Foreboding Skies (The Skybreaker Saga Book 1) (3 page)

Tendrils of air pulled the old man between the ogre’s legs and out onto the sidewalk next to the still hyperventilating kid. That’s when I remembered there were small children in the house and there wasn’t enough time for the dazed or unconscious civilians to get clear. Ogres are a lot like sharks in that they can whip themselves into a feeding frenzy, and the horrifying teeth. This one was well on its way to forgetting about me in favor of killing everything that lived within a ten mile radius.

Its bulk grew even more and a small earthquake accompanied every step he took. As the oversized bastard turned I unleashed my secret weapon. “Yo mama so ugly that when she went to try out for Fugly magazine they told her she was overqualified.” That may seem like a complete non sequitur, but it’s not. Ogres have some sort of Oedipus complex going on, both male and female ogres, just insult their mothers and you will always get their undivided attention. “Yo mama so fat that I pictured her in my head and she broke my neck!” Upon hearing my assertions about his mother’s physical attractiveness he let out a massive roar. And I mean massive, windows broke and wildlife, mostly rats and bugs, fled in all directions. I stood out in the middle of the street and waited for the snarling train to build up a good head of steam.

Every breath I took stoked the searing agony higher. I let more rage bleed past my defenses to squash the pain lower. There would be time to appreciate the pain later. Just a few more steps, and done. It didn’t bother with claws. No, it lunged straight for my neck with gaping jaws. The height difference between us forced the ogre to bend down to reach me. I rolled back, letting his jaws snap at empty air above me as my feet meet his mid-section. The resulting awkward pose saw the ogre bent into an immense U shape with me coiled underneath.

Our eyes met for a single instant and I flashed a devilish grin into those soulless pits. Simultaneously using all of my physical and spiritual strength I exploded upwards, burning through all the power the rage spirits granted me, forcing my hands into the street and putting a couple of inches between us before a powerful gale of wind blasted the ogre up. It let out a shocked cry as it was hurled into the air.

Its roar was briefly drowned out by the thunderous cacophony of a mass of flesh impacting asphalt. The long neglected infrastructure of the poor Detroit neighborhood simply could not handle the massive force of the ogre’s landing and it fell through the street into the sewers below. Kicking the fat ass into the air required a lot of power and in hindsight wasn’t the best tactical choice. I pulled in more rage and dropped down the gaping hole to finish the job. The debris cloud and fading light combined to eliminate sight as a viable option. I pulled air to my enhanced nose and found myself shit out of luck. The ogre’s pungent odor was not detectable anywhere. The entire street should have reeked as soon as the ogre dropped its glamour. I put a pin in that thought.

I couldn’t leave a pissed off ogre running around the city but…. It would have to wait. My job still needed doing and the police were almost certainly on their way. I doubted anyone in Downs’ neighborhood did, but the fight made quite a lot of noise. It would be smart to operate under the assumption that the authorities were inbound. At this point any cops were still minutes away though. I had time to work with. Mr. Downs bribed enough people in the department to ensure there were never any cops around. A decision that would work against him today no doubt. I really didn’t like fighting the cops.

Most of them were no more than ordinary people doing their jobs. I didn’t want to hurt them and add the burden of outrageous medical bills to their shitty salaries. The gaping hole in the street, a house missing most of its front, and the dozens of bodies in the street would slow them down as they tried to get a handle on the situation. Unfortunately, all of those things would also cause the first responders to call for SWAT, the National Guard, and the Marines Ooh Rah!

The situation had deteriorated rapidly. A quick glance at the old man and kid showed both were up and moving toward the space where the front door used to be. They would be ok. The cops would label this a gang shoot out and the people paid to make such cover stories stick in both the human and supernatural worlds would handle all the details.

The human officials would twist any evidence that didn’t conform to their world view and the Community’s officials would falsify any evidence and intimidate any witnesses into going along with the official tale if necessary. So long as no one was insistent on being honest no one would get hurt.

That was standard operated procedure and even I had to do my part. I needed to eliminate as much evidence of the Community as possible. Fairy corpses dissolve all on their own in this plane of existence. The werewolf remains were the problem I needed to deal with. First I took out a crumbled receipt from my pocket and pressed the Werewolves’ fingers against it and scooped up a glob of brain matter. I deposited both items into two small plastic bags. Now the dirty part. I held my hand in front of me as if I were holding a ball. Gathering my power I set the air to spinning. I kept pouring more power in until the sphere of air was viciously swirling. Then I unleashed it on the werewolf corpse. The miniature tornado tore the corpse up faster than a piranha feeding frenzy. The spray of blood and bile was shot out the top of it to drift on the winds. Good luck getting anything off of that CSI: Detroit. They might be able to if they zoom and enhance.

I found the girl weeping into the ground behind two knocked over trash cans on the side of the Professor’s house. It was amazing she was still capable of crying and good news for her, it meant she wasn’t hollowed out completely. Seeing innocent people shattered by those with a divine sense of entitlement infuriated me. Some part of me took it personally that someone thought they could behave in such a way on the same plane of existence as me. There were a lot of people and creatures in the world that offended me.

As a Shaman my sentiments were unusual, most of my kind would view her as little more than a symptom of a problem as opposed to an actual person. A clinically detached approach was something I will always struggle with. She wasn’t aware of her surroundings and hardly reacted when I scooped her up and hustled her over to the old man’s house, most of a house anyway. He said nothing as I set her down inside. We made eye contact briefly and gave each other a brief nod. He would take care of the girl from now on and I would remove the cause of her suffering. I would take great pleasure in doing so. Downs was going to die terribly.

I sincerely hoped the orphanage had been habitable when children lived there. A foul odor containing the stench of cockroaches, rodents, and fungi conspired to forcibly eject the contents of my stomach and only supreme willpower kept the room vomit free. The ceiling looked like it was about to give up fighting gravity. The floor boards failed to inspire much faith. They could promise all they like, but I knew they would let me down. A few rusted bedframe scattered about the moderately sized room was the only indication that humans once inhabited the place. You’d think a successful drug lord would be able to spring for better digs.

I wasn’t concerned with stealth after the cacophony outside. I could already hear the rush of footsteps and raised voices coming my way. I froze in place just to the side of the window to listen. I picked up two heading up the staircase from the second floor. From their sound and smell they were certainly human.

“What the hell is going on outside man?” said one man in a typical stoner drawl, as if no words were important enough to show even the slightest urgency. The second voice obviously belonged to a female junkie. “The b-b-boss just-t-t s-s-said to check the w-w-whole b-b-building,” She managed to get out in a shaking voice, that stutter might have been endearing on a five year old. Now it was simply annoying.

Just two junkies, huh, maybe Downs really didn’t have anything else supernatural. Though he shouldn’t have received any aid from the Community Hopefully the man himself would be telling me soon. Other than scores of druggies who would kill at his command he shouldn’t have that much left at his disposal. Even the thought of ripping through them made Justice flex his presence, just to remind me that he didn’t approve of killing victims. Fine, I would continue to show restraint. I wanted to hold on to the spirit, and its shield, for as long as possible.

Junkies One and Two were nearly up the stairs and this room was probably the first one they would check. No great hiding places, but hey, these two were most likely too drugged up to notice much. I hoped form the window to the wall beside the door and cushioned my landing with an air cushion. I was showing progress with precision control but it rapidly drained my stamina. I would not be pulling off anymore saves like I did for the Professor.

I stood stock still by the door. I let them walk past me before stepping forward and throwing my hands over their mouths. Their drug addled reflexes only gave them enough time to widen their eyes before I sucked the air out of their lungs. Though it was a simple trick when I was this close to my targets it further strained me. They shuddered and went limp as I eased them down to the floor. I winced at the sound their weapons made as they hit the floor. They were armed with only a rolling pin and a frying pan..

I had at most two minutes before the cops rolled in here saw the disaster outside, and called all sorts of people I didn’t want to meet. Not to mention the Community was going to be pissed about this. We Shamans are granted more leeway than most to do our jobs, a benefit of the doubt if you will. But I had exceeded that benefit.

Squatted at the top of the stares I focused myself. After a few moments I pulled a light breeze up the stairwell, bringing more scents and sounds to me. The time lost was worth the heads up. I could identify three more on the second floor and maybe one more past that on the stairwell. I still hadn’t caught a whiff of anything other than smelly humans. I dared to hope that the rest would be easy. I wished I could muffle sound effectively, but that was beyond me at the moment. I moved forward anyway hoping they would attribute any sound I made to their unconscious companions. I made it to the second floor without raising the alarm. Wah-wah
cried the floor board after a tentative step. I drew back, balancing on one foot for fear of stepping on another sound mine. A beam of light swung over to the stair well. “Hey? Ricky? That you man?” Dammit.

The man sounded like another burn-out. The ones upstairs didn’t have any real weapons. Maybe…I hadn’t even finished forming my next thought when the click of a firearm dashed my hopes. Burnout or not anyone with a gun could kill. I started coughing. Druggies do that a lot right? He walked closer but his steps were casual. I huddled down to obscure my face. He would need to get close to see I wasn’t Ricky in the dimness of the stairwell. Sure enough he rounded the corner and squatted down right in front of me. “You ok man? Don’t hack up a lung. What are you even smo?” I slapped my palm over his open mouth and vacuumed out his lungs. My other hand twisted his wrist and forced him to drop the gun. I lowered him down to the ground and listened. No one was rushing this way or sounding the alarm. I scooped up the gun, a Glock 9mm, while telling myself desperate times translate to desperate actions. Even so, it was an embarrassment to use a gun. I was supposed to be on a higher level than humans.

My bound ratel spirit gave me superhuman hearing and smell. A fact I was grateful for as I peeked around the corner to find the dim lighting concealed most of the area’s detail. It was only because of my enhanced senses that I could reasonably confirm no one was hiding in the abundant shadows. To my left the stairs led down to the first floor and directly in front of me the hallway stretched out with four doors on each side. The two remaining obstacles were in the farthest room from me on the right. I could ignore those two, as the click of lighter and the smell of crack told me what they were doing.

I didn’t bother with moving stealthily anymore. The crack heads were too preoccupied to consider I was an intruder. Both men left their backs to the door and one was trying to light what smelled like crack. I didn’t want to waste any more energy so a good old fashioned pistol whip to the back of the head put both down.  

The first floor appeared to be deserted. A sagging couch, several ratty chairs, and a large coffee table were in front of me. The door to the basement was off to the left and a kitchen area was to my right. The full array of drug paraphernalia was scattered about the room and… and something else. I stopped and picked up the talisman, or amulet, whatever, off the coffee table. It wasn’t a piece of new age crap you could buy at any Hippies R Us location, this one possessed legitimate power. I quickly wrapped it in one of the silk handkerchiefs I carried with me for such items and shoved it in a pocket. First the supernatural guard dogs and now a real talisman. I was going to have to have a long talk with a certain drug lord about his resources.

The door to the basement looked like every other rotting part of the place at first glance, but my enhanced eyes could see otherwise. It was heavily fortified with some interesting looking wards. I wasn't familiar with the designs. I moved closer to the door, keeping all my senses alert. 

I caught a flicker of movement in a reflection off the kitchen floor and managed to throw myself back as a torrent of bullets ripped up the floor where I had been standing. The sudden movement irked my lungs and legs, but they were still functioning and that was good enough. The rate of fire indicated my assailant was using a fully automatic weapon.

But, I was more preoccupied with my failure to notice someone hiding in the kitchen. Finally, the hail of gunfire stopped and I heard nervous shuffling from the kitchen. From behind the couch I looked toward the shooter’s position in the kitchen. I drew my presence down as low as I could make it and waited for him to move. After an agonizing wait I heard footsteps on the carpeting of the living room and the sound of a spent mag being ejected. My hand was around his throat before the spent mag hit the floor. I snapped his wrist back sharply, forcing him to drop his weapon but not eliciting a cry of pain surprisingly.

“Hello Jeffrey. I was hoping we could have a quick discussion about your business practices.” I could easily lift him off the floor. The man was crack skinny and inches shorter than me, he was not an intimidating man. Until you noticed what was in his eyes. Some people like to talk about how crazy they are, but the man before me was consumed by madness. There was nothing even remotely human in his eyes. I finally understood how he managed to dominate the neighborhood.

“I knew you would be here, they told me. Yes they did! That’s why they sent the lesser angels to stop you. It doesn’t matter if you win here, you will be punished for your sins!” What? Lesser angels? My sins? I punched him in the gut for having the nerve to critique anyone. I really didn’t want to talk to the detestable worm, really really didn’t want to. However, I was suffering from an aggravated lack of knowledge. I needed to sort through all the shit he was spewing to find the cake.

Around his neck hung a talisman identical to the first one I found. His had been carved from a human finger bone. Downs noticed my interest. “They gave it to me. They said it would shield me. He wanted to stop us, but he couldn’t. No one can.”

“Who are ‘they’ and whose finger is that?” Using a human body part for a talisman boosted its power, but it was seriously twisted magic. Anything involving living sacrifice was. Not a lot of people were willing to go that far, even fewer actually knew how.

“The cop, the big cop, wanted out, no one gets out. Once the oath is taken only death can relieve you.” He looked at me for a moment with an odd clarity, and then spoke again with no less menace in his voice. “You can’t get out either, and you will die Shaman.” He went from psychotic to lucid to enraged in less than ten seconds. Now he was clawing at my arm in a vain attempt to escape. He was making less and less sense.

My thought process was disrupted by sirens, a lot of sirens. The thumping sound of a helicopter gradually emerged in the distance. “I absolutely do not have time for this shit.” I roughly shoved him into the wall, or rather I tried to but the rotted wall crumbled and he went limp as he fell through. He voided his bladder and bowls when he hit the floor. I stepped over to him to make sure he was unconscious but alive. He still had answers to give.

That’s when I felt a sudden drop of ambient magic in the area, like the drop in pressure before a storm. Someone was launching the magical equivalent of a cruise missile at the house and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. In my new timetable there wasn’t enough time search the basement, there wasn’t even enough time to get past the door.

The best I could do was damage control. I picked up Downs’ gun, a MAC 10, a spare clip from his waistband and started shooting at cops. They really needed to back up. They did with great speed after I emptied the clip into the pavement in front of them. Good enough, they would wait for backup before moving in. I flipped over the thick oak table in the kitchen and left Downs behind it, just in case the cops decided to start shooting back.

I raced up and down the stairs grabbing the unconscious junkies and tossing them in a pile in the kitchen. I estimated less than two minutes before the magic happened and there were dozens of cops and unconscious drug addicts in the crossfire. Shit, complete shit, the job wasn’t supposed to be so difficult.

“Back the fuck up! I’ve got hostages and a bomb in here!” That should seize their attention and hopefully keep them back long enough. But what to do with the junkies? Six bodies, including Downs, needed to get out of there intact. I was surprised at the low number but I supposed most of Downs’s gang was outside being hauled off by the cops.

I decided on airlifting them out. By that I mean I created a massive torrent of air, like a jet stream in miniature. Once that was done I tossed them into it on by one. The air expressway flung them about fifty feet away where they gracelessly hit the ground and rolled to a stop. I tried to be gentle but I was too fatigued for precision, the agony in my lungs had receded slightly but it still felt like shards of broken glass were lodged in my left lung. My two minutes turned into thirty seconds.

Someone was rushing to get the job done before I did. I threw the last of the junkies out, and used my jet stream to carry my voice over to the cops. It was getting hard to hear with the sirens and now two helicopters circling above. I bet the authorities had issued a no fly zone for the media otherwise the sky would have been blotted out by news choppers.

It was time to make like Tebow’s career and disappear. One last thing, “That’s ALL of them! The house is going to blow, back the fuck up! I want a meeting with Elvis in FIVE minutes!” I like to have fun at work. The cops out front were preoccupied with moving civilians and I was flying through the house with Downs over my shoulder, out the back under the cover of a vicious dust storm. I closed my eyes and let my other senses guide me.

I burst out the other side, blitzed past a handful of startled cops and SWAT while helping myself to a set of handcuffs and was home free. Bullets chased me out into the night, but my spastic running style and poor visibility conditions guaranteed misses. Except for the helicopter buzzing overhead. It was trying with moderate success to land its search light on me and my unconscious cargo. I could run faster than an Olympic sprinter even while carrying a person, but most police helicopters could hit one hundred fifty miles per hour easily leaving me in a bit of a pickle.

Thankfully Detroit is a wonderful urban sprawl with lots of places to disappear to. The shifting shadows combined with my own cloak made shaking the chopper possible. I poured on a burst of speed and headed for a place I knew to be completely cop free. I was a few blocks away when the earth shook and a wave of debris shot into the sky. I noted the lack of any sound, which had to be significant. I knew I would love how the rest of what was supposed to be a simple task was going to play out. Not only would the cops be out in force but the Feds wouldn’t be far behind. This was going to be heard all around the world as a terrorist attack in Detroit, with me as the terrorist.