Pyros: DarkWorld: Skinwalker 0.5 (Novella) (DarkWorld: Origins Book 1) (4 page)

Graham
’s smooth brow knotted at the question and even Jess wondered what, if any, hidden meaning Gunther's question held. The girl cleared her throat and said, "Yes of course. Anyone with the same ability as mine can perform the maintenance. Although, I am at your disposal should you need me." She hesitated for moment. "I do consider him my responsibility in a way."

***

Three
Months Later

Logan stood at the big picture window and stared out at the view below. Dozens of floors down he could see the tops of trees, some rounded, some thin and pointy, like fingers. His own fingers grew moist against the cool glass but he paid little attention. Behind him the boys were rowdy, a little spat evolving slowly, with potential to become an all out food fight. Logan wanted nothing to do with them. He'd entered the cafeteria and headed straight for the window. He wasn’t hungry and it seemed he wasn't the only one. A sullen boy sat alone at a corner table, the fronds of a potted palm hanging over him like a sad umbrella. Logan walked past his table and he’d barely lifted his head.

Now
, Logan watched the clouds curdle, black and metal and dirty white, roiling together as if hell was about to break through, demons and all.

He'd been here three months. Omega's Training Facility, they called it. A stupid name. Although he did suppose it fit. What else could they call it? School maybe? His days were a mix of studying; all the subjects from school, plus training his fire. At least that part took his mind off things. Sometimes when he was concentrating on controlling his fire, on directing it at targets and adjusting power levels, then his mind didn't go back to his mother and father and all the other people he'd killed.

The glass felt warm beneath his fingers. He shifted it to a new, cooler spot.

Behind him the ruckus died down and a rough voice said something he couldn't make out. Lo
ts of laughter came next. Brett Nevins. He already knew he'd see spiked sandy hair, grey eyes and pasty skin.

And the sneer. You couldn't forget the sneer. Sharp teeth, lots of spaces, lip
s like a pair of fat worms. Brett had expressionless eyes, ones that made you wonder if anything went on behind his eyes, if he ever felt anything. And there was something about Brett that made Logan's insides curl up into an icy ball. Or maybe that was Brett, using his power on Logan.

Then the voice came closer and Brett stopped beside him, giving Logan a shove. Hard. And with a sharp elbow to the ribs. The push sent him stumbling sideways. Logan struggled to regain his footing before he slammed into the window. He pressed his hand harder against the glass, getting his balance back. Logan rubbed his side but he didn't look up. It didn't matter what he did. Brett would get on his case either way.

There was a short pause in which Logan glanced up at Brett's reflection in the window. It was darker outside now, the black clouds boiling angrily outside, so dark the window was almost a mirror. He saw the sneer, the gleam of white teeth, the flash of a hand behind his head. Then his face slammed into the window, bouncing off the plate glass almost instantly, leaving a streak of red behind. His hand remained on the window, the one thing that stopped him from falling on his face.

For a moment Logan was stunned, too shocked to think of anything beside the throb of his nose and lip. But underneath the pain he felt his fire rage. Brett laughed, the shout taken up by the band of kids behind them. Logan stiffened, felt heat overflow inside him. Felt fire surging to his hands. Brett raised his hand again. Afterward Logan couldn't recall what made him reach out, just that instinct told him his ass was toast if he didn't.

He grabbed Brett's wrist, felt the other boy's instinctive surge of ice push against Logan's fire. But the rage had been building for too long. And now it seemed he couldn't control it. His fire struck out, obliterating the ice of Brett's power, overflowing into Brett's veins. Even when he smelled burning flesh he didn't let go.

Lightning struck outside the window, so bright, so white that the window vibrated. So powerful that it stopped the wave of fire in Logan's veins. 
And Logan let go. Brett sank to his knees, gasping and holding his hand gingerly. "My hand. My hand. What the fuck did you do to my hand?" His wet panicked sobs reducing him to the mere boy he was. The bully had disappeared and sniveling brat remained. Logan felt someone behind him and stiffened, expecting one of their tutors come to haul him off for disciplining. But a warm hand fell to his shoulder.

"You okay now?" he asked softly. Logan nodded feeling the heat rush from his body, like a wave rushing back into the ocean. "I didn't know what else to do. Sorry if I shocked you."

Logan looked over his shoulder at the boy. Black hair, bright green eyes, sharp features. And a gentle understanding in his face. Logan frowned. "Was that you?" he asked. "The lightning?"

"Yeah. I'm Mik. I'm a
Weather mage." Logan nodded.

"I'm Logan. Fire mage."

"Figured as much."

Logan snorted. "Gunther's going to be pissed."

"Wouldn't worry about it too much. Brett had it coming and everyone knows it."

Logan glanced quickly at the boy, still kneeling beside him, holding on to his burned wrist. The skin was pink and wrinkled and Logan shuddered. Had he really done that?

"Brett's going to want payback." He watched as a tutor arrived, his face pale with shock as he saw Brett's arm. He hushed the boy, supported his weight and led him away.

"Let him try," said Mik, bulking up his scrawny shoulders. Logan felt warmth touch his cheek and he turned to face the window. The sky was clear, not a storm
cloud in sight. The sun streamed into the cafeteria, a total mismatch to the fading sobs of the boy and the hushed whispers of the crowd behind him.

At last Logan felt able to let go of the window, so glad for the support it had given him. He turned, ready to walk off when Mik whistled. "Cool." He said sounding impressed.

Curious Logan turned back to the window wondering what had made such an impression on his new friend when he stiffened at the sight of the window.

The shape of a hand was melted into the plate glass.

***

Logan Westin, a
ge 17

Four Years Later

Logan's stomach was a tight heavy stone. He'd been in a
Black Hawk before during training so it wasn't the method of transport that put him on edge.

Guess first time is always the hardest, he thought as he tried to focus his thoughts. The last thing he wanted to do was to let the rest of the team see his stress. If he looked up he'd be looking straight into Brett's eyes. The Water mage had never forgiven him for injuring him all those years ago.

Four years had passed since Omega had saved Logan from himself. Too late for his parents of course. And for? Something niggled him, some tiny bit of his memory nudged him. What was it?

A flash of something went through his mind. Chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, huge pieces on a plate, messy lips and fingers and so m
any giggles and laughter. The girl laughing, the sound echoing happily around him. The sound made him happy and sad all at the same time.

Who was she?

He frowned, pushing the insistent memory away, then shifted to stare out the window up front. Mik shifted beside him although Logan doubted he was as nervous. Mik had grown older, wiser and bigger over the last four years. First mission at seventeen was a huge milestone for any of Omega's agents.

Two years older, Brett was also on his first time out. Hence the latent fury in his every movement. All these years Logan had kept up with the older boys, graduating two years ahead of his
own class. He paid for it in his lack of friends, as most of the kids either feared him or hated him too much. He cared little for friendship though. Mik was enough to get him through most days.

Gunther had briefed them. They were on their way to Jerusalem. A paranormal murder scene. Whether murder or ritual
, the team’s job was to secure the scene, perform a pre-inspection before the crime scene techs arrived, and follow any obvious or immediate leads they may find.

The
Black Hawk landed in a deserted area beyond a string of mountains outside the city. The mountains were riddled with caves, and those dark hidey holes were the team’s destination. As the helicopter touched down Logan flicked his flashlight on and gave the “Let's roll” sign – drawing a circle with his finger beside his head.

Mik, Brett, Logan and a Teleporter named Alex jumped from the helicopter and hobbled clear of the driving thrust of the blades. The operatives were dressed in army gear, bulletproof vests and protective headgear; all in black. They moved like shadows through the night, reaching the foot of a collection of hills.

"Brett, Mik, secure the perimeter. Alex, you're with me." Logan spoke softly. Two nods, one cold, one cheery. Then the two disappeared into the night.

Alex had teleported the group to the Jerusalem headquarters, and the chopper had flown minutes later. Altogether it had taken them fifteen minutes from call out to arrival at the caves. Now, Logan needed the Teleporter with him just in case a living victim
required immediate extraction. They climbed the roughly carved stone steps, slowly rising higher and higher until they reached the first of the caves. Logan shone the light above him, taking in the warren of caves; splotches of darkness dotting the hills as they rose skyward.

With Alex standing guard, Logan hurried through the caves one at a time, clearing them and moving on. They had no information as to which cave held the gruesome discovery, so they were left searching until they found the right one.

When he walked into the cave, the hairs on the back of his head lifted, goose bumps pebbling his skin. The space was silent and dark. Logan swept his flashlight in a wide arc across the cave’s interior. The cave had a long narrow entrance that opened into a large oval. Darkness hung thick and suffocating in the room.

Logan could sense the presence of bodies, shapes that distorted the flow of sound. His light traveled left to right and stopped almost immediately on the first corpse. Seven roughly hewn logs were jammed into shallow ledges cut into the rock just beneath the roof. The logs were spaced six feet apart and each one held two corpse
s with the exception of the one directly in front of Logan. This held only one body, a woman in her sixties, wrinkled and grey.

There were thirteen corpses in all, hung from the beams by ropes tied tightly around their wrists. Loose garments hung on their bodies, the colors faded and light, marked by dozens and dozens of horizontal stab wounds.

Nausea twisted Logan's stomach and the urge to throw up was overwhelming. He'd seen dead bodies before, having been to scenes of paranormal murders in the last six months, but standing a few feet from this group of dead women had its own flavor of horror.

He swallowed hard and called out for Alex. The
Teleporter’s footsteps rang hollow on the stone floor as he closed in on the scene. He too stopped in his tracks, and Logan heard the agent retch. Logan frowned. They should have had an older more experienced operative with them, considering this was the first mission for all four. He pushed the thought away and stared around the cave.

"Check for survivors," Logan said. "I'll start at the rear." He tried to keep his voice even and unaffected as he slid past the bodies, his back to the stone wall.

When he got to the last two corpses he wished he hadn't chosen to check the rear guard of this macabre troupe. They couldn't have been more than fourteen. Two girls, one blond, one dark-haired, both still plump-cheeked with baby fat. Their heads fell back, their eyes open, the whites showing.

Logan, loathe to remove his gloves and touch the skin to check for warmth, unclipped the infrared scanner and flicked the switch. An
y red or orange would have indicated signs of life. Instead he got mostly purple, with small patches of light purple near the feet and on the floor below the bodies.

"No sign of life on the infrared," came Alex's voice. And Logan had to smile. They'd been on the same wavelength after all. "What the hell happened here?"
Alex asked, his voice oddly strained.

Logan stared at the two girls, whose bodies were dotted with the same horizontal cut marks as the old woman. Blood had trickled from each of the open wounds, running long rivulets of red all the way down their bodies. Their feet were red, almost as if they'd been soaked in blood, and from their toes, blood had dripped into a receptacle below.

Logan sank to a crouch, inspecting the bowl. Blood had dripped and splattered a small area around the bowl, but it had failed to hide the gleam of gold. "Whoever did this probably planned on using the blood for something. The bowls are made of gold." A quick glance around him confirmed his suspicions. "All thirteen of them."

Alex just grunted. "Blood in the bowls
is still warm."

Logan placed a gloved finger under the edge of one of the bowls and lifted it a few inches, testing for solidity. "Yeah, I'm getting the same. They haven't been dead that long. The blood's not yet fully congealed." He rose to his feet, his heart twisting for these dead women and girls. "We're done here."