Rising Storm, page 20
Its jaw dropped open. Apparently this idea wasn't nuts to it. Could they actually be right? Could it be feeling leftover—or even living—emotions from Melanie?
I was tired of asking myself this question. I took Melanie's face in my hands again, and the parasite closed its eyes so to not have to meet mine.
"Won't you tell me?" It shook its head.
Fine. If it wasn't going to speak, I could elicit a response. Not with violence, but a different type of force. One that Melanie had responded to all too well.
As I leaned in toward her, its eyes opened and met mine. I think it realized what I was doing a second before I did, and I heard its breath spike in panic.
I kissed it. I kissed the parasite that had stolen Melanie's body with all the passion I had Had for her. This situation was so messed up, so incredibly convoluted, and I needed to straighten it out. Sure, my methods were unorthodox, but incorporation called for a little experimentation.
Of course, it didn't help matters that I forgot just whom I was kissing. Her scent, her breath, the familiar feel of her lips...it Was like she'd never left.
Her hand reached up, moved to touch my face, while her other arm moved back suddenly.
And connected painfully with my face—her fist smacked into my jaw without warning.
She'd punched me!
Not she. It. The parasite. This wasn't Melanie.
I pulled away from it, slightly breathless. It hadn't punched me hard, but hard enough to get its point across. What had been its point? It had seemed to respond...positively. Now it was staring at me, its expression—
Its expression mirrored mine. Shocked. Horrified. It grabbed its own hand, the one that had punched me, trying to flatten its fist, trying to keep it still. The way it looked at its arm, at me, was like it was as surprised as I was.
As if it hadn't done it. As if...
Someone else did.
The second that thought entered my mind, it suddenly spun around, clearly looking for an escape. Instead of sprinting away down the tunnel, though, it dove back into the storage hole, looking for the refuge it had known its first week here.
Unfortunately, the hole wasn't empty anymore. Boxes were packed in the round bubble space, leaving no room for a grown person to fit in there. I reached for her, grabbed at her foot, not wanting her to hurt herself.
The parasite wrenched its leg from my grasp, dislodging a box onto my arm. Somehow it wriggled through the boxes, through all the sharp corners and cellophane, to where it was out of my sight. I could hear it, though. It was crying again.
Stunned by its wild reaction, I pushed the box off my arm. I was going to have a bruise for sure. On my arm and on my face.
What...just...happened?
Her expression—the parasite had been astounded by its own actions. What it had done had happened without its permission, but wasn't just an involuntary, emotional reaction. It hadn't consciously hit me. The parasite didn't try to hurt me.
But if it wasn't the parasite...there Was only one answer. Only one other person—one other conscience—could have done it.
As the parasite sobbed desperately, I called out to her, calling for the person I'd given up for lost a long time ago.
"Mel?"
The room was a dump. It was fairly large, but refuse had been strewn around it, dumped at corners, and by the looks of it – chewed on. John identified a broken bathtub that had suffered, by the looks of it, an experimental bite, by a very, very big mouth, with lots of teeth. The walls and ground were covered with an unhealthy green slime, as was the sewer grate in the center of the room, over which a very unlikely monster was biting off the head of a goblin.
It looked as though someone had taken the Venus flatcar from the Little Shop of Horrors and had fun with radioactive chemicals, insane plastic surgery, steroids and possibly a host of other illegal drugs. The first thing John noticed about it was its size – it would tower over a tall man, and was a man's height in diameter. It was a bulging, mottled-green and red bag of muscle supported by three trunk-like legs, and marred by a giant mouth, and John lost count of the number of thin, curving dagger-like teeth that framed a tongue of an unhealthy liver color. Three long, thick tentacles curled out from its back, the ends also armed with the same teeth and covered with thorny growths.
As they watched, it grabbed the last goblin easily with one flexible tentacle, then proceeded to eat it while it writhed and screamed.
John touched the elbows of his companions, and prudently gestured that they retrace their steps before the thing decided to have them for dessert. Keenan pointed just as eloquently to yet another open door, which led up to what appeared to be someplace with soft, inviting light. Not the surface, but it might just be the exit…they hadn't been able to find the exit in any other tunnel that they'd visited, in any case. The problem, of course, was that the monster was between them and the door.
"Do you have a sleep spell?" John whispered to You've, the grotesque sounds of bones crunching and splintering covering the sound of his voice.
"That's an thought. It's immune to certain levels of magic," You've replied just as quietly. "I'm not exactly sure how many levels. Never met one before, but I understand that they can speak Common."
"Common?" John asked blankly, then relaxed. "Ah, you mean the Queen's English."
"Queen? Interesting, how you out-worlds call things."
"Can we have this discussion later?" Keenan pointed again. The thought was finishing its meal, and the waving of its tentacles seemed to become businesslike again.
"Maybe I can try talking to it," You've said doubtfully.
"Or we could just attack," Keenan patted her throwing daggers.
"Do you really want to attack a huge walking plant with lots of teeth?" John eyed it critically.
"We're on higher ground." Keenan argued.
"Well, I've read that thoughts usually only attack when it feels threatened or when it's hungry. Usually it won't attack those that are feeding it…"
"We're not feeding it," Keenan watched as it finished off the goblin and started turning around. It was disconcerting – the creature had no eyes that they could see.
"We could pretend we had been. Believe me, you don't want to be bitten by it. The fever its bite would give is serious, and rather infectious." You've decisively stepped out onto the top of the stair where she could be heard by the monster. "Thought! We wish safe passage. We drove the goblins to you."
All three tentacles turned to her, then, ponderously, the creature also moved. The mouth worked, and then it spoke in a rasping growl. "Goblins…taste bad. More…meat."
"Let us pass and we'd send some to you," You've promised, folding her arms, not an easy task when you're holding a staff.
The tentacles waved in the air, as if sniffing. "You…not the…master…"
"I can still send you food," You've said, convincingly lying through her teeth, "Let my friends and I pass."
"All other…than master…must attack…" With surprising speed, the thought lunged forward, and the tentacles shot towards You've. Instinctively she leaped back, just as Keenan and John took hold of her shoulders and hauled her away. The tentacles snapped into thin air, and the thought roared in frustration.
"Well, that was very helpful," John commented from the safety of the corridor.
"This 'master' of theirs brainwashed everything," You've groused. "Ah well. Now what?"
"I suggest we make it angry enough for it to try and get through the corridor – then we attack it safely. It can't fit." Keenan grinned wickedly. "John Constantine…why don't you use this golden opportunity to…"
"I get your point, Luvs," John was already loading his sling. His first shot missed, ricocheting off the rail, but the second one hit a tentacle underneath the teeth. It flinched back, as the thought roared again, this time in mounting fury.
"Hey, that looks fun…" You've tried to make a grab for the sling, but John held it out of reach.
"I'm supposed to be practicing…hey!" John yelped as You've tickled him and snatched the sling as well as the shot. She was, however, less accurate than he was – the bullet bounced off the platform of the staircase, but hit the top of the thought as it descended. It shrieked its fury.
John tackled her and retrieved the sling, shot and his masculine pride, glared at Keenan, daring her to laugh, then tried again. He got better with every shot, and after a while, was hitting the creature with enough force to bruise it. It made it simpler that the thought had now somehow crammed itself up the staircase, breaking off the metal railing as easily as John would snap a stick, and was trying to reach into the corridor. Its roars echoed off the walls.
The panther padded over to John and sat down to wash itself. Somehow, this gesture infuriated the thought, and the teeth of its tentacles left furrows along the stone. Its breath, needless to say, stank even worse than the chamber.
You've glanced at Keenan, who nodded, regretfully putting away her daggers, leaning the staff against the wall, and drawing the short sword of the now-deceased Shadow Thief. You've followed suit.
"Stay here, sparrow," she told John, with a grin. Pragmatically, he didn't argue, knowing that they were much more suited to fighting the thing than he was. Besides, he wasn't sure that he did want to fight it in the first place, even if he was…qualified to do so.
Nimbly they minced forward, as the thought redoubled its efforts. You've ducked a tentacle, falling to one knee, using the momentum to hack off one under the razor teeth, then twisted up and swung with both hands, severing the first one before tackling the third, and narrowly missed being lacerated as it swung wildly at her. The panther had attacked, bringing claws into play as it knocked the appendage away from You've, then held it down as she finished the job.
Keenan had ignored the tentacles and ran close enough to the mouth, before raising back the short sword in a hand like a javelin, no doubt utilizing werewolf strength, as she threw the weapon. Like an oversized arrow it shot in past the monster's teeth and embedded itself deep in its maw.
With a gurgle the thought lurched backwards, one flailing tentacle managing to knock Keenan hard against a wall, then it fell off the dented platform onto the littered ground of its lair, where, to John's satisfaction, it proceeded to die. Keenan stood up, rubbing her head and chuckled. "Thank Assure for werewolf powers, or I'd have suffered concussion. Over confident. Everyone all right?"
"Yeah." John grinned. "Lucky for us that it fell off the platform, or it would have blocked the way."
**
They hurried past the thought chamber after picking up their discarded weaponry, not willing to stay in it longer than was necessary and into the corridor after it. Theoretically the chests John had seen in a passing glance in the chamber might have contained valuables, but the stink drove them away. Keenan and the panther especially were obviously having a hard time, having more refined senses of smell.
The corridor petered off into a room that looked like a magnificent embodiment of luxury. Beautifully woven carpets graced the wood-paneled floor, and exquisite paintings of sunsets hung on white slate walls. The furniture had been hand-carved from what John guessed to be mahogany, and there was even a four-poster bed with a tapestry of a quilt. Potted plants had been placed discreetly in corners, and a fire burned merrily in the stone fireplace.
It was so extraordinary, considering their current surroundings, that John had to look behind him involuntarily to reassure himself that he was still in the dungeon, and not magically transported elsewhere.
"I have a bad feeling," Keenan announced. "Let me check." Slowly she inched into the room, then grunted in satisfaction, bending down on one of the carpets and fiddling with something on the ground. As they watched, she methodically circled the room, disarming traps with expert ease, then finally rounded off by discovering a secret panel in the wall, which she disarmed and opened.
"Spells and more potions…" she took out the contents carefully and laid them on the ground, checking for other traps. "Money…nothing else of interest. Bah."
The panther lay down on one of the carpets as John and You've sat down and sorted through the things. Keenan roamed around the room, rifling the bookshelves, chests and cupboards and taking out items of use for their inspection. There were two more doors in the room, which they ignored for the moment.
John picked up a scroll at random and let his eyes roam over it. Again the words seemed to flash, and faded. He dropped the empty scroll quickly, as though it burned his fingers. "And what was that?"
"Magic missile," You've said. "Hem. This is interesting…well, since a mind can only seem to learn a certain number of spells of different difficulties before it fail-safes and refuses to learn others, I think I'd pick out the spells you can try to learn…"
"What if you learn too many?"
"Never heard of that happen before, sparrow, but from what I understand, you brain explodes." She grinned at his horrified expression. "Kidding. You'd probably go mad. But it's never happened before."
"There's always a first time, Luvs," John eyed the scrolls apprehensively.
"You seem intelligent enough." You've retorted. "A few more won't hurt. Have to remember to teach you how to cast the things. Here." She passed him a scroll, and he looked at it automatically, with predictable results.
"Hey!"
"That wasn't so bad, was it? That one's the easier type of Protection from Evil." You've looked through the other scrolls, to the sounds of Keenan pulling out a drawer.
"Hem. So if I cast it, I become suddenly allergic to myself?" John grinned.
"No, it's just called Protection from Evil. Other evil – anything demonic can't attack you – everything sort of bounces off a barrier. Useful spell to have in an emergency when your enemy decides to summon fiends."
"Anything demonic?" John smirked, thinking of the First of the Fallen.
"Yep. On this world, at least."
"Ah, Shiite," John stretched his legs, rubbing his knee. You've handed him more scrolls. In the end, John had apparently learned how to make himself invisible, how to make it such that others turned invisible, how to magically open locks, how to cast jets of flame and how to create a mirror image of himself. The other scrolls You've deemed useless, and tucked them away along with the coins and jewels.
"That should be about it," Keenan returned to them. "No weapons of any kind. There was this thing, though. Looks like a wand." She handed over what looked like a deranged creation of a scepter, painted with garish colors, to You've, who examined it quickly.
"The runes on it…I think it's a wand of monster summoning. Useful." She put it at her belt. "Right. Let's go…"
Keenan opened the door to their left. There were goblins behind it, which immediately regretted attacking as the panther jumped on them. However, one of the archers had gotten lucky, and an arrow buried itself into John's thigh.
"Bloody hell!" John let out a yell of pain.
"Sit down on the bed," You've said quickly, before he attempted to pull it out. Keenan removed one of the potions that she had strapped to her belt as he obliged, cursing.
You've inspected the wound quickly, pulling open the hole in his trousers carefully then looked relieved. "Missed the bone and artery…not too deep. Anyway, this is going to hurt," she finished matter-of-faculty, and before he could protest, grasped hold of the arrow and pulled it out swiftly. John yelled again, and Keenan forced the potion into his hands.
"Drink slowly until I tell you to stop," she ordered. "Right. Stop." She took it back from him and strapped it back on.
"What was that supposed to do?" John felt even more disoriented than ever. Being ordered around…a tingling sensation was fast creeping down from his throat. As he watched with disbelief, the wound closed and scabbed over. As an afterthought, he removed the bandage on his hand, in time to see the scabs turn black, then peel off. "Bloody hell."
"You could say that. First thing we do out of here is to get some new clothes," You've gestured at his bloodstained trousers. John stood up, and apart from a twinge, he didn't feel the pain anymore…
The panther bounded out of the chamber, glanced at him, and looked relieved, but approached anyway, seeking reassurance. John rubbed it behind the ears. "Now…"
Keenan had already looked through the door. "A portal!"
"What?" You've joined her.
The adjoining room, now littered with goblin corpses, was bare except for a few smashed pots and the portal. It was of the height of a normal door and as wide, framed with some sort of dark metal twisted in eerie designs. Between the frame was a strange, flat swirling surface. The frame had been mounted on a stone platform, a plain block of stone. Remnants of small bones lay in a corner, as well as a bucket of water, and the room smelled of pips and worse, which was of course what would happen if one was so stupid as to enclose goblins in it. It was a wonder that they hadn't suffocated to death, but John supposed that air could come through the portal.
Delicately You've approached the portal, then stuck her sword through it. It passed, but just through air – emerging on the other side of the frame. With a sigh, she stuck her hand through – and it passed like the sword had. "Nothing. We need a key…"
"Key?" John said blankly. "Why doesn't this bugged use proper doors all the time?"
"Variety, sparrow, variety," You've pointed at what looked like a keyhole in the frame.
"I didn't see anything even remotely resembling a key in the room," Keenan commented, as You've hurriedly exited. "Hem. Maybe the other door."
She unlocked it with a piece of twisted wire she apparently found from the room, then kicked it open. John flinched, almost expecting an arrow, but the door opened to yet another giant, ludicrous room, this time resembling a forest. Trees, somehow managing to grow healthily underground, nearly brushed the ceiling of the cavern, and grass, even flowers grew in lush abandon. It was beginning to remind John of certain parts of the Heart of the Dreaming, and he had to stop himself from looking apprehensively for Zaniness.
