Sparks in the Darkness Pt. 04

Chapter Ten

The trap is sprung. Twice.

Oscar slipped quietly down the alleyway in the direction of the meeting. The scent of dumpsters and waste filled the alley, and a few shallow puddles threatened his shoes. Somewhere overhead, along the rooftops, was Fantisma - hopefully.

Peter's call had come in later in the afternoon. Lucinda had reached out to him, and he'd made the discount offer Oscar had suggested (insisted on). A meet had been set up for 7 pm that night. A flurry of texts with Zoey confirmed that Fantisma would be able to make an appearance - and that she'd bring a cold iron dagger, to be able to finish off the Succubus when the time came.

The plan - such as it was - was that Oscar was to get into the meeting, and then, when Fantisma arrived, cover Peter to get him out, trying to incapacitate the succubus' acolyte, if the opportunity arose. Fantisma and Lucinda would battle, probably with a dazzling display of witchfire and telekinetic power versus a flaming lash and poisonous claws, until Fantisma was able to press the advantage and finish the creature off with the cold iron dagger.

That was the plan.

Coming to where the alley met a laneway, for delivery access, Oscar hesitated. He wasn't sure if he was the first to show - and didn't want to spook the succubus or her acolyte by arriving unannounced. He stole a glance around the building and observed the back of Peter's large, grey van, backed into the lane.

Good. At least Oscar wasn't the first one here. As he pressed his back against the building, taking a moment to breathe, he felt in his pocket - his little surprise was still there. That gave him some reassurance. He chuckled; he was bringing a figurative knife to what was probably going to become a literal firefight.

A few moments later, he heard the click of heels on the pavement. It was similar, but distinct from, Fantisma's heels - not that he'd have said that to her.

He glanced around the corner again. Zoey was right - Lucinda, the creature, was stunning.

She was tall, taller than Oscar - but was in knee-high boots with challenging heels. She wore a tight pair of leather pants and snug black turtleneck, but was in the process of throwing a cloak around her shoulders. Her skin was a burnished tan, and her hair a coppery-red, tumbling down past her shoulders in waves. Her makeup favored her brilliant green eyes, and her plump lips formed a cupid's bow. The corner of her lip curled up just slightly, as if she was smiling lightly at some joke she was remembering, her mouth slightly open, as if lightly talking to herself. Her age - or, apparent age, as this appearance would only be a clever glamor - was betrayed only by a hint of silver at her temples, laugh-lines by her eyes and framing her smile; all serving to augment her appeal, rather than detract from it.

Oscar felt his jaw set.

He glanced back to the van - it hadn't moved, and the doors hadn't opened. The creature looked around, her eyes studying her surroundings - and Oscar pulled his head back around the corner. Enough looking - another look, and she'd almost certainly spot him.

He hesitated. He could step out, reveal himself, play it like he's also here to meet Peter. Or, wait until he heard the doors to Peter's truck, then step out, so Peter could back up his cover - if Peter went his way.

"Hello there," a confident voice called. Lucinda's voice was dark, and deep - a voice of maturity, confidence, and experience, yet with a pleasing, harmonic tone.

He was made. Time was up.

Oscar walked around the corner, his arms held up, palms towards the creature, revealing he had no weapon; he held his face in a slightly shameful smirk. "Sorry, sorry," he said. The succubus stood with her right hand on her hip, under her cloak, and her left hand holding the cloak's edge.

With a smile, Lucinda nodded to Oscar, saying, "Oh, why hello there. Who are you?" Oscar glanced at the succubus, making sure to see her only with her peripheral vision, avoiding her gaze. He had to be cautious; with more than a few moments of eye contact, the creature would sense his experience - but avoiding eye contact had the potential to tip Lucinda off, too.

"Sorry, uh," Oscar shuffled forward a little, trying to put on a show of timidness. "I'm - I'm Bryant. You're - you're Lucinda, right? I saw your circles, through the graveyards around. They were really tightly drawn."

Lucinda brought her left hand out from under the cloak, and gave a light laugh, bordering on a giggle. "Why, thank you," Lucinda said. "Peter has been working hard on them."

Oscar's blood turned cold as ice. Peter had made Lucinda's circles?

Peter was the acolyte?

The back of the van opened up, and Peter sneered at Oscar. The young man, with dark hair, was holding a Glock in his hand. Oscar shook his head. He was no longer one of the hunters - he'd become the bait.

"Pleasure to meet you, Bryant," Lucinda smiled. Oscar glanced over to her, and as their gaze brushed against each other, he felt a warm comfort slide over him. Her smile was bright, and pleasant, and filled Oscar's field of view. He struggled a moment; his stomach flipped, and a fog moved in around the edges of his mind. The nagging feeling that he was forgetting something - something important! - played at the edges of his thoughts.

Lucinda crossed the distance between them, and Oscar felt himself smile at her. He fought the fog moving across his mind. "You've lost someone, haven't you, Bryant?" Lucinda continued, taking another step towards him. Almost immediately, Oscar felt tears well up, as he nodded.

"Too many," he answered, choking on his words. He struggled, as faces from his past drifted through his mind. He struggled, trying to pry his attention away from Lucinda's gaze, struggling to redirect his attention back to the gun, back to finding a way to warn Fantisma that they'd lost the upper hand.

His left thumb throbbed, under a sharp pricking sensation. Relieved, he extended his hands towards Fantisma - no, wait; not Fantisma. Lucinda.

Wait, Oscar forced himself to think, through the fog that was covering more and more of his thoughts. What the hell is going on right now?

The pffst sound of Fantisma's first green-yellow witchfire bolt raced past him, as Oscar struggled with Lucinda's will, struggling to wrench back control of his mind. Lucinda turned with a snarl, and Oscar felt his stomach drop. The feeling of knowing Lucinda was no longer reaching out for him made him wonder if he'd done something wrong - even as he fought to find Peter, get him to cover, come to his fucking senses. The succubus' power was intoxicating, literally; Oscar struggled to bring his will to bear against it, and the only immediate result was a sudden, sharp headache.

Oscar staggered, as he heard what sounded like an explosion in the air above him, but close by. He forced his eyes closed, and re-opened them, trying to focus - and saw Peter, coming hurtling towards him. "Hey, wait," he mumbled, but then buckled, as the younger man's shoulder caught him in the chest, hurling him to the ground.

The feeling of pain when his face hit the pavement gave Oscar a moment of clarity. Fantisma. He had no idea where either Fantisma or Lucinda was. He could hear Fantisma's voice, as she called out something, but was partly drowned out by a primal hiss from Lucinda.

Then he felt the distinctive, and uncomfortably familiar, feeling of a gun pressing against the back of his head, and heard the cha-clunk of the slide. He heard Peter's voice, loudly calling out, "I'll fucking do it!" and then, silence.

Oscar inhaled slowly. The Dark Power was so close, right beside him, right there, easily within arm's reach. He could rot Peter where he stood; he could wither his arm so that lacked even the strength to pull the trigger, his legs so he fell to the ground; or, forcibly pry his soul from his body, causing him to fall to the ground dead. A few words, a hand gesture ...

Oscar exhaled slowly, and he heard Fantisma's boots settle onto the pavement. He was wrong - they sounded nothing like Lucinda's. "Him for you," he heard Lucinda say.

There were other words, but Peter's heavy breathing obscured them; the young man murmured continuously, under his voice "Fuck, motherfucking, fuck, do it, tell me to do it," he repeated to himself.

Quietly, Oscar asked, "... have you ever killed anyone, Peter?" and he felt the gun press into the back of his head.

"Stop fucking talking," Peter hissed. "Fuck you. Stop fucking talking."

Oscar nodded, scraping his cheek against the asphalt. "It's hard, man. It's hard. Harder than you think. Gun, or magic, or knife - Peter, it costs you. Don't. You don't want to do this. If she wants me dead? She can kill me."

Oscar closed his eyes as Peter pressed the gun forcefully into his head. The bridge of his nose pressed into the asphalt. "I said fucking shut up, shut up."

Oscar heard a heavy, metallic thunk, about five yards from him, and then the clatter of a knife dropping to the asphalt. Peter laughed, pulling the gun away from the back of his head. Oscar didn't miss the opportunity; his eyes snapped open, as he whipped his legs towards the sound of Peter's laughter.

He had seconds - less - to take in all the information. Peter's ankles had gone out from Oscar's kick, but Zoey - not Fantisma, but Zoey - was standing in the alley, in her white blouse, with a tan skirt an inch above her knees. She was also wearing a heavy, dull-looking metallic arm binder that pinned her arms behind her body. Peter's gun was falling to the ground, and Lucinda ...

Lucinda was gone. In place of the attractive sexagenarian, there was a creature, like a feminine nightmare; widened hips, heavy breasts, with black-red flesh, and bat-like wings. In her right hand was a burning lash, and in her left, a cold iron dagger - Fantisma's cold iron dagger. Her head was turning towards the falling Peter.

Oscar didn't have time to think. He was already in motion, springing to his feet, surging forward, following the path of the gun. He heard Zoey yell, "Oscar, no!" but he didn't have time to obey. If he was getting out of this alive - and he was - he needed to get the gun.

He caught the pistol - a Glock 19 - being cautious not to put a finger on the trigger. His foot hit the pavement, and he pushed - leaning into a dive to take him down a nearby alley. He heard Peter cry out in protest, and Lucinda snarl - and Zoey gasp. Just behind him, he heard the crack of Lucinda's lash, and felt a wave of tremendous heat.

He hit the alleyway face-down, and immediately used his hands to haul himself up, tucking his legs under him, pulling himself to his feet in as hurried a fashion as possible. He pressed forward, deliberately exhaling. Once he was clear, if he turned, he could draw upon the Dark Power - he could eliminate Peter right away, probably stun Lucinda. He'd be able to get close to Zoey, maybe break her free of the bindings. Then, they could take on Lucinda together ...

His back thumped against the wall. He glanced at the weapon, and, even though he'd heard Peter chamber a round, he felt the indicator with his finger. He set his trigger finger along the barrel of the weapon, paused, and listened.

"He's got my gun," Peter said, a whine in his voice. "We gotta go get ..."

"Enough," Lucinda snapped. "You're not going running after him; he doesn't matter, and you'll come around a corner and he'll blow your kneecaps off." Oscar felt himself smirk. He absolutely would. "Besides, it's only her that He wants. You - get in the van."

"Oh right." Oscar's heart skipped a beat hearing Zoey's vocal fry. "Like I'm that dumb. I'm not going anywhere with ..."

"Get in the van, or I will send the acolyte to cut your sidekick from groin to gills," Lucinda commanded.

"Okaaay, fuck, coming, you don't need to be a cunt about it," Zoey replied. "Great van, hope you didn't pay too much for it. Oh! It still smells a bit like the candy you used to lure your boyfriend."

They were loading up already. Fuck. Oscar was short on time. They could be headed anywhere. He pulled out his phone, and dialed one of the only three numbers in it.

As soon as Sam picked up, without preamble, Oscar spat, "Meet me, corner of ..." he glanced down the alley. "No, better; along 41st, between Colton and Shepherd. Now." He hung up, and started down the alley. The van wasn't in motion yet, and he was - for the moment, the advantage was his. He heard a screech of tires.

Oscar felt the Dark Power there, still; pushing, yearning to be used. He could cripple the van; blow the doors open, pull Zoey out. Or conceal the Rolls-Royce from notice. No, Oscar thought, shaking his head. Not ... not yet, at least.

He jogged down the alley, trying to time his speed. As he hit 41st, he saw the Rolls swerve around the corner of Colton, and heard the honking of horns. Good man.

He waited barely half a second as the Rolls shrieked to a stop, and Oscar climbed into the front beside Sam. He thumped the Glock on the dashboard. "Down to Whyte, then a right. We're looking to follow the Computer Wizard."

Sam barely spared a glance at the gun, as the Rolls jerked into motion. "Where's ..." Sam started.

"In the van. Dunno where it's going," Oscar said. Sam nodded, as Oscar slipped the gun down into the side pocket on the door, and leaned back into his seat, pulling on the seatbelt. He took the handkerchief that Sam offered, and held it to his bleeding nose. "Think it's probably a good idea not to lose the van."

"Roger that," Sam said, turning onto Whyte. "I don't see a ... Wizard!" he pointed, as the van pulled out of the laneway ahead of them.

"Let them go," Oscar said, and Sam nodded.

"I got it. S'not the first time I've had to run a tail." Oscar glanced at him, and Sam looked back, and smirked, shrugging his shoulders. "I've been Zoey's driver since she was 15."

Oscar smirked back, and nodded.

Chapter Eleven

A rescue.

"Drive on past the building," Oscar said, and Sam nodded, indulging his not-particularly-helpful suggestions for not the first time.

Twenty-five minutes later, the van had pulled into an old warehouse, in the former garment district. They'd made no attempt at misdirection, or to lose a tail. That said, it wasn't impossible that they knew they'd been followed, and just didn't care.

Sam drove on past the warehouse, and pulled the luxury car to a stop. He glanced into the rear-view, evaluating the warehouse from a block away. "What's your play?" he asked.

Oscar made a sour face. "Only one play to make. Gotta at least take a look around, right?" He motioned to the side pocket, and the gun. "If I get a chance, I go for it."

Sam frowned, and shook his head. "Bad odds." Oscar agreed. "Chances they're alone in there? Pretty small, I'd figure. Gotta think, at least four, maybe six other guys, right? You plug one," he paused and re-evaluated Oscar, "...maybe three, but that still leaves too many. Plus, whoever was in the van."

Oscar nodded, and frowned. "Okay. But, we can't do cops. They'd, uh. They'd just get hurt." Oscar was relieved when Sam nodded in agreement. "Can't take too long. Can't overthink it."

"Okay, so, let's play it straight," Sam answered. "You take the back door - me & the Rolls take the front. You go, I count to ... 150? Then, I come in through the front door. Hard enough to bust it open, loud enough to get everyone's attention. Then, I pull back, peel off - hopefully circle around to pick you both up."

"Isn't this a half a million dollar car that you're going to use as a battering ram?" Oscar asked. "What if you wreck against the door?"

Sam smirked, and drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. "Three-quarters of a million dollar car. Versus a thousand dollar thirty year old garage door? I like my odds. Wouldn't be the first door I've barged through for Miss daCosta."

Oscar considered, and nodded. "Give me 120," and Sam nodded. As Oscar opened the door, Sam said, "Hey, Oscar," and he paused, and glanced back at the driver.

"She doesn't lend out the car very often." Oscar met Sam's gaze, and the men nodded to each other.

"One twenty," Sam said, as Oscar disappeared into the night. After a moment, Sam quietly pulled the door closed.

Five.

Oscar jogged lightly, pacing himself, carrying the Glock low and hopefully out of sight. He quickly checked his left pocket - his surprise was still tightly wrapped away.

Despite the urgency, he paced himself as he closed the distance to the warehouse. Combat is exhausting - between the adrenaline, the pain, and the full-body activity, most people rarely had more than two or three continuous minutes in them. Oscar could use the jog as a warm-up, but couldn't risk tiring before the main event. He rubbed the bridge of his nose; he felt the pain, but his mental focus held it at arm's length from his mind. He picked up a six inch long, inch-wide thin metal panel as his foot nudged it.

Twenty-five.

He came up to the back of the building. No exterior guards - they were either confident, or novice. Or, if he and Sam were very very lucky, they were unaware they had been followed. Oscar tucked himself under the window, then slowly raised his eyes up to be at the corner. Painted black.

He considered breaking the window. He wasn't sure what that'd get him.

Thirty-five.

He counted the paces to the back door. Fire door, so it opened out - but, if the building had power, an alarm might sound.

Forty.

Doing nothing wasn't going to help Zoey.

He moved quickly across the open distance, and examined the door from up close. It was pushed closed - but not latched.

Fifty.

He hooked his fingers on the outcropping of the door. He inhaled, bracing for the alarm. Briefly, he thought of the Dark Power; summoning the silence of a tomb, or even a spell of incorporeality, to slip through the wall.

But for now, the door would have to do.

Click.

Sixty.

The door pulled open, quietly, and Oscar held his breath a moment - no alarm. The door opened into some sort of back office - six desks had long ago been pushed together in the center of the room, and they were now covered in a mix of black and red wax, and stained red with what Oscar recognized as blood.

The opposite wall was windowed, looking out at what would have been a wide open main floor of the building. The suggestion of it having once been a loading bay was still present, with a large overhead-style aluminum rolling door - and the parked gray Computer Wizard van.

Seated in a rickety looking wooden chair, turned away from him, he saw Zoey. And gathered around her, four black cloaked figures - Peter and Lucinda, plus two more. Manageable.

Eighty.

Oscar couched low, crossing the office over towards the windowed half-wall. Creeping towards the door, he heard Lucinda say, "Perfect. He's sending someone over," the hint of a sinister smile present in her voice. "Well done, boys," the succubus said, and he heard her walking in a tight circle - probably showing appreciation to each team member. "Now - David, Keith - get the rest of the supplies out of that van."

Quietly, Oscar pulled the door ajar, in time to see Lucinda standing over Zoey, displaying the cold iron dagger she'd claimed as a prize in the alley. Tucking the knife away, Lucinda took Zoey's chin into her hand. Zoey was tied to the chair, rope around each calf. Her arms were pinned behind it - still in the cold iron arm restraints - preventing her from calling on her demon-granted magic.