Mark Teppo - Lightbreaker

The guy picked out by Nicols' light swung his right arm behind his back, and it stayed there. Nicols lowered the light to the man's waist, highlighting the fact that he had seen the motion. Nicols' other hand was on the butt of his pistol. He had seen the guy's motion, and rejected it as a casual gesture. The gold shield hanging over his heart flashed in the pale headlights, a wan star that seemed on the verge of going out.

None of the other men moved. Waiting for some signal, whether it came from the man caught in the flashlight beam or from one of the others. It was hard to tell. Nicols appeared to have more patience than any of them, which didn't help the tension of the standoff.

One of them moved finally. A guy in a long dark coat stepped closer to the spray of light from the sedan. His hair seemed like a cap of snow in the reflected light. "We're inspecting our property," he said. I couldn't see his eyes-sunglasses at night, that pointless affectation that did more to signal carelessness than menace-but some of the glow leaked around the edges of the frames as he summoned power. "What brings you out here, Detective?" he asked, referencing the gold shield hanging around Nicols' neck.

"Your barn isn't secure," Nicols said. The Chorus and I smiled at the audacious gambit of his conversation. "You should keep it locked. Vagrants and animals might get inside and disturb your. . things." From his pause, it was clear to everyone that Nicols knew what was inside.

The other man laughed. "Well, you are probably right, Detective." Three of the men inadvertently turned their heads toward their white-headed leader, an unconscious twitch toward a sound that no one heard but the three of them.

Whispering.

It was an arcane bit of magickal ventriloquism, used for centuries when adepts wanted to communicate to each other in situations where vocalization could be dangerous. Whispering was like a point-to-point radio transmission: only the sender and the receiver were party to the words. The tic displayed by the three guys showed their naivete.

Neophytes.

However, such inexperience with magick wasn't the immediate problem. Though Nicols and I didn't know what he had told them, the gist was clear. The man closest to us swung his arm around, revealing the black shape of a handgun.

I leaped forward, and grabbed the collar of Nicols' jacket. He dropped his flashlight as I hauled him out of the headlight glare. The gun coughed like an angry seal, and chips of wood split from the edge of the house.

"Son of a bitch," Nicols spat in disgust, as he got his back against the wall. His drew his own gun. "A semi-automatic. Whatever happened to cheap revolvers?"

"Couldn't get the job done, I guess." I kept my voice low. The Chorus flushed my surroundings, and generated an overlay of information. "One guy coming," I said to Nicols as I moved in front of him. "Mr. Semi-automatic." My fingers lightly brushed the cracked paint of the wall, the dead frame grounding me, giving me a point about which to swing my army of snakes. "He's got a friend. I can't sense the rest."

"Think they're going around?"

I nodded. "I would."

"Yeah," Nicols muttered. "So would I." He started to sidle toward the back of the house. I crept in the other direction.

The Chorus sibilated in my throat as I exhaled. I bound them in my hands, pushing them out through my knuckles as glittering spikes of force. As the man crept up on the corner of the house, I held my breath.

He led with the pistol, a quick dart of his arm and head to check our position. He didn't expect to find me just a few inches beyond the barrel of his gun, and he flinched instead of pulling the trigger. I shoved his gun hand through the wall, the wood splintering with a brittle groan as the magick in my fist gave the blow added impetus. He fired the gun once, a quick burst that made a dull spattering noise against the plaster of the inner wall, and then he stopped with the trigger action as I shattered his elbow with my other fist.

The Chorus chased red veins of pain up his arm. They lit his central cortex, amplifying the nerve impulses into an overwhelming rush. He passed out with just a tiny squeak of agony, the plaintive noise a mouse makes as an owl drops on it from a moonless sky and breaks its back.

One down.

The Chorus reacted to a pulse of magick, a night bloom of Will from the front yard. In the back of my mouth, I tasted the acrid hint of old fruit, and I quit trying to extricate the unconscious man's gun from the wall. Nicols was pressed against the house at the back, gun clasped in both hands as he considered a quick glance around the corner. I tried to reach him in time, tried to get my hand on his arm before the spell from the driveway collapsed on us.

An effluvium of dead citrus soured my mouth, and the Chorus flexed in response. I pushed them out, raising a mystical shield against the invisible assault.

The spell actualized with a pop of dead air, and I felt it through my protective ring, felt a tightening in my neck and at the base of my skull as the mystic attack squeezed my lizard brain. I got close to Nicols, but not close enough. The fear spell pulsed over us in the space between two heartbeats, racing through our bodies like an erupting solar flare.

He went stiff, unprotected from such attacks, and panic made his eyes and nostrils widen. The spell wasn't much different than what I had done to the gunman-a psychic assault on the central core of the primeval mind, a blast of inchoate energy targeted for the reptile brain. Even through the protective noise of the Chorus, I felt the wash of bright panic caused by the spell. A threat of fire. Every creature feared fire.

Nicols bolted, a perpendicular course away from the house, straight across the empty field and into the wilderness of the night. His lizard mind had triggered his flight response. He wasn't even aware of why he was running. He just had to get away from the house. He sprinted through the solitary beam of his discarded flashlight, a blur of pant leg and shoe leather, and then he was gone.

I pressed my thumbs into the soft flesh under my jaw, digging toward the bone. The Chorus sparked through my thumbnails. Colligate. Hic. Nunc. The invasive strands of panic shattered.

Spark . The Chorus reminded me of the approaching gunman, marking him on my spectral map. The others were beyond the Chorus' touch; at best guess, still circling around the far side of the house. A pincer of gunmen, front and side, closing in on the corner where I stood.

I swallowed a briny mouthful of spit, and made a mad dash across the back yard. I avoided the obvious error of hiding in the barn, and circled around to the far side of the building-the southern side looking at the spindly trees and the distant trickle of headlights.

The Chorus couldn't find Nicols. His trail pointed off across the empty scrub of the surrounding acreage. He hadn't let go of his gun. Even whacked out on phantasmal terror. If I couldn't find him, odds were neither could they. They'd focus on me.

Two, on the left . Glittering stars in my peripheral vision as light-rich bodies came around the eastern edge of the farmhouse. You like those odds, don't you? The Chorus slithered through my spine.

As the Chorus tasted the two approaching-adrenaline spikes, elevated heart rates-I did a quick recount in my head. Five, originally, now four: this pair, the guy backing up the one I downed already, and the Whisperer. Where was he? Where's the magus?

He could be a real problem. Unmolested, he could be building a spell, something more lethal than the fear bomb he had dropped previously. I didn't have a fix on him.

I moved along the length of the southern wall. The Chorus updated my spectral map, fixing the two glowing dots along the eastern wall of the house. I peeked around the end of the barn, some visual data to flesh out the Chorus' phantasmal map. Chorus-sight made their skin translucent.