If you have found your way to this page from GoodReads, Twitter, or the vast depths of the internet, welcome to a series of free short stories from the Illuminator Universe. Feel free to leave comments or tweet me @girlofgotham to let me know what you think. Coming soon: the Glitter and Trauma comic book!
Everything on this page copyright Emma Kathryn 2012.
Contents:
Steampunk Gala Event - Glitter by Gaslight Part I: Time for Tea
- uploaded 7th September 2012
Steampunk Gala Event - Glitter by Gaslight Part II: Fight Like a Girl
- uploaded 8th September 2012
Steampunk Gala Event - Glitter by Gaslight Part III: One Foot in Front of the Other/If I Burn
- uploaded 9th September 2012
A Pretty Penny - uploaded 30th July 2012
Exam Pressures - uploaded 26th May 2012
The Panther - uploaded 3rd June 2012
Glitter by Gaslight
Part I: Time for Tea
Miss Eleanor smiled as the
waiter poured yet another cup of tea for her.
Thanking the gentleman softly, she dropped two lumps of sugar into the
brown liquid and lifted her silver spoon, before sending the tea into a tiny
whirlpool. Taking her teacup in her
right hand, little finger extended, she took a dainty sip as her companions
passed a tray of scones around the table.
The Sunshine Rooms were among
Miss Eleanor’s favourite tea rooms and she and the ladies liked to frequent it,
especially when there were particular topics to be discussed. And today there was a very important topic to
bring to the table.
Miss Eleanor waited patiently for Miss Daisy to finish
her story about the young banker her parents had invited to their most recent
soiree. It was difficult not to
yawn. Miss Daisy’s parents were on the
twelfth suitor this season and still no ring for that podgy finger of Miss
Daisy’s. But with that hideous wig she
so often wore, it was no wonder that the gentlemen avoided the fat
singleton. She had bought it while the
ladies had visited Paris, thinking it made her look distinguished. The only person it had ever seemed
distinguished on was the wigmaker’s dummy it had perched on in the store.
Around the table were three more of Miss Eleanor’s
luncheon ladies. Missy, whose real first
name was Deirdre but whose mother insisted that all call her Missy. Rumour is that her father was drunk when he
filled in her birth certificate and her mother was so appalled, that she made
everyone call the girl by this bawdy nickname instead. It made her sound like a lady of the night,
or so Miss Eleanor thought. However, the
worst diner at the table, without a shadow of a doubt, was the Miss
Jemima. Miss Eleanor despised this girl
with a passion, ever since she had appeared uninvited to one of these luncheons
around September time and had continued to attend without invitation since
then. She wore the most garish frocks
ever seen and her make-up was always smudged and messy. The ladies had even suggested that she did
not have a maid to help dress her. But
surely, if that were the case, she would not dare attend a luncheon like this?!
The most refined, and most importantly, the most fun of
all the diners at the table was Miss Lydia.
Her fiery red hair was never hidden under a wig, but always adorned with
a small fascinator, each one more elaborate than the last. Today’s was a tiny top hat with fresh
flowers. Miss Lydia was hysterically
amusing and was Miss Eleanor’s closest confidant. They had been friends since they were but
girls and nothing would keep them apart.
Not even the soon-to-be-husband who had just entered the
Sunshine Rooms and was at the other end of the dining room.
Master Dale Lightfoot.
Miss Eleanor’s face erupted into a smile and Miss Lydia
interrupted Miss Daisy’s useless tale.
“Ellie, dear,” she smiled, noting Miss Eleanor’s expression but not yet
able to see what was causing such delight.
“If I am not mistaken, a certain dashing young chap is about to join
us.”
The three lesser diners instantly turned their heads,
ignoring any kind of tact or decency.
What fools they were. No wonder
none of them had found a husband yet.
Not like Miss Eleanor. Well, he
was near enough.
“Today’s the day, ladies,” Miss Eleanor whispered, face
still beaming. She did her best not to
let her would-be-fiancé know that he was the subject of discussion.
“Nooooooo!” Missy squealed, nearly giving the game away
with her blatant stupidity. “Has he spoken
to your father yet? How do you know it
will be today?”
Rolling her eyes, Miss Eleanor dropped her smile for a
brief moment. “How many polo players do
you know that come into the Sunshine Rooms, Deirdre? And he was out riding with my father last weekend. It was clearly a ruse so that he could ask
for my hand.” Missy’s face fell and she
nodded humbly.
“That was clearly what it was,” Miss Lydia hissed quietly
in agreement, eyes darting around as the bright young man came into view.
A fine, European suit adorned the well-formed body of a
seasoned polo player. Light brown hair
was short and neat, styled in the latest fashion. Miss Eleanor smiled as he neared, her heart
filling with the kind of joy that came with finally knowing that you were not some
unweddable hag like your friends. Or the
kind of joy that came with permanent financial security and a guarantee into
the social elite. Or the kind…
A smash at the other end of the room distracted Miss
Eleanor’s train of thought. Tea cups
rattled on saucers and scones fell to the floor. The ladies gasped in surprise and that troll,
Miss Jemima, shrieked aloud. Miss
Eleanor scanned the room, searching for the source of the commotion.
Another smash rang out and the tea room’s main doorway
burst open in a fiery explosion. Now
everyone was screaming. Miss Eleanor
rose to her feet, her layered pink and grey skirts gathering around her
legs. Master Dale arrived at her
side. Something smashed its way inside the tea rooms with the unbearable
sound of grinding metal. Diners
scrambled from their seats and made to flee.
Jemima, Missy and Daisy were scuttling away from the table, parasols in
hand and shawls thrown clumsily over their shoulders. Miss Eleanor watched the chaos that now
consumed her favourite tea room like wildfire.
Eyes turned away from her escaping friends and to the
point of ignition in the room. Standing
at the far end of the room and searching the crowd for its target was a great
mechanical man. Its hulking form
twitched and heaved, preparing to cause more destruction. A metal mask rested over were its face should
have been, instead it bore a head of darkness with shadowy essence weeping from
its eye sockets. A jagged maw opened to
reveal more blackness and an almighty wail flew from its body, sounding like an
oncoming train. More diners scattered
but Miss Eleanor could not leave. Her
heart sunk as she knew what she had to do.
This creature was made for her to kill.
This creature was a monster born for shadow. And it had come here for her.
Glancing round, Miss Eleanor noticed Master Dale – the
man who was supposed to have come here today to promise to marry her – was
beginning to retreat, taking her hopes of being a bride with him. This shadowy abomination was winning.
Not
here. Not today.
Kicking
her chair round, Miss Eleanor placed the sole of her boot onto the padded
floral upholstery. She hated herself for
doing so, but it had to be done. Anyway,
what she had to do next was even more shocking; she lifted up her skirts, to
reveal her stockinged calves and pale thighs.
Finding her garter, she pulled free a tiny pistol: her weapon of choice. More screams exploded when they saw the lady
with the gun.
Eleanor
stepped out into the middle of the room, ignoring the wailing thing that came
towards her. Metal crunched against
metal, gears and cogs whirling and twisting.
The shadowy essence that powered the hideous machine oozed from ever
crack and space in its cold hide, spilling out onto the floor before
dissipating into foul steam. She had
never seen a Shadow hiding in a machine, but she was ready for it. Her teacher had told her to be prepared for
any trick the Dark Ones would try to throw and her, and, by God, this thing was
going to die today.
Raising
her pistol, Eleanor took her time in lining up the perfect shot. As she did so, the large golden cuff she wore
around her wrist like a bracelet began to tick.
It split into three sections and began to turn in opposite
directions. It settled in a new position
and locked, before releasing what looked like a tiny telescope. It formed a sight for Eleanor’s gun and she
lined up the crosshairs with the creature’s iron skull. The metal monster bellowed again and made as
if to rush Eleanor. She had one last
thing to do…
Light
began to blossom from Eleanor’s chest.
It shone through her fine dress and spread to her neck and
shoulders. It surged across her face and
charged through every strand of blonde hair on her head, pushing it free of its
elaborate updo. The light scuttled down
her arms next before crawling across the tip of her trigger finger. The shot was ready. Cocking back the hammer on her pistol,
Eleanor stayed calm as the machine was less than a few steps away from
her. A seemingly-insubstantial bullet of
pure light entered the chamber. The shot
was ready. Eleanor was ready.
She
fired, loosing a bullet of energy between the monster’s eyes. The power threw the beast backwards and it
seemed to float through the air for a moment before hitting the floor with an
almighty clatter. Dead. Just like every other Shadow Eleanor had ever
come across.
The
world suddenly flooded back to Miss Eleanor and she once again heard the
screams and cries of a room full of terrified socialites. Oh God, what a mess she must look. Her hair was loose and wild, she had shown
her legs, and she had fired a weapon.
Never again would she be allowed into the Sunshine Rooms.
Lowering
her pistol, Miss Eleanor turned around.
The ladies were gone and Master Dale was nowhere to be seen. Sorrow and disappointment fluttered in Miss
Eleanor’s chest. It had to happen here
and it just had to be today.
Sighing
deeply, she spotted a waiter and beckoned him over. He hesitated, shaking and scared, and then
crept in her direction. He stopped once
he was within arms’ reach, staying far enough away to stay safe. Miss Eleanor groaned and tucked her pistol
away.
“Sir,
do you have some paper on your person?” she asked, while tucking her hair away
from her face as best as she could. The
young man simply nodded and fished around in the pocket of his waistcoat. When he handed the notebook and a pencil
over, his hands were trembling wildly.
Miss Eleanor shook her head as she took down notes on two separate
pieces of paper.
The
first she handed over with a stern order.
“I need you to take that to the nearest telegraph and contact the man on
there: Peter Solomon,” she said firmly.
Then the second paper was pressed into the young man’s hand. “This is an address. It is the address which you will tell your manager
to send that thing to.” Her elegant
finger, that hand been glowing white only moments before, pointed to the hunk
of scrap metal on the floor. All shadowy
power was gone from it and it was nothing but a lifeless shell now. The lad stared at it a moment, before Miss
Eleanor added a firm, “Now,” to punctuate her orders and he ran off, clutching
the two pieces of paper.
Exhaling
deeply, Miss Eleanor stood over the cold corpse of the beast that had been sent
to kill her. She gave it a light kick,
being careful not to damage her shoe or her toes beneath. “It just had to be today, didn’t it?” she
asked the lifeless object. “You could
not wait until I was engaged to be married, could you? And what have you done now? You’ve sent me back into the arms of a mad
woman. Thank you very much, you useless
piece of rubbish. This is why I hate you
all so much. This is why!”
The
remaining diners looked on in wonder as a crazed woman spoke to the machine
that had dared to interrupt their afternoon tea.
Part III: One Foot in Front of the Other/If I Burn
Part II: Fight Like a Girl
Master Peter “Patch” Solomon
hated this place. He looked up at the
tacky bar sign that hung above his head and sighed. “The Guttered Candle,” it read and featured a
badly painted candle that had just been blown out. Clumsily drawn smoke drifted up from its
charred wick and globs of melted wax dragged down the sides of the
what-had-once-been-white candle. For a
moment, Patch considered waiting until tomorrow to take this news to his
friend, but he could only imagine her reaction if she found out he had withheld
news like this. He glanced down at the
telegram in his hand, then shook his head and entered the bar.
Inside
it was as disgusting as it was outside.
Patch grimaced and adjusted his heavy eye-glasses. They looked more like goggles than
eye-glasses, especially with their heavy metal rims. Sitting close against his face, they made
life much easier for Patch and he ignored the strange glances he received on
the way through the crowded room. He
despised the very fact that he knew the route to his friend’s hiding place off
by heart. This really had to stop. Surely she was done with places like this by
now. These visits had started not long after she left the asylum and around the time she met that damn fellow who shared her gift. Patch could never decide which of these events were more to blame.
At
the far end of the public house was a door.
A surly-looking chap stood in the way of the door, watching those nearby
very closely. He saw Patch coming and immediately grinned, knocking the toothpick he was chewing to the side of
his mouth.
“I
‘ear she’s winnin’ big th’night, Sir,” the brutish guard said when Patch
neared. As he pulled the door open,
admitting entry to the bar’s cellar, Patch rolled his eyes.
“Which
means she won’t be stopping anytime soon then, shall she?” he complained as he
walked into a dirty stairwell.
“Don’t
expect her man’ll let her. Not with
th’streak she’s on!” he called out as Patch descended the steps and was
instantly met with the sounds of a cheering crowd. Above him, the door closed, but Patch
continued unperturbed.
At the foot of the stairs, a crowd of no less than fifty
men had gathered. Forming an unruly circle,
their gathering was made up with regular working folks, come in straight from
the factories. Arms punched the air,
waving bank notes around as they cheered on whatever was occurring in the
middle of their huddle. A lower of smoke sat in the air above them, coming from various cigarettes and pipes. Patch knew
exactly what was happening and edged his way round the circle, doing his best
not to touch anything and not to bump anyone.
The telegram remained tight in his grip.
A huge cheer erupted in the crowd and Patch stepped back
long enough for the group to part and for an unconscious man to be dragged out
by the armpits. The student watched in
disgust as the man was pulled into the corner, bloody and beaten, to be looked
over by some fellow claiming to be a doctor.
Patch really hated this place.
The gap in the circle filled as quickly as it formed and the men began
waving more money round and bellowing names and odds across the room at one
another. Patch continued on his path,
picking his way around the edges of the now-nearing-riotous horde. As he neared the point in the mob where most
of the excitement was directed, he finally found what he was looking for.
Standing just inside the circle were a man and
woman. To be quite frank, they looked more like 2
men. The man was dressed in a long,
black overcoat with a black shirt and trousers to match. He kept a cap pulled low over his eyes and a
few strands of long blonde hair fell loose from the confines of the hat. He stood close to the young woman, sharing
tips and advice with her in a low voice.
Occasionally, he tugged at a gold wedding band that hung from a string
around his neck – a gesture he made whenever he was deep in thought. To an outsider, it would appear as if the
couple were married but Patch knew the truth.
The man was a widower and the girl: she was Patch’s childhood
friend.
And seeing them together made
Patch feel sick to his stomach.
Standing next to the widower, the girl was not much to
look at. In fact, if she were to be seen
in public like this, people would be horrified by the sight of a girl so
determined to make herself look like a boy. She dressed in men’s black trousers, with the suspenders hanging loose
around her waist and legs. Feet were
bare, although a pair of work boots lay at the edge of the ring, along with an
old shirt. And finally – as if she
didn’t look enough like a member of the opposite sex – she fought bare-chested,
like the rest of them men, but bound her breasts with strips of white gauze,
muting her feminine figure as best she could.
The widower clapped her on the shoulder and she bounced
into the centre of the clearing. Another
fight was about to begin. Sweat ran down
her back, dirtying the cloth that wound round her bosom, and her chest heaved
with every breath she took. Feet were
filthy from the dirt floor. Blood caked
her knuckles and was spattered across her face and chin. A deep gash on her bottom lip marked where
she had lost a punch but still refused to lose the fight. A cheer went up from her spectators as a
young lad – barely more than sixteen – dared to enter the ring with her. She grinned with a mouthful of bloodied
teeth and shouted some obscenity at the boy.
A man who had volunteered to be tonight’s “referee” – as
if such games could really claim to have rules that needed to be defended –
announced the start of the fight and quickly backed away. Men went wild over the fiery blonde as her
ponytail bobbed around her head in time with her punches. Patch, on the other hand, was not impressed.
The young man approached the widower and folded his arms
across his chest, mimicking the girl’s fighting coach. “Evening, Leech,” Patch growled, not taking
his eyes off of the fight.
“Inventor,” Leech greeted with a nod. The widower refused to use Patch’s nickname
and certainly never addressed him by his Sunday name. It was yet another of the many reasons that
Patch detested this man.
“Any chance of this drawing to a close sometime soon?”
Patch asked, watching the girl send a hard blow to the boy’s abdomen. She was crushing this lad and doing a damn
quick job of it, too.
“Not the way she’s winning,” the man in black responded,
wincing as the lad got in his first hit: a smash to the girl’s chin. “We’ve earned enough tonight to buy shit for
all your little gadgets 5 times over.”
Now a flurry of quick punches befell the boy and with an
almighty roar, the girl issued a hard smack to the face, rendering the
challenger unconscious. Sixth victory of
the night. Another round of cheers
exploded from the audience. The victor
punched the air and shouted some crude taunts at any other would-be opponents.
“Do not let her start another fight,” Patch ordered the
girl’s mentor. Now Leech met his gaze,
testing the other man with a simple look.
Patch readjusted his goggles, determined to stand his ground.
“Well I think that’s up to Sarah, don’t you?” Leech answered, placing emphasis on her name,
letting his tone tell Patch exactly what the answer would be.
“What’s up to me?” Sarah asked, appearing at the side of
her two male companions. More blood
poured from her lip and she was forming a nasty bruise on her chin. There was also a rather offensive-looking graze on her ribs,
where some bastard had “forgotten” to remove his wedding ring.
“Your inventor mate,” Leech began, still staring Patch
down, “has decided that we’re all done here.”
“Patch,” Sarah interrupted, after hocking up a mouthful
of spit and emptying it on the ground at their feet. Patch did his best to disguise his
disgust. “You have no idea how much I’ve
won tonight. No way I’m quitting now…”
The student said nothing.
Instead, he handed over the telegram, putting it directly into Sarah’s
hands and bypassing Leech altogether.
The fighter gave Patch a confused look then gave her head a brief shake,
refocusing her vision so should could make out the words on the card. Her dirty fingers left black and red smudges on the white card.
It took a few seconds for her to take in what she was
reading. Once the card’s words finally
sunk in, Sarah’s expression changed entirely.
She lost her confident air that came along with her previous victories
and was now filled with the steely expression that Patch had seen so many times
before.
“Leech, settle my accounts,” she announced, handing the
card back to its owner. “We’re
leaving. Patch, I think I’ll be needing
my belt. Better get transport sorted,
too. Lads, we’re back in business.”
Sarah gathered up her belongings and left the ring. A collection of groans, complaints and
heckles rang out through the crowd at her departure. She’d been damn fine entertainment and now
the men would have to go back to watching amateurs break each other’s noses.
The only person in the room who was not disappointed was
Patch. In fact, he was feeling pretty
damn smug right about now.
Part III: One Foot in Front of the Other/If I Burn
Miss Eleanor waited under the street lamp,
bathed in its pale yellow glow. Her gold
cuff clung to her wrist and she toyed with it absent-mindedly as she looked out
for the rest of the team. The evening
was getting on and darkness had fallen, but the Light One was not afraid. She had already proven today that she could
defend herself. Two gentlemen out on an
evening stroll looked her up and down as she passed. Keeping her chin up high, she refused to
lower her eyes and simply stood her ground.
They could think whatever they pleased.
She had already been socially ruined today; what did it matter what two
passing fopps thought.
However,
just as the men vanished down another street, a noise reached her ears. Horse’s hooves. She turned in the direction and the moment
the saw the silhouette of her transportation, her face fell. “No…” she whispered to herself, knowing that
the oncoming carriage was here to pick her up.
“This day just gets worse and worse.”
As
Master Peter “Patch” Solomon reigned in the stead that pulled the carriage, he
looked down at Miss Eleanor with an apologetic look on his face. He flipped his goggles away from his eyes and
rested them on his head. “Let me
apologise in advance…”
“Master
Peter,” Eleanor began, “could you please tell me why you are in command of a
funeral carriage?” The socialite took a
sharp intake of breath as she studied the vehicle, taking in the elaborate
black carriage, pulled by a black horse.
Master Peter sat in the driver’s seat, holding a whip and the reigns.
“Miss
Eleanor. Do you even have to ask?” he
asked, climbing down and greeting Miss Eleanor with a kiss on the hand. “And I’ve asked you to call me ‘Patch’.”
A
small smile blossomed on Eleanor’s face.
“And I’ve asked you to call me ‘Ellie’.” A blush was exchanged before Eleanor
remembered that she was expected to get into a funeral carriage. “She won this by playing cards, didn’t she?”
“Bare-knuckle
boxing, actually,” Patch replied, walking towards the carriage doors. Eleanor looked as disgusted as he felt. He pulled the doors open to reveal Leech and
Sarah sitting close together, lost in conversation and, shock upon shocks,
Leech had his hand resting on Sarah’s thigh.
Eleanor
cleared her throat loudly and the pair looked up. They made no effort to change their
compromising position. Sarah was wearing
a leather jacket over a pair of trousers.
Eleanor wondered why she insisted on looking so much like a man. I mean, binding her breasts?! Why?
“Ellie,
dearest,” the girl’s former teacher said with sarcasm dripping from her
tongue. “Welcome to the Death Wagon.”
“I
cannot believe you,” Eleanor squealed, her skirts quivering with rage. “I am not getting into a funeral car.” At this, Sarah got up and crossed the small
space inside the van, leaning in the doorway.
“Then
you can sit up front with Patch,” she growled, before closing the carriage
door, shutting her and Leech inside the cab while Eleanor and Patch were left
standing in the street. Upper class
living had not left Miss Eleanor prepared for rejection. Mouth formed an angry “O” and body heaved
with rage.
“Let’s
just get moving,” Patch said, placing a hand gently on Eleanor’s elbow, he
calmed guided her to the driver’s seat.
“I
detest that woman, Patch,” Eleanor said, eyebrows still arched in shock. Like the gentleman he was, Patch offered
Eleanor a hand and helped her up onto the driver’s seat. It was extremely for her to sit on such a
tiny perch and maintain a lady-like posture.
“She’s
not that bad,” he shrugged, taking up the reigns again. “She’s just had a tough run.”
Exhaling
deeply, Eleanor rolled her eyes. “She’s had a tough run?! What about the day I’ve had?”
Setting
the horse into a trot, Patch began to lead the way. Goggles were pulled back down over his
eyes. “Lightfoot didn’t propose, did
he?”
Eleanor
fumbled with her gold cuff. “Our little
robotic friend turned up before he had the chance to,” she grumbled. “And, as I exposed my thighs and produced a
firearm from my undergarments.”
For
a few moments, the only sound was the clattering of hooves against the
cobbles. Patch searched for something to
say but came up with nothing. Instead,
he juggled with the reigns as he retrieved something his jacket pocket.
“Maybe
this will make you feel better,” he said, breaking the silence as he handed a
small item over to his passenger.
A
small, metal disc was placed in Eleanor’s hand.
Confusion coloured her face as she turned it over between his
fingers. “What is it?” she asked.
Keeping
his eyes on the road, Patch tried to explain: “I adapted a little cog from your
metal friend. It’s a bit like a
Catherine wheel. Once you light up, it
acts as a spinning inferno and it will cut your enemies to pieces.”
“Charming,”
Eleanor smiled, giving Patch a playful nudge on the arm.
“It
gets better,” he replied, returning the nudge.
“Slide that little switch open.”
Sliding
a dainty finger over a tiny piece of loose metal, Eleanor watched as the cog
folded in on itself, retracting until it formed a delicate copper ring. The girl’s face lit up. “It’s beautiful, Patch,” she giggled.
“I
know it’s not an engagement ring from a polo player, but…” he said, fumbling
for the right words.
“No…”
Eleanor interrupted. “No…it’s lovely,
honest.” Copper slide smoothly onto
Eleanor’s ring finger, filling the space Dale left. “And it will protect me better than my
so-called fiancé ever did.”
“Thank
you.”
Moment
over, the pair rode in silence. The
thoughtful, pleasant experience they had shared lingered in the air and each
one of them was unsure of what to do.
Not wanting to ruin it, neither said another word for the next half an
hour. Instead, Eleanor watched the stars
moving above them and wished she had not ever met Master Dale Lightfoot. Rather, she wished she had met Master Peter
“Patch” Solomon back before she was forced into the tangled web that was upper
class social politics.
***
As the team approached a dilapidated, decrepit
old factory, Patch reigned in the horses.
He had barely brought the carriage to a stand-still when Sarah and Patch
began to clamber out of the back.
“Is
this the place?” Sarah asked, hands on her hips as she inspected their
destination. In the light of the moon,
the old factory seemed rather ghastly, almost haunted even. Shattered windows hung in their frames like
broken teeth, waiting to be pulled out entirely. Doors had been torn open years ago by
looters, hoping to salvage what they could from the abandoned building. The grounds had grown wild with grass and
weeds tangling and obscuring any path that had once led to the place. It was difficult to think that there must
have been a time when this building would have been a bustling hub of activity;
workers going about their business and machines whirring. Now all that remains were the ghosts of what
had once been an industrial landmark.
“Without
a doubt,” Patch informed Sarah as she and Eleanor approached the rusted old
gates to inspect the location. “There
were parts in the monster that were originally built in this factory and I
managed to trace them to this spot. It
appears that the company went out of business some eight years ago and the land
cannot be sold off due to a complication with the previous owner’s will. Until now, it has lain dormant. Until our new friend came along, apparently.”
Sarah
looked over her shoulder, smiling at Patch.
“You’ve been reading more of those damn Holmes novels, haven’t you?”
“Just
the odd one…”
While
the two old friends exchanged some playful banter, Eleanor scoured the grounds,
her mind spinning. “We’ve fought this
one before,” she announced, interrupting the fun. The fourth member of their little group,
Leech, refused to join in and leaned against the carriage, keeping out of the
way.
“The
Clockmaker,” Sarah nodded in agreement.
“He’s escalating though. Building
these machines… Attacking you in a
public place…”
“Cancelling
my would-be engagement party,” Eleanor chipped in. “We need to finish him this time.”
“I
agree,” the older and more experienced of the two heroines replied.
Sarah
returned to the carriage she had been riding in earlier and began to collect
supplies. Eleanor touched her unique
jewellery as if to remind herself that they were still there. When Sarah returned, her arms were full of
pieces of equipment. Her protégé
appeared at her side, taking things for her so that she could deal with the
most important item first: her belt.
However, what Sarah held was not a belt, but rather a belt buckle.
Holding it just
below her navel, she flicked a switch and the belt began to fold out on
itself. Iron sections doubled and
redoubled until it was long enough to connect and fit comfortably around
Sarah’s waist. A section flipped open
and she checked the essence level of the vials she carried in tiny, secret
compartments. Retrieving one of these
vials, she offered her free hand out to Eleanor. Obediently, Eleanor handed over an item that
looked like a compact gun that had a space for something to screw in along the
side of the barrel. Sarah uncorked the
vial and screwed it into the space.
Then, controlled and calm, she pressed the barrel of the gun to her neck
and fired.
The vial released
its contents and Dark essence spread through her veins, powering her body. As a Taker, she relied on the life force of
the Dark Ones to keep her strong, and had done since the age of fourteen. Eleanor did not need to partake in such a
procedure as she was a Giver, meaning that she could maintain her own
power. However, it also meant that her
soul was coveted by the creatures that they hunted.
Patch took the
syringe-gun from Sarah and Eleanor handed over the leader’s favourite
weapon. Her crossbow. Patch had modified it on many occasions, and
what she held now was truly monstrous to behold. It was a combination of metal cogs and
leather straps, although it currently held no arrows and it never did. Rather, Sarah’s Light essence was what turned
it into a lethal device. Strapping it to
her wrist, she nodded to Eleanor. They
were ready. Eleanor retrieved her pistol
from her garter and pushed the gate open.
Both women turned
for a moment and gave the menfolk a nod.
Neither man was to follow them and they never did. This was a job for the female members of this
small troop to take on alone. It
bothered Patch, but he felt he did his duty by providing them with the tools
they needed for their task. As he
watched the girls vanish down what was once a path but was now a haven for
crawling vines, he couldn’t help but think that the man beside him should be
contributing somehow.
“You should be in
there with them,” Patch said aloud, eyes still on the girls as they got closer
to the old factory. They appeared to be
exchanging civil words. Once they were
nearly out of sight, he turned and glared at Leech. The widower had slipped his gold wedding band
on and was now fingering the chain that it hung from.
“I don’t hunt
anymore,” was the blunt answer.
“Sometimes
responsibility outweighs desire, I’m afraid.”
Leech met his
gaze now, contempt in his eyes. “Come
back and say that to me when you’ve lost someone you love.”
Refusing to back
down, Patch did not look away. “That
might be sooner than you think, thanks to your cowardice.”
Letting his ring
fall back round his neck, Leech thrust his hands into the pockets of his long
coat. “Drop me a line when they’re
finished,” he ordered before storming off into the shadows. Patch watched him go, rage coursing through
his chest, sending his heart into a frenzy.
He would never understand what Sarah saw in that man. All he did was encourage vice and try to lead
Sarah into the world of darkness which he inhabited.
Angry and alone,
Patch clapped his horse and climbed back up onto the driver’s perch and
prepared himself for a long evening of worry and anxiety.
***
Sarah led the way into the factory. Cobwebs and moss hung like clawing fingers
from the broken doorway. Eleanor let out
an audible groan.
“Why
must these creatures find such gruesome holes to nest in?” she muttered,
picking her way over shards of rotten and louse-ridden wood. “Seriously, can we not find one glamorous one
to invite us in for tea before we brutally slaughter them?”
“Can
we not please shut our dainty mouths?” Sarah said, mocking Eleanor’s affected
way of speaking. “Or we shall be
besieged by ten thousand grotty little buggers.”
Eleanor
stopped just inside the doorway, letting Sarah continue alone for a few
steps. “Must you be so awful to me?”
Eleanor complained. Dirt was already
beginning to cling to her skirts and the mess hanging from the door frame had
loosened some of her hair from yet another elaborate updo. “I do everything you ask me and I have taken
on all of…” Eleanor struggled for words
to describe their situation. Instead, she
lit up her fingers. “…This! And it has totally changed my life and ruined
everything!”
“It’s
ruined your life?” Sarah snarled, storming back in Eleanor’s direction. They stood barely a hair’s breadth apart. Knuckles whitened as Sarah tightened her grip
on her crossbow, the leather strap biting into her scarred wrist. “How the hell do you think I feel?” she
shouted. “I been doing this since I was
fourteen-years-old. I spent time on a
fucking asylum because of…this!” Sarah’s
fist sparked with a burst of light, her body still pumping with the same kind
of adrenaline she felt during a fight.
In response, Eleanor flared the rest of her fingers, lip twitching into
a sneer that seldom visited her face and was rather unbecoming for a young lady
like her.
A
noise on the other side of the factory snapped the women out of their cat
fight, dimming their light momentarily. “They’re
here,” Eleanor whispered, cocking the hammer on her gun. Sarah snapped into action and grabbed Eleanor’s
free hand.
“North
side?” she asked, readying her crossbow.
Eleanor nodded, setting her firing sight on her gold cuff whirring. The tiny crosshairs slid into place. “Ready?”
Another nod.
Breaking
into a run, the girls picked their way across the factory. Dodging dead machines, they followed the
sound. Noises echoed through the
industrial graveyard and there was no mistaking the sound of crunching metal
footsteps. After weaving past something
rotten and rusted, Sarah skidded to a halt, yanking Eleanor with her.
“Holy
fuck!” Sarah yelled, coming face to face with a hulking metal man. It bellowed right back, the force of its
scream whipping her ponytail out behind her.
She shot a quick blast of light, just enough the force the thing
backwards so that she could gather her wits about her. “Is that what attacked you earlier?!” she
asked Eleanor, lining up her crossbow for a shot.
“I
told you!” Eleanor screamed, charging up her arm with light and fixing a bullet
in her pistol.
Finding
its feet, the hulking metal monster let loose another wail. Dark essence spilled forth from its open
mouth, pouring from its hanging jaw. Its
copper hide glinted in the light of the hundreds of gas lamps that were
scattered around the factory, illuminating the place with eerie shadows that
seemed to dance around the girls, mocking them as they fought the beast.
“Get
it between the eyes,” Eleanor cried out, firing a bullet that ricocheted off of
the creature’s chin. It wailed even
louder, but was interrupted by an arrow of light to the skull. Instantly, the machine collapsed and the
shadow leaked from the iron body, seeping into the cracks in the floor.
Sarah,
let her crossbow fall to her side and let her light dim. “Well, that was easy…”
Machines
began to creak and at least three gas lamps popped and burst. The floor trembled and the girls grabbed one
another. “Now do you see why things like
this are ruining my life?!” Eleanor hissed at Sarah, as she pulled her new gold
ring off her finger and hit the button, creating a flat disc again.
Sarah
ignored Eleanor’s comment and instead stared curiously at her new device. “New toys?” she asked as another 3 machines
came stumbling into view. They smashed
the remains of a piece of machinery as they formed a triangle surrounding the
Light Ones.
“Yes,”
the socialite said. “You want to see
what it does?” A short smile formed on
her lips. Sarah gave a sideways grin and
a curt nod. “I heard you were on a
winning streak tonight,” Eleanor continued.
“You
wanna see what I can do?” Sarah echoed, lighting up from her core. White light spread through her skin,
illuminating her veins and bones.
Eleanor’s smile grew and she returned the nod.
In
the dim gas light of the abandoned factory, two bright young things were
attacked by three mechanical monsters.
Sarah
fired two consecutive arrows, knocking an arm off one of the monsters. As her weapon failed, she resorted to her
weapon that would never fail; her fists.
She brought down a rain of blows upon the first Shadow, sending it to
the ground. Once it was down, she leapt
on it, yanking the metal mask off it shadowy face. A dark mass stared out at her with nothing
but slits for eyes. It screamed at her
but Sarah was not one for mercy. Rather,
she let a wild ball of energy form and grow in the palm of her hand, before
sending it into the creature’s face. It
burned with the fire of a thousand gas lamps, melting the creature from within
and killing it quickly.
Meanwhile,
Eleanor fought off the other two opponents.
She caught one in the eye with a blazing bullet, killing it
quickly. The second, she saved for her
new contraption. Lighting her body up
like the firework Patch compared it to; she felt her energy lift the disc from
her hand. It floated for a brief moment
before she commanded her Light energy into it.
The disc began to spin. Little
shards of light sparked and splinted off it until she wielded a spinning disc
of fire. The metal creature’s face
seemed to fall and more essence seemed to sweat from its joints. It began to retreat.
“This
is for ruining my engagement,” Eleanor muttered, and then loosed the disc in
the creatures direction. It decapitated
the beast in a quick arc of blinding light.
With
all monsters dead, the girls stood alone in the factory, panting heavily. Wounds on Sarah’s knuckles had reopened and
were bleeding sluggishly. Eleanor looked
around as her light slowly dissipated.
Sarah, too, reverted to her normal state. Somewhere in the shadows of the factory,
someone was running away.
“The
Clockmaker,” Eleanor said quietly, watching a shadow slip deeper into the
darkness before disappearing. “He only
made five beasts and now he has nothing to fight us with.”
“We’ll
get him next time,” Sarah replied, detaching her crossbow from her arm. Eleanor glanced her way, wondering why her
teacher was not demanding that they chased the man who had tried to kill
them. “You should go back to your fiancé.”
In
a tiny zip of light, Eleanor’s disc flew back to her. She caught it calmly and hit the tiny button,
sending it back to its ring form. The
tiny gold band fit perfectly on her wedding ring finger.
“He
didn’t propose,” Eleanor sighed, playing with her new accessory.
Sarah
smeared sweat from her face and thought for a moment. Silence filled the huge room, bouncing off
the corpses of industrialisation. “I’m
sorry,” she added simply and honestly.
“Thank
you,” Eleanor replied, gathering up her skirts and picking her way back through
the rubble. She left Sarah where she was
and crossed the factory floor. Finding
the doorway, she pushed the cobwebs aside and stepped out into the
moonlight. Coming down what was once the
path, was Patch. He offered an arm and
Eleanor took it, letting Patch escort her back to the carriage.
A Pretty Penny
Leaning back in his chair,
Leech took quiet notes in a leather-bound notebook. The market had been dead this afternoon and
he was savouring the lull. He was almost
hoping that no-one else would arrive and he could pack his shit up for the day. Three years he had been doing this crap and
it got more boring with every day. Each
market morning he threw the same piece of black velvet over the same crappy old
table, selling however many vials of that vile stuff he could pilfer from the
hunters that still worked this city.
Load of shit.
He reached for the coffee cup that was on the ground
beside his chair. It was soulless chain
coffee because he couldn’t be arsed going 2 streets over for the independent
place that served the good stuff. There
was a day when he’d have gone out of his way to go to the little indie
place. Today was not that day. Long blonde hair swung away from his face as
he drained the last of his coffee. It
tasted of shit.
Abandoning his notes, he started to doodle. Exhaling deeply, he tapped his pencil against
the table. What a boring day. He should just pack up and go home. Idle doodling formed ugly shadows, until he
grew sick of looking at them. Scoring a
black mark through the creatures, he flipped a few pages forward, ridding
himself of the memory of the monsters he had once killed. Starting again, idle doodling became skilled
sketching. On a blank page, Leech marked
out the shape of a woman’s face.
Features developed. A mouth grew
with a sweet-yet-mischievous grin, then a tiny button nose. A few freckles blossomed and a crop of spiky,
fair hair sprang from her head, poking out around her elfin ears. Smiling, he let his pencil drift around the
page, bringing her back to life. He
patiently filled her eyes in and leaned forward to study the woman he had
recreated.
There was something wrong.
Looking harder, he studied her eyes again. They weren’t right. It just wasn’t her. He couldn’t be starting to forget what her
eyes looked like, could he?
An older woman appeared before him, looking haggard and
weary. Lifting his eyes in a lazy
fashion, Leech watched her perusing his stall.
Jars and old ginger bottles adorned the table, each containing a meagre
portion of neon fluid. She fingered the
cardboard price tag of what had once been a bottle of soy sauce. Discovering the price, she immediately pulled
her hand away.
“So…expensive,” she muttered to herself, not really
addressing Leech but still giving him a quick glance.
“So difficult to come by,” he breathed, watching her grip
her purse.
“I only need a little,” the woman said. She had to be in her early 60s. What the hell was she needing this for? Her hunting days must have been way over. “I’m getting sick, you see…”
Stretching across the table, Leech slid the bottle out of
the old girl’s reach. “I don’t do sob
stories,” he interrupted with. “You
either got the cash or you don’t. There
ain’t no reductions and if you don’t like it, you can go hunting for yourself.”
Veins pushed out of the woman’s skin and Leech wondered if
she could even light them up any more.
Painted lips pursed, revealing plenty of tiny wrinkles around her
mouth. “Is
that what you did?” she asked with an attitude the stall holder didn’t care
for.
“Excuse me?” Leech quizzed, rising slowly from his seat
and bringing himself to full height. He
was a damn sight taller than the lady and he should have felt guilty for
intimidating her like this. Yet he didn’t.
In spite of looking distinctly nervous, the woman with
her pale, permed hair stood her ground and spoke with only a slight tremor in
her voice. “It’s just that I hear you
don’t get this stuff yourself.” Leech
pressed his hands on the table, bringing himself to eye level with her. “In fact, I’m curious as to how fresh some of
this…produce…really is.” She picked up a marmalade jar and let the
fluid roll around the bottom of the glass.
“Some of this might have been essence I collected.”
Snatching the jar from the woman, Leech growled. “Move along, you’re done here.”
“If you want to bring in better business, my boy,” she
said, finding her confidence again and readjusting her bag strap, “I suggest
you get back into the field and find yourself some better product.” Turning on her heel, she took a few steps
away before thinking twice and returning to the table. “And, quite frankly, you can go fuck
yourself,” she added before beating it through the other market stalls and out
of Leech’s reach.
“Lovely,” Leech called after her. “That’s a charming mouth you’ve got on you. Ma’am. Didn’t hear me talking like that to you, did
you?!”
“For the Light’s sake, Leech, can it!” said a voice,
dragging Leech’s attention away from his target to the short, podgy man
standing in front of his stall.
Sparks. The most annoying guy on the market. He didn’t actually have a stall, he just “acquired”
things for other stall owners. He liked
to call himself “Acquisitions Manager”.
Load of bullshit.
“Sparks,”
Leech sighed, tidying up the items the last customer had moved around. He busied himself in order to avoid looking
at Sparks’ ugly face. He was positively
repugnant; covered in pock marks and with so much oil on his head that it made
his blonde hair look like it was stolen from a retired scarecrow. Or “acquired” from a retired scarecrow. “What brings you to my busy little table?”
The
disgusting creature eyed Leech’s table, clearly counting the items on
display. Eight. “Running a tad short, aren’t we,” he asked,
hissing past a bad tooth.
“Maybe
it’s been a busy day,” the taller – and far more attractive – of the two lied.
Sparks
picked up the marmalade jar. “Or maybe
you’ve been hocking the same shit since last October.”
“It
would be much easier if somebody was doing his job and getting hold of some new
shit for me.”
“What
do you think I’m here for?!” Leech
folded his arms across his chest and finally looked in Sparks’ direction,
seeing that he was wearing his Del-Boy hat and coat. A smile spread across his round face and
bushy eyebrows did that awful dancing thing they did whenever Sparks had a
plan. “Leech, I want you to meet, the
Illuminator.”
For
the second before Leech noticed the girl, he had no idea what Sparks was on
about. But when he finally clocked her,
he couldn’t believe his eyes had missed her.
She looked nothing like the rest of the crooks and losers that hung
about this hell hole. Her hair was one
of the brightest shades of gold he had ever seen; nothing like the platinum of
his. Yellow brick road in Technicolor. Goth make-up shielded her face from giving
away too much. She was a difficult one
to read. Coming to her clothes, Leech
thought she was trying way too hard to make herself appear like one of the
Shadows; all black to match her eye liner.
Illuminated, she certainly was not, but when it came to comparing her to
the dull crowd around him, Leech thought she was bursting with the light of a
thousand fireflies.
“Hey,”
he said quietly, still trying to take her in.
The Illuminator. She was
something straight out of a newsstand comic book.
“Hi,”
she said, clearly judging him and everyone around her.
“How
old are you?” Leech asked, giving a tiny snort and trying not to notice the way
she sneered at her surroundings.
“Does
it matter?” she nipped back.
“Not
at all,” he said, keeping his smile on display.
Nervousness radiated from the Newbie.
“You got some stuff for me then?”
Leech leaned against the wall of the back street the market hid in. Sparks seemed to vanish into the crowd,
leaving the pair as alone as they could be in a market full of people.
Awkwardly,
the girl fumbled with something around her waist, something Leech hadn’t
noticed until now. A utility belt. This girl had to be kidding. This could not be the real deal.
“How
very Batman of you,” he purred, high cheekbones highlighting his smirk.
“Dude
uses this thing for a reason,” the girl announced as she dropped it onto the
middle of the table with a twinkling clatter.
“It carries a hell of a lot of crap.”
Eyes
widened as Leech stared at the belt.
Hanging from at least thirty tiny fixtures, were vials, bottles and
stoppered tubes. Every single one was
filled with Dark Essence. He picked up
the belt and ran his hands over the bottles.
There were 3 uniform styles of container, each brandishing enough fluid
to keep a Taker going for at least two days.
“I
use 3 types of bottle,” she explained, as if trying to fill the silence between
the pair. “The test tubes are kind of
like instant shots that give you a quick buzz.
The vials are good for a whole day, you know, just when you’re needing
to get through something kind of big.
But the little round ones…” At
this point, the girl unhooked a spherical container from the belt and held it
in her hand. “These work with me to just
dissolve and hit my system straight away.
You know, for a big fight. My
friend devised it. He’s real smart…”
“You
filled all of these yourself?” Leech said, royal blue eyes wide and his gaze penetrating.
“Yeah,”
she said, as if the answer was as obvious as being asked if she liked the
Rolling Stones. “Can’t you do that, too?”
Guilt
finally hit Leech with a sucker punch and he looked this girl up and down
again. She must have been like 19 or
something around that. Hope and sadness
clouded her aura and waged an all-out war for her soul. He couldn’t work out if she was new to all
this or not. No, she must have been
doing this for years if she had amassed this kind of haul.
“You
haven’t come across many of our kind, have you?” he asked, lowering himself
onto his chair and studying the new stock he had been given.
“Not
really,” she answered quickly before returning to her previous point. “Now, if you do this…” The Illuminator girl
took Leech’s hand, alarming him with her forwardness, and placed the round
bottle on his palm.
“What
now?” he asked, staring at the bottle.
“Flame
on,” she said with a tiny giggle, leaning over the table. Smells of vanilla and coconut teased his
nose. He was 26, he should not be
thinking this way about a girl who probably hadn’t hit 20 yet.
Leech
did something he hadn’t done for 3 years.
He laughed. “What the hell does
that mean?!”
“You
know!” the girl prompted, waving her arms at him. “Go all glowy. Flame on!”
“This
is a public place, miss…”
“Illuminator.”
“Yes,
Illuminator. And I wouldn’t want to
expose myself.” Eyes locked and the pair
exchanged genuine smiles.
“Right,
I’ll make you a deal,” the 19-year-old goth superhero said to him. Eyebrows raised as he tried to take in the
fact that a rookie was treating him like any of those other down-and-outs that
frequented this market. “You take this
one home and try it out and I’ll come back tomorrow. You like it, you buy my stuff; you don’t like
it, you don’t buy. Easy.”
“I
think that’s fair,” Leech answered. He
liked this girl and he was pretty damn pleased that Sparks had let them deal
with this themselves.
The
Illuminator gathered up her utility belt, ensuring that Leech had that one
round bottle. She surveyed the sad affair
that was the eight containers of wasted fluid on Leech’s table. Shame took its turn of visiting Leech today. The girl clutched the belt to her chest and
slipped back to looking uncomfortable in the city’s only supernatural black
market.
“You
know how to get out of here again, Illuminator?” Leech asked, rising to say
goodbye to his new business partner.
“I
guess so,” she said, reattaching her belt.
Blonde hair bobbed about in a high ponytail. Light Ones, he could stare at that hair all
day. “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow
then?”
“I
do hope so,” Leech answered, turning on the charm. He held his hand out and offered it to the
girl. Gingerly, she took it and they
shook. As they did, he could instantly
tell that she was a Taker, just like him.
He wondered if she knew that there was a Giver somewhere out there,
looking for her. His was gone and now he
was here, selling crap to people too scared to get out and find their own.
A
mobile phone rang out with some song by a Scottish band. All Leech caught were the words “…glitter and
trauma…”. The Illuminator fumbled with a
pocket on her belt. “Damn, sorry,” she
said, looking at the lit up screen. “I’ve
got to go, Leech. It was really cool to
meet you.”
“No
problem,” Leech mumbled, trying not to feel rejected by a mobile phone.
“It’s
my eye in the sky,” she joked, ringtone still blaring. “He’s a neurotic girly bitch sometimes.”
Leech
laughed and tightened his hand around the free sample she had given him. “Don’t worry, just go. See you here tomorrow.”
“Awesome,”
she said with a smile and a wave before she answered her phone. Suddenly, Leech realised that she certainly
was 19 and he felt very old for 26.
The
girl vanished into the crowd, phone pressed to her ear. The blonde ponytail bounced through the crowd
and Leech happily watched it go.
Suddenly the market wasn’t quite so boring.
Exam Pressures
Seventeen years old and pissing her pants, Sarah is
sitting her Higher History paper. The
gym hall is full of nervous kids doing exactly the same. She looks around, blonde hair hanging in her
eyes. She wishes she’d gone to history
more often. History is one of her better
subjects, but the creatures took a shine to appearing during Wednesday last two
periods and most other times when she had that class.
Damn
shadows, ruining her life even more than they already had. Guess it was time to accept that she wasn’t
going to university any day soon. She
catches sight of Patch sitting 3 rows to her left. He clocks her and gives a little wave,
evading the eyes of the invigilators.
Nods are exchanged and they mouth “Good Luck” to one another. It’s good to have someone looking out for you,
Sarah thinks to herself. She wouldn’t
have lasted these last 3 years without Patch.
He gives her a tiny thumbs-up then returns to rearranging his ludicrous
number of pens.
The
invigilator announces that it’s time to open the papers and begin. Heart pounding, Sarah throws the pink cover
open to reveal her first few questions.
It is truly horrific to behold.
Shit. She really should have gone
to class. Looking across the room, Patch
is already scrawling frantically. How
the hell does he do this? He’s been on
shadow duty just as much as her. In
fact, he’s been doing a damn sight more homework than her since he started
creating some computer programme that will help them find the creatures before
they find Sarah. Clever bastard.
Putting
pen to paper, Sarah struggles her way through the first two pages of her answer
booklet. Stopping for only a moment, she
looks to the clock. Holy crap, the exam
is already halfway through. How can that
even be possible?! Palms sweating, she
tried to keep a steady grip on her pen but failed. The Bic ballpoint spun to the floor with an
almighty clatter. At least twenty pairs
of eyes turned to see who made the sudden noise. The invigilator lifted her bespectacled face
to see what was going on. Shit. Not good.
Trying
to remain inconspicuous, Sarah reached down slowly to lift the deviant pen from
the floor. Somebody dares to shush
her. Furrowing her brow, she retrieves
the pen and sits upright. Stupid
idiots. Eyes scan the room, staring at
the clock. Only twenty minutes
left. Where the hell did the time
go?
Distracted, Sarah lets
her gaze drift to the main doors.
Windows let her see into the school beyond. All the younger kids and those not in the
exam are gone. Just Sarah, the other
seventy kids sitting Higher History and the invigilator are left in the
building. The window lets in the
sunlight she is missing while being stuck in this damn hall. What a crap day.
As Sarah stared out
the window, a dark shape flits by. The
girl freezes. Not today. Not during a freaking exam. The shape reappears at the window. Without a doubt, it is one of the
shadows. Damn it. The creature spots
her and slams into the hall doors, rattling them loudly. Every head in the hall lifts. Shit, this is not going to end well. While almost nobody knows exactly what has
just happens, Patch does. He looks to
Sarah and she nods.
Guess Higher History
is going to be a definite fail then.
Sarah throws her hand
in the air and says, in a not too quiet voice, “Finished.” The invigilator hurries over and gives her a “shhhhhh”
gesture.
“Are you sure you’re
finished?” the old crone, who probably can’t even remember being a teacher,
never mind being a kid in an exam.
“Yeah, yeah,” Sarah
hurries, grabbing her pen and her bag. “Just
take it.”
The young gifted girl
is the first to leave the exam hall. The
clever kids give her a look of pity and the struggling ones give a pleading
look of desperation. Patch just seems
worried, and not for her exam result.
Throwing the exam
hall door open, Sarah heads into the well-lit school lobby. Sunlight streams in through windows,
illuminating the cavernous room. In the
centre of the lobby, a shadowy mass awaits the girl-hero.
“You just fucked up
my history exam,” she tells the Thing in a hushed voice, not wanting to attract
the invigilator’s attention. “I’m going
to have to resit that next year. You’re
going to pay.”
Aware or not of the
girl’s words, the creature heeds no warning and opens its mouth in a silent
scream. It wants this fight now. Eyes tearing wide slits in its face, the
shadows begins to charge. Three years on
from her first encounters, Sarah holds no fear for these things now, and is
ready for whatever it can throw at her.
Hands clench into fists and a fire burns inside. Light blossoms from her veins, making her
hands burn white and a glow shooting up her arms. The creature is getting nearer and nearer as
Sarah arches back her fist. After the
tension of her exams, she almost wants the feeling she gets from a fight. A smile cocks upwards from the corners of her
lips. She’s ready for this.
Fist connects with
the shadow as it charges into Sarah, knocking the monster right back to where
it started. But Sarah gives it no time
to recover and is on it as fast as it hits the ground. Fingers grasp at the scruff of what she
thinks might be the shadow’s neck and she fires a burst of energy into it,
illuminating it from the inside out. A
silent wail bursts from the creature’s mouth as a surge of air. It stinks and almost sends Sarah reeling back
but she must resist.
Veins and bones flare
white from beneath the monster’s dark flesh.
Neon light pulses between the Light One and the Dark and they know who
has the upper hand here.
“Now listen, you,”
Sarah starts, yanking the thing’s face round to look her in the eye. “It’s been months since one of you found me
in school and, let me tell you, this was a bad day to try again.” Shadowy claws scrape at the floor, trying to
escape. “You’re not going anywhere, so
quit trying!” Voice is raised now and she’s well aware of the seventy teenagers
in the hall behind her. Screw their
exam, she’s saving their lives here.
Going limp, the creature resorts to panting nervously.
“You probably thought,
“Teenage Light One? She’ll be piss easy
to drain.” But I’m not,” Sarah snarls
through clenched teeth. “Three years I’ve
been fighting you bitches and, know this, I’ve learned a trick or two.” Dead, empty eyes dart around the room,
searching for a way to escape the angry, glowing teenager. “I am not the sad, little girl you lot
ambushed three years ago. I am strong
and angry.
“I am the fucking
Illuminator.”
With a final pulse of
energy, Sarah plunges her fingertips beneath the creature’s skin just below
where its navel should be. It squirms
and dances beneath her grip but she refuses to release it. Finally adept at this new trick she’s been
working on, Sarah draws the energy out of the Shadow, letting it flow into her
and fill her with power. Mouth slips
open and she gasps with disbelief. She
never knew it would feel like this.
The monster goes limp
then bursts into a pale mist, leaving a faint residue of glitter behind. Sarah sits on the lobby floor, iridescent and
unable to believe what just happened.
Stretching her fingers out and flexing her wrists, she feels strong as
she pulls back her Light and returns to a normal shade of human. Power still courses through her veins and she
feels like she could take on a hundred more creatures. At last, she has found a way to beat them at
their own game.
Getting to her feet,
Sarah looks back into the exam hall. It’s
about to finish and she guesses she will just wait for Patch to emerge. Nobody in there is any the wiser that a
supernatural being was just killed out here.
It’s probably better that way.
Still breathing
heavily, Sarah leans back against one of the lobby walls. The Illuminator? What crap she talks in the heat of
battle. Still it feels kind of
catchy. Maybe she could be a bit of a
hero after all. She smiles a little and
looks at her fingertips again. This is
the most alive she’s felt in months.
There’s still a little shine to her skin and it looks like she’s wearing
some sort of body shimmer like all the Queen Bees and It Kids wear. God forbid she should start looking like one
of them. Not that they’d ever try to
start talking to her. Not that she wants
them to.
The hall doors open,
awakening Sarah from her stupor. Pupils
spill out, chattering and wearing mixed expressions: nervous, happy, anxious,
relieved. A figure shoves its way
through the crowd and Sarah instantly knows who. She grabs Patch by the elbow and pulls him
aside. He throws arms around her neck
before swiftly letting go again and adjusting his glasses.
“I was so scared,” he
gushes, looking around and keeping his voice low.
“It’s fine,” Sarah
smiles, pushing her shiny hands into the pockets of her black school
trousers. “It’s more than fine. I feel alive.”
Patch eyes her suspiciously
and looks her up and down.
“I think I can do
this, Patch,” Sarah says, losing a little of her self-conscious air. “I think I might be able to do this hero
thing after all.”
A few people shove by
them, heading towards lockers and the main doors. This is a sign to switch the
conversation. School is not the place
for this. And they both know they’ll
have time to chat at Patch’s place later when he shows off his new computer
system. The two friends give one another
a small smile.
“You totally failed
that, though, didn’t you?” Patch asks, changing the subject entirely. With a sigh, Sarah pushes away from the wall
and leads Patch towards the exit.
“One hundred per
cent,” she groans, slipping her arm through Patch’s and quickly hiding her hand
in her pocket again.
“I’ll tutor you when
you resit next year,” he says, walking his best friend outside and into the May
sunlight.
“Wow, not even a “Maybe
you’ve done okay”? We’re just jumping
straight to tutoring my resit?!” Sarah protests, ignoring the stares of a couple
of shiny It Kids who pass them on the playground.
“Let’s not kid
ourselves.”
Sarah nudges Patch in
the ribs and he flinches away. “I think
I’ve got a name,” she says once they’ve cleared earshot of the teenyboppers.
“What do you mean?”
“A superhero name.”
“Are you serious?”
“The Illuminator.”
A pause ripples
between the pair as they cross the school gates. Patch looks up to the bright May sun, holding
a hand at his brow to shield his eyes.
“I like it.”
“Me, too,” Sarah says
with a grin, a lungful of summer air and the life force of another creature
powering her body.
The Panther
There was something rather
ominous about the black van parked in front of the office building. Patch looked it up and down, filled with a
sense of dread. He had a feeling that this
was the surprise Sarah was talking about when she text him “Meet me outside the
office. Got a surprise 4 u. U R gonna luv this! Xx” “Luv” was certainly not the emotion that
Patch was experiencing right now.
“Don’t you just love it?!” Sarah squealed as she came
running from the building they often used as a base.
“Something like that,” Patch grumbled, inspecting the
beastly machine.
“Shut up, you totally do,” she grinned, giving her friend
an overly enthusiastic nudge in the ribs.
Wincing, Patch took a subtle step out of reach.
“Sarah,” he started, rubbing what would be a bright, new
bruise, “don’t take this the wrong way, but what possessed you?”
The Illuminator shrugged.
Patch noticed that she was suited up.
Black leggings, black tee, black boots.
Typical goth with no imagination.
“Won it in a poker game.”
“You can play poker?!”
“What the hell do you think I do all day while you’re out
in the big world of learning?”
Patch stared at Sarah with a mix of disbelief and
pity. Things had been a little strained
between them since he had started university.
Sarah had struggled through school.
She certainly wasn’t any kind of simpleton but fighting the Dark Ones
while everyone was studying for exams left her at a bit of a disadvantage. Patch, on the other hand, had excelled. Accepted into several top universities, he chose
the closest one to home and the closest one to Sarah. He couldn’t leave her, after all. So Patch had started studying various
computer-related courses and Sarah…well, Sarah got a part-time job in a DVD
rental store. It was shit and didn’t pay
much but it allowed for shadow-stomping time.
Sometimes things like this cause tension, though. Especially between friends.
“Wanna take her for a spin?” Sarah asked, ignoring
Patch’s pity and swinging a set of rusted old keys round her fingers. Bottle openers and band key chains rattled
furiously.
“Not even a little bit.”
“Come on!”
“Nope. I shall
leave all the driving fun to you,” Patch replied, strolling around towards the
back of the van. “So when did you get –
sorry, I mean win – this piece of crap?”
“Last night.”
Sarah leaned against the van’s filthy side and Patch grimaced, not
wanting to even touch this metal death trap.
“When you said you had to stay in and study, I went out for a drink and
ended up playing cards with this group of roadies. If you ask me, I was doing a public safety
service taking that van off them; they were pissed as donkeys.”
“Are donkeys famous for getting pissed?”
“Dunno and shut up.
I’m saying that they were really wasted and I took their wheels away.”
“Wow, you really are a hero.”
“I do what I can.
Now, wait ‘til you see this. Been
working on it all day.”
Throwing open the doors, Sarah revealed the back of the
van with an over-the-top flourish.
“Ta-da!” Patch looked at the tiny
space where Sarah had hung almost every weapon she usually utilises in her
battle against the shadows. Knife
handles, sword handles, to name but a few.
And, of course, the crossbow. Her
baby. Tiny vials hung around the walls,
too. Some empty, some full of a strange
fluid that Patch had only recently become familiar with.
Over the last few months, Sarah had developed a trick for
extracting the essence from the Dark Ones that she needed to stay strong. Without it, she was just
Glow-in-the-Dark-Girl.
Patch lifted a full vial down and inspected it
closely. Behind him, Sarah twitched
nervously. “Are you sure that guy is
going to pay for this stuff?” he asked, turning the tiny bottle over in his
hands, watching the oily substance roll lazily under the glass.
“Leech, Patch, his name is Leech,” Sarah informed him,
taking the bottle from his hands and returning it to its rightful place on the
wall. “And yes, he’s got some black
market thing going on.”
“I really don’t like the sound of that,” the student
grumbled, stepping away from the menacing vehicle.
“Well not all of my “kind” can fight the Dark Ones.” Sarah threw the doors shut, trying to
disguise a small huff coming on. “So I
gotta supply those that don’t.”
“And why can’t this “Leech” do it?” Arms folded across his chest, Patch was
getting uncomfortable. He was starting
to sound like some possessive boyfriend.
“I told you already.
His girl got killed by a shadow and he’s off fighting them.”
“Sounds like an excuse to me.”
Sarah’s kohl-lined eyes met Patch’s. He adjusted his glasses awkwardly. “You’re shitting me, right?” she asked, hands
on hips and battle stance ready.
“I’m just…a little weary of this guy. That’s all,” he said before clearing the
cowardice from his throat. “Be careful
around him.”
Sarah laughed and walked around the driver’s door of the
van. “I think I’ve been around scary
shit long enough to know what a real threat looks like.” The Illuminator climbed in the front seat and
jammed the keys in the ignition. Putrid
black smoke spewed from the exhaust pipe like tar from a smoker’s lungs. Patch covered his face with his sleeve and
staggered back. “I’m going to drop those
vials off then I’ll be right back,” Sarah informed her partner. “You wanna tag along? Take her for a spin?” A gloved hand tapped dirty metal.
“Not really,” Patch said, leaning in the open window to
inspect the inside. It reeked of old
aftershave and stale marijuana smoke.
“Listen.” He watched Sarah as she
played with buttons and switches.
Headlights flared at full beam.
The radio crackled. CDs were
flicked through. “I’ve been working on
this new computer programme that I think will really help you out,” Patch told
his best friend. “If you want I could
show you how to use it. It’s kind of
complicated but I’ve spent months working all the kinks out…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Sarah nodded with a wave of her hand,
before pulling a CD out of the bundle and firing it in the sound system. My Chemical Romance blasted out of the
windows, pushing Patch away. “I’ll check
it out when I get back, sure. Computer
thingy, sounds wicked.”
Releasing the hand brake, Sarah met Patch’s eyes. In that moment, he knew she hadn’t heard a
thing he’d said. A grin erupted on her
face. “I’m calling this bitch “The
Panther”,” she beamed, revving up the tired-sounding engine.
“That’s nice, dear,” came a sarcastic reply.
“You’re just jealous, student-boy,” Sarah laughed,
pulling away from the parking lot. “Now
I’m going to go run over some shadows and see a man about some Dark Essence.”
“Be safe,” Patch called out as she started to drive off.
“Honey, I don’t do safe!” Sarah called over the music as
she tore off down the street. As the
fading notes of the MCR song reached Patch’s ears, he found her choice of track
a rather ironic one on her first mission out in “The Panther”. Famous
Last Words. Patch could only hope
Fate had a better sense of humour than Sarah and took her raised finger as the
joke she hadn’t intended to make.
Patch thought about heading into the office to put the
finishing touches on the hunting software he had put together and decided
against it. Let her do her job her
way. She didn’t need him tonight.
In fact, Patch sometimes worried how much she would need
him in the long run now that she had transportation and a new friend on the
black market. Angry and hurt, Patch
hitched his backpack further up onto his shoulder and began the long trek home,
without the help of Sarah’s Panther.
If you enjoyed these, read more in "Glitter and Trauma". Available from Amazon:
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UK: Click here
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