Pyros: DarkWorld: Skinwalker 0.5 (Novella) (DarkWorld: Origins Book 1) (6 page)

Logan's gaze flicked from Mik to the stormy black cloud hovering over a clearing up ahead. Even from this distance he could see the half-hidden temple, almost swallowed up by the roots of a gigantic tree. The pale, carved stone peered through the undergrowth of green that had slowly engulfed it after centuries of abandonment. Now the building was occupied, but not for mere worship.

Power simmered in the air as they waited for Mik to break through the weather magyk. Logan held his breath and watched as Mik slowly dissolved the cloud, cutting off the energy from the mage who called the power of the sky down to him

The Aerosi didn't stop even when the angry blackness faded to reveal a clump of puffy white clouds. Mik remained still, and continued to focus. Logan knew his mind would be trained on the location to tamp down any further attempts at absorbing the magyk of the Air. He understood the working of weather mag
yk, as well as any mage understood elemental power. Magyk was derived from the earth, the air, the fabric of life around you. Although a Pyrosi like Logan would summon flame into being, he knew he drew the essence of the fire from the elements around him.

Mik performed his task with a consummate ease. Ease borne of practice and skill. An ease that did not translate into a psychic one. The use of his power drained him, like one of those obsolete car batteries used half a century ago to power vehicles. He would need time to recharge.

Once Mik had the cloud, and the underlying power of it, under control, he opened his eyes. "It's safe to move, but we don't have long. He's powerful."

Logan nodded at Mik and spoke into his microphone. "Alright team. Let's get down there and
get this done." A chorus of shouts filtered back to him and he smiled as the helicopter lowered them to about fifty feet off the ground. Near enough for them to descend the ropes with ease.

"See you all there," Saleem yelled.
Saleem with no surname.

When asked he would say "Just Saleem," then smile and tilt his head in the tiniest of bows.
The Djinn was fortunate. His teleporting ability was something Logan coveted. Unfortunately, Saleem could only ever transport one person at a time and jumping back and forth with the whole team would kill him fast enough. So he was restricted to jump only when necessary.

They had to move
quickly. The sound of the Black Hawk would have alerted the rogue mage to their presence. No sense in hiding now, although caution was always paramount. Logan liked his team all in one piece.

The team gathered at the two open door
s, Mik and Sandi exiting on one side, while Logan and his newly acquired partner clipped onto the remaining rope and grabbed hold of it. Logan gave his head the tiniest of shakes and he shimmied down the rope. Jess descended beside him and again he wondered what she was doing with him.

Jacinta
Carnarvon was not your average paranormal agent, and everyone knew it even though Gunther had been keen to keep her identity under wraps. But that would mean Gunther took them all for fools. Which they certainly were not. One look at the her and you knew you were looking at a woman with innate power, not just your average mage.

One thing he did know was she read his mind. He was trying to learn to control his thoughts, to place his own wards around his mind. If she could read his thoughts surely she'd have the power to direct his actions. But, i
n the few weeks since she'd been assigned to their squad she hadn't once tried to use her powers to control him.

"That is because I am not here to control you, Logan Westin," Jess yelled at him as their feet touched the ground. He stiffened and narrowed his gaze at her. He hated when she read his thoughts. "You are projecting your thoughts to me. I simply hear you."

Logan gritted his jaw and checked that the other two agents were clear of the ropes. The Black Hawk's powerful blades sent dust and dirt flying, pushing against the surrounding brush, as if an invisible hand swiped them away. Logan peered up and raised his hand, drawing a circle above his head with his forefingers. The pilot got the message and the bird rose into the sky, circled the clearing once and flew off, the sound of its engine fading as it disappeared from sight.

Saleem emerged from the bushes in front of Logan, and the team converged on Logan. He glanced at the buried building, noting the smoke rising from between darkened openings, noting that the temple had been buil
t backing into a gigantic rock, counting the visible exits.

"Let's get moving, go slow. Jess, can you sense anything?"

Jess gave him a grim look. "The way is clear. But be careful. The energies are negative."

Logan nodded. Jess was always stingy with words. He motioned for the team to move out and glanced over at Sandi as she hurried toward the mouth of the cave-like temple. Sandile Dube's mag
yk gave her control over the movement of things. She'd come to them from a Zulu tribe in Southern Africa, the strength of her power something Omega could not ignore. Now she trained eyes darker than pitch at the temple, moving sure-footed and graceful until she hunched beside a fallen column which had once flanked the low-roofed entrance.

The steady beat of a drum drifted toward them from the depths of the cave, and Logan pointed forward. He slipped into the temple as the team advanced behind him. They moved silently through a wide room, well
lit by sunlight streaming through the pillared entrances along one end of the room. He ran forward lightly, avoiding the broken flagstones where roots and weeds pushed through and shattered the stone flooring. The room faded into shadows and the drumbeats grew louder.

Five wide stone steps led down to the main area of worship and Logan squinted through the smoke at the far end of the room. A stone altar lay at the center of the cave, directly beneath an opening in the stone roof. Clear sky could be seen through the opening. Four men stood to one side, concentration and smoke twisting their features. They were mere boys, acolytes of this newly born warlock. Mik sank down beside Logan as they reached the point just before the end of the shadows.

Two men stood guard at the foot of the altar, their backs to Logan and his team. These men too were unhealthily thin, their faded, tattered trousers hanging loosely on their hips.

The altar was occupied
– a young boy, the bones of his ribs protruding from his emaciated frame – lay supine and anesthetized with shock. He was likely one of the many missing youths from the nearby village. The child let out a moan of shock. He pushed himself up on his elbows, his arms shivering with the effort. He stared at his chest with wide horrified eyes. Bright red blood streamed from a ten inch slit in his chest; the handiwork of the shaman who stood beside the altar, bloodied dagger still held aloft, his eyes rolling back in his head as he chanted to the rhythm of the drums.

Logan frowned as he concentrated on the gathering. He used a controlled burst of magical energy, keeping the flame to the minimum, allowing the energy to flow. The blast buffeted the two guards hovering over the boy, slamming into them so they stumbled away, leaving the boy unguarded.
Logan watched the boy while Jess approached the shaman, whose face now bore a striking resemblance to a terrified meerkat. His hands glowed and an iridescent globe of energy sputtered between them.

As soon as the ball of heat left the shaman
’s hands, it fizzled into nothing. Unfortunately, he'd reacted to Logan's actions without consideration to Jess's proximity to his magical overflow. She was buffeted by the power and scowled. But she didn't take her eyes off the shaman who'd been sent off balance by the clash of the two energies.

Logan
was distracted from his observation of the young boy what with the shaman’s attempt to blast him to Hell's Gate. A quick glance back at the altar confirmed to him that his intuition was as remarkable as his magyk. The boy, no longer a mass of quivering fear, was standing a few feet away from Logan, eyes fury-bright, lips curved on a sneer of malice.

Logan watched, almost in wonder, at the undulating arc of magical energy now spanning the arms of the boy.

“Sacrifice! My ass! He's the friggin' warlock, not that scrawny pleb!”

Logan ducked the first of a wave of energy missiles, kicking himself for missing the signs. The shaman had been attending the boy, not restraining him. His moan, one of frustration, not fear. And the horror in his eyes was due to the botched ritual, not the gaping wound in his chest.

Logan threw himself behind the altar. Landing sprawled and spread-eagled on the dusty ground, he found himself gazing into the staring, lifeless eyes of the donor of the warlock’s heart. Logan's rough landing jarred the body of the child and his head fell to the side, face-to-face with Logan's horror-stricken one. During his final moments the child had shed what would be his final tears. Logan's gaze followed the clear liquid as it pooled at the edge of the eye. As it swelled, dammed by his eyelid until the pool of tears became too large to contain it. The tear slipped over the edge of his eyelid and ran down to his hairline just above his ear.

The progress of that one teardrop was macabre fascination, helpless grief, and unadulterated rage all rolled up into one unholy power. A power which Logan craved to unleash. He rose to his knees and peered around the side of the altar, catching sight of Sandi, trying to secure the warlock and failing,

Logan watched him for any indication that he was summoning more power, while Jess did her thing, no doubt probing his mind. She had the freakiest ability. She could delve into the mind of a subject and turn them off as if they had this tiny little switch deep inside their heads. When the shaman fell to the ground in an undignified heap, Logan let out a rush of breath.

It was over.

***

Logan whispered a silent thanks that Jess had helped this time. She was an enigma
– only using her abilities when she deemed fit. The team saw that as arrogance but Gunther tolerated every bit of her high and mighty ways.

She hardly
said much, and had an old-world manner of speaking that was at time regal and sometimes comical, her use of English seemingly like a second language, though Logan could never detect an accent. Worse than all of that was her lack of emotion. And for some reason she had been assigned to Logan instead of one of the other teams.

Now she squeezed past Logan, on her way to the back of the helicopter, her face implacable as she said, "Your thoughts, Logan, are loud and abrasive. You should clear your mind and rest."

Logan snorted. He had almost forgotten that Jess could hear his thoughts, unless he shuttered his mind the way he'd been taught. He concentrated and seconds later–

"Thank you, Logan. Now please rest."

Now, as steel wings flapped overhead, bearing them home, Logan stared straight ahead at Saleem. His dark locks framed a face strong with his Persian heritage. A tattoo swirled on his cheek, crawling across his cheek from beneath his left ear, along his hairline and ending at the corner of his left eye. Whenever he studied the markings he always felt a twinge of pain at the thought of the agony his friend must have gone through to have the tattoo etched on such sensitive areas.

"He who can withstand the bite of pain is but a real man." Saleem peered at him through barely open eyes.

"He who can withstand the pull of sleep is the real man," he jested back at Saleem.

"Sleep is sustenance and a man without sustenance will surely perish." Saleem smiled a benevolent smile.

"Touché, my friend."

Then both men shut their eyes, intending to get some semblance of rest.

Logan's sat-phone bleeped and he peered at it with bleary eyes, before taking the call.

The conversation didn't last long. Gunther was a man of few words. And
Logan knew sleep would be a long time coming.

Cutting the call he looked up, sensing eyes on him. Saleem, Mik and Sandi stared at him, waiting. Jess, of course, would have heard the whole conversation, with her mind magyk.

"We're back on the clock, bunnies. Body dump in Chicago. Jess and I need to check it out. You three can go back to HQ and get some rest.."

They didn't look pleased. All three were concerned with Logan's sleep patterns and knew he'd gotten barely twenty minutes of z's in the last forty hours. Fatigue would burn a mage out faster than the
magyk itself. They were right.

"I promise to get some shut-eye as soon as we check this case out."

"You'd better. 'Cos I'm calling Gunther as soon as we land." Sandi was her usual bossy self. Made him glad and sad that he never had a little sister. He didn't bother to fight with her.

The helicopter banked left, changing course for Chicago. Flying, as they were, below radar and camouflaged, they entered the city limits and headed for the Chicago police department building without detection.

The Black Hawk hovered over the large white 'H' painted on the rooftop. Saleem and Mik tied off the ropes and tossed them out the open door. The ropes unrolled and fell to the roof like two over-excited vipers, whipping and snapping all the way down.

A quick salute and Jess and Logan grabbed their ropes and let themselves fall, a few feet at a time until their feet touched the rooftop.