Mark Teppo - Lightbreaker

The two men cleared the edge of the farmhouse, and carefully picked their way along the back of the house. They were heading for the open door of the barn. I slid out of sight and waited, letting the Chorus keep track of their location while I considered my next move.

The two gunmen were going to check the barn while the third man, the one who had forced me away from the house, kept their rear safe. That was the smart play. Unless I wanted to sneak off behind the trees and hide in the scattered brush, I needed a way to get past these guys.

Nicols was right. Single shot pistols were always easier to deal with. Three guys with semi-automatics was problematic. It would be easier to isolate them, deal with them individually. Pick them off, one by one. But the situation was complicated by the magus. Based on the insistence of his fear spell and the mental acuity it took to Whisper multiple targets, he wasn't a chump. Staying alert for him was going to split my focus.

I crept along the wall of the barn toward the corner nearest the barn door. The Chorus told me all three were in the yard, close to the western face of the barn. As I got close to the end of the wall, they split. A pair of lights getting brighter, one fading.

I faltered, holding my breath. Why the retreat? What did they know?

As the two reached the barn, the Chorus recoiled, flaring into a protective halo. One of the two was a kaleidoscopic flicker. Layered . He went into the barn while the other man approached the corner. I didn't have time to figure out what the first man was doing; the second man was going to walk right into me.

I quickly sketched a sigil on my left palm, my finger leaving a faint track on my flesh. I curled my fingers inward, protecting the glowing symbol as the Chorus bled into the inscription, imbuing it with meaning.

The gunman approached the corner cautiously, and before he could take a peek, I stepped out and surprised him. I shoved my left hand toward his face, the fingers of my other hand locked around that wrist. I squeezed my arm, flushing the Chorus down into my palm; he jerked back as the sigil blotted itself over his eyes.

The sigil would only last as long as the retinal afterburn. A few seconds. Time enough. I dropped my hands, knocking the barrel of his gun down, and cracked him in the nose with the hard part of my forehead. I felt cartilage snap. The Chorus took advantage of the flesh-to-flesh contact and touched him hard, lighting up the outer edge of his soul. His hands twitched, fingers loosening about the grip of his pistol, and I took the gun from him.

He staggered, blood flowing from his nose. I hit him in the temple with the butt of the gun, and he collapsed like all of his joints had come undone.

The Chorus felt power bloom from within the barn. They whined in my head, their hunger flexing against my Will, as I went to the door of the barn. There was a near palpable hum in the air.

The other gunman floated over the stone pedestal, his body covered with a thin film of violet light. His feet dangled several inches off the stone surface. The edge of the platform was bright with runes, the protection spell activated but not triggered. The man faced the door, waiting for me. When I saw his eyes, I understood the layering the Chorus had registered. There was more than one soul in there.

"Salve." Guttural bark, each word punctuated with a wisp of black smoke. The air was heavy with the stench of burning meat. "Your. Attention. Is. Unwelcome."

"It's not you that I'm interested in finding," I said.

A rictus grin stretched his mouth out of shape. "Yes. We. Know." He jerked once, a spasm running the length of his body. His mouth and eyes opened wide as if some internal pressure was forcing itself out. A glittering spiral of light erupted from the holes in his skull, a rising cascade of soul fire. The Chorus, ravenous and violent with need, lunged for the soul as it departed the gunman's body.

I tried to pull them back, realizing what was about to happen. By suddenly withdrawing from the body, the possessor- the magus! — had relinquished control. The spell holding him up died as well. The gunman fell on the platform. His skin was still polished with a purple light-the film of magick that had held him aloft.

The protection ward ignited. The white letters split the darkness of the barn, and the Chorus shrieked as the erupting light seared the air. I tried to shape them into something resembling a coherent defense as the ceremonial platform exploded.

The concussion shattered the flimsy walls of the barn. The shock wave tossed me across the yard with the rest of the shattered wood.

The glittering spike of the magus' soul shot up into the night sky like a rocket launch. As I fell, my eyes followed the course of the soul as if it were an angel returning to the bosom of Heaven.

I woke face-down on a leather couch. The retinal image of the barn explosion and the soul rising into the sky were slowly replaced with the cracked microcosm of a piece of dyed leather. My ears still rang, a tintinnabulation that reminded me of Tibetan prayer bells. All the aches in my lower body rose to a bottleneck at the base of my skull, a sickening knot that felt like a bag of needles being squeezed when I moved. I reluctantly peeled my face off the sofa, and examined my surroundings.

An oil painting of boats at a fishing terminal hung over a gas fireplace, and the tall windows were covered by floor-length jacquard blinds. A pair of torchiere lamps flanked the leather sofa. One of the lamps was dialed up slightly, and its gentle illumination was the only light in the room. Spartan. No TV, no magazines, no newspaper; no one spent much time in this room.

I sat up slowly, and the knot in my neck loosened. I felt like I was filled with a thin layer of mercury and, as I changed my position, the heavy metal shifted. It rolled down, adding weight to my chest, to my torso, pooling in my hips until they ached even more; then it descended to the bowl of my testicles where it settled like the weight of an anvil on my groin. Nothing like a concussive blast to tenderize the whole body like the heavy bag at a boxing gym.

My coat lay on the floor in a heap. Someone must have thrown it across me like a blanket, and I had knocked it off as I crawled back to consciousness. I bent over to pick the garment up, and winced as my bruised kidneys complained.

The leather of the coat was blistered across the shoulders and back, and it reeked of smoke. The zipper's teeth were melted in several places, and flakes of ash floated off as I inspected the coat. It wasn't much of a coat anymore, and barely qualified as a blanket either.

I left its remains on the couch, and attempted to stand. The mercury sensation rolled down my legs, inflaming my right knee. My feet ballooned as the liquid sensation drained into my heels. I took a few steps, staggering like a drunk clown on stilts, and steadied myself on the mantel. I looked at the brushwork on the oil painting for a while, long enough for my legs to finally admit they would move without drifting.

I went looking for a bathroom, and some clue as to where I was.

In the foyer of the house, a black coat clothed the naked skeleton of a hall tree. I knew that coat. Coupled with the pair of shoes casually discarded on the floor nearby, I figured out whose house this was.

I found the bathroom and, while trying to ignore the stain of blood in my urine, I gave some thought to how I had wound up in Nicols' house. My reflection in the unglamorous mirror looked like a bruised piece of meat.