Mark Del Franco - Unperfect Souls

I hadn’t used a gun when I worked for the Guild. I hadn’t needed to, but I knew how to use one. Leo handed me a 9mm pistol. He pulled an extra magazine out of his belt and passed it over his shoulder. I checked the slide and sight.

The Dead reached the high-pressure water blast and paused in their march. When they turned to take out the fire truck, they realized we were bearing down on them. Pale essence-fire raked against Murdock’s shield. He bounced on his feet but held his ground. The Dead came closer. Someone behind me fired his gun. The shot spooked the others and more shots rang out. Four or five Dead fell in the front of the group. Panic set in as they recoiled from the shots. The fey weren’t used to guns, especially the Dead who had never seen one before.

Jark screamed in fury. In a blur of green, he leaped out of the pack and tackled Murdock. Their essence collided in a shower of amber sparks as they tangled on the ground in a knot of flailing arms and legs.

Without Murdock’s shield, essence tore through the group behind me. Officers fell, stunned or dead, as the rest scrambled out of the way. My dark mass spiked and scuttled across my mind. An essence strike came at me, bending at the last moment and striking my left arm. My silver tattoo ignited in cold pain and reflected the bolt back into the fighting. The Dead flinched away from me, the Taint in their body signatures reacting to the dark mass within me.

Gerry circled Leo and Jark, tracking them with his gun. Murdock pinned Jark, hitting him with glancing blows as they slipped across the icy ground. They rolled, their essence shields tossing people aside like gnats. Jark grabbed Leo by the arm and flung him. He landed against a car, its door crumpling behind him. Without a pause, Murdock lunged back, clamping his hands on the berserker’s neck, his momentum taking them both to the ground again.

Murdock’s body shield intensified as he raised his fist and swung. Jark’s head snapped to the side. He thrust his hands up and tried to force Murdock off, but Murdock gripped his neck with one hand and hit him with the other. Murdock hit him again. His body shield held us all back. I couldn’t stop him. Again and again, he pounded on Jark’s face, the Dead man’s body shield collapsing beneath the onslaught. Jark let out a strangled scream of anger, his voice trailing hoarse as his larynx was crushed beneath Murdock’s weight. Yellow streaks of essence bounced futilely off Murdock’s body shield as the Dead tried to help their leader. Jark’s arms fell slack to his sides. His head lolled, one eye crushed beneath a shattered cheekbone, the other staring sightlessly. Leo staggered back.

“Someone cut this bastard’s head off and throw it away,” he said.

The Dead froze in shock at the sight of Murdock standing over Jark’s body. The protective circle around Vize crumbled as more of them retreated, leaving only a small contingent around Moira and Vize. Murdock charged into them, sending bodies flying as he lost his footing and fell. Gerry and I rushed after him. As we reached him, Murdock sprang from the ground and knocked aside a lone elf left protecting Moira.

She yanked the bindings on Vize, forcing him to bend back as she twisted him in front of her as a shield. She raised a hand blazing with essence to Vize’s temple.

“I’ll kill him,” she said.

Murdock stopped. Gerry raised his gun. “Go the fuck ahead, lady, and save us the trouble.”

She glared at me. “You know this is bigger than they understand, Connor. You know how long we’ve tried to stop Vize.”

I dropped my gun to my side. “You started this, Moira. You’re on your own . . .”

His body shield shimmering, Murdock spread his arms out. “Drop your hands and give him to me.”

Fury twisted Moira’s features. Her face blurred as the Amy glamour settled over her. “You must listen to me, Leonard.”

Gerry took two steps forward, his arms straight out as he pointed his gun. “What kind of shit is this?”

“Gerry, listen to me,” Moira said.

Leo pressed one hand against Gerry’s chest. “Let Vize go,” he said to Moira.

“Get that face off!” Gerry screamed.

“You’re my children . . .” she said.

Gerry fired.

Moira’s head jerked back. As if in slow motion, she reeled over backwards with a deep red mark blossoming on her forehead. Gunpowder spray tattooed her forehead and cheeks—the Amy Sullivan glamour rippling away to show Moira Cashel’s true face again. Vize stumbled to the side, his neck speckled with more gunshot residue. Moira’s binding spell disintegrated off him. Suddenly free, he tripped, managed to keep his balance, and ran off.

“Get him out of here, Leo,” I said. He didn’t respond. I shook his arm. “Leo! Get Gerry out of here before the Dead realize what he’s done.”

Gerry dropped his gun, his face devoid of emotion. “How the hell did she do that?”

Leo lifted his head as if coming out of a fog and stared at me with red-rimmed eyes. “How did all this happen?”

I gripped his arm. “Leo, listen to me. Get Gerry and everyone else on that fire truck and get out of here.”

He looked around in a daze. “There’s a fire. They need the truck for the fire.”

I slapped him hard across the face. Angry, he grabbed me by the front of my coat. For a moment, he looked like he didn’t recognize me. We stared at each other from inches away. “Let it burn, Leo. Let it fuckin’ burn.”

Reason returned to his face. He relaxed his grip, then gave me a bear hug. I pushed him away. “Go! Now!”

I chased after Vize. His cloak flared out behind him as he ran into the nearest alley. I swept around the corner building and pounded down the lane. The noise of fighting faded behind me. I followed Vize through a whirl of smoke and fire. At the far end of the alley, a shadow detached itself from a building, and someone jumped to the ground. Vize and I both skidded in surprise to a halt. The figure rose from a crouch on the ground and drew a sword. My mind seemed to disengage from thought as I stared at the Hound. I had been wrong. Again. Vize wasn’t the Hound. I didn’t know who the Hound was, but Vize turned a frantic, angry face toward me, then looked back toward the end of the alley. The Hound advanced on him, sword held high.

I took advantage of Vize’s indecision and ran toward him again. As I did, a burst of Danann essence swept above me, and Guild security agents dove from behind. They skimmed over the pavement in front of me, outpacing me. In one smooth motion, they grabbed Vize by the arms and swept him into the air.

I stopped running, facing the Hound. He relaxed his fighting stance and stared at me over the swaddling of a scarf across his face. I was close enough finally for his essence to register in my vision, coalescing into a familiar, yet changed, body signature. My jaw dropped in recognition as he sheathed the sword and leaped into a shattered window in the building next to him. I shouted, my frustration echoing through the empty alley. Gone.

And so was Vize. I had lost him again.

With the wail of its siren, the fire truck surged by the end of the alley as I reached the street. Murdock perched on the top of the truck with Gerry slumped against his side. The truck vanished into a billowing cloud of smoke. The Dead and the solitaries continued fighting in a fog of the Taint. I skirted the side of a building and ran back to Eorla’s car. Rand kept watch outside. Behind him, the firestorm had abated, a building lying in ruins on each side of the street. I surprised myself with a small prayer of thanks when I saw Eorla in the car. She was okay. I jumped in the back as Rand took the driver’s seat. Eorla reached over and held my hand.