Succession of Witches (28 page)

Sam was still running; he felt like he had been running for hours. Everyone’s barriers were getting patchy, but he didn’t have much energy left. H
e cleared another field of cordgrass and realized he was back at what he’d started to think of as the Leviathan’s Pool. He doubled over, trying to catch his breath. If he survived this, he was going to spring for a gym membership. As he took a step, his ankle hit something slimy and he lost his balance for a moment, just barely saving himself from falling over.

Apparently, he was now tripping over frogs—at least, he hoped it was a frog. All of the other possibilities were infinitely worse.

Sensing danger behind him, he spun and hurled a curse. “Lavos!” he yelled. He wasn’t really expecting it to hit; if anything, he was hoping it would at least graze one of the demons’ barriers rather than missing entirely. But his assailant moved at exactly the wrong (for them), time, and he scored a direct hit. To his shock, he saw the barrier shatter- inky black shards of congealed magic shimmering and popping for only an instant- and the man fell to the ground in a heap.

Sam approached the body cautiously, careful to look behind him once every few moments; it wasn’t Quentin, it was the other one. His handsome features were forever twisted in an expression of shock, his almond-shaped eyes disfigured by his expression.

How strange. I’ve killed a man and I never even learned his name.

Suddenly, he felt a throbbing pain in his side and doubled over. He had been pumping out more curses than he had ever even seen in his life, and it was finally taking its toll. Now, when he was so close to winning, he didn’t know if he could cast one more spell.

“Finally,” said a voice behind him. “I really thought you might outlast us both. You’re quite the monster,” said Quentin, closing the distance between them. “But now it’s over.”

Sam tried to point in Quentin’s direction,
then grabbed his stomach again, groaning; just thinking about casting any more magic was paralyzing. But if he didn’t do something, he really was going to die.

Can I go back to the Realm?
No; traveling was difficult, and required concentration. If he tried it in this state, he’d probably get trapped between the fabric of the worlds, something arguably worse than death. He should have tried traveling back for a recharge before he’d become so depleted, but he’d been so preoccupied…there had never been a time when he felt he could do it safely. Now, of course, he felt like a fool for not taking the risk when he could have.

“Good Night, Sweet Prince,” said Quentin mockingly. “Don’t
worry, I’ll make sure to keep your girl busy.”

“She’s not my girl,” Sam muttered. “But she’ll be the end of you, one way or another.”

Quentin laughed mirthlessly. “If you say so,” and he raised his arm to prepare the curse. Sam closed his eyes.

An absurd idea occurred to him, so absurd that he would have laughed if he wasn’t so exhausted. In the mome
nt before Quentin could destroy what was left of his barrier, he made a decision; why not? He had nothing to lose.

“Vladmira!”
He called, pointing forward.

There was a clicking sound,
then a black shape dive-bombed for Quentin’s face. Quentin screamed and tried to pull the thing off him, but it moved to his blond hair, making little squeaks of delight that Sam was pretty sure were not normal bat noises. Quentin shook his head manically, trying to dislodge the thing.

Sam looked at the comical display in wonder: how was Vladmira even here? Had he actually summoned the thing somehow, or had she been following him all along? Well, one thing was for sure; he had to own up to the fact that the brown bat actually was his pet now. Khalil would have a field day.

Finally, Quentin managed to get his hand on the creature and tossed it to the ground a few feet away; the bat flapped its wings for a moment, then lay still. Sam could only hope she wasn’t dead. Panting, Quentin looked at him with crazed, bloodshot eyes.

“What are you now, Dracula? God, I’m tired of your—
“ he began, then his eyes widened in fear. “What’s that?”

Sam’s ears were ringing too much to notice it at first, but after a moment, he heard it too: a chorus of tiny clicks, and disturbing, wet sounds, like membranes rubbing together. Like thousands of tiny wings stretching out, waiting to fly.

“I think she brought friends,” Sam ventured.

A torrent of black shapes descended upon Quentin, and Sam had to turn away; the sound was deafening, a cacophony of clicks and flapping noises. Quentin screamed again, then something entered his mouth and he began to choke.

Sam got to his feet, dizzy and weak. What did he do now? Run away? But to where?

Suddenly, all the bats flew off Quentin in unison like they’d been
summoned elsewhere, leaving the demon a panting heap in the mud. Sam took a step back, prepared to turn and run before Quentin could recover himself. But out of nowhere, someone appeared from behind the tall grass and stepped between them.

Someone with wings.

“What in the—?” Quentin muttered, scrambling back. He tried to stand up, tripped and fell on his behind, his blue eyes looking silver in the light radiated from the strange figure.

Sam also moved back. It was Aeka in her armor, but not as he’d seen her before: whereas before her armor was a cold grey, now it was silver-white, so bright that it hurt to look at it. And she seemed to have wings, but only sometimes; one moment, he could see their surface rustling, like the body of a large bird, and feel the gentle caress of a stray feather against his cheek, then he would blink and her wings would be gone, only to return again whenever he tilted his head. She seemed to give off her own light, as though she reflected the light of the sun more strongly than the moon.

“Are You Quentin?” she asked; her voice was like silver bells. It made Sam’s eardrums vibrate with pain, yet he wanted to hear it again.

“What ARE you?” Quentin asked, horrified. “Sam, what the hell have you done, you bastard!”

“Wrong direction,” Sam muttered, although no one heard him.

“Are You Quentin?” she repeated.

“I—No. No, I’m not Quentin,” Quentin stuttered. He pointed at Sam. “He’s Quentin!”

“Falsehood.
You Are Quentin,” she said, and pulled a sword seemingly from nowhere.

“Balialkos!
Kratos! Malkos!” screamed Quentin, throwing all his remaining power into curses. Sam was expecting to have to dodge them as they ricocheted off of the angel’s armor, but he didn’t have to; the curses just disappeared, like they had never existed.

“Perish,” she said, and she seemed to move without moving; one moment, she was standing in front of Sam. The next moment, she was before Quentin, running her sword through his heart. He struggled for a few moments,
then lay still, only the hilt of the weapon showing; she had thrust the entire blade through his chest. Aeka moved away from him, not even bothering to retrieve her sword. Her wings, which seemed more concrete now, rubbed together like she was scratching an itch. She seemed to lose all interest in Sam, or anything else and just looked out towards where the sea was just barely visible through gaps in the grass and reeds.

Careful not to get too close to her, Sam
slowly approached Quentin’s still form. Despite all the man had put him through, he felt a moment of pity as he looked at the man’s lifeless body. The face, frozen in otherworldly horror, didn’t move him much, but for some reason, the sight of the man’s once-fine clothes, frayed and mudstained almost beyond recognition, filled him with an unfamiliar sadness. Maybe Cassie was rubbing off on him. He knelt down and closed Quentin’s lifeless eyes.

When he did, he shuddered, feeling a well of dark energy pool in his stomach where there had been none just a moment before.
What a waste that he’s dead. Shame I can’t drain his blood and take his powers, like he was going to do to me.

NO,
he thought.
It’s over. And that’s not who I am.

Why not?
The voice that was also his own continued.
You could do it; it’s still only moments after his death. You can still reverse time for him, bring him back, and suck his blood. You don’t even need a syringe, your teeth have been getting sharper ever since you contracted with the vampires, or didn’t you notice?

“No,” said Sam, cradling his head. “No. I won’t. That’s not….”

Aeka turned around and seemed to take notice of him for the first time.

You don’t even know what you are! What’s to stop you from taking all of their powers, every pathetic half-demon on the face of the planet, and putting an end to their reign of terror? They deserve it, you know that full well. Then good people like Cassie could live in peace. It wouldn’t be evil, it would be justice. Maybe the closest thing to justice this forsaken shell will ever know.

“Stop it!” He yelled. “Just stop! For once in my life why won’t you just SHUT UP!”

He realized he was lying in on the ground, in the mud, with Aeka standing above him. He had no idea what her expression was through her helmet, but he imagined that it was stern, unforgiving. When he spoke, it sounded like another man’s voice. “You should kill me, now. I’m getting worse. I can’t keep saying no. One day I won’t say no.”

Aeka just tilted her head. “She didn’t tell me to,” she said in that voice that was something more.

“’She’?
Do you mean my mother?” He asked, then grabbed his head as it began throbbing.

Do it! Do it now! Do it before his corpse begins to rot and you lose your chance! In the end they’re all just rotting corpses, all of them! Even the heavenly thing in front of you, even she’s just a corpse! A beautiful corpse!

He realized he was sobbing; he curled up into a ball, and tried to forget that Quentin’s body was next to him, just a few feet away. He heard the clinking of the girl’s armor, and realized, on some level, that she was moving towards the water.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll make it stop.”

“You will?” He choked out. Would she do it? Would she plunge the sword through his chest as well?

“Summon: Leviathan,” she said, and he was pounded with a deluge of water as the creature broke the surface of the moonlit pool. It felt cleansing, like a spring rain.

He felt like he was being washed away.

Cassie wasn’t really surprised when she ended up in the realm of the Nameless Ones again; ever since Helen had given the place a name (Tartarus, was it?) she’d been half-expecting to see it again as soon as she closed her eyes.

Last time, the Eyed One and the Mouthed One had gotten all up in her face, touching her and being creepy. This time, she could barely see them; she knew they were there, along with the others, but they were just blurs in her vision. Whether they were far away, or she just didn’t have the capacity to see very well in this world right now, she couldn’t tell; her perception was ever so slightly askew. And the sun was merciless.

“I’m just the spare tire, aren’t I?” she asked, not wasting any time. “She’s the real angel, the real one you’ve been waiting for. Only something happened…someone did something terrible to her, and I bet it wasn’t Bennet Marcus. He just used what was already there. Someone broke her, and now you need me, because I’m the next best thing.”

There was a long silence; if she didn’t know better, she would have thought the Nameless Ones were embarrassed.

Yes
, said a few voices—their ambassadors to her.
We failed to protect her. We feel regret.

“Well then, screw you. Why should I do anything for you? You lied to me, you told me I was special,” she said, and immediately regretted it. Was that really what this was about to her?
Her pride?

You are special. And we cannot lie.

“Wait, forget I said that.”

We can neither lie nor forget.

“What should I do about her?” she asked. This felt right; this is what she should have been asking all along. “She needs me, but I don’t know how to help her.”

Take care of your sister
, and the world began to melt away.

“What? That’s it? What did you even bring me here for?” she cried.

Take care of your sister.

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First, the Leviathan blew a jet of water out of his mouth to put out the various small fires that burned nearby. Only when the flames had been reduced to a few eddies of smoke, it lowered its snout to feed on the fresh corpse on the ground. Aeka stroked its long neck as it did so, content. The Leviathan ate every part of the demon, bones snapping in its powerful jaws. Creatures that only truly fed once every few hundred years couldn’t afford to be picky.

This was definitely how things should be: no mess, no fuss. Clean.

However, when it went to devour the demon that was still alive, she gently placed her hands over the rough and patchy skin of its snout, shaking her head.

“That one’s my sister’s,” she said. She may not have any property herself, but she was pretty sure you were supposed to be careful with other
people’s. She was pretty sure that was important.

The creature made a low thrumming noise in its throat, irritated.

“I know. But if you have to eat him, at least wait until my sister is done with him. They don’t live very long, you know.”

Pacified, the creature nuzzled her side with its head. Aeka moved to where her sword lay abandoned in the mud; the Leviathan must have spit it out at some point. When she went to slice through her wings
with a quick motion, the Leviathan wrapped its sinewy body around her waist, stopping her from moving. A forked tongue flicked out and licked her breastplate, enjoying the feel of the cold metal.

“No, see, my sister has lost her wings,” she explained
to the quizzical creature. “I don’t want anything she doesn’t have. And I won’t need them, where I’m going. Besides, this way you’ll get another meal.”

The Leviathan
disentangled itself from her, lowered its head to the ground. It’s black, nearly sightless eyes were overflowing with liquid—tears, and something darker, more viscous. It poked at the mud with its tongue, listless, then made a squeaking noise—a pathetic, helpless sound. It began to clean the remains of the demon out of its teeth with its claws, making another thrumming noise as it did so.

“You’re getting them wh
ether you want them or not,” Aeka said curtly. Then she readied her sword once again.