She sighed heavily.
“Well, I won't be running anywhere tonight,” she admitted reluctantly. “Everything hurts too much. I guess if you're lying and plan to kill me...or worse..., then that's how it's going to be.”
Ryan shook his head. “There won't be any killing...or worse...here tonight, or any night, I promise you that. You are safe here.”
Kira hadn't been or felt safe in six long months...and before that she didn't remember much anyway. The idea was excruciatingly tempting.
“Kira,” she said suddenly. “My name...it's Kira. I don't remember my last name, so don't ask. And I've been told I'm insane..literally. Schizophrenic and delusional, so don't say I didn't warn you, Detective Laurent.”
Ryan nodded. “Kira,” he repeated. “I consider myself warned, thank you. But call me Ryan, if you wish.”
Now it was Kira's turn to nod. “Now what?” she asked tiredly, her whole body, mind, and soul feeling drained.
Ryan shrugged. “If you think you can make it upstairs, you should sleep...apparently the sedative the doctor gave you didn't work very well,” he added. “Maybe eat more food first. I can find you some clean clothes to wear and you can wash up tomorrow. Then more food...after that, perhaps we can talk again.”
Now I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am insane, Kira thought. I'm actually going to stay the night and sleep in a strange man's house. She painfully pushed herself to her feet and felt the blood drain from her face. Slight nausea overcame her. Still Detective Laurent...Ryan...remained in his chair. But at least he wasn't moving to attack her. Kira picked up her satchel and, almost as if defeated, turned and headed for the staircase.
“There's aspirin in the bathroom,” Ryan called out almost casually from the other room. “Call out if you need anything during the night. I'll hear you.”
The dark haired, skinny, injured young woman began to climb each step with slow, labored steps. She clutched her ribs with one hand. Morning...if she survived...would bring whatever it would bring.
-13-
Kira woke to darkness outside. She felt surprisingly on the mend already, which was odd. And she felt rested. It seemed as if she had slept forever, but the digital clock on the nightstand read only 11:00 PM. Apparently, she'd slept a whole day and into the next night, which was now tonight.
Her dreams had been somewhat strange but nothing as horrifying or surreal as the ones over the last six months had been. These recent dreams were strange because they were about dragons and light—bright light that had made her feel alive and refreshed. Kira was actually partial to dragons...well, not real dragons as there were no such thing, but dragons in general had always fascinated and intrigued her. At least she thought it has been always, she didn't really remember much of her past.
Climbing out of bed was much easier and less painful than the previous night. She sniffed suddenly and grimaced. She didn't merely smell she reeked enough to make herself sick. Luckily the window had been opened to allow in the warm night air, and she hoped the room didn't stink as much as she did. Kira felt sticky and disgusting. No way was she leaving this room again until she was clean. And she had to pee like crazy.
A small light was on in the bathroom so she followed the glow through the dark room and flipped on one of the switches. Stripping her clothes off, she immediately dumped them all into a plastic garbage bag that someone..Detective Laurent, obviously...had laid on the marble counter. Truly her crusty, blood-soaked jeans and torn top would never be wearable again, even if washed.
Before getting into the tub to shower, Kira examined her stomach. There were bandages wrapped snugly around her ribs that she proceeded to unwrap. The soreness and sharp pains in her ribs seemed to be much lessened, and she found if she breathed in deeply but slowly there was very little tenderness. Surely they had been more damaged the night before, it couldn't have been her imagination. Then she peeled off the tape securing the gauze pads to find the deep scratches from the orc's claws—Kira stared herself in the eyes for a moment in the mirror, she might as well just get used to admitting what happened to her—were closed and mostly healed. All that remained were red, raised welts and the stitches. Even the bruising on her neck was a light version of that yellowish-green color and swallowing didn't hurt. She shook her head as she stepped into the tub and pulled the light green and pink shower curtain closed.
After the longest, and perhaps best shower of her life, Kira felt clean and whole again. She brushed her long, shapeless hair and bound it into a ponytail to dry. She discovered on a table the clean clothes that Detective Laurent had promised her. Fortunately, she had stolen one spare set of clean undergarments from the hospital before she escaped. They were ugly but functional. Dressed in slim, light gray sweatpants and zippered jacket, a short tank top, and slip on rubber soled shoes and socks, Kira hesitantly headed down the main staircase.
She found her rescuer sitting in the same chair in the living room, but it was turned this time to face the matching chair on the other side of a small table. He was reading a book. She did notice he had on different clothes.
Ryan looked up mildly at her approach, then gave her a practiced smile. “Well, good evening, Kira,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
She noticed his eyes were serious looking despite the smile. She gave a half-shrug. “I guess I slept the whole day,” she commented. “It's night again already.”
Ryan raised his eyebrows but said nothing for the moment. He gestured for her to sit in the opposite chair. As Kira folded herself self consciously into the cushioned seat, he poured her some iced tea from a bottle resting in an ice bucket.
“Actually, you've slept for three days, Kira. This is your fourth night in this house.”
“What?” Kira exclaimed, completely shocked. “How does someone sleep for three whole days and nights and not wake up?” she asked in confusion.
Ryan shook his head. “I did have your doctor come to check on you several times,” he offered. “He assured me you were just sleeping.”
“That's just so crazy,” she said. “Did...did you stay here all that time?” she asked hesitantly.
“No. No, I've been to work. I left you the clothes and arranged for the doctor to visit. I assume they fit alright?”
“Huh? Oh!” Kira glanced down at her simple outfit. “Yeah, they're fine. Thanks a lot, I appreciate it. Um, I'll pay you back when I can,” she offered.
Ryan shrugged. “No need, really. So...as to how you feel?”
Kira was still amazed that she'd slept for three days without waking up. She was a few paces behind on the conversation. “Well...I feel much better actually. Strangely better considering what I felt like before. My ribs are barely tender and the gashes seem to be healing up, and my throat doesn't hurt anymore.”
She didn't offer to show her injuries to Ryan and he didn't ask to see them. He only nodded and watched her. His eyes seemed to draw her into him, but she could see pain in them despite the smile he had given her. That made her curious. And as a general observation, she again noticed he was quite good looking for someone older.
With her health status ascertained, Ryan dropped the subject. He didn't want to draw attention to the strangeness of her quick healing...for a mortal. He'd try to convince her to see Na'ethal for an office visit.
“Here, you must be starving,” he offered, handing over a large paper bag from a sandwich shop. Inside was a hearty looking sandwich and some fruit.
“Doctor's orders to eat healthy,” he said.
“Have you eaten already?” she asked, noticing there was only enough for her.
“I'm fine,” he answered, not really answering her question. “But, Kira, I would like to tell you a story while you eat, if I may?”
Ryan had debated what he should tell her and when, and had decided that as soon as possible would be the best choice. He had to find out how much she knew, and how she would react. He knew she was aware of the Secret World—at least indirectly—and might possibly be able to see into the Reverie.
Kira raised her eyebrows mid-chew, but shrugged. At this point, being clean, safe, and almost fed was the most important thing, and she almost didn't care if Detective Laurent wanted to perform a play for her. Granted that would be weird, but...
“Sure,” she answered.
Ryan glanced at her for a moment, his large, strong hands folded in front of him while his elbows rested on the arm rests. “Do you believe in the supernatural, Kira?” he began. “After what you saw...the orc, can you believe?”
Kira gave a slight jerk of surprise. This she hadn't expected. She swallowed her bite of sandwich hard. “I, um...,” was as much as Kira could get out.
“Just listen.”
And Kira did. Because her life would depend on it.
Her dreams had been somewhat strange but nothing as horrifying or surreal as the ones over the last six months had been. These recent dreams were strange because they were about dragons and light—bright light that had made her feel alive and refreshed. Kira was actually partial to dragons...well, not real dragons as there were no such thing, but dragons in general had always fascinated and intrigued her. At least she thought it has been always, she didn't really remember much of her past.
Climbing out of bed was much easier and less painful than the previous night. She sniffed suddenly and grimaced. She didn't merely smell she reeked enough to make herself sick. Luckily the window had been opened to allow in the warm night air, and she hoped the room didn't stink as much as she did. Kira felt sticky and disgusting. No way was she leaving this room again until she was clean. And she had to pee like crazy.
A small light was on in the bathroom so she followed the glow through the dark room and flipped on one of the switches. Stripping her clothes off, she immediately dumped them all into a plastic garbage bag that someone..Detective Laurent, obviously...had laid on the marble counter. Truly her crusty, blood-soaked jeans and torn top would never be wearable again, even if washed.
Before getting into the tub to shower, Kira examined her stomach. There were bandages wrapped snugly around her ribs that she proceeded to unwrap. The soreness and sharp pains in her ribs seemed to be much lessened, and she found if she breathed in deeply but slowly there was very little tenderness. Surely they had been more damaged the night before, it couldn't have been her imagination. Then she peeled off the tape securing the gauze pads to find the deep scratches from the orc's claws—Kira stared herself in the eyes for a moment in the mirror, she might as well just get used to admitting what happened to her—were closed and mostly healed. All that remained were red, raised welts and the stitches. Even the bruising on her neck was a light version of that yellowish-green color and swallowing didn't hurt. She shook her head as she stepped into the tub and pulled the light green and pink shower curtain closed.
After the longest, and perhaps best shower of her life, Kira felt clean and whole again. She brushed her long, shapeless hair and bound it into a ponytail to dry. She discovered on a table the clean clothes that Detective Laurent had promised her. Fortunately, she had stolen one spare set of clean undergarments from the hospital before she escaped. They were ugly but functional. Dressed in slim, light gray sweatpants and zippered jacket, a short tank top, and slip on rubber soled shoes and socks, Kira hesitantly headed down the main staircase.
She found her rescuer sitting in the same chair in the living room, but it was turned this time to face the matching chair on the other side of a small table. He was reading a book. She did notice he had on different clothes.
Ryan looked up mildly at her approach, then gave her a practiced smile. “Well, good evening, Kira,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
She noticed his eyes were serious looking despite the smile. She gave a half-shrug. “I guess I slept the whole day,” she commented. “It's night again already.”
Ryan raised his eyebrows but said nothing for the moment. He gestured for her to sit in the opposite chair. As Kira folded herself self consciously into the cushioned seat, he poured her some iced tea from a bottle resting in an ice bucket.
“Actually, you've slept for three days, Kira. This is your fourth night in this house.”
“What?” Kira exclaimed, completely shocked. “How does someone sleep for three whole days and nights and not wake up?” she asked in confusion.
Ryan shook his head. “I did have your doctor come to check on you several times,” he offered. “He assured me you were just sleeping.”
“That's just so crazy,” she said. “Did...did you stay here all that time?” she asked hesitantly.
“No. No, I've been to work. I left you the clothes and arranged for the doctor to visit. I assume they fit alright?”
“Huh? Oh!” Kira glanced down at her simple outfit. “Yeah, they're fine. Thanks a lot, I appreciate it. Um, I'll pay you back when I can,” she offered.
Ryan shrugged. “No need, really. So...as to how you feel?”
Kira was still amazed that she'd slept for three days without waking up. She was a few paces behind on the conversation. “Well...I feel much better actually. Strangely better considering what I felt like before. My ribs are barely tender and the gashes seem to be healing up, and my throat doesn't hurt anymore.”
She didn't offer to show her injuries to Ryan and he didn't ask to see them. He only nodded and watched her. His eyes seemed to draw her into him, but she could see pain in them despite the smile he had given her. That made her curious. And as a general observation, she again noticed he was quite good looking for someone older.
With her health status ascertained, Ryan dropped the subject. He didn't want to draw attention to the strangeness of her quick healing...for a mortal. He'd try to convince her to see Na'ethal for an office visit.
“Here, you must be starving,” he offered, handing over a large paper bag from a sandwich shop. Inside was a hearty looking sandwich and some fruit.
“Doctor's orders to eat healthy,” he said.
“Have you eaten already?” she asked, noticing there was only enough for her.
“I'm fine,” he answered, not really answering her question. “But, Kira, I would like to tell you a story while you eat, if I may?”
Ryan had debated what he should tell her and when, and had decided that as soon as possible would be the best choice. He had to find out how much she knew, and how she would react. He knew she was aware of the Secret World—at least indirectly—and might possibly be able to see into the Reverie.
Kira raised her eyebrows mid-chew, but shrugged. At this point, being clean, safe, and almost fed was the most important thing, and she almost didn't care if Detective Laurent wanted to perform a play for her. Granted that would be weird, but...
“Sure,” she answered.
Ryan glanced at her for a moment, his large, strong hands folded in front of him while his elbows rested on the arm rests. “Do you believe in the supernatural, Kira?” he began. “After what you saw...the orc, can you believe?”
Kira gave a slight jerk of surprise. This she hadn't expected. She swallowed her bite of sandwich hard. “I, um...,” was as much as Kira could get out.
“Just listen.”
And Kira did. Because her life would depend on it.
-14-
The light in the living room was cast by several lamps scattered around the large room. The two large armchairs that Kira and Ryan sat in were placed to the side of a large fireplace—unlit due to the summer's heat and humidity—while closer to the large window was a sofa, two more chairs, and a coffee table, more modern than the antique armchairs but all seeming to blend together. Book cases lined the walls, as did paintings, artwork, and various other items. All in all, Ryan had decorated the house quite pleasingly and comfortably.
But Kira only had eyes for the man in the other chair. She found herself drawn to watch him as he began to speak. She still ate, hunger having its hold on her, but chewed methodically and slowly, focused on Detective Laurent's words. She still couldn't quite think of him as 'Ryan' in her mind.
“I don't really know if I should be telling you all this,” Ryan cautioned. “We try to keep this a secret from mortals, most of them don't believe anyway, and it does put us in danger in general.”
Kira remained quiet, but already thoughts went flying through her mind. 'Mortals'? 'We'...who was he talking about?
“There's more to reality than meets the eye, Kira...you saw some the other night, didn't you? The orc, he was real. Reality is more than what people generally see...reality is not solid: things, people, even places are not always what they seem. Just because people haven't seen something doesn't mean it doesn't exist; and if you have seen something, then it would be wise to believe it does exist.” He paused.
“As it is, there are people who see into another reality but are told they are insane and sent to mental hospitals for treatment,” Ryan remarked, looking at Kira knowingly. “They're told they are suffering from delusions when they are not. What most are seeing is quite real.”
Kira's eyes opened wide. Was Detective Laurent implying that she wasn't crazy...hadn't been insane the last six months?
Ryan saw he had the young woman's attention...and the possibility of her belief.
“Kira, listen to me and believe...there's a Secret World out there, it co-exists along with the Real World. Beside the Real World, if you will, overlaying it and supplying additional details, but only if one can see into this world. Magick...with a 'ck', always with a 'ck'...exists out there, but most mortals never see this world, this supernatural realm. It's called the Reverie.”
Ryan paused a moment to let this sink in but not long enough for the young woman across from him to question too much as she watched him intently. He unclasped his hands and ran one through his spiky hair.
“Don't reject the supernatural,” he cautioned. “The creatures...they're called the eldritch, the immortals, the everlasting...they move quietly and unnoticed, for the most part, through the Real World and among mortals, but they do exist. There are many you need be wary of, while others just want to live their lives. Kira, out there,” Ryan gestured to imply everywhere outside, “out there exist angels, daevas, gargoyles, ghuls, manitou, elves, vampires, wer, orcs, reanimates, faeires, the possessed, even a dragon or two somewhere I'm sure, among others...and demons.”
Kira choked on a sip of ice tea from the glass that she hadn't even realized she had picked up.
“No,” she finally said, shaking her head defensively. “Seriously, no...how can...how can that all be true, be possible?” She started to feel annoyed that Detective Laurent would sit here and think she was stupid enough to believe this.
“It just is,” Ryan answered. He had to make Kira believe. “It always has been, and hopefully always will be. Except...,” he paused, “there's a battle raging right now between good and evil, and humanity is caught in the middle.”
“Oh come on!” Kira exclaimed incredulously.
But Kira found herself feeling curious and somewhat frightened and, surprisingly, slightly excited; she also felt denial bubbling to the surface. A protective emotion her mind was throwing up to prevent the shattering of her psyche.
“Seriously, how can that all be? There's just no way, those...those creatures are all just stories and myths and...,” Kira began in earnest.
“So the orc nearly squeezing you to death wasn't real?” Ryan asked softly.
“No, it was,” Kira protested, “but...,” she hesitated.
How could that be real and what Detective Laurent was telling her not be real? What was reality anyway? That thought could drive a person mad, Kira thought.
Ryan took this opportunity to continue. “There is a battle, Kira. Something terrible began about twenty to thirty years ago. From what we know, a battle was coming with the demons...they live, they exist beyond the Reverie in the Underworld. Somehow the demons were unleashed into the Real World and the Secret World, or at least back then they were gaining access. The everlasting call this the Death Knell...and we've been battling against them ever since, in one way or another. Maybe not all the time...normal life does go on for most immortals...but there are more disturbances and more demons making their way to this side as time goes on.”
“Even as a cop, I'm seeing more and more violence and death and disturbed humans who are affected...or infected...by this evil,” he finished.
Kira sat in silence when it seemed that Detective Laurent had finished. Part of her was creeped out and wanted to tell the man that he was seriously disturbed, and that she would be leaving now, thank you very much; but another, a deeper, part of her believed him. Dammit, she did. Not only believed but was relieved in a way. It might be that she wasn't crazy at all. The monsters...demons? ...that had killed her parents, the strange things she'd seen over time, the angel who helped her escape, and even her vivid, imaginative, and sometimes frightening dreams...might all be real.
After relief came the fact that for some reason everything Detective Laurent...Ryan, she suddenly could think of him in her head..had told her felt real. Kira even sensed as if she were connected somehow. Did she want to be connected to all this, though? No!
“What are you thinking, Kira?” Ryan asked neutrally.
“Well,” Kira began. What did she intend to say? Was she going to confide in a cop? And how did he know all this? That was bugging her. “Just exactly who are you that you know...?”
But Kira only had eyes for the man in the other chair. She found herself drawn to watch him as he began to speak. She still ate, hunger having its hold on her, but chewed methodically and slowly, focused on Detective Laurent's words. She still couldn't quite think of him as 'Ryan' in her mind.
“I don't really know if I should be telling you all this,” Ryan cautioned. “We try to keep this a secret from mortals, most of them don't believe anyway, and it does put us in danger in general.”
Kira remained quiet, but already thoughts went flying through her mind. 'Mortals'? 'We'...who was he talking about?
“There's more to reality than meets the eye, Kira...you saw some the other night, didn't you? The orc, he was real. Reality is more than what people generally see...reality is not solid: things, people, even places are not always what they seem. Just because people haven't seen something doesn't mean it doesn't exist; and if you have seen something, then it would be wise to believe it does exist.” He paused.
“As it is, there are people who see into another reality but are told they are insane and sent to mental hospitals for treatment,” Ryan remarked, looking at Kira knowingly. “They're told they are suffering from delusions when they are not. What most are seeing is quite real.”
Kira's eyes opened wide. Was Detective Laurent implying that she wasn't crazy...hadn't been insane the last six months?
Ryan saw he had the young woman's attention...and the possibility of her belief.
“Kira, listen to me and believe...there's a Secret World out there, it co-exists along with the Real World. Beside the Real World, if you will, overlaying it and supplying additional details, but only if one can see into this world. Magick...with a 'ck', always with a 'ck'...exists out there, but most mortals never see this world, this supernatural realm. It's called the Reverie.”
Ryan paused a moment to let this sink in but not long enough for the young woman across from him to question too much as she watched him intently. He unclasped his hands and ran one through his spiky hair.
“Don't reject the supernatural,” he cautioned. “The creatures...they're called the eldritch, the immortals, the everlasting...they move quietly and unnoticed, for the most part, through the Real World and among mortals, but they do exist. There are many you need be wary of, while others just want to live their lives. Kira, out there,” Ryan gestured to imply everywhere outside, “out there exist angels, daevas, gargoyles, ghuls, manitou, elves, vampires, wer, orcs, reanimates, faeires, the possessed, even a dragon or two somewhere I'm sure, among others...and demons.”
Kira choked on a sip of ice tea from the glass that she hadn't even realized she had picked up.
“No,” she finally said, shaking her head defensively. “Seriously, no...how can...how can that all be true, be possible?” She started to feel annoyed that Detective Laurent would sit here and think she was stupid enough to believe this.
“It just is,” Ryan answered. He had to make Kira believe. “It always has been, and hopefully always will be. Except...,” he paused, “there's a battle raging right now between good and evil, and humanity is caught in the middle.”
“Oh come on!” Kira exclaimed incredulously.
But Kira found herself feeling curious and somewhat frightened and, surprisingly, slightly excited; she also felt denial bubbling to the surface. A protective emotion her mind was throwing up to prevent the shattering of her psyche.
“Seriously, how can that all be? There's just no way, those...those creatures are all just stories and myths and...,” Kira began in earnest.
“So the orc nearly squeezing you to death wasn't real?” Ryan asked softly.
“No, it was,” Kira protested, “but...,” she hesitated.
How could that be real and what Detective Laurent was telling her not be real? What was reality anyway? That thought could drive a person mad, Kira thought.
Ryan took this opportunity to continue. “There is a battle, Kira. Something terrible began about twenty to thirty years ago. From what we know, a battle was coming with the demons...they live, they exist beyond the Reverie in the Underworld. Somehow the demons were unleashed into the Real World and the Secret World, or at least back then they were gaining access. The everlasting call this the Death Knell...and we've been battling against them ever since, in one way or another. Maybe not all the time...normal life does go on for most immortals...but there are more disturbances and more demons making their way to this side as time goes on.”
“Even as a cop, I'm seeing more and more violence and death and disturbed humans who are affected...or infected...by this evil,” he finished.
Kira sat in silence when it seemed that Detective Laurent had finished. Part of her was creeped out and wanted to tell the man that he was seriously disturbed, and that she would be leaving now, thank you very much; but another, a deeper, part of her believed him. Dammit, she did. Not only believed but was relieved in a way. It might be that she wasn't crazy at all. The monsters...demons? ...that had killed her parents, the strange things she'd seen over time, the angel who helped her escape, and even her vivid, imaginative, and sometimes frightening dreams...might all be real.
After relief came the fact that for some reason everything Detective Laurent...Ryan, she suddenly could think of him in her head..had told her felt real. Kira even sensed as if she were connected somehow. Did she want to be connected to all this, though? No!
“What are you thinking, Kira?” Ryan asked neutrally.
“Well,” Kira began. What did she intend to say? Was she going to confide in a cop? And how did he know all this? That was bugging her. “Just exactly who are you that you know...?”
-15-
It was at that moment that, outside, the lightning cracked the night sky into pieces. A blinding light flashed into the room. Except there was no storm outside, no clouds, no anything. Heavy vibrations caused the windows to rattle dangerously close to breaking, and a glass lamp skittered off a side table and shattered.
Kira shrieked in surprise shriek and jumped in her chair. She rose to her knees and twisted to look toward the window and the bright, flashes of light outside.
“What the hell...?” Kira swore.
She quickly climbed over the arm of her chair and ran to the largest window, the one facing the lightning coming from the front of the house. She drew back the thin, white under curtain and shielded her eyes. For in the sky, hurtling toward the house was a giant, bright ball of colored lightning flashing and pulsating across the blackness. The streams of crackling light that emanated from the ball writhed like snakes.
“Stay where you are, Kira,” Ryan ordered from across the room. “Don't go outside, I'll be right back.”
She thought his voice was surprisingly calm, considering...but Kira did turn in time to see a slight furrowing of Ryan's brow. She turned back to watch the lightening ball finally hit the ground, its stream of lights literally scorching the grass around it.
* * * * *
Sitting in his chair, Ryan mentally nodded to himself. He suspected he knew what—or who—was the cause of the disturbance outside. He intended to put an end to it. Although his house resided at the end of a private road on the outskirts of the city and the nearest neighbor was a half mile away through the trees, a lightening ball flashing across the sky would hardly go unnoticed in Landry Pointe.
Ryan closed his eyes. His celestine spirit left the simulacrum and body jaunted into a free-standing, stone statue near the front yard. He wanted to shift himself into a position to observe without being seen. The statue—one of a life-size child—stood playfully with one small hand against a large tree opposite the front of the house. The statue was situated to view the house but be inconspicuous enough to not be noticed. The little boy statue's eyes suddenly blinked slowly. Although there were no physical eyes in the blank, stone sockets, the celestine spirit inside could see clearly. He watched the lightning ball for a moment, confirming his idea of who had finally found him.
* * * * *
Kira jumped in shock from inside the house as the ball of writhing lightning alighted on the grass. She could hear the crackles through the screen. Burn marks marred the grass around the sparking ball. She quickly turned back around to the empty living room.
Only it wasn't empty. Ryan was still sitting in the chair with his eyes closed and perfectly still.
“D...Detective Laurent...Ryan?” the dark haired young woman asked cautiously as she hesitantly approached the chair. “Are you alright?”
The strange occurrence outside was disturbing and freaky enough, but now the only person who apparently knew what was going on was...what? There was no answer or movement from him. He was completely still. Kira wasn't even sure he was breathing—his chest didn't seem to be moving. Frightened by the eerie ball of lighting outside, Kira felt helpless. Was this something from that Secret World which Ryan had told her about? If so, she had no idea whatsoever to do. She was helpless and afraid. Kira hated both feelings with a passion.
* * * * *
Outside in the darkness, the celestine spirit body jaunted to several more statues around the house and driveway, not moving them but merely covertly observing the situation from various locations. The entire journey took only moments.
The tree-lined driveway that led from the private road circled in front of the house, as well as veered off to a large garage in the rear. Trees were interspersed with gardens and grassy areas before joining with the wild trees of the nearby forest. The large grassy area in front of the house was the main area that the spirit was concerned with, although it did a cursory sweep of the perimeter to make certain the intruder hadn't brought assistance. The large grassy area was now crisscrossed with burnt slash marks as if someone had whipped the ground randomly with fire. Or in this case, lightning.
The spirit was aware that it was only a matter of time before the intruder would be capable of taking physical form. One final body jaunt brought the spirit back into its human-form simulacrum.
Ryan's eyes snapped open.
Kira shrieked in surprise shriek and jumped in her chair. She rose to her knees and twisted to look toward the window and the bright, flashes of light outside.
“What the hell...?” Kira swore.
She quickly climbed over the arm of her chair and ran to the largest window, the one facing the lightning coming from the front of the house. She drew back the thin, white under curtain and shielded her eyes. For in the sky, hurtling toward the house was a giant, bright ball of colored lightning flashing and pulsating across the blackness. The streams of crackling light that emanated from the ball writhed like snakes.
“Stay where you are, Kira,” Ryan ordered from across the room. “Don't go outside, I'll be right back.”
She thought his voice was surprisingly calm, considering...but Kira did turn in time to see a slight furrowing of Ryan's brow. She turned back to watch the lightening ball finally hit the ground, its stream of lights literally scorching the grass around it.
* * * * *
Sitting in his chair, Ryan mentally nodded to himself. He suspected he knew what—or who—was the cause of the disturbance outside. He intended to put an end to it. Although his house resided at the end of a private road on the outskirts of the city and the nearest neighbor was a half mile away through the trees, a lightening ball flashing across the sky would hardly go unnoticed in Landry Pointe.
Ryan closed his eyes. His celestine spirit left the simulacrum and body jaunted into a free-standing, stone statue near the front yard. He wanted to shift himself into a position to observe without being seen. The statue—one of a life-size child—stood playfully with one small hand against a large tree opposite the front of the house. The statue was situated to view the house but be inconspicuous enough to not be noticed. The little boy statue's eyes suddenly blinked slowly. Although there were no physical eyes in the blank, stone sockets, the celestine spirit inside could see clearly. He watched the lightning ball for a moment, confirming his idea of who had finally found him.
* * * * *
Kira jumped in shock from inside the house as the ball of writhing lightning alighted on the grass. She could hear the crackles through the screen. Burn marks marred the grass around the sparking ball. She quickly turned back around to the empty living room.
Only it wasn't empty. Ryan was still sitting in the chair with his eyes closed and perfectly still.
“D...Detective Laurent...Ryan?” the dark haired young woman asked cautiously as she hesitantly approached the chair. “Are you alright?”
The strange occurrence outside was disturbing and freaky enough, but now the only person who apparently knew what was going on was...what? There was no answer or movement from him. He was completely still. Kira wasn't even sure he was breathing—his chest didn't seem to be moving. Frightened by the eerie ball of lighting outside, Kira felt helpless. Was this something from that Secret World which Ryan had told her about? If so, she had no idea whatsoever to do. She was helpless and afraid. Kira hated both feelings with a passion.
* * * * *
Outside in the darkness, the celestine spirit body jaunted to several more statues around the house and driveway, not moving them but merely covertly observing the situation from various locations. The entire journey took only moments.
The tree-lined driveway that led from the private road circled in front of the house, as well as veered off to a large garage in the rear. Trees were interspersed with gardens and grassy areas before joining with the wild trees of the nearby forest. The large grassy area in front of the house was the main area that the spirit was concerned with, although it did a cursory sweep of the perimeter to make certain the intruder hadn't brought assistance. The large grassy area was now crisscrossed with burnt slash marks as if someone had whipped the ground randomly with fire. Or in this case, lightning.
The spirit was aware that it was only a matter of time before the intruder would be capable of taking physical form. One final body jaunt brought the spirit back into its human-form simulacrum.
Ryan's eyes snapped open.
-16-
Kira was leaning over staring at Ryan's immobile body. She was now positive his chest wasn't moving. He was most certainly dead. Kira was on the verge of panic at the thought of him being dead, not to mention at the impossible ball of lightning outside that continued to throw off blinding tentacles of burning light. Supernatural, her mind whispered tauntingly.
When Ryan's eyes flew open, Kira shrieked and scurried backwards clutching her chest, not realizing how dramatic that looked. “Ohmygod!” she gasped. “I thought you were dead!”
He merely shook his head and finally rose from the chair. He was taller than Kira and gazed down at her. “Again, stay here,” he said.
As he was striding away from her, Kira was asking, “What is that out there?”
Then she noticed..., “Holy crap, you have wings!”' she shouted in utter amazement. “At least, I think...,”
From Kira's perspective Ryan appeared to have huge, black feathered wings folded on his back. But they were nearly transparent, she could only see them flickering in and out of clarity. She could see his back through the wings.
“You're seeing into the Reverie,” Ryan answered calmly. “Now we know for sure. But never mind that now.” Ryan had reached the front doors and was grasping one handle.
Kira had followed, unsure whether to be scared, fascinated, or relieved that she wasn't crazy. How could she not believe at this point? Ryan hadn't denied he had wings, and apparently she was seeing into that supernatural world. But she was concerned she might go mad after all this was over...if she lived.
Ryan turned slightly. “It's a djinnee,” he explained. “And if it's who I believe it is, then we are old...adversaries, let's say. Somehow he's been unbound from his prison.”
“A what?” Kira asked, “ A genie,” she repeated. “As in 'I Dream of..'?”
“ A djinnee,” Ryan repeated, emphasizing the 'd' and pronouncing it more slowly as duh-JEN-AY. “And no, quite the opposite, I'm afraid,” he countered, showing he was current on his classic television shows.
“So what do we do? What does it...he want?” Kira was surprised at her curiousity.
However she was standing well inside the foyer, no where near the door to where the...djinnee ball of lightening was currently burning up the grass.
“We don't do anything...I do,” Ryan said, his eyes narrowing. “You will remain inside. If we're lucky he won't realize you are here and kill you. You should hope very hard for that.”
Kira gulped. “Oh. But...but what about you?” she asked, suddenly realizing Ryan meant to go out there.
From outside a loud, thundering voice pierced the thick front doors. It was full of rage and hatred. “Gargoyle! I have come! Tonight you die for all eternity!”
When Ryan's eyes flew open, Kira shrieked and scurried backwards clutching her chest, not realizing how dramatic that looked. “Ohmygod!” she gasped. “I thought you were dead!”
He merely shook his head and finally rose from the chair. He was taller than Kira and gazed down at her. “Again, stay here,” he said.
As he was striding away from her, Kira was asking, “What is that out there?”
Then she noticed..., “Holy crap, you have wings!”' she shouted in utter amazement. “At least, I think...,”
From Kira's perspective Ryan appeared to have huge, black feathered wings folded on his back. But they were nearly transparent, she could only see them flickering in and out of clarity. She could see his back through the wings.
“You're seeing into the Reverie,” Ryan answered calmly. “Now we know for sure. But never mind that now.” Ryan had reached the front doors and was grasping one handle.
Kira had followed, unsure whether to be scared, fascinated, or relieved that she wasn't crazy. How could she not believe at this point? Ryan hadn't denied he had wings, and apparently she was seeing into that supernatural world. But she was concerned she might go mad after all this was over...if she lived.
Ryan turned slightly. “It's a djinnee,” he explained. “And if it's who I believe it is, then we are old...adversaries, let's say. Somehow he's been unbound from his prison.”
“A what?” Kira asked, “ A genie,” she repeated. “As in 'I Dream of..'?”
“ A djinnee,” Ryan repeated, emphasizing the 'd' and pronouncing it more slowly as duh-JEN-AY. “And no, quite the opposite, I'm afraid,” he countered, showing he was current on his classic television shows.
“So what do we do? What does it...he want?” Kira was surprised at her curiousity.
However she was standing well inside the foyer, no where near the door to where the...djinnee ball of lightening was currently burning up the grass.
“We don't do anything...I do,” Ryan said, his eyes narrowing. “You will remain inside. If we're lucky he won't realize you are here and kill you. You should hope very hard for that.”
Kira gulped. “Oh. But...but what about you?” she asked, suddenly realizing Ryan meant to go out there.
From outside a loud, thundering voice pierced the thick front doors. It was full of rage and hatred. “Gargoyle! I have come! Tonight you die for all eternity!”
-17-
Kira blinked. She stared at Ryan, but he wasn't paying her any more attention.
Gargoyle? What the...? Then she realized the door had closed, and Ryan was gone. He had shut Kira in behind him.
“Holy crap, a gargoyle?” she whispered. “And a djinnee?”
Kira shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around the impossibility of the supernatural, which had just become an in-her-face kind of real. But, she knew deep down it was true. It was time to admit it and bring her belief to the surface. Especially since she seemed to be a part of it now.
Bolting back into the living room, Kira glanced around searching for the light switch. When she found it on the wall, she plunged the living room into darkness...at least from the inside. She made her way to the window guided by the diminishing light of the sparking, arching tendrils of light. Peering out from behind the white curtain, she was in time to witness the final transformation the lightning ball into a human form.
* * * * *
Ryan strode out the front door and stood on the front porch at the top of the low steps. He crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against one of the pillars . The djinnee was “gathering flesh,” his transformation into human form nearly complete. By pulling particles around him together, the djinnee combined those materials with his own Reverie form to become an animate, living being. A crackling energy swirled around the form as the half-spirit creature cast his earthly body.
Then standing before Ryan was a being of living tissue and cells, existing in the Real World. The mortal, his keemon, form appeared tall and agile; with long black hair, a mustache and short beard, black irises and nails; and skin the color of shiny copper. His black harem pants, black boots, and thick brown leather belt accentuated the powerful muscles of his glowing bare chest and arms. Around his waist a scabbard held a long, thick sword.
“Rushati! You have been released,” Ryan stated, his voice seeming to boom with a power that his physical form did not reflect. His arms remained crossed over his chest, the muscles flexed. “If I had emotions I would be sorry to see you. As it is, it's my duty to finish what the others failed to do. You will not live after tonight.”
The djinnee laughed heartily, his head thrown back. But there was the sound of madness in the laugh. He shook his head as if saddened.
“Ah, Jahim, I do not think so. Your new form looks weak...nothing like before. And no doubt my sins will drive you to evil again tonight.” The djinnee appeared positively gleeful—in a wicked way—at this thought.
“You could not resist feeding on me before...oh yes, I have heard you had to be hunted and killed that night after feeding on my sins. But I have plenty remaining.”
It was a mere moment in the present time, but Ryan was drawn back centuries in his mind. Back when he was known as Jahim, and his simulacrum was all stone. Late in the eighteenth century, at the end of the Ottoman Empire in the Middle East, Jahim and others of his kind—the gargoyles—had fought and captured the djinnee. Those of the Dalhan tribe were especially morbid, vicious, and hedonistic, with dark behavior and bizarre practices that even disgusted the other djinn. Rushati had been torturing and killing, slowly and with great pleasure, mortals when Jahim began hunting him down.
As was his torment, the gargoyle had been closer to the Horrification than the others of his hunting party had realized. When the opportunity had arisen, Jahim had given in to the abyss and had fed upon the many sins of the djinnee. He reveled in the sadistic and evil feelings. The intense and emotional sins had been too much for Jahim, and the monster within had been unleashed for the final time. He became as monstrous as the djinnee. After binding Rashati into a vessel and hiding it deep underground, the other gargoyles hunted Jahim and sent the celestine spirit back to the Astra until the next rebirth.
“Have you come to talk me to death, then, dhabi?” Ryan asked, his face calm as he insulted the djinnee.
Although he felt no great emotions, the gargoyle knew the power of the djinnee was equal to his own. He wanted to end this confrontation quickly. The longer the djinnee was here, the more danger Kira was in.
Rushati was seething with anger, both at the gargoyle and at having been bound for all these centuries. He would have his vengeance this night, then enjoy himself in the city inflicting pain on the talking monkeys who made their homes there. He would indulge in his sick pleasures once again with mortals.
“Revenge will be mine, leech!” Rushati screamed back. “Now we fight to your death!”
The two eldritch suddenly levitated into the air in a simultaneous motion. They rocketed toward each other at full force. The impact would have killed a mortal, shattering bones and crushing flesh...but Ryan's stone skeleton withstood the impact better than the flesh form of the djinnee. Rushati flew backward through the night sky before recovering.
The gargoyle and djinnee fought physically, hand to hand, in the air and then on the ground—circling each other, dodging and ducking, grappling, and evading. Both were unable to injure the other. Ryan's advanced rubber flesh was impervious to mere kicks and punches, while the djinee's strength and durability, and speed and grace protected his fleshly form from the worst of Ryan's attacks.
Ryan then released the knives that were strapped to his stone skeleton. They shot out from his wrists through minute slits in the rubber flesh. He grabbed the long handles that were attached to him. He slashed and stabbed at Rushati, slicing through his earthly flesh and muscles.
Roaring in pain, the djinnee allowed his hands to reform into lightning and whipped at his enemy's human form. The tentacles of electricity cut into Ryan's rubber flesh, leaving melted burn marks. But Rushati could only maintain the lightning for a brief time before he had to reform his hands. He then grabbed for the short, curved sword at his side. He began to slice at the human gargoyle, opening a large gash in Ryan's chest as the blade ripped through the material of the shirt.
Gargoyle? What the...? Then she realized the door had closed, and Ryan was gone. He had shut Kira in behind him.
“Holy crap, a gargoyle?” she whispered. “And a djinnee?”
Kira shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around the impossibility of the supernatural, which had just become an in-her-face kind of real. But, she knew deep down it was true. It was time to admit it and bring her belief to the surface. Especially since she seemed to be a part of it now.
Bolting back into the living room, Kira glanced around searching for the light switch. When she found it on the wall, she plunged the living room into darkness...at least from the inside. She made her way to the window guided by the diminishing light of the sparking, arching tendrils of light. Peering out from behind the white curtain, she was in time to witness the final transformation the lightning ball into a human form.
* * * * *
Ryan strode out the front door and stood on the front porch at the top of the low steps. He crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against one of the pillars . The djinnee was “gathering flesh,” his transformation into human form nearly complete. By pulling particles around him together, the djinnee combined those materials with his own Reverie form to become an animate, living being. A crackling energy swirled around the form as the half-spirit creature cast his earthly body.
Then standing before Ryan was a being of living tissue and cells, existing in the Real World. The mortal, his keemon, form appeared tall and agile; with long black hair, a mustache and short beard, black irises and nails; and skin the color of shiny copper. His black harem pants, black boots, and thick brown leather belt accentuated the powerful muscles of his glowing bare chest and arms. Around his waist a scabbard held a long, thick sword.
“Rushati! You have been released,” Ryan stated, his voice seeming to boom with a power that his physical form did not reflect. His arms remained crossed over his chest, the muscles flexed. “If I had emotions I would be sorry to see you. As it is, it's my duty to finish what the others failed to do. You will not live after tonight.”
The djinnee laughed heartily, his head thrown back. But there was the sound of madness in the laugh. He shook his head as if saddened.
“Ah, Jahim, I do not think so. Your new form looks weak...nothing like before. And no doubt my sins will drive you to evil again tonight.” The djinnee appeared positively gleeful—in a wicked way—at this thought.
“You could not resist feeding on me before...oh yes, I have heard you had to be hunted and killed that night after feeding on my sins. But I have plenty remaining.”
It was a mere moment in the present time, but Ryan was drawn back centuries in his mind. Back when he was known as Jahim, and his simulacrum was all stone. Late in the eighteenth century, at the end of the Ottoman Empire in the Middle East, Jahim and others of his kind—the gargoyles—had fought and captured the djinnee. Those of the Dalhan tribe were especially morbid, vicious, and hedonistic, with dark behavior and bizarre practices that even disgusted the other djinn. Rushati had been torturing and killing, slowly and with great pleasure, mortals when Jahim began hunting him down.
As was his torment, the gargoyle had been closer to the Horrification than the others of his hunting party had realized. When the opportunity had arisen, Jahim had given in to the abyss and had fed upon the many sins of the djinnee. He reveled in the sadistic and evil feelings. The intense and emotional sins had been too much for Jahim, and the monster within had been unleashed for the final time. He became as monstrous as the djinnee. After binding Rashati into a vessel and hiding it deep underground, the other gargoyles hunted Jahim and sent the celestine spirit back to the Astra until the next rebirth.
“Have you come to talk me to death, then, dhabi?” Ryan asked, his face calm as he insulted the djinnee.
Although he felt no great emotions, the gargoyle knew the power of the djinnee was equal to his own. He wanted to end this confrontation quickly. The longer the djinnee was here, the more danger Kira was in.
Rushati was seething with anger, both at the gargoyle and at having been bound for all these centuries. He would have his vengeance this night, then enjoy himself in the city inflicting pain on the talking monkeys who made their homes there. He would indulge in his sick pleasures once again with mortals.
“Revenge will be mine, leech!” Rushati screamed back. “Now we fight to your death!”
The two eldritch suddenly levitated into the air in a simultaneous motion. They rocketed toward each other at full force. The impact would have killed a mortal, shattering bones and crushing flesh...but Ryan's stone skeleton withstood the impact better than the flesh form of the djinnee. Rushati flew backward through the night sky before recovering.
The gargoyle and djinnee fought physically, hand to hand, in the air and then on the ground—circling each other, dodging and ducking, grappling, and evading. Both were unable to injure the other. Ryan's advanced rubber flesh was impervious to mere kicks and punches, while the djinee's strength and durability, and speed and grace protected his fleshly form from the worst of Ryan's attacks.
Ryan then released the knives that were strapped to his stone skeleton. They shot out from his wrists through minute slits in the rubber flesh. He grabbed the long handles that were attached to him. He slashed and stabbed at Rushati, slicing through his earthly flesh and muscles.
Roaring in pain, the djinnee allowed his hands to reform into lightning and whipped at his enemy's human form. The tentacles of electricity cut into Ryan's rubber flesh, leaving melted burn marks. But Rushati could only maintain the lightning for a brief time before he had to reform his hands. He then grabbed for the short, curved sword at his side. He began to slice at the human gargoyle, opening a large gash in Ryan's chest as the blade ripped through the material of the shirt.
-18-
Leaping into the air to escape, Ryan levitated in a backward somersault to land on the second story balcony over the front porch. His feet thudded down with the weight of his stone skeleton. It was a small area, mainly for decoration but it was enclosed by the original wrought iron railing inside the white balcony. As he ripped a spiked rod of iron out of the inner railing, Ryan heard the djinnee laugh.
“Ah ha! A delectable prize awaits me, leech ! I see you have a guest...or perhaps a sinner? After I kill you, I will enjoy seeing how many times she can be raped and tortured before she dies!”
Ryan's eyes narrowed dangerously to slits—the only emotional indication of the beginning of his descent into the Horrification. Ryan leaned over and saw Kira ducking away from the window. Damn, she'd been watching, he thought. Now she truly was in danger. Ryan knew he had to kill the djinnee, both physically and in the Astra, or else Rushati would regenerate in time and return.
Ryan would not allow Kira to be harmed. There was no other choice but to release the monster within. Ryan closed his eyes briefly. If only, when the moment came, he could control himself from feeding on the djinnee before he killed him. The temptation would be intense—the djinnee's sins would overwhelm him if he began to sin-eat.
With no choice left to him, Ryan let the monster out--seven feet of black stone, claws, and teeth. Now he could almost feel the emotions Rushati carried within him. Ryan longed to experience them for himself. He would suck in all the heady emotions and let them infuse his soul—then he would turn evil, the Horrification would begin. He would be a monster himself with no one to stop him. Kira would die by his own hand, Ryan knew.
The transformation took mere seconds and the iron stake was in his hand. The gargoyle launched himself at the djinnee, leather wings swiftly gliding him down. His attack was blocked when a large boulder in the midsection sent him flying backwards into the air. The gargoyle began to tumble toward the ground. But the creature recovered and aimed his body for the djinnee. He sliced in an arc with one of the knives, keeping tight hold of the deadly iron rod--deadly to the djinnee at any rate. Lightning whips struck the black stone, but they sparked harmlessly away.
The djinnee's head rolled haphazardly across the grass, leaving a bloody trail. The body stood swaying for a moment. Then the fleshly body collapsed to the grass.
It was no surprise to the gargoyle when the dijinnee's Astra form rose up with a bellowing roar to continue fighting in the Reverie.
“Ah ha! A delectable prize awaits me, leech ! I see you have a guest...or perhaps a sinner? After I kill you, I will enjoy seeing how many times she can be raped and tortured before she dies!”
Ryan's eyes narrowed dangerously to slits—the only emotional indication of the beginning of his descent into the Horrification. Ryan leaned over and saw Kira ducking away from the window. Damn, she'd been watching, he thought. Now she truly was in danger. Ryan knew he had to kill the djinnee, both physically and in the Astra, or else Rushati would regenerate in time and return.
Ryan would not allow Kira to be harmed. There was no other choice but to release the monster within. Ryan closed his eyes briefly. If only, when the moment came, he could control himself from feeding on the djinnee before he killed him. The temptation would be intense—the djinnee's sins would overwhelm him if he began to sin-eat.
With no choice left to him, Ryan let the monster out--seven feet of black stone, claws, and teeth. Now he could almost feel the emotions Rushati carried within him. Ryan longed to experience them for himself. He would suck in all the heady emotions and let them infuse his soul—then he would turn evil, the Horrification would begin. He would be a monster himself with no one to stop him. Kira would die by his own hand, Ryan knew.
The transformation took mere seconds and the iron stake was in his hand. The gargoyle launched himself at the djinnee, leather wings swiftly gliding him down. His attack was blocked when a large boulder in the midsection sent him flying backwards into the air. The gargoyle began to tumble toward the ground. But the creature recovered and aimed his body for the djinnee. He sliced in an arc with one of the knives, keeping tight hold of the deadly iron rod--deadly to the djinnee at any rate. Lightning whips struck the black stone, but they sparked harmlessly away.
The djinnee's head rolled haphazardly across the grass, leaving a bloody trail. The body stood swaying for a moment. Then the fleshly body collapsed to the grass.
It was no surprise to the gargoyle when the dijinnee's Astra form rose up with a bellowing roar to continue fighting in the Reverie.
-19-
Kira was frozen at the window watching the unbelievable battle. Her mouth hung open. She lost sight of Ryan as he flew upwards, but then realized that the djinnee had seen her at the window. He'd stared directly at her and grinned, a horrible, sadistic expression that promised more than she wanted to know. She'd also seen what she imagined was a gargolye...was it Ryan?...fly down from where he had disappeared out of her line of sight. She cheered without realizing it when the djinnee's head rolled across the grass, but gasped when he rose up again. Except the headless body still lay motionless on the ground. What stood up was monstrous and horrifying—towering height, green skin, rippling muscles that spoke of steel and destruction, bald with a single tail of hair, and glowing blue eyes.
The fight had moved to the Reverie, she suspected...and she continued to have the ability to watch.
* * * * *
When his earthly body was destroyed, the djinnee took his dural form, his true form in the Astra. No mortal would have seen him now, should they have been watching the fight. He existed only as a spirit but was able to interact with the gargoyle in the Reverie. He could slay the gargoyle. The djinnee was even more powerful now than previously. The black, stone gargoyle had now unleashed a more monstrous creature.
He lunged for the stone creature that was coming at him. The djinnee wrapped his massive arms around the gargoyle and grabbed him by the wings. He began bending them upwards in an unnatural direction.
The gargoyle screamed in agony but let the pain carry him on. He raised the iron spiked bar high into the air and impaled it through the head of the djinnee.
Iron was like poison to djinn and this one was no exception. He shrieked and released the gargoyle's wings, clutching at the bar. But the stone creature refused to let go. He twisted the metal piece further in, letting the iron's energy flow through the djinnee's form.
“I will...will return for you, Jahim,” Rushati growled as he crumpled heavily to his knees. His eyes were rolling back into his head.
“Not this time, dhabi, not this time. This is the final end for you. Both your forms have been defeated...this time your spirit dies and you return to smoke.” The gargoyle's voice was low, gravelly, and menacing.
The gargoyle let go of the iron bar and the djinnee toppled sideways, his gigantic body already creating a black smoke as it began to die. The gargoyle began to reach down to lay his hands on the head of his enemy, intending to sin-eat. He deserved it, he craved it, he would not deny himself. His features formed slowly into an ecstatic expression.
Then, with his sensitive hearing, he heard a gasp behind him...at the screened window. The gargoyle slowly turned his head, fingers with sharp nails nearly touching the djinnee's head. Kira was staring at him, wide eyed, her lips slightly parted.
The gargoyle tilted his head back and roared, shattering the dark, humid night even further. The sound carried for miles. With a massive effort that cost him nearly all his life force, the gargoyle wrenched himself away from the dying djinnee and transformed back into his human simulacrum.
Ryan stumbled to his feet. He watched the life force of the djinnee leave the astral body, closing off the sins to him forever. Ryan re-entered the Real World and the sight of the headless body. It suddenly exploded into flames—black and smokeless—as the djinnee met his final and real death in both realms.
Focus, Ryan told himself sharply. Focus on the body, forget the sins. He knelt on the grass, head down and breathing heavily, willing himself back into control. He could physically feel the gargoyle's emotions draining from him, leaving him cold and still. Ryan opened his eyes and staggered to his feet. He headed for the house.
-20-
Kira flung open the door in his face.
Ryan stared at her.
Kira stared back at the man who had saved her...twice now. He was sliced up badly...in the chest and the arms...and his body was crisscrossed with burn marks. But there was no blood, at least none dripping from the wounds. He was smeared with the red substance but it didn't seem to have come from him.
Ryan's voice was unnaturally calm. He was back in control, the emotions were gone. But he spoke softly.
“Now you know,” he said, stepping inside the house past Kira. “You know who, or rather what, I am...how it is that I am familiar with the Secret World. Now you must always keep my secret,” he commanded.
Kira stared some more. Like anyone would believe her, she thought, if she told. Which she wasn't planning on doing anyway. She nodded silently.
“Now what?” she asked hesitantly.
“Now you must decide what you want out of life...where you want to be, what direction you want life to take you. You've seen me for what I truly am...you've seen some of what's “out there” and the very real dangers of the Reverie. There is also pain and suffering, but in the end if we can save humanity...and the world of the immortals...from the demons, everything will have been worth it. Now you have to decide where your life will lead you. The Secret World has already chosen you, Kira...and if you decide to stay, your path will not be an easy one.”
Kira watched Ryan turn from her and begin to walk unhurriedly toward the back of the house where Kira had yet to visit. He walked down a dim hallway that led off the living room. She heard a door open and close, and the click of a bolt being drawn. Then silence.
Kira remained in the open door way for a some time...then she moved to sit on the steps outside. She studied the scarred and burnt grass, the boulder that lay nearer the house than it had been originally; but most of all she stared at the dark spot that had once been the body of the djinnee. She assumed it had been killed, as she'd also witnessed its other form—the huge, green one—dissolve into smoke.
Kira remained outside so long that the dawn peeked over the eastern horizon before she'd made her decision. Another day entered into her life.
A life that had just taken a new and dangerous direction.
Ryan stared at her.
Kira stared back at the man who had saved her...twice now. He was sliced up badly...in the chest and the arms...and his body was crisscrossed with burn marks. But there was no blood, at least none dripping from the wounds. He was smeared with the red substance but it didn't seem to have come from him.
Ryan's voice was unnaturally calm. He was back in control, the emotions were gone. But he spoke softly.
“Now you know,” he said, stepping inside the house past Kira. “You know who, or rather what, I am...how it is that I am familiar with the Secret World. Now you must always keep my secret,” he commanded.
Kira stared some more. Like anyone would believe her, she thought, if she told. Which she wasn't planning on doing anyway. She nodded silently.
“Now what?” she asked hesitantly.
“Now you must decide what you want out of life...where you want to be, what direction you want life to take you. You've seen me for what I truly am...you've seen some of what's “out there” and the very real dangers of the Reverie. There is also pain and suffering, but in the end if we can save humanity...and the world of the immortals...from the demons, everything will have been worth it. Now you have to decide where your life will lead you. The Secret World has already chosen you, Kira...and if you decide to stay, your path will not be an easy one.”
Kira watched Ryan turn from her and begin to walk unhurriedly toward the back of the house where Kira had yet to visit. He walked down a dim hallway that led off the living room. She heard a door open and close, and the click of a bolt being drawn. Then silence.
Kira remained in the open door way for a some time...then she moved to sit on the steps outside. She studied the scarred and burnt grass, the boulder that lay nearer the house than it had been originally; but most of all she stared at the dark spot that had once been the body of the djinnee. She assumed it had been killed, as she'd also witnessed its other form—the huge, green one—dissolve into smoke.
Kira remained outside so long that the dawn peeked over the eastern horizon before she'd made her decision. Another day entered into her life.
A life that had just taken a new and dangerous direction.