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xp_logsX-Force prepares to storm Candra's stronghold.
The distinctive white of iPod earbuds poked out from Doug's ears as he stretched, a long black duffel at his feet. A gray T-shirt with the Batman logo in black shifted across his chest as he rolled his shoulders. When he'd devoted enough time to his arms, he sank almost into a complete front split, loose black cargo pants bunching around his legs. Rising from the splits, he flashed a trio of quick kicks, low, medium, high, in time with the driving beat from his iPod. "Bang, bang, bang, upon my door..." he sang along quietly with the music that could be heard spilling out from how loud he'd turned the volume. Closing his eyes and tapping his foot in time with the bass line, he bent to his duffel. He wanted to be warmed up and limber, not go so far into a workout that he'd be a step too slow.
By comparison, Marie-Ange was nearly silent as she pulled on a pair of heavy boots and laced them. Once the bootlaces were tied tightly, she stood and picked up a bookbag, taking packages of cards out and sorting through them. She took seemingly random cards here and there, and put them in the pockets of her pants, tucked them into her boots and belt, and into the rolled-up the sleeves of the button-down shirt she'd put on over her tanktop.
A quick self-patdown and she closed the bookbag, and set it aside, moving towards Doug, and absently reaching up to plait her hair into two braids.
The first item out of the duffel was a distinctive looking padded vest with Velcro straps. Doug held it in his hands for several long seconds, looking at it. Most of the gear in his bag had been obtained in legally shaky fashion, but the vest was the only piece that truly made him nervous, and not because he'd had to get it in a shady way.
"YOU DIED. You died and I had to know about it and know that I could have stopped it if you had ONLY LET ME!"
Doug flinched back visibly at the memory, a picture of Marie-Ange standing with tear-stained cheeks and fists shaking with rage fresh in his mind. He jerked the earbuds out of his ears and dropped the iPod on the duffel, turning towards Marie-Ange, still holding the vest in his hands.
"Do you need help with it?" Marie-Ange asked, voice all too calm for what she was asking. "Here, I can get the back for you, if you can do the rest." She touched Doug's shoulder lightly to direct him to turn around and then waited.
Doug turned instinctively as Marie-Ange pushed his shoulder, but his head pivoted to continue looking at her, a baffled look on his face. "But, I mean..." He twitched the vest in his hand, then shook his head jerkily. "I'm dwelling too much on the past again, aren't I?" he asked weakly.
The calm in Marie-Ange's voice broke only for a second, showing just how scared and angry she was. But neither were directed at Doug. "I trust you," she whispered.
Doug was just as scared and angry, which was probably why he kept thinking of all the ways this could go wrong, on top of not being able to let go of his memories of things like killing one of Skippy's dupes or the blood drive. He took a deep breath and tried his hardest to let go of some of the tension. "Okay," he said, reaching back with his free hand to grip and squeeze Marie-Ange's comfortingly. "Strap me up," he told her, pulling the Kevlar vest over his head.
Tightening the straps was not hard at all, nor was adjusting them until Doug felt that his movements were not terribly restricted. Once done, Marie-Ange stepped back, looking over Doug with a critical eye. Something was missing. She frowned for a moment, and then reached into the pocket of her pants, took out a card, and handed it to Doug.
Doug palmed the card without question and without looking at it, simply slipping it into a pocket near his heart. Trust was a two-way street, and when it came to Marie-Ange and her cards, he trusted her implicitly. Besides, as he began to pull items out of the duffel and distribute them about his person, he considered that it never hurt to have an extra weapon in the arsenal.
***
Remy crouched down at the edge of the estate, looking over the grounds towards the house. Candra's home was large and sprawlingly gothic, kept in the style of the old plantations from the founding of Louisiana. They hadn't seen any guards outside of the walls, although that didn't mean they were there. The house looked locked down, squatting ready to defend itself. Remy hefted the canvas bag full of explosives closer to him, making room for Illyana to squirm up beside him.
Illyana made her way to Remy, moving quietly; old habits were easy to slip back into, and she was light on her feet. She looked down at the explosives, then raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for his cue.
He put a finger over his lips as he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a pair of looked like stripped down gunsights. He passed one over to her and put the other to his eye. Only one guard on their side, it looked like, watching the grounds lacklusterly. He wasn't carrying any of the voudoun fetishes, making him one of Candra's zealots. Also, his radio was clipped to his belt. Obviously, Candra didn't feel at threat. Yet.
Remy gave a cold smile and nudged Illyana, who'd picked up the man as well. He made a circular gesture on his palm, and drew his finger through it, gratified that she nodded. They had barely any time to train Illyana in their group combat tactics, but what they had gotten through, she seemed to retain.
Illyana, still moving quietly, kept her eyes on the target in a way that suggested she'd done it many times before. She only glanced back for confirmation briefly, reaching the point of no return, and disappeared into the quiet glow of a tightly-controlled stepping-disk. Ten seconds later, light flared behind the guard, and he turned to determine its origin – ignoring the far greater danger behind him.
Remy appeared behind him like a wraith, and even as he was starting to open his mouth to shout, the Cajun grabbed him by the chin and base of the skull, and snapped his neck with a savage twist. Remy let the body slither to the marshy earth, stopping only to retrive the walkie talkie from his belt, and fish through the pockets to find a set of keys. He tossed them underhanded to Illyana.
"Good job. Keep dose 'case you or Sofia need dem later."
Illyana’s cool eyes followed the man down, but she caught the keys, pocketing them, carrying on without pause. “Got it,” she said briskly, glancing up at him. “Anything else?”
"Get ready to run." Remy said, looking back to the house in front of them.
***
The hard plastic case that held Mark's iPod wasn't just to protect it if he dropped it. It prevented him from crushing it when he held it with a death grip before missions. He emanated nervousness so much that it would probably give Doug a headache just by looking at him. The only thing he felt that he could do to keep some semblance of calm was to put one foot in front of the other, slowly wag his hips, then step back and move the other foot forward and wag again.
Sarah crouched on the ground beside the large wall that surrounded the building. Even when she had been standing, she hadn't been able to see over it to glimpse the house they were about to invade. She looked up, and from her position near the ground it appeared even bigger. "Even the place looks like it's got something to hide." The sounds of Mark’s movement ground repetitively on her nerve. Suddenly, she snapped her head in his direction. "What hell are you doing over there?"
"Practicing for class," he replied simply. Step back with the right, step forward with the left, slowly swish hips. Step back with left, step forward with right, repeat. Almost like a mantra. "I'm tired to the funny looks when I step on people's feet."
She stared back at him a moment, then broke into a grin. "I tell you what. You stop moving so I can listen for the signal," She gestured upwards as if the signal were going to appear overhead, "and I'll tutor you when we get back."
A beat, and then a grin that mirrored Sarah's. "Deal," said Mark, and he stopped dancing. "You won't tell Remy, will you? I think he'd enjoy thrashing me for dancing when I should be, you know, saving a friend's life."
Sarah put a hand up against the wall to brace herself as she stood up. Her grin disappeared. "I wouldn't worry about it. You'll get plenty of chance to show your stuff before we're done with this."
Any signs of joviality instantly left Mark's countenance, too. His grip on his iPod tightened. He could have sworn he heard the plastic case crack. "Are we a go?" Pete’s voice crackled over the Bluetooth-like earpiece they wore. "I guess so."
***
Remy stood with his back against the wall, breathing slowly after his rush to the wall. After a few moments, a dull red circle opened beside him, and Illyana emerged from her teleporting, struggling under the weight of the bag. Remy pulled it from her, and began to unload it. Seeing the look of the house, he intended his diversion to collapse this wing, pulling all the attention on him, and giving a window for the others. Remy turned over the first charge and started to wire the detonator.
"You remember what I taught you, 'yana?" He doublechecked, as Illyana pulled out the second charge.
"Yeah," she said. "Try not to set them off while we're both still around, right? No, it's fine. I remember." She made careful – but reasonably quick – work on the second charge, teleporting up and back down with minimal difficulty.
"I meant placement, you--" Remy bit back the comment. Now was not the time for the 'bad situations in which to bring out the sarcasm' talk. Besides, knowing Illyana, he'd need a rubber hose and a car battery to make that one stick.
Her look said that she'd known perfectly well what he meant, but, perhaps only to save herself an earful later, she set up the next charge quietly, clearly suppressing an innate impulse to reply.
Remy bent to his placements as the blonde girl disappeared, setting her bombs higher up into the roof. If they placed it right, Illyana's charges would send this part of the roof skyhigh, while Remy's toppled the walls inward. That should not only keep them occupied for a while, but give the others some clear avenues into the house.
Illyana worked quickly and quietly, ‘porting up and down with relative ease. She finally stopped, putting a hand on her hip. “Is that it, then? From the plan.”
"Dat's right. Now we wait for Pete's signal. Come on." Remy nodded towards the grounds and they shadowed back into the night.
***
The column of energy writhed and pulsed in the middle of the room. A tendril arced from Amanda, where she lay chained facedown on the slab, the scars on her back writhing with the energy that flowing through them. Around it, a circle of bokor chanted and danced, the air heavy from the burning herbs in the braziers and the oils poured over the fire. Candra breathed the occasional word, causing the energy to change colour or peak more brightly. Otherwise, she stood not far from Belladonna and Amanda, watching the ritual unfold.
With a kind of disgusted fascination Belladonna looked on, her distrust of the witch-woman growing with each passing minute. She was not altogether comfortable here and wanted more than anything to leave, but she would not show fear in front of her rival and so stood impassively as the energy continued to twist and grow.
The cutting had been bad enough. This... Amanda lay quietly, throat raw from screaming, muscles jerking and twitching spasmodically as the energy poured into and then out of her. Blood dripped from her restrained wrists, the wounds on her back, not much but with every drip, every pulse of energy, she could feel herself slipping away. But she didn't fight - there was no fighting this.
"If only that dark haired bitch could see this. Oh, darling Selene, our self-styled Dark Lady... I can't wait to see what part of hell you'll curse me from after tonight." Candra said, eyes glowing in the magic haze. After years of planning, it was all finally about to happen. The cult would have no choice but to accept a new God; after all, when the weakwilled lose one person to follow, they must adhere to another as certainly as the laws of nature.
"You look uncomfortable, Mere Boudreaux. Certainly after an apprenticeship with Mattie Deveroux, the black arts doesn't unsettle you, dear?"
Belladonna frowned. "My discomfort has nothing to do with the witchcraft being practiced here today." And everything to do with the witch practicing it.
"Oh, but that look. I can see inside your head, Mere Boudreaux. Over three hundred years of Guild Masters, and all of you are so confident in your deceptions, and so easy to understand." Candra laughed. "But you're not fools, which is why your new Guild unity will benefit from this ritual, even past your contract."
"Empty words," Belladonna all but snapped; this woman was not only insane but annoying too. "As if you have done any of this to benefit anybody but yourself. If you are looking for gratitude look elsewhere."
"Sweetie, the wrong thing to say." The woman didn't look at her, but another tendril of energy lashed out, catching Belladonna in it. Her men started to move forward, but a low pulse of energy drove them back. As if from a great distance, Candra's voice voice filtered back through the pain and energy sleeting through the assassin's body. "I
could suck the life from you as completely as my ritual will do to Selene. Oh, that's right. I'm not interested in bringing that mad old bitch back. Dark Goddess? I've seen too many cheap whores styling themselves like that to believe it."
Candra raised her arms as the ritual swelled. "Those fools in the cult don't realise that the little witch you brought me is a true conduit to her, and the energy can flow either way. After over three hundred years, I can use Selene's tricks to finally break the cycle of reincarnation that I cursed myself with. A dozen lives so far, but the same mind. I was a fool to trust that man's spell brought true immortality. Can you imagine the infirmaty of age and death a dozen times? Feeling your body break down over and over? No, Selene's incorruptible flesh will end that for me. The remains of her power and her cult will become one with my own."
"And you, Mere Boudreaux? Your Guilds are finally worth the next step. Once we remove Mattie Deveroux, you'll have a free hand in the city, and an ally with the power to help you challenge much larger targets. Like, say, the Hellfire Club?" Candra smiled and the energy that had cocooned Belladonna disappeared. "But I won't accept impoliteness. Your usefulness provides you only so much of my patience, cherub."
Every nerve of her body tingling with remembered pain, Belladonna resisted the urge to lash out at Candra. She was mad, absolutely mad, and what was worse was that it seemed she would succeed. Shoulders hunched, the assassin shot a glance at the girl on the slab, suddenly all too aware of what she must be feeling. "My apologies," she muttered, almost too low to be heard. She had no desire to incur Candra's wrath again.
"We'll say nothing more of it." Candra said, turning her attention back to the ritual. There was a low keening that joined the roar of energy, a counterpoint that seemed to be stripping the soul away from Amanda and the bokor arranged around her.
Suddenly, like the shuttering of a light, the energy was gone. Candra stood with her mouth hanging open, staring between the ritual circle and the slab where Amanda lay even more limply than before.
Blinking, Belladonna glanced around wildly, first at the girl on the slab and then at Candra, whose expression showed that this was definitely not part of the plan. Though there was the faintest inkling of curiosity as to how the ritual had been broken, Belladonna was neither inquisitive nor foolish enough to stick around and find out. Backing towards the door quickly, she gestured to her men to follow, turning once she felt it was safe to sprint for the exit.
"Stop!" Candra lashed out with one hand, covering the door with a wash of energy that forced Belladonna and her assassins to retreat from escape. "Something has interrupted the ritual. What has that fool Mordo done? And you. We have a contract Mere Boudreaux!"
"And I have fulfilled my end!" Belladonna replied, pitching her voice so that it could be heard in the distance between them. She wasn't about to move any closer to the cursed witch. "It's none of my responsibility if this ritual fails. Direct your anger toward someone who deserves it!"
"Curse you, Assassin!" Candra snarled back, but knew that she was trapped. Her contract with Belladonna had only been for the retrival of Amanda and the kidnapping. To try and force her, a contest which Candra was sure to win, would only set her forces against the assassins with the unnecessary losses that would entail. With a wave, she dispelled the barrier. "Run, you cowards. I will not forget this. I will make your children's children pay for this."
By now Belladonna had seen enough of Candra's power to perhaps be afraid that the witch's threats were very real. All such emotions, however, were ignored in favor of leaving as quickly as possible - there would be time for regrouping and preparing to face a new threat later.
In all the confusion, no-one noticed the barest twitch of the muscles in Amanda's left arm, the slightest hint of movement in her fingers, a small summoning of power. And as the door slammed behind Belladonna and her people, no-one heard Amanda's last effort, the sound of fingers, sticky with blood, making a soft 'click'.
***
Carefully, Wanda took a few more steps towards the house, stepping over the prone figure of a guard to reach for one of the last standing ones. He'd been turning towards a sound--stupidly putting his back to her--and she got a good hold of the back of his head, yanking him down to the ground. It took just two good smacks on the ground to make make him stop moving and she stood, turning to either see if she could find others or see how Pete was doing.
A dim flash of purple indicated Mark's entrance, the Jimi Hendrix-fueled concussive blast instantly knocking out the last of his guards. His hands glowed as he approached Wanda, eyes darting around as if expecting ninja assassins to jump out of the bushes at any second. He nodded to the witch, awaiting his next orders, as his hands cast a hazy glow on the ground beneath him.
Sarah followed behind, making sure the guards Mark knocked out weren't going to get back up to bite them in the ass later. Two more guards lay in bloody heaps on the ground behind her. Pulling a bone from her hip, she gave it a lazy swing to test the weight.
It was a long, tense moment, as they waited for the stony-faced Englishman to give the signal. The sudden appearance of a small ball of light in their midst nearly caused them to break their discipline. George the werelight was faint, taking on a sickly green that echoed the fitful light of the fireflies around them, and it pulsed somewhat irregularly. But for all that, it seemed impatient, bouncing from person to person and then to the door as if to tell them to hurry up already.
Then Pete's hand lifted to his earpiece and he spoke briefly. He nodded once, briefly, and gave the signal.
The distinctive white of iPod earbuds poked out from Doug's ears as he stretched, a long black duffel at his feet. A gray T-shirt with the Batman logo in black shifted across his chest as he rolled his shoulders. When he'd devoted enough time to his arms, he sank almost into a complete front split, loose black cargo pants bunching around his legs. Rising from the splits, he flashed a trio of quick kicks, low, medium, high, in time with the driving beat from his iPod. "Bang, bang, bang, upon my door..." he sang along quietly with the music that could be heard spilling out from how loud he'd turned the volume. Closing his eyes and tapping his foot in time with the bass line, he bent to his duffel. He wanted to be warmed up and limber, not go so far into a workout that he'd be a step too slow.
By comparison, Marie-Ange was nearly silent as she pulled on a pair of heavy boots and laced them. Once the bootlaces were tied tightly, she stood and picked up a bookbag, taking packages of cards out and sorting through them. She took seemingly random cards here and there, and put them in the pockets of her pants, tucked them into her boots and belt, and into the rolled-up the sleeves of the button-down shirt she'd put on over her tanktop.
A quick self-patdown and she closed the bookbag, and set it aside, moving towards Doug, and absently reaching up to plait her hair into two braids.
The first item out of the duffel was a distinctive looking padded vest with Velcro straps. Doug held it in his hands for several long seconds, looking at it. Most of the gear in his bag had been obtained in legally shaky fashion, but the vest was the only piece that truly made him nervous, and not because he'd had to get it in a shady way.
"YOU DIED. You died and I had to know about it and know that I could have stopped it if you had ONLY LET ME!"
Doug flinched back visibly at the memory, a picture of Marie-Ange standing with tear-stained cheeks and fists shaking with rage fresh in his mind. He jerked the earbuds out of his ears and dropped the iPod on the duffel, turning towards Marie-Ange, still holding the vest in his hands.
"Do you need help with it?" Marie-Ange asked, voice all too calm for what she was asking. "Here, I can get the back for you, if you can do the rest." She touched Doug's shoulder lightly to direct him to turn around and then waited.
Doug turned instinctively as Marie-Ange pushed his shoulder, but his head pivoted to continue looking at her, a baffled look on his face. "But, I mean..." He twitched the vest in his hand, then shook his head jerkily. "I'm dwelling too much on the past again, aren't I?" he asked weakly.
The calm in Marie-Ange's voice broke only for a second, showing just how scared and angry she was. But neither were directed at Doug. "I trust you," she whispered.
Doug was just as scared and angry, which was probably why he kept thinking of all the ways this could go wrong, on top of not being able to let go of his memories of things like killing one of Skippy's dupes or the blood drive. He took a deep breath and tried his hardest to let go of some of the tension. "Okay," he said, reaching back with his free hand to grip and squeeze Marie-Ange's comfortingly. "Strap me up," he told her, pulling the Kevlar vest over his head.
Tightening the straps was not hard at all, nor was adjusting them until Doug felt that his movements were not terribly restricted. Once done, Marie-Ange stepped back, looking over Doug with a critical eye. Something was missing. She frowned for a moment, and then reached into the pocket of her pants, took out a card, and handed it to Doug.
Doug palmed the card without question and without looking at it, simply slipping it into a pocket near his heart. Trust was a two-way street, and when it came to Marie-Ange and her cards, he trusted her implicitly. Besides, as he began to pull items out of the duffel and distribute them about his person, he considered that it never hurt to have an extra weapon in the arsenal.
***
Remy crouched down at the edge of the estate, looking over the grounds towards the house. Candra's home was large and sprawlingly gothic, kept in the style of the old plantations from the founding of Louisiana. They hadn't seen any guards outside of the walls, although that didn't mean they were there. The house looked locked down, squatting ready to defend itself. Remy hefted the canvas bag full of explosives closer to him, making room for Illyana to squirm up beside him.
Illyana made her way to Remy, moving quietly; old habits were easy to slip back into, and she was light on her feet. She looked down at the explosives, then raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for his cue.
He put a finger over his lips as he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a pair of looked like stripped down gunsights. He passed one over to her and put the other to his eye. Only one guard on their side, it looked like, watching the grounds lacklusterly. He wasn't carrying any of the voudoun fetishes, making him one of Candra's zealots. Also, his radio was clipped to his belt. Obviously, Candra didn't feel at threat. Yet.
Remy gave a cold smile and nudged Illyana, who'd picked up the man as well. He made a circular gesture on his palm, and drew his finger through it, gratified that she nodded. They had barely any time to train Illyana in their group combat tactics, but what they had gotten through, she seemed to retain.
Illyana, still moving quietly, kept her eyes on the target in a way that suggested she'd done it many times before. She only glanced back for confirmation briefly, reaching the point of no return, and disappeared into the quiet glow of a tightly-controlled stepping-disk. Ten seconds later, light flared behind the guard, and he turned to determine its origin – ignoring the far greater danger behind him.
Remy appeared behind him like a wraith, and even as he was starting to open his mouth to shout, the Cajun grabbed him by the chin and base of the skull, and snapped his neck with a savage twist. Remy let the body slither to the marshy earth, stopping only to retrive the walkie talkie from his belt, and fish through the pockets to find a set of keys. He tossed them underhanded to Illyana.
"Good job. Keep dose 'case you or Sofia need dem later."
Illyana’s cool eyes followed the man down, but she caught the keys, pocketing them, carrying on without pause. “Got it,” she said briskly, glancing up at him. “Anything else?”
"Get ready to run." Remy said, looking back to the house in front of them.
***
The hard plastic case that held Mark's iPod wasn't just to protect it if he dropped it. It prevented him from crushing it when he held it with a death grip before missions. He emanated nervousness so much that it would probably give Doug a headache just by looking at him. The only thing he felt that he could do to keep some semblance of calm was to put one foot in front of the other, slowly wag his hips, then step back and move the other foot forward and wag again.
Sarah crouched on the ground beside the large wall that surrounded the building. Even when she had been standing, she hadn't been able to see over it to glimpse the house they were about to invade. She looked up, and from her position near the ground it appeared even bigger. "Even the place looks like it's got something to hide." The sounds of Mark’s movement ground repetitively on her nerve. Suddenly, she snapped her head in his direction. "What hell are you doing over there?"
"Practicing for class," he replied simply. Step back with the right, step forward with the left, slowly swish hips. Step back with left, step forward with right, repeat. Almost like a mantra. "I'm tired to the funny looks when I step on people's feet."
She stared back at him a moment, then broke into a grin. "I tell you what. You stop moving so I can listen for the signal," She gestured upwards as if the signal were going to appear overhead, "and I'll tutor you when we get back."
A beat, and then a grin that mirrored Sarah's. "Deal," said Mark, and he stopped dancing. "You won't tell Remy, will you? I think he'd enjoy thrashing me for dancing when I should be, you know, saving a friend's life."
Sarah put a hand up against the wall to brace herself as she stood up. Her grin disappeared. "I wouldn't worry about it. You'll get plenty of chance to show your stuff before we're done with this."
Any signs of joviality instantly left Mark's countenance, too. His grip on his iPod tightened. He could have sworn he heard the plastic case crack. "Are we a go?" Pete’s voice crackled over the Bluetooth-like earpiece they wore. "I guess so."
***
Remy stood with his back against the wall, breathing slowly after his rush to the wall. After a few moments, a dull red circle opened beside him, and Illyana emerged from her teleporting, struggling under the weight of the bag. Remy pulled it from her, and began to unload it. Seeing the look of the house, he intended his diversion to collapse this wing, pulling all the attention on him, and giving a window for the others. Remy turned over the first charge and started to wire the detonator.
"You remember what I taught you, 'yana?" He doublechecked, as Illyana pulled out the second charge.
"Yeah," she said. "Try not to set them off while we're both still around, right? No, it's fine. I remember." She made careful – but reasonably quick – work on the second charge, teleporting up and back down with minimal difficulty.
"I meant placement, you--" Remy bit back the comment. Now was not the time for the 'bad situations in which to bring out the sarcasm' talk. Besides, knowing Illyana, he'd need a rubber hose and a car battery to make that one stick.
Her look said that she'd known perfectly well what he meant, but, perhaps only to save herself an earful later, she set up the next charge quietly, clearly suppressing an innate impulse to reply.
Remy bent to his placements as the blonde girl disappeared, setting her bombs higher up into the roof. If they placed it right, Illyana's charges would send this part of the roof skyhigh, while Remy's toppled the walls inward. That should not only keep them occupied for a while, but give the others some clear avenues into the house.
Illyana worked quickly and quietly, ‘porting up and down with relative ease. She finally stopped, putting a hand on her hip. “Is that it, then? From the plan.”
"Dat's right. Now we wait for Pete's signal. Come on." Remy nodded towards the grounds and they shadowed back into the night.
***
The column of energy writhed and pulsed in the middle of the room. A tendril arced from Amanda, where she lay chained facedown on the slab, the scars on her back writhing with the energy that flowing through them. Around it, a circle of bokor chanted and danced, the air heavy from the burning herbs in the braziers and the oils poured over the fire. Candra breathed the occasional word, causing the energy to change colour or peak more brightly. Otherwise, she stood not far from Belladonna and Amanda, watching the ritual unfold.
With a kind of disgusted fascination Belladonna looked on, her distrust of the witch-woman growing with each passing minute. She was not altogether comfortable here and wanted more than anything to leave, but she would not show fear in front of her rival and so stood impassively as the energy continued to twist and grow.
The cutting had been bad enough. This... Amanda lay quietly, throat raw from screaming, muscles jerking and twitching spasmodically as the energy poured into and then out of her. Blood dripped from her restrained wrists, the wounds on her back, not much but with every drip, every pulse of energy, she could feel herself slipping away. But she didn't fight - there was no fighting this.
"If only that dark haired bitch could see this. Oh, darling Selene, our self-styled Dark Lady... I can't wait to see what part of hell you'll curse me from after tonight." Candra said, eyes glowing in the magic haze. After years of planning, it was all finally about to happen. The cult would have no choice but to accept a new God; after all, when the weakwilled lose one person to follow, they must adhere to another as certainly as the laws of nature.
"You look uncomfortable, Mere Boudreaux. Certainly after an apprenticeship with Mattie Deveroux, the black arts doesn't unsettle you, dear?"
Belladonna frowned. "My discomfort has nothing to do with the witchcraft being practiced here today." And everything to do with the witch practicing it.
"Oh, but that look. I can see inside your head, Mere Boudreaux. Over three hundred years of Guild Masters, and all of you are so confident in your deceptions, and so easy to understand." Candra laughed. "But you're not fools, which is why your new Guild unity will benefit from this ritual, even past your contract."
"Empty words," Belladonna all but snapped; this woman was not only insane but annoying too. "As if you have done any of this to benefit anybody but yourself. If you are looking for gratitude look elsewhere."
"Sweetie, the wrong thing to say." The woman didn't look at her, but another tendril of energy lashed out, catching Belladonna in it. Her men started to move forward, but a low pulse of energy drove them back. As if from a great distance, Candra's voice voice filtered back through the pain and energy sleeting through the assassin's body. "I
could suck the life from you as completely as my ritual will do to Selene. Oh, that's right. I'm not interested in bringing that mad old bitch back. Dark Goddess? I've seen too many cheap whores styling themselves like that to believe it."
Candra raised her arms as the ritual swelled. "Those fools in the cult don't realise that the little witch you brought me is a true conduit to her, and the energy can flow either way. After over three hundred years, I can use Selene's tricks to finally break the cycle of reincarnation that I cursed myself with. A dozen lives so far, but the same mind. I was a fool to trust that man's spell brought true immortality. Can you imagine the infirmaty of age and death a dozen times? Feeling your body break down over and over? No, Selene's incorruptible flesh will end that for me. The remains of her power and her cult will become one with my own."
"And you, Mere Boudreaux? Your Guilds are finally worth the next step. Once we remove Mattie Deveroux, you'll have a free hand in the city, and an ally with the power to help you challenge much larger targets. Like, say, the Hellfire Club?" Candra smiled and the energy that had cocooned Belladonna disappeared. "But I won't accept impoliteness. Your usefulness provides you only so much of my patience, cherub."
Every nerve of her body tingling with remembered pain, Belladonna resisted the urge to lash out at Candra. She was mad, absolutely mad, and what was worse was that it seemed she would succeed. Shoulders hunched, the assassin shot a glance at the girl on the slab, suddenly all too aware of what she must be feeling. "My apologies," she muttered, almost too low to be heard. She had no desire to incur Candra's wrath again.
"We'll say nothing more of it." Candra said, turning her attention back to the ritual. There was a low keening that joined the roar of energy, a counterpoint that seemed to be stripping the soul away from Amanda and the bokor arranged around her.
Suddenly, like the shuttering of a light, the energy was gone. Candra stood with her mouth hanging open, staring between the ritual circle and the slab where Amanda lay even more limply than before.
Blinking, Belladonna glanced around wildly, first at the girl on the slab and then at Candra, whose expression showed that this was definitely not part of the plan. Though there was the faintest inkling of curiosity as to how the ritual had been broken, Belladonna was neither inquisitive nor foolish enough to stick around and find out. Backing towards the door quickly, she gestured to her men to follow, turning once she felt it was safe to sprint for the exit.
"Stop!" Candra lashed out with one hand, covering the door with a wash of energy that forced Belladonna and her assassins to retreat from escape. "Something has interrupted the ritual. What has that fool Mordo done? And you. We have a contract Mere Boudreaux!"
"And I have fulfilled my end!" Belladonna replied, pitching her voice so that it could be heard in the distance between them. She wasn't about to move any closer to the cursed witch. "It's none of my responsibility if this ritual fails. Direct your anger toward someone who deserves it!"
"Curse you, Assassin!" Candra snarled back, but knew that she was trapped. Her contract with Belladonna had only been for the retrival of Amanda and the kidnapping. To try and force her, a contest which Candra was sure to win, would only set her forces against the assassins with the unnecessary losses that would entail. With a wave, she dispelled the barrier. "Run, you cowards. I will not forget this. I will make your children's children pay for this."
By now Belladonna had seen enough of Candra's power to perhaps be afraid that the witch's threats were very real. All such emotions, however, were ignored in favor of leaving as quickly as possible - there would be time for regrouping and preparing to face a new threat later.
In all the confusion, no-one noticed the barest twitch of the muscles in Amanda's left arm, the slightest hint of movement in her fingers, a small summoning of power. And as the door slammed behind Belladonna and her people, no-one heard Amanda's last effort, the sound of fingers, sticky with blood, making a soft 'click'.
***
Carefully, Wanda took a few more steps towards the house, stepping over the prone figure of a guard to reach for one of the last standing ones. He'd been turning towards a sound--stupidly putting his back to her--and she got a good hold of the back of his head, yanking him down to the ground. It took just two good smacks on the ground to make make him stop moving and she stood, turning to either see if she could find others or see how Pete was doing.
A dim flash of purple indicated Mark's entrance, the Jimi Hendrix-fueled concussive blast instantly knocking out the last of his guards. His hands glowed as he approached Wanda, eyes darting around as if expecting ninja assassins to jump out of the bushes at any second. He nodded to the witch, awaiting his next orders, as his hands cast a hazy glow on the ground beneath him.
Sarah followed behind, making sure the guards Mark knocked out weren't going to get back up to bite them in the ass later. Two more guards lay in bloody heaps on the ground behind her. Pulling a bone from her hip, she gave it a lazy swing to test the weight.
It was a long, tense moment, as they waited for the stony-faced Englishman to give the signal. The sudden appearance of a small ball of light in their midst nearly caused them to break their discipline. George the werelight was faint, taking on a sickly green that echoed the fitful light of the fireflies around them, and it pulsed somewhat irregularly. But for all that, it seemed impatient, bouncing from person to person and then to the door as if to tell them to hurry up already.
Then Pete's hand lifted to his earpiece and he spoke briefly. He nodded once, briefly, and gave the signal.
