Sparks in the Darkness Pt. 04

Diabolists, sighed Oscar. Great power at a terrible price - and with a glaring weakness.

Lucinda bent at the hip as she pulled Zoey's chin up with her right hand. Her firm grasp made her thumb create a dimple in Zoey's cheek, and Zoey glared at the Succubus, defiant. "He's going to reward me handsomely for finding you. I'd almost given up! Until we managed to meet the other night."

"Yeah, sorry, my number's been unlisted the last couple years," Zoey responded. "I get a lot of creeps; I'm sure you understand."

Lucinda tilted her head, and studied Zoey's face. "Defiant to the end. It's almost admirable. I'm going to enjoy breaking your little boy-toy after he's done with you."

"Well, I'm just fucking delighted to impress you," Zoey hissed, her pale blue eyes furious. She spat in Lucinda's face. Peter gasped, and David and Keith paused in their directed activities, but Lucinda raised her left hand to stop them from intruding. With exaggerated stillness, she released Zoey, and wiped the expectorate from her face. She smiled, a smile like a thunderstorm, a crocodile's smile, and brought her wet thumb down toward Zoey's face.

Oscar realized with a start he'd lost his count. Fuck. A hundred? Fuck. The distraction was coming, and Oscar wasn't yet in position to take best advantage of it. He glanced around the layout of the place.

Keith and David had really only just started to unload the van. The crates that had been in the van were just being set outside the van. The front two-thirds of the building, aside from a laneway straight-on from the door that led to the van, were filled with out of style clothes, hanging on multi-level circular racks. It formed a dense maze, potentially suitable to disappear into, where the metal racks themselves could even provide a little cover.

Oscar thought it through in his mind. Front door gives way - Keith or David, hopefully hurt in the impact. Peter and Lucinda, probably fine. Oscar calculated his odds of freeing Zoey before Lucinda got over the distraction, noticed him, and finished him off, and they weren't great. Better to try to get her to pursue him into the clothes racks, and then ...

... well, and then would have to wait, because it had apparently been two minutes.

Chapter Twelve

Conflict. Conflagration.

From outside, Oscar heard a shriek of tires; Peter froze, and turned towards the door, as Keith looked at the door from beside the van. David was in the van, out of sight of Oscar.

Oscar inhaled, and got ready to burst into action.

As Zoey heard the shriek of tires, she was confident that whatever rescue plan Sam had come up with was about to be executed. Rather than tense up, she closed her eyes, and did her best to let her body relax - so that, just in case, she could go along with whatever stray impact might come her way.

Lucinda turned towards the metal door, her face confused. "What the ..." she began, before her words were drowned out by the metal-on-metal shriek of the Rolls-Royce tearing through the front door.

From her vantage point on the chair, Zoey saw the metal door blown upwards by the force of the Rolls running headlong into it, and heard herself laughing. But in her defense - it did look pretty cool.

The Rolls-Royce tore through the door like it was more paper than aluminum, sending sparks flying as it hurtled straight into. Lucinda leapt into the air, leathering wings tearing up from her back, in a burst of torn flesh and blood. She flew straight up and clear of the oncoming chaos, hovering about fifteen feet up. Oscar heard a scream from inside the van; poor David probably couldn't even see what was happening. Keith dropped the crate he was carrying, and, instead of jumping away and saving himself, dashed towards the back door of the van, trying to close the distance to David.

Peter threw his right arm over his face to shield himself from the onslaught of light, sound, and impact; the left formed a basic but functional sigil, to protect and preserve his life-force.

Oscar's mouth fell open, and the words to call upon the Dark Power nearly lept out, before he could stop them. The Rolls-Royce hurtled towards the van, and if it hit - the van would go flying backwards, and crush the currently powerless Zoey. The Dark Power could let him make the van pass through Zoey harmlessly; he could use Peter's spell, and his life-force, to protect Zoey's, so that the impact was harmless; if he allowed himself enough of the power, he could wither the force of the impact, or weaken Lucinda directly. Probably even obliterate her, with enough focus.

No. No. Not - not yet, at least.

Zoey tried her best to go limp, anticipating an impact, visualizing the Rolls-Royce ramming the van, pushing it back at least seven, eight feet - and if it was ten, it would hit her. If it was twelve, the van ran her over. But, her confidence in Sam was repaid - the shriek of tires was no longer acceleration, but brakes. She heard herself laugh again.

The Rolls held steady, stopping short of the van, a straight course in through the bay doors. The tires squealed as it came to a stop, then - sharply - reversed, tires screaming as it pulled straight back out of the building. The aluminum bay door shrieked as Sam backed over it on the way out.

Keith jumped into the back of the van. Silently, Oscar cursed - the gambit had completely failed. None of them were down, except, very maybe, David. He inhaled, and started to work on Plan B.

Until he heard Lucinda shriek, "After them!" and heard the van's engine start.

No way, he thought. No way are we that lucky.

Zoey watched as the creature stopped hovering and dropped onto the roof of the gray van with a crunch. The Rolls was already back out the door, and still gaining speed in reverse, as it began to turn. Lucinda punched the roof of the van twice, then shrieked, commanding a second time, "After them!"

The van's tires squealed, and it surged forward; the aluminum garage door protested loudly one last time, as the van drove over it. Zoey saw Sam pulling a J-turn, and flooring the gas.

As the van tore off in pursuit, Lucinda dropped from the roof of the van, landing beside a panting Peter. They stood beside the recently-removed magical supplies, staring at the torn-open doorway, about four yards in front of Zoey.

"... who the fuck was that?" Peter asked.

"Honestly? ... I have no fucking idea," Lucinda answered, momentarally stunned.

Abruptly, Lucinda wheeled, her face a cruel sneer, ready to bring her wrath down upon Zoey - but then froze, mid-spin, as something Zoey couldn't see had caught her attention.

Lucinda stared past Zoey, as she had locked eyes with Oscar, behind Zoey and off to the side. Oscar aimed his gun confidently at the creature, his will, now iron-focused, rejected Lucinda's influence. Oscar stepped confidently out of the back office. Peter froze, eyes locked on his Glock, held in Oscar's hand.

Lucinda snarled at Oscar, as Peter mockingly faked a tough-guy laugh. Zoey struggled to turn her head. "Sam?" she called, confused. Oscar's eyebrows furrowed.

"Bryant. Well. That gun isn't going to work on me," Lucinda said, her voice a purr, as she took a step towards Oscar, as he tilted his head.

"Oh," Oscar said, feigning surprise. Then he added, "Well, that's okay. The gun's not for you," and abruptly turned his arm a few degrees - and fired.

Peter screamed as his kneecap exploded. Lucinda roared, as Zoey cried, "Oscar!" sounding surprised and delighted and concerned. Starting into a run, Oscar pulled the trigger continuously as he sprinted forward to cover the distance to the garment racks. In the end, Sam's plan had succeeded past their wildest expectations - now it was Oscar's turn to make good on it.

Zoey struggled against her bindings, as Lucinda sped off after Oscar. The bullets tore into Lucinda's flesh, but did no harm - the only weapon anywhere within reach that could hurt the creature was the cold iron dagger she'd taken from Zoey when she was captured.

She squeezed her muscles, testing the chair. Solid, but with some flex. Hit hard enough, it may break. She glanced down at Peter, only a few feet from her on the ground. He crawled towards her, sobbing loudly, blood from his leg pooling on the concrete floor. He sobbed incoherently, shaking his head, holding his hand outstretched towards her. She rocked the chair back and forth, then nodded.

"Sorry about this," she said. But she wasn't.

She rolled forward, onto her feet, and tossed herself through the air. She landed, back-first, on Peter, with a sickening crunch - and the chair's back gave way, smashing into splinters, the legs breaking on the concrete.

Alright, well. I've got cover - now what? Oscar thought to himself. Lucinda hadn't followed him into the clothing racks, but instead had scampered up, climbing the clothes hand over hand, and disappearing into the third level of the clothing racks. Oscar pressed his back against the clothes rack, trying to remain directly beneath the creature, to avoid her notice - and after a moment's pause he heard a frustrated shriek, suggesting he'd been successful for the moment. The key thing was to avoid getting within reach of her claws and fangs, which would make short work of him - yet, he would need to get close for his surprise to have a chance to work. He glanced down at the Glock in his hand - four more shots, and the bullets barely slowed Lucinda down. With the Glock in his right hand, his left felt at pants for reassurance - his surprise was still there, waiting.

He felt the pole at his back shudder, and saw another one of the racks shake. Lucinda was on the move, probably jumping from rack to rack, above his head. He heard a loud crunch; Zoey was likely working on freeing herself. He paused - he could no longer hear Peter moan.

That ... was probably what that crunch was. He called out, "How's it coming along?"

"Just great," Zoey snarled. "Everything's great, thanks for asking." Zoey folded her still-bound legs up under herself. Wooden splinters stuck out of her flesh along both her upper arms and lower legs, but - demon-bound magic or not - pain was always a distant sensation to her; a side-effect of having no soul. She wiggled her leg, studying the rope around her legs, noting it was made from crude plastic. God, these guys were so amateur; it was always worth spending the extra for nylon. Zoey wiggled her toes, and flexed her calves, and the chair legs slipped free of the ropes - although her arms were still behind her.

Zoey set her jaw, and grunted in exertion as she popped her shoulder. She knew from the reactions of others this should be debilitatingly painful, but she didn't have the luxury of acting along right now - although she did spit out a perfunctory, "Ow," when she heard the sound. She brought her knees up until they were beside her head, pulled her arms down, and exhaled. She forced her rear between her elbows, then closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. With a loud scream, she pushed her muscles against the resistance of her own bones, pressing her lithe body through the tight loop of her bound arms. When her foot finally slipped past the binding, she finally inhaled, her lungs burning, and before she exhaled, then slammed herself against the floor to pop her shoulder back into the joint, with a loud grunt. She could really go for a smoke. But next - keys.

The clothes in front of Oscar abruptly pulled aside, and Lucinda's snarling face appeared, half-way between her human form and her succubus one; her eyes glowed red, her hair glowed from an inner fire, her skin was red and blacked, her tongue long and lashing.

From point blank, Oscar popped off three shots; Lucinda flinched, probably more from the muzzle flash and noise. Oscar dropped the Glock, and let himself fall back through the clothes behind him, and called out, "Quick reminder - I can't hurt her!"

Zoey paused for a moment, trying to contain her anger.. "This was what you came up with for your rescue plan - drive my eight hundred thousand dollar car through the door, shoot a guy, and then think of something?"

Oscar shook his head, pushing blindly through clothes racks, and yelled back, "Hey, I thought we were pressed for time! You're the superhero! How's Peter?" An acrid smell wafted past his nostrils; Lucinda had, purposefully or through lack of caution, lit some of the clothes on fire.

"Who the hell is Peter?!" Zoey called, as she was rapidly patting down the unconscious body beside her. She mumbled an apology as she felt his pockets for his keys. Drawing out a keyring, she sorted through it quickly; no key suitable to her bindings.

... Where else do you store a key ...?

Of course, there was no guarantee this guy even had the key. It could have been on guys in the van, and they were gone. Or, worse, Lucinda could have them. Fuck.

"Peter's the cultist!" Oscar shouted, pressing through the clothes racks, trying to locate - and avoid - Lucinda, and the fire. Abruptly, the clothing jungle parted, and he was within a few paces of the wide open bay doors, the aluminum garage door on the floor just in front of him. If he ran out the door, would Lucinda follow? That'd buy Zoey time. As he considered, there was a rattling jolt above him, to the right, and the clothes rack shook.

He looked up, and saw Lucinda, her flesh red, fangs and claws out, wings fanned behind her, a low orange glow starting behind her, dark smoke slowly accumulating by the ceiling. He saw the cold iron dagger, still tucked into her belt, then met the gaze of the succubus, her eyes red and burning, and felt her mind-affecting power press against his will. She opened her mouth as if to snarl - but instead, a desperate plea of "Oscar, please!" came out.

And suddenly - Oscar saw the right play, laid out in front of him in crystal clarity.

Zoey stared in horror a moment as the Lucinda-creature landed between Oscar and the open door. The monster's form rippled, and Lucinda reappeared, as the creature's demonic form was hidden away again. Tall, red-headed, curvy Lucinda started slowly walking towards Oscar - as he slowly backed towards Zoey.

"Where'd you put the key, Peter?" Zoey murmured, and he groaned lightly in response. She pulled up and studied him. "Peter - Peter! I need the key, okay? If you get me the key, I can ..." She paused, as she heard Lucinda talking to Oscar. "Gimmie the fucking key, Peter!" she hissed.

And then noticed the cultist's outstretched arm, hand twitching. She paused, and reached down to his hand - and pulled out the key. Well. Shit.

She thought over the fact that he'd been reaching for her when she flipped herself onto him. Tight-lipped, she looked down at his at-best-semi conscious body.

"Peter, I ... we're gonna get you out of this. I mean, number one, we're getting ME out of this, and number two is Oscar, but you're a solid number three. Oh, fuck; Sam, too. ... You're definitely in the top five, though, for sure."

With her glamor back in place, Lucinda resumed her feminine, human, older woman appearance, and gave a sob, as she stretched out both her hands towards Oscar. "Please," she begged, through crocodile tears. "I never meant for all this to happen. I, I ... I saw you, and ... I know, I just know that you - you've lost someone." Oscar felt the toxic black smoke tickle at his nose, as the fire continued to build, the orange glow lending a flickering, shadowy illumination to Lucinda's features. "And, I know that pain, and ... Fantisma, she ... she can't help you! She's more of a monster than I am! She's soulless, without feeling. You know it's true."

As Lucinda accused her of being without conscience, Zoey glanced at Peter's body, and she grimaced. I mean, fair, she thought. She knelt, and tucked the key into her toes. Back in the alley, Oscar's will had trembled, as the creature sprung its trap. Here, if he succumbed - it'd be both of them. She turned her eyes up to watch.

"But ... I can warm you," Lucinda purred, gesturing at Oscar, as he continued to back away.

"Oscar, don't listen!" Zoey called. "You've put in so much hard work, lover! You have an unbreakable will - I should know! Come on, resist!"

Oscar's steps paused, and Lucinda answered Zoey's encouragement, purring, "Poor Oscar, so much hard work?! Don't you ever just want to rest? Imagine how good I can make you feel. No more hard work. No more pain."

Zoey's mouth worked, but she fumbled for what to say. "Hey, uh, bitch, stop, you, with ... my ... fuck," she babbled. Lucinda laughed, a cruel noise, and her eyes flicked towards Zoey, and she sneered.

And in that moment, Oscar's back hand - hidden from the succubus by his body - flashed Zoey a hand sign - pinky finger and index raised, thumb extended - then slipped into his pocket. 'The horns'. He was okay.

For the moment, then - Zoey fell quiet, and focused. One by one, she acknowledged her distractions, and dismissed them. Oscar was in peril? Well, Oscar was, at one point, one of the most dangerous men on the planet. Lucinda hunting them? While a problem, Oscar had a plan, and Zoey trusted him. Peter's groaning sounded pretty bad? That just meant he was alive (well, for now). Clothes were on fire, toxic smoke filling the room? She'd been smoking since she was a teen; this was nothing. She'd never picked a lock with her feet before? I mean, she wasn't technically picking it - she was just using the key; anyone could use a key. She nodded to herself

Lucina was barely two sword lengths from Oscar, now - her arms outstretched, still closing the distance. "Oscar, Oscar - don't you want to hold me? Don't you want to feel me? I'm so soft, Oscar - I can comfort you. Can she really comfort you?"

Oscar gripped his surprise tightly, pulling it from his pocket, cautious not to shatter the fragile glass container inside the handkerchief - yet. "Hey, Lucinda?" Oscar asked, and she smiled - the smile of an anglerfish, as its prey floats toward the pretty light.

"Go fuck yourself," he said. Instantly, the skin on Lucinda's face bubbled, as if Oscar's words scalded her skin like boiling oil. In the same moment, he brought his left hand up in a forceful slap - a surprisingly pleasing smell filled the room, as the carefully prepared mixture of silver pellets, minced fresh garlic, and phosphorus was freed from the glass container, as it shattered on Lucinda's face, and burst into flames. It wouldn't kill her, but it would hurt - and for now, that might be enough. Oscar hurled himself forward, bodily tackling the creature as its face caught fire, hurling it to the ground - grappling for the cold iron knife.

Zoey inhaled, and closed her eyes, clearing her mind, doing her best to ignore the explosion and the screams. The only thing she could think of was a keyhole, visualized clearly in her mind - and a key, held between her toes. She pressed herself forward, stretching her arms, bending her legs, feeling her body resist, feeling her muscles warn they were moving past her safe limit. She strained her leg, squeezed her toes, her lungs and muscles starting to burn.