Demon Accords 10: Rogues (31 page)

It was hardwired into Declan to avoid using his very limited abilities with Air around other witches.  Most figured out his dual affinity for Earth and Fire, but there were no records of a witch having a third affinity, no matter how weak. So it was his hidden edge. Now there was no choice. There was no other option; his lungs were frozen tight and he was getting dizzy.  With a wave of his left hand, he parted the gale force blasting his face and took a deep breath.  Then he lifted his head and stared across the open space to the one part of the room where dim daylight shone through.  A figure stood outlined in the pale light—small, slight, but with female curves.  Long hair and shadow hid her face, but he knew she was staring straight at him, her head and neck pulled slightly back in what he read as surprise.

Still kneeling, he touched his right hand to the ground and
pushed
.  The concrete floor shook hard, bouncing bugs, agents, the skeleton, and even the two fighting werewolves a foot into the air.  It also knocked the witch off her feet, disrupting her concentration and ruining her spell.  Almost instantly, the wind died and Draco loosed a fiery cone of concentrated flame that burned through the bugs and pushed toward the witch. 

She had enough presence of mind to stop the flow of fire from hitting her, splitting it ten feet short of her position like a rock diverting a river, holding her hand palm outward as she lay where she had fallen.  The light of the flames showed her face for a second, and it was Declan’s turn to be surprised, for she was beautiful, with dark hair, chocolate skin, and dark eyes.  It didn’t stop him from sending his steel and silver orbs flashing her way, through the flames, too fast for her to see until it was too late.

Something jumped from the side, from a gap in the tubes and pipes.  Something smaller than the witch but so fast, it was nothing but a blur.  It intercepted the balls of death, collecting one and two with impossible catches and knocking the third off path with a kick.  Somehow it twisted and spun in mid-air to catch and kick and finally land across the room, a ball in each hand.  It was child-sized, but covered in black fur, with a furry tail and claws on feet and hands.  It looked first at the witch and then it turned to look at Declan and he saw it was person-shaped, had wolfish jaws and wolfish ears, but the slitted eyes of a reptile.  It pushed up from its crouch and he could see it was maybe three and half to four feet tall, naked except for its fur, visibly male, a miniature werewolf.  It was close to the DOAA team, and Agent Cochran noticed it first, his attention pulled away from the carpet of bugs that swarmed toward him and his teammates.

The wolf-boy snarled at the agent, who immediately lifted his rifle.  The barrel came up no more than an inch and the wolf-kid flicked one hand with eye-blurring speed.  Cochran dropped, one of Declan’s steel balls having punched through his Kevlar helmet and deep into his skull.

The other ball flew from the kid’s hand straight for Declan.  He stopped it two feet from his face, freezing it in space.  Almost simultaneously, Declan sent the third, previously kicked ball at the furry boy from behind.  Eyes like a python’s flashed red as the kid swayed out of the path of the ball, crouching and jumping for the witch woman’s position.

A fireball streaked at Declan from the small witch’s hand, the flames lighting her face enough to show her features twisted into a hate-filled visage.  Immediately, a second, third, and fourth ball of fire followed the first, each an intense missile of compact flame.  All of them disappeared into Declan’s outstretched left hand.  The hate turned to shock as she saw him simply absorb her flurry of fiery plasma bullets. 

His right hand drew the little Ruger revolver from its holster and fired the final two rounds in the gun at the streaking wolf kid.  The first missed, but the final shot scored a hit, pulling a screech of pain from the black-furred blur.  The wolf boy reached the witch and grabbed her hand, pulling her around, breaking her eye lock on Declan.  He never slowed, towing her almost off her feet, across the room, and up onto a metal bulkhead.  Before Declan could fire off another shot, the boy jumped into an opening at his feet, pulling his mother with him.  Mother.  That was it.  Mother and child.  Witch and were. 

Declan spun to the wolf fight in time to see Stacia get rushed backward by the Alpha, taken off her feet to land on her back.  She landed with her legs compressed between their massive bodies and before the Alpha could pass her guard, she shoved hard with both legs, flinging the bigger male ten feet back.

Buck, who had been crouched to Declan’s right, head flicking back and forth, trying to follow all the fighting, saw his chance and stepped forward, bringing his shotgun to his shoulder.  The Alpha stopped his own rearward momentum, claws tearing furrows in the concrete floor, and tipped back his head to roar.  Buck’s shotgun went off with a louder roar, followed by a click-clack and a second ear-splitting shot.

The Alpha’s head shattered from two heavy silver slugs and the monster swayed on its feet for a moment before dropping dead.

“The winner of hand-to-hand combat is…” Buck muttered to himself.

“… the first one to have a buddy arrive with a gun,” Declan finished, surprising the ex-soldier. “It’s like the official motto of Demidova security.  Must be an army thing.  Draco, another blast please.”

Fire flared across the floor, frying a thousand bugs, creating a path of crispy black carbon for Declan to run across.  He pulled the pin from the thermite grenade and reached deep inside himself for a tiny, tiny blast of Ignis Solis, the sun-hot beam of focused energy that was fueled by the user’s very soul.  A short, sharp blast of eye-searing light erupted from his right hand, vaporizing a drill hole five inches in diameter and three feet deep into the vat of bugs, right in the center of the bullet-drawn smiley.

Eyes blurred with flash spots despite having closed both of them, Declan threw the grenade into the tunnel of bugs and immediately reversed direction.  He headed for Stacia and Buck, mentally running two spells at once.  The first blasted a stream of air into the bullet-torn metal grin on the tank, momentarily stopping the renewed flow of bugs.  The other spell used most of his final reserves of magic to pull a shield over his group and a second over the last three DOAA agents.

Three seconds ticked by with nothing but the hiss of the cockroaches and the low-pitched howl of the wind Declan had called up.  Then a heavy
whump
sounded deep inside the vat as the thermite ignited the living fuel packed around it.  Instantly, two cubic feet of cockroaches turned to burning gas and steam.  Fed by the oxygen in the gale of wind that Declan had forced into the smiley, the fire spread in the blink of an eye, consuming another cubic yard of carbon-rich insects.  The funnel shape of the vat directed the blast upward, like a shaped charge, incinerating even more thrashing, squirming fuel as it climbed out of the tank and up the angled feeder pipe.  A backblast of fiery cinders that used to be bugs jetted out of the smile, overpowering Declan’s bellows spell and splashing against both shields.

Outside the mill, the assembled media, law enforcement, and civilian watchers heard the blast deep inside. A hundred assorted cameras turned to catch the explosive stream of flame, smoke, and burning bugs that erupted from the pulp-slurry pipe at the end of the building, shooting up at an angle like a circus cannon.  Streamed live across the networks and Internet, the flaming ejaculation would be replayed a thousand time in the next few hours, instantly becoming an iconic symbol of the Fetter incident.

Stacia and Declan followed the tunnel for two hundred yards, him crouching while she padded on four completely wolfish feet.  She had jumped down into the opening after Declan, following the witch woman and her… spawn.  They had landed on massive twin rollers covered in spikes that had once torn logs to shredded pulp but were now rusted in place. After one look at the long, low tunnel, Stacia had simply Changed forms from two-legged beast woman to four-legged wolf.  Despite having a half-again greater mass than Declan in that form, she still had an easier time with the low-tunneled ceiling than the tall, lanky witch boy.  

The tunnel was dark and dank, smelling so strongly of werewolves that even Declan could scent it.  Overlaying the rank, musky smell of wolf was a slightly sulphurous odor that worried both of them.

“Maybe they just eat a lot of beans?” he asked, a bit hopeful. 

She growled at him.  He shrugged, smirking a little, the smirk sliding away as he took another whiff.

The tunnel opened out onto the banks of the river that flowed past the mill.  Concrete mounts and foundations for log moving machinery led from the tunnel to the water.  The soft mud was scuffed with V–shaped drag marks where a pair of small boats, likely kayaks, Declan thought, had been pushed into the river.

“Omega, can you get eyes on the river?” Declan asked.

Tree cover impedes satellite images.  I will utilize more localized means, Father.

A few seconds, later a buzz sounded and two small quadcopter media drones zipped around the end of the mill and shot straight to the river.  Without hesitation, the mini-aircraft zoomed down the river, quickly passing from sight.  Likely a couple of news teams were wondering WTF, Declan thought.

Stacia sniffed around the tunnel entrance and down to the water’s edge.  After passing back and forth a few times, she Changed back to her human form.  A very naked human form, which Declan did not look away from as he handed her clothes to her.  She met his eyes directly as she dressed, expression almost a challenge.

He just grinned and then turned toward the mill as motion caught his eye.  A squad of armed agents in heavy combat gear came around the end of the building, spotting them and hustling over.

“Agent Adler wants you in the command van now,” the agent said.  It wasn’t a request, and the agent’s tone was cold.  They were edgy and held their weapons tightly.  Declan shared another glance with Stacia, who gave him a tiny shake of her head.  He frowned, noticing how weary she looked.

“Yeah, well, we’re gonna sidetrack and get her something to eat,” Declan said.

“Adler wants you there
now,
” the lead agent insisted, eyes going hard.

Declan’s jaw squared and he shifted his feet into the dirt, as he sometimes did when drawing Earth energy.  Stacia knew he’d been aggressively
recharging
his magical batteries the whole time they’d been tracking the fugitives.  She touched his arm.

“Do you have any pemmican or energy bars left?” she asked him.

He frowned but rummaged in his bag, coming out with two Clif bars.  He handed them over and turned back to the squad.  “She needs more food.  Changing that much takes calories, so who’s got a snack?” he demanded.

The leader just looked straight back at him, but one of the other guys, who had been staring at her, quickly patted his cargo pockets and came out with a Snickers bar that he awkwardly handed over.

She needed more, but it was better than nothing. From the set of Declan’s shoulders, he was ready to go to war to feed her, which would be a massive problem.  “Okay, I’m ready,” she said.

The lead agent turned and led the way, the other three spreading out around them, the Snickers guy ending up next to her.

“You’re barefoot?” the agent beside her suddenly asked.

“Shoes don’t survive the transformation.  I’ve toughed up my feet just for that reason,” she said.  Declan was on her right side, and the fine hairs on her arm were rising as if in a static field.  He was pulling power.  She reached over and touched his hand.

A haphazard group of civilians came pelting around the corner of the building, looking frantic.

“Have you seen any drones go by?” one, wearing a television station jacket, asked.

I have located an abandoned kayak caught in the branches of a tree fallen in the river.  I surmise they have entered the forest some way back and released the boats to tangle the trail.  I will backtrack the drones and see if I can find where they got off the river.

“Saw a couple go down the river like bats outta hell,” Declan said to the new crews.  “Got away from ya, huh?”

“They just took off like someone else was controlling them,” a bearded guy with glasses said, looking very worried.

Failure to locate river evac site.  Returning drones now.

“They went down by the river.  Who knows, maybe they’ll do that return to base thing,” Declan said, moving past the newsies.

“Ours doesn’t have that feature,” one guy said as the two groups passed each other.

“Shit, look there!  They’re both back, hovering by the beach,” the bearded guy said, picking up the pace and rushing to recover the expensive drones.  The guy in the jacket suddenly focused on Stacia.  “Wait, aren’t you…” but his co-worker pulled him away toward the river.

The tense little group of agents, witch, and werewolf made it around the end of the mill and came in sight of Mill Street and the circus of law enforcement, media, and civilians.  Underfoot, a carpet of black, crunchy cinders spread in a cone-shaped pattern from the end of the building toward the closest houses.  Smoke trailed up in a few places from particularly thick clumps of carbon.  Black dust blew up as the Apache swung by overhead, patrolling around the mill property.  At the end of the paper mill, one wall lay broken and crumbled, the part of the roof it supported collapsed inward.

General Creek assumed operational command of the raid.  He’s had people reviewing and editing the video feeds from the teams’ helmet cameras.  He’s looking to frame a legal case against you both.

“It must be a good idea to have a video copy of every agent’s actions during a raid, huh?” Declan asked the agent who was friendly with Stacia.  “A complete and unedited record would be useful.” 

The agent looked confused but before he could open his mouth, the leader spun around and gave him a glare.

I have complete copies of everything, Father. I will provide unedited footage to every media company and Internet blogger in the country if necessary.  I have alerted Christian and the Demidova Corporate attorney as to your situation. Attorney Cornell has hired a top firm from Portland.  That company has dispatched their best attorney, who is en route to Fetter.  Christian has ordered the Demidova corporate aircraft to be prepared for departure, and a flight plan is being filed as we speak.

Declan faked a cough into his hand.  “Hhhhowwwgh?”

I directed local news feeds to their cellular devices when they happened to be looking at them.  Christian asked Chester for more detail.  I had copies of the communications between Agent Adler and General Creek ready when Chester framed the question on my Omega interface.

They were closer to the media circus now, and the reporters had already caught sight of them.

“Miss Reynolds, can you tell us what happened?” one of the on-air anchors yelled out.

The agents steered away from the reporters, but Declan suddenly veered off path and headed straight for a particular media van.

His move caught the agents off guard and it took them a handful of seconds to realize his move and then catch up with the long-legged teen.  By the time they did, he was talking to a surprised cameraman, pointing at a McDonald’s bag and pulling money from his combat pants pocket.

The combined media, sensing a massive story like sharks scenting blood, converged on the young witch, Stacia, and the agents.

“Thirty bucks for your lunch,” Declan offered.

The cameraman, looking confused and completely off-guard, simply gaped at him.

“It’s all I’ve got, but I’ll pay you more.  Look, she really needs the calories.  Changing and fighting off murdering werewolves takes energy like you can’t believe,” Declan said.

“She fought the murderers?”  “Is it true you caught the first suspect, Stacia?”  “What’s your role in this, sir?”  “Can you tell us anything that happened?” “Give her the food, Scotty.”  The clamor was loud and almost instant. 

“There will be no comments,” the agent in charge of the squad said loudly.  “Come along now!” he directed at Declan.

The witch kid pushed the money into the t-shirt pocket of the befuddled cameraman and grabbed the bag of food.

“Hold your horses, Agent.  If you’re going to blame us and frame us and grill us for hours, the least you can do is make sure that
she
has a bit of food,” Declan said.  His words were calculated, but his tone had steel in it.

“Frame you for what?  “How can they blame you?” “My source in the sheriff’s department told me you two saved their bacon. Is that true?”

The lead agent, patience at an end, grabbed Stacia’s arm.  She broke his grip reflexively, stepping back.  His hand dropped to his sidearm and she felt a wave of static-like energy flow across her back as Declan raised a shield around them both.  The invisible shield shoved the agents further away.

The leader pulled his sidearm, yelling into his throat mic for backup, while his other three men followed his lead, backing off and drawing down on Declan and Stacia.

Thunder sounded as the Apache rounded the building, coming up fast on their position.  They spun around to stare at the massive attack helicopter as it roared up to within fifty yards, abruptly pulling up to hover forty feet above the ground.  Stacia’s eyes locked onto the 30mm chain gun slung under the nose of the aircraft as it powered up and swiveled around. 

Time slowed and the gaping muzzle of the cannon seemed to tick across an arc like a metronome, the black face-shielded head of the gunner directing it with his vision.  She saw the exact moment the barrel finished its traverse and stopped, pointing directly at Declan.  Like a snapshot, that instant in time froze in her head as she watched in helpless horror.

The cannon had just covered Declan when the engines abruptly stopped, the sudden loss of sound making the
whup
of the rotors more pronounced even as they immediately slowed their rotations.  She saw the pilot grow frantic, hands and feet moving rapidly as the helicopter lost power and almost as instantly lost altitude.  The chain gun went dead, the muzzle snapping up into its default resting position.  The chopper shuddered and shook as the pilot tried to restart the engines and regain control, then it fell from the sky.