Rob Thurman - Moonshine

Abbagor was right. It was over.

Try telling that to my spasming heart, my fingers digging into the ground beneath me. The fight-or-flight response didn't know anything about an inescapable fate. It didn't know resignation. And it didn't know shit about giving up. Move, it screamed. Move . But there wasn't anyplace to move to. No place to go. None. Fuck .

And then it happened.

I felt something twist inside as if two hands were clawing their way through my internal organs. My seizing heart turned over, then did its damnedest to burst. A blazing heat rolled through my body, frying every nerve ending. It was like being electrocuted; it was like dying. Dying before dying.

That's when the gateway opened.

It opened before me, ripping a hole of hellish light into space itself. It was a talent peculiar to the Auphe. It was how they traveled—within this world, out of this world, in worlds that couldn't be imagined. I should know. I'd been dragged kicking and screaming through a few myself. But this one… this one I had made. I'd felt its birth, felt it form in and of me. This door, ugly and raw, was mine. If I'd had the time or anything left in my stomach I might have been tempted to throw up again. Didn't I have enough monster in me already? Did I need more evidence that I wasn't human? There'd been a time I'd been sure that was all behind me. When the Auphe had all died… but that hadn't happened, had it? They were still here… I was still here, and more like them than I'd ever wanted to admit.

I all but felt the hard swat to the back of my head and heard an invisible Niko order at my ear, Whine later. Escape now. Even in my imagination, he was right. I had no idea where that unholy rip led to, but it didn't matter. Midair, underwater, New Jersey—it couldn't be worse than here. Taking a deep breath, I dived through headfirst. As I hit the light, I heard Abbagor scream. Maybe he sensed the gate or maybe he just smelled my sudden sliver of hope. Whichever it was, his incoherent fury and rage might be the last thing I ever heard.

"Swing Low, Sweet Chariot," it was not.

I destroyed our coffee table.

I came out the other side of the gate four feet in the air and landed in a classic belly flop on top of a wood and faux-marble table, heavy emphasis on the "faux." The piece of furniture folded like cheap cardboard and I wound up with carpet burn on my chin. Disoriented, I rolled over hastily and tried to scramble to my feet. I failed dismally, listing dramatically sideways until I grabbed a handful of couch cushion to hold myself up in a sitting position. That's when it struck me that everything looked familiar, more than familiar. Home. I'd opened a passage home.

It made sense. Desperately striving for survival, instinct kicked in and did what I had no idea I could do. Darkling had done it while in my body; I knew the potential was there. But alone I'd never been able… had never wanted to do it. And I wouldn't have had the first idea as to how to do it. We had been one, Darkling and I, but I had a serious block on even attempting to initiate that churning twist in your brain and gut that opened a door. But what I wouldn't attempt, my subconscious had. It was logical that whatever tangled bit of blackened genes was responsible would fashion a destination of the most familiar place I knew. I didn't like it. In fact I hated it, but I understood it. And right now that was the best I could hope for. I didn't have time for anything else.

Shaking off the dizziness, I pulled myself up onto the couch and grabbed hurriedly for the phone. I punched in the number as quickly as I could get my fingers to move. No answer, just voice mail. I tried again, then cursed myself through gritted teeth. Of course Niko had turned off his phone before we'd gone underground. Having "Kung Fu Fighting" ring in funky cheer while we were approaching Abbagor wasn't the best of game plans. I dialed again, this time trying Robin's number. It rang twice and then Robin was breathing fast into the phone, "I'm busy. Go away." Click.

Shitshitshit.

I tried again. This time the answer was in Greek, but I had a pretty good guess at what four-letter suggestion it translated into. I didn't get out a word, hell, not even a consonant. Son of a bitch . Look at the number, Loman. Look at the goddamn number. What the hell was he doing anyway? Breathing fast… unless he'd picked up a passing fancy, sunbathing wasn't exactly that strenuous. Unless… crap. He was running… as best he could with an injured leg. He must have felt the cave-in rumbling under his feet and gone down to help us. Of course, Niko was the only one left to help at the moment, but Robin didn't know that. Niko didn't know it, which was precisely why I felt like beating the phone against the wall.

Third time was the charm. Goodfellow's voice came through, suspiciously questioning. "Who is this? Promise?"

It was a good guess, if wrong. Who was left to be calling from our apartment? George was gone, and Snowball was out for the count. "Put Nik on," I snapped. I didn't bother to identify myself. Goodfellow knew my voice. As he'd once said, it was a unique combination of peat whiskey and sullen snarkiness. The whiskey was courtesy of my ever lovin' mother who had a voice made for lullabies although she had never sang a single one. The snarkiness, to give credit where credit was due, was all my own.

"What? Cal? How in the name of Nero's syphilitic dick did you—"

"Nik. Now ," I overrode ruthlessly.

There was a confused and aggrieved snort and then a relenting, "I don't see him y… oh." The soft exhalation was all I needed to hear to know Robin had finally spotted my brother. "All right," came the grim follow-up. "Hold on."

He was still running. I could hear the accelerated rasp of his breath and then he rapped out my brother's name. "Niko. Niko ." There were more mumbled incomprehensible curses, this time more empathetic than sincere. "Niko, stop. Stop . I have Caliban on the phone. He's all right. He's home. Safe. Here, talk to him."

My hearing was good old human, ordinary and not especially keen, so I couldn't hear what Niko was doing, but I didn't need to. He was trying to dig me out. Niko, who was practical to the nth degree, showed logic the door when it came to his only family. Surrounded by dirt and concrete that could collapse at any time, and he wouldn't give up. Wouldn't abandon me. He could only claw at the dirt and ignore the grim truth staring him in the face.

I heard the fumbling of the phone passed from one hand to another and then, "Cal?" There was a rigid self-control and an inescapable disbelief. I didn't blame him. He'd seen me buried before his eyes. Unseeing that would be difficult to do. Believing I was alive under tons of earth was difficult to pull off. Believing I was alive, whole, and in air-conditioned comfort miles away was an absolute bitch of mental acrobatics.

"It's me, Cyrano," I assured quietly. "I'm okay. I'm back in the apartment."

He didn't say anything for the next few seconds. His breathing, as uneven from exertion as Robin's had been, slowly smoothed. When he spoke again, the control was still there but the skepticism was gone. "How?"

To the point as always. "Like father, like son," I said with weary bite.

"Ah. Unexpected." There was the sound of his hand running over his face. "Stay there. We'll be back as soon as possible." There was an uncharacteristic hesitation. "You're not hurt?"

"Not a scratch," I said immediately. It wasn't entirely true, but it was what he needed to hear. And in reality, the coffee table had done more actual damage to me than Abbagor. It wasn't much of an epitaph for a near-eternal evil. Served the son of a bitch right.