Tim Marquitz: Echoes of the Past

I grinned. At range, tossing fireballs at me, the specter could have kept me on the defensive, giving me the hot foot until it wore me down. Up close, that was a different matter. Certain I couldn’t hurt with my bare hands, it was time to improvise. Still a novice with my newfound magical powers, I didn’t have a lot of experience at using them on the fly. Fortunately, magic is all about imagination and willpower, and I‘ve plenty of both.

Falling back on what I do know, I closed on the specter and threw a left hook, right straight combo, willing my power to envelop my hands like mystical boxing gloves. Well, more like comfy-fitting cinderblocks. My left crashed into the specter’s jaw. It felt like punching a ’57 Chevy, but its head snapped to the side, and it stumbled back a step. My right caught it flush on its cheek and sent it flying.

The staff tumbled from its hand and vanished in a crackle of energy as the specter hit the ground. The spirit slid a few feet across the asphalt, roaring as it dug its fingers into the blacktop and brought itself to a stop. Before it could get up and resume its ball-tossing, I followed after it. A shield of energy encasing my right foot, all the way up to the knee, I soccer kicked the specter in its head. My shin went numb when it hit, a crack of thunder sounding at impact.

I struggled to keep my balance as the specter was flung into the air, shrieking. It tumbled head over heels, about ten feet up, but the thing wasn’t out just yet. With nothing resembling aim, it loosed blue fire from its hands, eyes, and mouth. Tendrils of power spewed in every direction like a teenage boy experiencing his first erection. Too much magic being flung about, I ducked behind a car to wait it out. I heard the meaty thump of the specter hitting the ground, but the assault continued.

All around me the street was taking an ass-whuppin’. Bolts of energy tore into the nearby buildings, blasting through stone and cement. Windows shattered across the block, a storm of rock and glass raining down. It felt like I was romancing a fire ant mound, millions of fiery bites erupting across my skin. Car alarms screeched, adding to the avalanche din of collapsing building facades.

It didn’t take me but a second to realize I couldn’t sit back while the specter leveled the block. I threw a shield over me like an umbrella and jumped from behind the car. The specter was getting to its feet, a feral grin on its face. It clearly had no intention of stopping its barrage, though it did seem intent on zoning in on me.

Wishing I had my gun, though not really sure it could even hurt the thing, I improvised. I flung a fistful of magic at the specter, willing it to explode like jagged buckshot. Sharp spears of power ripped through the specter and drove it onto its heels. It crashed into the crumbling wall at its back, bringing pieces of it down around it. The specter growled and swatted the falling debris away. That gave me all the time I needed.

My fist once more encased in energy, I shaped it into the form a spike and threw an overhand right with everything I had. The spirit looked up at me as I closed. I sunk the point into its widened eye. My hand tore through its skull and the specter vanished in a disappointing crackle of energy. My fist crashed into the building, with the spirit gone, and sank in to the shoulder. Unable to stop my momentum, I turned my face just before the wall scraped away a couple layers of skin from my cheek and chin.

Not exactly an Einstein moment, I was too worried about the specter’s master to care how stupid I looked. I yanked my arm out of the wall and scurried away as the front of the building collapsed in a roar of crumbling stone. A choking cloud of cement dust followed, obscuring my vision. Back in the street, the ground trembling beneath me, I covered my mouth and nose against the cloying smoke and turned my senses loose. I caught a flicker of magical energy that faded just as I caught a whiff, leaving the scene empty of anyone supernatural besides me.

After a few minutes, the dust settled, and I was able to see just how much damage the specter had caused. It was substantial. The bar was in shambles. The plate glass window was gone, as was the door, and half the front wall. Small fires flickered inside and black smoke wafted out of the building. The shops next door hadn’t fared much better. Neither had the small video store across the street. A single story shack, it hadn’t survived the brawl. DVDs and VHS tapes were scattered about in the ruin of the store, twisted and mangled amidst the rubble. Shredded paper and ruined movie signage was scattered across the wreckage.

Sirens sounded in the distance and my heart sank. It probably wouldn’t be long before the DSI goons showed up. For all I knew, the specter could have been one of them. Regardless, given what they’d find, I had no doubt they’d see it as sufficient justification to put another bullet in my head. I didn’t want to be anywhere around when they arrived, but I knew I needed to do what I could to minimize the damage. Humanity was on shaky footing when it came to supernatural shenanigans. I couldn’t blame them, but I damn sure didn’t want to be the poster boy for the anti-demon movement.

I glanced around looking for a way to contact DRAC when I spied the pay phone I’d tried to use earlier. The receiver swung at the end of the silvery cord, but the phone was still in one piece. I went over to it and lifted the receiver to my ear. The crackle of a faint dial tone sounded inside. It still worked.

You don’t get that kind of service with a cell phone.

I couldn’t help but laugh as I dialed one of the toll-free contact numbers for DRAC and fed the answering service the codes that would mobilize a cleanup crew.

Sirens growing louder, I crawled off and found a seat on a nearby roof to watch the emergency crews roll in.

It was turning out to be one hell of a day.

“It’s only been a couple of hours, Frank. Glad to see you’re staying out of trouble.”

I didn’t need to turn around to recognize the sarcastic Barry White imitator that teleported in behind me. “Hi, Rahim.”

DRAC’s resident badass, and newly-made furry, walked up beside me. He glanced over the edge of the building. Tall, dark, and ominous, he looked like I remembered him when we first met. Darth Vader had nothing on Rahim. While creeping into his late fifties, he was well over six feet of aged muscle, his bald head catching the sunlight and seeming to absorb it. He had his serious face on, but he looked healthy. There was no trace of the spinal injury that had crippled him and drained the life from his eyes. He looked vibrant.

Becoming a werebear suited him.

Michael Li shuffled up to the ledge a moment later. A telepath, receptive to all the emotions and thoughts of the world around him, Michael didn’t look anywhere near as vigorous as Rahim did. Dressed in jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt, he had a couple days of scruff on his chin and the gray was showing. The fallout from the war in Heaven was taking a toll on him. He looked beat.

“Hey, Mike.”

He waved and followed Rahim’s eyes to the chaos below. A quiet sigh slipped from between pursed lips. “I managed to deflect some of the incoming 911 calls to make it look like this was a gas explosion, of some kind, but there’s nothing I can do about the witnesses. It’s only a matter of time until the general populace realizes this was yet another supernatural incident.”

“What happened?” Rahim asked, turning to look at me.

I’d been wrong about how he looked. There was sorrow in his gaze; deep pools of it, which settled heavy in his dark eyes. Thoughts of Abraham came to mind unbidden. We were carrying on like nothing had happened, but it was a lie. Abe was dead and everything he had made DRAC to be was crumbling.