Rack - Monday morning
Apr. 19th, 2004 08:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xp_daytripper posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsThe confrontation with Rack. Amanda gets the upper hand until Angelo makes a fatal mistake and gives Rack the opportunity to reopen the link with Manuel and drain them both. Emma and Pete arrive just in the nick of time. I guess that makes them Big Damn Heroes. Written by Kate, Alasdair, Andrew, Redhawk and myself.
"Hello, blossom. You look well."
Despite himself, Angelo had been expecting someone who fitted the fictional cliches of an evil magician – black robes, extravagant beard (or possibly a pencil-thin moustache), an aura of palpable menace… Instead, Rack was a fit, healthy-looking man in his forties, sandy hair just beginning to thin, skin tanned deeply brown by the Mexican sun. In his light cotton shirt and khaki shorts, he looked like an aging surfer, confident and friendly. Someone who would not look out of place selling tourist knick-knacks on the beach. Then Angelo caught the flat hunger in the man’s faded blue eyes and knew there was no mistake.
"Rack." Amanda said the name without expression, hiding her fear, but Angelo could see the tension thrumming through her. "Gunna invite us in for a cuppa?"
"Of course, blossom. ‘Mi casa…’ and all the rest of it." Rack moved aside in the doorway to let the pair enter. "This your young man, then? Looks to be a nice lad."
"A friend," Angelo said, remembering Amanda’s warning about names having power. The inside of the small mudbrick house was sunlit and tidy, not at all the traditional magician’s lair. A few small statues of pagan deities, some bunches of herbs hanging in one of the windows, a bookshelf full of large, leather-bound volumes – Angelo recognised one or two of the spines as matching those in Amanda’s small collection – were the only indications of Rack’s occult connections.
"Nice to see you getting in touch with your mutant side, love" Rack said, the contempt in his eyes as he looked at Angelo absent from his voice. "That fancy school's doing you good, by the looks. Learning things, making new friends… And didn’t you grow up just lovely?" Rack closed the door behind them and turned to face the pair. His gaze was coldly possessive as he looked Amanda up and down, and she shuddered imperceptibly.
"Fuck off, Rack," she retorted, showing her spark at last. "Stop playin' yer sick little games. You wanted t' see me? Here I am. But I ain't yours no more. Me life's me own."
"That’s where you’re wrong, blossom," said Rack, that gentle, fatherly smile still on his face. "You’re mine, bought and paid for, and you’ve got my marks on you to prove it."
Amanda flinched and Angelo stepped forward, hands balling into fists. "Just ‘cause you carved your name into her doesn’t mean you own her," he rasped, voice low and dangerous.
"He’s a protective one, this ‘friend’ of yours, isn’t he blossom?" Rack chuckled. "And you’ve told him your secrets, I see. Then again, it might’ve been a little hard to explain away the first time you stripped for him."
"Sick bastard…" Angelo growled, and made to step forward. Amanda’s hand on his arm gave him pause.
"Remember, it’s only words, Ange," she murmured. "He’s just tryin’ t’ get at you."
"’Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me’, eh, blossom? You have grown up. Maybe I should remind you there’s other words, ones that do hurt more than feelings? Want to see how your champion deals with those?" Rack flexed his hands, dark power crackling over them.
"Leave him outta this, Rack," Amanda said, stepping forward. "Yer dealin’ with me."
"I am, aren’t I, blossom? Very well, let’s deal, shall we?" Rack's smile widened.
"What do you want, Rack?"
"I would have thought it was obvious, blossom. I want back what that Romany bitch stole from me."
"What's Rom got t' do with it?" Amanda asked, her expression guarded. Rack was a devious snake, but he used the truth when it suited him. When it hurt more than lies.
"Hasn't she told you, your new mother figure? Oh-ho, I wonder why that is? Could be she didn't want you knowing some of the secrets of her grubby little past." Rack's expression was gleeful. "She was there, you know, during the ritual. One of my devoted disciples, there to be my witnesses when I made you mine, body and soul. One of my best students - not too shabby a fuck either."
"You're lying," Amanda said through gritted teeth.
"You know I'm not. You can see it, can't you? It's truth, plain and simple," replied Rack, smile mocking and malicious now.
"You said Romany stole Amanda from you. Doesn't seem too devoted t' me," said Angelo, cutting in before Rack could continue his taunting. "She turned on you, didn't she?"
"Couldn't stomach what had to be done, could she?" shot back Rack, losing his composure for a moment, his accent becoming coarser. "Bitch had to go and interfere, take what was mine. I did time because of that cunt, and now I've got my power source back, she'll pay all right."
The threat seemed to shake Amanda from her doubt. "You ain't got me back yet, Rack," she said, her voice cold and determined. "An' I'm not gunna come quietly. You want me, you have t' fight for me."
"Oh, is that it, is it? My little girl has all grown up and now she wants to take me on!" Rack looked amused. "Got anything to back up those fine threats?"
"More ‘n enough." And with that she jabbed her right hand at him. "Fulmeninis!" she cried, and bolts of electricity arced from her fingertips towards Rack. He gestured and was surrounded by a dark purple force field, which absorbed Amanda’s power effortlessly.
"Nicely done, blossom. You’re on the fast track, aren’t you? Witch of your capabilities, you shouldn’t be able to cast that spell for years yet."
"I’ve been on somethin’ of a steep learnin’ curve," she replied with a feral grin. Power was thrumming through her – Angelo, standing beside her, could feel it, like the static generated by an approaching thunderstorm – and there was something darkly joyous in it. She could kill Rack, she had more than enough power to do it, and the thought was liberating, overwhelming the small voice inside her that was warning her about the edge she was treading.
"Sis modo dissolutum exposco, validum scutum... Diutius nec defende a manibus arcam, intende!" she chanted, and Rack and his shield were encased in a brightly glowing gold sphere of energy. She closed her outstretched hand into a fist, and the sphere contracted, shattering his shield. With a word and a gesture, Rack cast off Amanda’s spell, but the effort was showing in his face. She followed up with another energy bolt, this time aimed like a spear, and he staggered as it struck his chest.
"Lucky shot, blossom," he croaked, and chanted something that Angelo recognised simply as Not Latin. Amanda grabbed him and pulled him close to her, at the same time incanting a protection spell. Power crackled around them as her shield absorbed Rack’s fireball.
"I’ve had enough of this," Amanda growled, and for a moment her eyes glowed red, reminding Angelo of Manuel. "ENOUGH!" she cried, and reached out with her telekinetic spell to hold Rack immobile. He hung in space, feet dangling helplessly a foot above the floor, body straining against his former ward’s power. "Got anythin’ t’ say before I squash you like a bug?" she asked.
"Amanda…" Angelo said softly. "Remember what you told me. You kill him, you'll become him. Don't let him do that to you. Don’t let him win. If he has t'die, let me do it." His hand went to the gun in his waistband, waiting for her word.
She wanted him dead. More than anything, she wanted to end his miserable life, free herself of this man, this monster. She had the power, more than enough. But Angelo was right - if she did, there'd be no turning back, no cleansing this time. All the ground she'd gained would be lost, she'd be back where she'd been, no, worse - everyone and anyone she ever felt anything for would be forfeit. And she couldn't ask Angelo to do that for her - it would be as much of a step backward for him as it would be for her. She tried to think past the roaring in her ears, the feeling of world-expanding power thrumming through her, and slowly the words of the unbinding spell fell from her lips.
"You think you can undo what I did, do you, blossom?" rasped Rack, straining to form the words against the spell binding him. "You think you have that power? Look at yourself, girl, you're nothing. Always have been, always will be. And no fancy school or rich boyfriend is gunna change that." Another of those malicious looks crossed his face. "Yeah, I know all about that. I always could read you like a book, blossom. And your aura's got his fingerprints all over it. Not to mention that spot in the back of your head. What're you hiding back there?"
"He can't mean… how the hell does he know about the link with Manuel?" Angelo asked, forgetting himself, the warning about names.
"That's the ticket, lad. Just what I needed." Grinning like a shark, Rack spoke a string of words, of which Manuel's name was the only one recognisable. Amanda cried out as the last shreds of Romany's spell were ripped away and the link reasserted itself. Fuelled by the power she had already absorbed, pushed by Rack's own magic, she felt the full force of Manuel's emotions flooding her, breaking her tenuous concentration. The spell holding Rack faltered, then failed, dropping him back to his feet.
Rack smiled, a cruel and triumphant smile. "Your concentration was always shite." A barest flick of his fingers released a spell and black energy arced up through the floor and through the young witch.
"Amanda!" Angelo cried, beginning to pull the gun from his waistband, but a glance from Rack froze him on the spot.
"Oh no, you don't. You keep that nasty gun of yours where it is. I’ll deal with you soon enough, little champion. Once I’ve done with this little trollop. Nice and slow, and you'll get to watch, every single moment, and you won't be able to do fuck all to stop it." Knowing glee flickered in his eyes as he turned his back on Angelo contemptuously, and homed in on to where Amanda had fallen into a small huddle on the floor, shaking as random bursts of darkness earthed themselves through her. "On your feet, blossom."
"…fuck…you…" she whimpered through gritted teeth.
"I said, on your feet, my little chóvihánni." Rack bent and grabbed Amanda’s hair, yanking her up. "Don’t make me ask again, Gemile." The words he used sounded vaguely Russian to Angelo – at their sound, and particularly the name – Gemile – Amanda’s struggles ceased and she stood, hands hanging limply by her sides.
"yes, daddy," she said in a small voice. Rack let go of her hair, satisfied by her compliance.
"Much better, eh, blossom? Don’t know why you had to make me go and use your name like that – you know as well as I do you can’t do shit against me." He grasped her chin in his fingers, tilting her face up. "Well, aren’t you all grown up? Learnt a whole bunch of new tricks, too. And you reek of power - you've gone and got an upgrade, make so mistake." He grinned, a nasty, hard grin. "I knew you’d turn out a powerful one, but I didn't get a chance to find that out for meself. That demon had to go and try and turn the tables on me, and then that Romany bitch had to go and interfere. Still, all’s well that ends well, isn’t it?" And with that, he pushed his left hand into Amanda’s chest.
It was perhaps, an error - with the link repaired, Rack was absorbing not only Amanda's life force, but Manuel's as well. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he spasmed as the full power of both was unleashed into him – bright, red-tinted light erupted from the place where his hand entered her flesh.
The night had been... difficult. A nice long bath was just what the doctor ordered. His head was throbbing, for some reason, his emotions on edge and excitable. The water was hot, just the way he liked it, and he toyed with the idea of seeing if he could get anyone to join him in the bath before remembering that he was blocked, and Amanda was somewhere in Mexico.
~Barbarous country.~ he thought to himself as he slid into the near-scalding water. ~Completely uncivilized.~
As he relaxed and soaked, he let his mind and emotions wander where they would. Only the bracelet, kept dry on his wrist, stopped everyone in the Mansion from feeling what he was feeling. As they so often did, his thoughts wandered towards Amanda. She would be back soon, and he had to prepare an appropriate welcome-home present to wash the stench of Mexico and one particular Mexican from her.
He idly wondered if she was sleeping with Angelo, then made a face at the distastefulness of that thought. Besides, even if she was, she knew where she needed to go for true pleasure. The Mexican couldn't do a damned thing for her that he couldn't do a thousand times better, even considering their ...difficulties... that way.
Looking down, Manuel grinned. No difficulties today, no sir! A shame there was nobody to take advantage of it.
He had perhaps fifteen seconds worth of warning before the link with Amanda, so long dormant, leapt back to life. He very nearly drowned at the shock of it all, splashing water all over the place and soaking his dampener bracelet.
~Amanda? How could this be?~ he thought at her, sensing her rage, her cold malicious glee at the thought of... something. He wasn't a telepath, and at times like this he bitterly resented it.
He didn't have time to explore the link more thoroughly before fear and pain slammed into him. His slender body slid into the water bonelessly as he felt his very essence, his life itself, being drawn through the link to Amanda and into - a vortex. A maw of uncompromising hunger. A black pit of death.
Manuel gasped at the pain of it, then promptly began to choke as water flooded into his lungs.
All through Rack’s performance, Angelo had been straining against whatever spell it was that held him, raging silently. He couldn't even speak - Rack's spell had frozen every muscle, and it was all he could do to keep breathing. Helpless fury burned in him; Amanda was going to die, and there was nothing he could do but watch. Just as Rack intended.
"Sometimes, it's fun to watch."
Angelo couldn't turn to see who was speaking, but he recognised the voice – and the mental intrusion. Emma Frost stepped through the open door of Rack's house, playing idly with a small crystal on a chain around her neck.
"Sometimes it's fun to play," Emma added with a smile. "I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind me bursting in like this. You must be Rack?"
Rack stared back at her with fire in his eyes. He cast Amanda down to the ground, but from the way the light still gaped from her chest, it was clear he wasn't done with her yet. He raised his other hand, alive with the crackle of magical energy, then hurled a writhing cannonball of fierce light toward her.
Emma stood her ground, her skin suddenly sheening over into its diamond form as she pressed the crystal to her throat. The energy washed over her and drained into the flagstone floor.
"Who the fuck are you?" asked Rack bitterly, narrowing his eyes. Angelo desperately tried to call out to Emma, both with his voice and his mind, to warn her that she shouldn't answer his question, but in her diamond form she couldn't read him.
"Don't you read the business pages, darling?" Emma replied innocently. "I'm Emma Grace Frost. I want my students back."
Rack grinned and started muttering a low incantation. He had her now. He cast his hands in the air, then raised his voice to a scream.
Nothing happened. Emma ignored him and stepped over to Angelo. She looked him up and down and sighed. He was clearly in pain and anguish. She couldn’t have that.
"No way," said Rack, irritated to see a second spell fail. "You’re not one of us. Someone’s protecting you."
"I know a little man in Belgrade," replied Emma, turning to him again. She was still playing with her crystal, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. "He gave me this little charm. It’s used to protect scrying stones, to prevent dark magic from passing through from infernal dimensions, or some such nonsense. It’s not really my area, but as I understand it, the spell works on any stone. Including diamond. Which I happen to be."
Emma reached suddenly to draw the gun from Angelo's waistband. She raised it, but Rack was too close. He knocked it out of her hand and it went skittering across the floor, ending under the bookcase. Emma swung out with her fist and Rack dodged. She tried a kick and he feinted back, only to find an arm reaching around his neck and a sudden hot, prickly heat pressing against the side of his face. "Make a move, say anything funny, and you’re dead," said Pete.
Rack was sweating almost immediately. Angelo let out a loud, raw cough just as suddenly – Rack’s concentration was broken, and the holding spell quickly faded. Emma looped Angelo’s arm over her shoulder to stop him falling.
"Amanda…" he croaked.
"I can’t carry both of you, darling. She’ll be fine." But as soon as she said this, Emma had something quite different to say to Pete. Telepathically, she called to him;
~You can’t kill him, Peter. He’s linked to Amanda. I don’t know what will happen if you kill him. Give me time to break the connection.~
~Why is nothing ever sodding easy?~ Pete sent back. ~Just let me know when...~
Emma nodded, then carried Angelo outside toward where they had a taxi waiting.
Pete smashed his leg into the back of Rack's knees, driving him to the ground, then stamped on his back, causing the magician to scream aloud.
"Did you not get the hint the first fucking time? You've pissed me big sister off something rotten, and that's a bad idea anyway, but now you've been stupid enough to fuck with my niece again."
Rack rolled away, trying to come to his feet, just in time for Pete's kick to land hard in his stomach, knocking the breath from him.
"Here's the fucking news, shitbag: stay away. She ain't yours, and she's never fucking going to be. You're done. If you're really, really bloody lucky, you might get out of this alive, but you come near me or mine, and you're fucking dead. Understand?"
Rack was on his hands and knees, gasping for breath. Pete pulled him to his feet with one hand, and held the other in front of the man's face, fingertips glowing just slightly.
"Fucking understand?"
Rack nodded. "Yuh..."
"Good." Pete punched him in the face, sending him reeling backward into the wall. Rack caught himself before he fell down, and made a quick gesture in the air with his hand. A wall of red light sprang up between him and Pete, stopping the spy from reaching him again.
"Your bitch sister? For a Wisdom, you're a fucking moron, aren't you?" Rack gestured again, and the wall coalesced into a bolt of light and shot toward Pete, who threw himself backwards to avoid it.
"You don't get it, do you? I'm a fucking magician. That means there's fuck all a tosser like you can do to me. Not while I've got your precious niece's life in my fist."
~Any time you're ready Emma!~ Pete threw the thought out as he rolled to his feet, narrowly avoiding another bolt.
Outside, Emma leaned against the taxi with a hand pressed to her forehead. "I’m trying, Peter," she spat. She was inside Amanda’s head, and it was hurting like hell to be there. Worse, she couldn’t make head or tail of what was going on in there. The landscape was black and cracked and filled with twisted briars, and the sky was a throbbing purple ripped with bleeding red. That, she figured, was Rack, but it was a magical presence, and she didn’t know how to fight it.
Then she remembered – or perhaps a small voice told her – about the power of names. If Rack was holding Amanda, it was because he knew her true name.
Emma reached out with her mind in another direction, and the taxi driver suddenly slumped forward in his seat. Emma rifled through his mind, stealing memories and dreams. Then she stood in the howling wind of Amanda’s mind and yelled against it:
"Your name is Ramon Gonzalez. You’re 43 years old. Your name is Ramon Gonzalez. You are a taxi driver. Your name is Ramon Gonzalez. You’re married with three children..." As she continued, she projected images from Ramon’s mind, images of birthday parties and barbecues, drunken bar fights and dull mechanical sex. The images formed on the landscape, flickering like a broken television, shattering the briars where they appeared.
Back indoors, Rack walked calmly across the room to where Amanda lay, forcing Pete to keep his distance with a series of blasts.
"So here's the fucking news, Wisdom-boy: I'm going to do you now, and then I'm going to track down your sister, and bring you back from the dead just so's you can watch what I do to the slag. I might even make you join in."
"Cunt!" Pete snarled, and cast a spread of hotknives just past Rack, taking advantage of the brief second's diversion that afforded him to fling himself at Rack, catching the sorcerer with a fist to the chin that knocked him sprawling.
Inside Amanda’s head, the skies were boiling. "You are Ramon Gonzalez," Emma repeated, over and over – and for a moment, just a fraction of a moment, Amanda believed. And in that moment, Rack’s hold on her weakened and the rich bruised purples and bloody reds of the sky gave way to a dull, empty gray.
Emma looked around at the barren psi-scape. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t Amanda. It was empty and in ruin. But it was the best she could manage in the circumstances. Tired and frustrated, Emma called out to Pete.
~Do it.~
Pete grinned, and this time, his hotknives weren't designed to miss.
Rack screamed once, briefly, and then hit the floor with a meaty thump. The light pouring from Amanda's chest pulsed, a bright beam shooting up to the roof, and she convulsed, arching her back against the floor, before going limp herself as the light went out.
"I lied, cunt. No fucking way do you get to live." Pete spat at the corpse, and sent a couple of extra knives through the head, just in case.
He knelt beside Amanda, checking for a pulse. Finding one, he breathed a sigh or relief, then picked her up, and walked out.
Emma forced herself to stand upright as Pete came out. She looked at Amanda with pity, and pulled open the door so he could put her next to Angelo.
Angelo glanced over, eyes filled with pain, as Pete carefully laid her down on the seat. Seeing the condition she was in, he couldn't fight down the guilt at his perceived responsibility for it any more, and curled up on his own part of the seat, fists clenched painfully tight.
"You’ll have to drive, Peter," Emma told the stony-faced spy. "Our driver isn’t feeling himself."
***
Chóvihánni - Romany for 'witch'.
"Hello, blossom. You look well."
Despite himself, Angelo had been expecting someone who fitted the fictional cliches of an evil magician – black robes, extravagant beard (or possibly a pencil-thin moustache), an aura of palpable menace… Instead, Rack was a fit, healthy-looking man in his forties, sandy hair just beginning to thin, skin tanned deeply brown by the Mexican sun. In his light cotton shirt and khaki shorts, he looked like an aging surfer, confident and friendly. Someone who would not look out of place selling tourist knick-knacks on the beach. Then Angelo caught the flat hunger in the man’s faded blue eyes and knew there was no mistake.
"Rack." Amanda said the name without expression, hiding her fear, but Angelo could see the tension thrumming through her. "Gunna invite us in for a cuppa?"
"Of course, blossom. ‘Mi casa…’ and all the rest of it." Rack moved aside in the doorway to let the pair enter. "This your young man, then? Looks to be a nice lad."
"A friend," Angelo said, remembering Amanda’s warning about names having power. The inside of the small mudbrick house was sunlit and tidy, not at all the traditional magician’s lair. A few small statues of pagan deities, some bunches of herbs hanging in one of the windows, a bookshelf full of large, leather-bound volumes – Angelo recognised one or two of the spines as matching those in Amanda’s small collection – were the only indications of Rack’s occult connections.
"Nice to see you getting in touch with your mutant side, love" Rack said, the contempt in his eyes as he looked at Angelo absent from his voice. "That fancy school's doing you good, by the looks. Learning things, making new friends… And didn’t you grow up just lovely?" Rack closed the door behind them and turned to face the pair. His gaze was coldly possessive as he looked Amanda up and down, and she shuddered imperceptibly.
"Fuck off, Rack," she retorted, showing her spark at last. "Stop playin' yer sick little games. You wanted t' see me? Here I am. But I ain't yours no more. Me life's me own."
"That’s where you’re wrong, blossom," said Rack, that gentle, fatherly smile still on his face. "You’re mine, bought and paid for, and you’ve got my marks on you to prove it."
Amanda flinched and Angelo stepped forward, hands balling into fists. "Just ‘cause you carved your name into her doesn’t mean you own her," he rasped, voice low and dangerous.
"He’s a protective one, this ‘friend’ of yours, isn’t he blossom?" Rack chuckled. "And you’ve told him your secrets, I see. Then again, it might’ve been a little hard to explain away the first time you stripped for him."
"Sick bastard…" Angelo growled, and made to step forward. Amanda’s hand on his arm gave him pause.
"Remember, it’s only words, Ange," she murmured. "He’s just tryin’ t’ get at you."
"’Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me’, eh, blossom? You have grown up. Maybe I should remind you there’s other words, ones that do hurt more than feelings? Want to see how your champion deals with those?" Rack flexed his hands, dark power crackling over them.
"Leave him outta this, Rack," Amanda said, stepping forward. "Yer dealin’ with me."
"I am, aren’t I, blossom? Very well, let’s deal, shall we?" Rack's smile widened.
"What do you want, Rack?"
"I would have thought it was obvious, blossom. I want back what that Romany bitch stole from me."
"What's Rom got t' do with it?" Amanda asked, her expression guarded. Rack was a devious snake, but he used the truth when it suited him. When it hurt more than lies.
"Hasn't she told you, your new mother figure? Oh-ho, I wonder why that is? Could be she didn't want you knowing some of the secrets of her grubby little past." Rack's expression was gleeful. "She was there, you know, during the ritual. One of my devoted disciples, there to be my witnesses when I made you mine, body and soul. One of my best students - not too shabby a fuck either."
"You're lying," Amanda said through gritted teeth.
"You know I'm not. You can see it, can't you? It's truth, plain and simple," replied Rack, smile mocking and malicious now.
"You said Romany stole Amanda from you. Doesn't seem too devoted t' me," said Angelo, cutting in before Rack could continue his taunting. "She turned on you, didn't she?"
"Couldn't stomach what had to be done, could she?" shot back Rack, losing his composure for a moment, his accent becoming coarser. "Bitch had to go and interfere, take what was mine. I did time because of that cunt, and now I've got my power source back, she'll pay all right."
The threat seemed to shake Amanda from her doubt. "You ain't got me back yet, Rack," she said, her voice cold and determined. "An' I'm not gunna come quietly. You want me, you have t' fight for me."
"Oh, is that it, is it? My little girl has all grown up and now she wants to take me on!" Rack looked amused. "Got anything to back up those fine threats?"
"More ‘n enough." And with that she jabbed her right hand at him. "Fulmeninis!" she cried, and bolts of electricity arced from her fingertips towards Rack. He gestured and was surrounded by a dark purple force field, which absorbed Amanda’s power effortlessly.
"Nicely done, blossom. You’re on the fast track, aren’t you? Witch of your capabilities, you shouldn’t be able to cast that spell for years yet."
"I’ve been on somethin’ of a steep learnin’ curve," she replied with a feral grin. Power was thrumming through her – Angelo, standing beside her, could feel it, like the static generated by an approaching thunderstorm – and there was something darkly joyous in it. She could kill Rack, she had more than enough power to do it, and the thought was liberating, overwhelming the small voice inside her that was warning her about the edge she was treading.
"Sis modo dissolutum exposco, validum scutum... Diutius nec defende a manibus arcam, intende!" she chanted, and Rack and his shield were encased in a brightly glowing gold sphere of energy. She closed her outstretched hand into a fist, and the sphere contracted, shattering his shield. With a word and a gesture, Rack cast off Amanda’s spell, but the effort was showing in his face. She followed up with another energy bolt, this time aimed like a spear, and he staggered as it struck his chest.
"Lucky shot, blossom," he croaked, and chanted something that Angelo recognised simply as Not Latin. Amanda grabbed him and pulled him close to her, at the same time incanting a protection spell. Power crackled around them as her shield absorbed Rack’s fireball.
"I’ve had enough of this," Amanda growled, and for a moment her eyes glowed red, reminding Angelo of Manuel. "ENOUGH!" she cried, and reached out with her telekinetic spell to hold Rack immobile. He hung in space, feet dangling helplessly a foot above the floor, body straining against his former ward’s power. "Got anythin’ t’ say before I squash you like a bug?" she asked.
"Amanda…" Angelo said softly. "Remember what you told me. You kill him, you'll become him. Don't let him do that to you. Don’t let him win. If he has t'die, let me do it." His hand went to the gun in his waistband, waiting for her word.
She wanted him dead. More than anything, she wanted to end his miserable life, free herself of this man, this monster. She had the power, more than enough. But Angelo was right - if she did, there'd be no turning back, no cleansing this time. All the ground she'd gained would be lost, she'd be back where she'd been, no, worse - everyone and anyone she ever felt anything for would be forfeit. And she couldn't ask Angelo to do that for her - it would be as much of a step backward for him as it would be for her. She tried to think past the roaring in her ears, the feeling of world-expanding power thrumming through her, and slowly the words of the unbinding spell fell from her lips.
"You think you can undo what I did, do you, blossom?" rasped Rack, straining to form the words against the spell binding him. "You think you have that power? Look at yourself, girl, you're nothing. Always have been, always will be. And no fancy school or rich boyfriend is gunna change that." Another of those malicious looks crossed his face. "Yeah, I know all about that. I always could read you like a book, blossom. And your aura's got his fingerprints all over it. Not to mention that spot in the back of your head. What're you hiding back there?"
"He can't mean… how the hell does he know about the link with Manuel?" Angelo asked, forgetting himself, the warning about names.
"That's the ticket, lad. Just what I needed." Grinning like a shark, Rack spoke a string of words, of which Manuel's name was the only one recognisable. Amanda cried out as the last shreds of Romany's spell were ripped away and the link reasserted itself. Fuelled by the power she had already absorbed, pushed by Rack's own magic, she felt the full force of Manuel's emotions flooding her, breaking her tenuous concentration. The spell holding Rack faltered, then failed, dropping him back to his feet.
Rack smiled, a cruel and triumphant smile. "Your concentration was always shite." A barest flick of his fingers released a spell and black energy arced up through the floor and through the young witch.
"Amanda!" Angelo cried, beginning to pull the gun from his waistband, but a glance from Rack froze him on the spot.
"Oh no, you don't. You keep that nasty gun of yours where it is. I’ll deal with you soon enough, little champion. Once I’ve done with this little trollop. Nice and slow, and you'll get to watch, every single moment, and you won't be able to do fuck all to stop it." Knowing glee flickered in his eyes as he turned his back on Angelo contemptuously, and homed in on to where Amanda had fallen into a small huddle on the floor, shaking as random bursts of darkness earthed themselves through her. "On your feet, blossom."
"…fuck…you…" she whimpered through gritted teeth.
"I said, on your feet, my little chóvihánni." Rack bent and grabbed Amanda’s hair, yanking her up. "Don’t make me ask again, Gemile." The words he used sounded vaguely Russian to Angelo – at their sound, and particularly the name – Gemile – Amanda’s struggles ceased and she stood, hands hanging limply by her sides.
"yes, daddy," she said in a small voice. Rack let go of her hair, satisfied by her compliance.
"Much better, eh, blossom? Don’t know why you had to make me go and use your name like that – you know as well as I do you can’t do shit against me." He grasped her chin in his fingers, tilting her face up. "Well, aren’t you all grown up? Learnt a whole bunch of new tricks, too. And you reek of power - you've gone and got an upgrade, make so mistake." He grinned, a nasty, hard grin. "I knew you’d turn out a powerful one, but I didn't get a chance to find that out for meself. That demon had to go and try and turn the tables on me, and then that Romany bitch had to go and interfere. Still, all’s well that ends well, isn’t it?" And with that, he pushed his left hand into Amanda’s chest.
It was perhaps, an error - with the link repaired, Rack was absorbing not only Amanda's life force, but Manuel's as well. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he spasmed as the full power of both was unleashed into him – bright, red-tinted light erupted from the place where his hand entered her flesh.
The night had been... difficult. A nice long bath was just what the doctor ordered. His head was throbbing, for some reason, his emotions on edge and excitable. The water was hot, just the way he liked it, and he toyed with the idea of seeing if he could get anyone to join him in the bath before remembering that he was blocked, and Amanda was somewhere in Mexico.
~Barbarous country.~ he thought to himself as he slid into the near-scalding water. ~Completely uncivilized.~
As he relaxed and soaked, he let his mind and emotions wander where they would. Only the bracelet, kept dry on his wrist, stopped everyone in the Mansion from feeling what he was feeling. As they so often did, his thoughts wandered towards Amanda. She would be back soon, and he had to prepare an appropriate welcome-home present to wash the stench of Mexico and one particular Mexican from her.
He idly wondered if she was sleeping with Angelo, then made a face at the distastefulness of that thought. Besides, even if she was, she knew where she needed to go for true pleasure. The Mexican couldn't do a damned thing for her that he couldn't do a thousand times better, even considering their ...difficulties... that way.
Looking down, Manuel grinned. No difficulties today, no sir! A shame there was nobody to take advantage of it.
He had perhaps fifteen seconds worth of warning before the link with Amanda, so long dormant, leapt back to life. He very nearly drowned at the shock of it all, splashing water all over the place and soaking his dampener bracelet.
~Amanda? How could this be?~ he thought at her, sensing her rage, her cold malicious glee at the thought of... something. He wasn't a telepath, and at times like this he bitterly resented it.
He didn't have time to explore the link more thoroughly before fear and pain slammed into him. His slender body slid into the water bonelessly as he felt his very essence, his life itself, being drawn through the link to Amanda and into - a vortex. A maw of uncompromising hunger. A black pit of death.
Manuel gasped at the pain of it, then promptly began to choke as water flooded into his lungs.
All through Rack’s performance, Angelo had been straining against whatever spell it was that held him, raging silently. He couldn't even speak - Rack's spell had frozen every muscle, and it was all he could do to keep breathing. Helpless fury burned in him; Amanda was going to die, and there was nothing he could do but watch. Just as Rack intended.
"Sometimes, it's fun to watch."
Angelo couldn't turn to see who was speaking, but he recognised the voice – and the mental intrusion. Emma Frost stepped through the open door of Rack's house, playing idly with a small crystal on a chain around her neck.
"Sometimes it's fun to play," Emma added with a smile. "I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind me bursting in like this. You must be Rack?"
Rack stared back at her with fire in his eyes. He cast Amanda down to the ground, but from the way the light still gaped from her chest, it was clear he wasn't done with her yet. He raised his other hand, alive with the crackle of magical energy, then hurled a writhing cannonball of fierce light toward her.
Emma stood her ground, her skin suddenly sheening over into its diamond form as she pressed the crystal to her throat. The energy washed over her and drained into the flagstone floor.
"Who the fuck are you?" asked Rack bitterly, narrowing his eyes. Angelo desperately tried to call out to Emma, both with his voice and his mind, to warn her that she shouldn't answer his question, but in her diamond form she couldn't read him.
"Don't you read the business pages, darling?" Emma replied innocently. "I'm Emma Grace Frost. I want my students back."
Rack grinned and started muttering a low incantation. He had her now. He cast his hands in the air, then raised his voice to a scream.
Nothing happened. Emma ignored him and stepped over to Angelo. She looked him up and down and sighed. He was clearly in pain and anguish. She couldn’t have that.
"No way," said Rack, irritated to see a second spell fail. "You’re not one of us. Someone’s protecting you."
"I know a little man in Belgrade," replied Emma, turning to him again. She was still playing with her crystal, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. "He gave me this little charm. It’s used to protect scrying stones, to prevent dark magic from passing through from infernal dimensions, or some such nonsense. It’s not really my area, but as I understand it, the spell works on any stone. Including diamond. Which I happen to be."
Emma reached suddenly to draw the gun from Angelo's waistband. She raised it, but Rack was too close. He knocked it out of her hand and it went skittering across the floor, ending under the bookcase. Emma swung out with her fist and Rack dodged. She tried a kick and he feinted back, only to find an arm reaching around his neck and a sudden hot, prickly heat pressing against the side of his face. "Make a move, say anything funny, and you’re dead," said Pete.
Rack was sweating almost immediately. Angelo let out a loud, raw cough just as suddenly – Rack’s concentration was broken, and the holding spell quickly faded. Emma looped Angelo’s arm over her shoulder to stop him falling.
"Amanda…" he croaked.
"I can’t carry both of you, darling. She’ll be fine." But as soon as she said this, Emma had something quite different to say to Pete. Telepathically, she called to him;
~You can’t kill him, Peter. He’s linked to Amanda. I don’t know what will happen if you kill him. Give me time to break the connection.~
~Why is nothing ever sodding easy?~ Pete sent back. ~Just let me know when...~
Emma nodded, then carried Angelo outside toward where they had a taxi waiting.
Pete smashed his leg into the back of Rack's knees, driving him to the ground, then stamped on his back, causing the magician to scream aloud.
"Did you not get the hint the first fucking time? You've pissed me big sister off something rotten, and that's a bad idea anyway, but now you've been stupid enough to fuck with my niece again."
Rack rolled away, trying to come to his feet, just in time for Pete's kick to land hard in his stomach, knocking the breath from him.
"Here's the fucking news, shitbag: stay away. She ain't yours, and she's never fucking going to be. You're done. If you're really, really bloody lucky, you might get out of this alive, but you come near me or mine, and you're fucking dead. Understand?"
Rack was on his hands and knees, gasping for breath. Pete pulled him to his feet with one hand, and held the other in front of the man's face, fingertips glowing just slightly.
"Fucking understand?"
Rack nodded. "Yuh..."
"Good." Pete punched him in the face, sending him reeling backward into the wall. Rack caught himself before he fell down, and made a quick gesture in the air with his hand. A wall of red light sprang up between him and Pete, stopping the spy from reaching him again.
"Your bitch sister? For a Wisdom, you're a fucking moron, aren't you?" Rack gestured again, and the wall coalesced into a bolt of light and shot toward Pete, who threw himself backwards to avoid it.
"You don't get it, do you? I'm a fucking magician. That means there's fuck all a tosser like you can do to me. Not while I've got your precious niece's life in my fist."
~Any time you're ready Emma!~ Pete threw the thought out as he rolled to his feet, narrowly avoiding another bolt.
Outside, Emma leaned against the taxi with a hand pressed to her forehead. "I’m trying, Peter," she spat. She was inside Amanda’s head, and it was hurting like hell to be there. Worse, she couldn’t make head or tail of what was going on in there. The landscape was black and cracked and filled with twisted briars, and the sky was a throbbing purple ripped with bleeding red. That, she figured, was Rack, but it was a magical presence, and she didn’t know how to fight it.
Then she remembered – or perhaps a small voice told her – about the power of names. If Rack was holding Amanda, it was because he knew her true name.
Emma reached out with her mind in another direction, and the taxi driver suddenly slumped forward in his seat. Emma rifled through his mind, stealing memories and dreams. Then she stood in the howling wind of Amanda’s mind and yelled against it:
"Your name is Ramon Gonzalez. You’re 43 years old. Your name is Ramon Gonzalez. You are a taxi driver. Your name is Ramon Gonzalez. You’re married with three children..." As she continued, she projected images from Ramon’s mind, images of birthday parties and barbecues, drunken bar fights and dull mechanical sex. The images formed on the landscape, flickering like a broken television, shattering the briars where they appeared.
Back indoors, Rack walked calmly across the room to where Amanda lay, forcing Pete to keep his distance with a series of blasts.
"So here's the fucking news, Wisdom-boy: I'm going to do you now, and then I'm going to track down your sister, and bring you back from the dead just so's you can watch what I do to the slag. I might even make you join in."
"Cunt!" Pete snarled, and cast a spread of hotknives just past Rack, taking advantage of the brief second's diversion that afforded him to fling himself at Rack, catching the sorcerer with a fist to the chin that knocked him sprawling.
Inside Amanda’s head, the skies were boiling. "You are Ramon Gonzalez," Emma repeated, over and over – and for a moment, just a fraction of a moment, Amanda believed. And in that moment, Rack’s hold on her weakened and the rich bruised purples and bloody reds of the sky gave way to a dull, empty gray.
Emma looked around at the barren psi-scape. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t Amanda. It was empty and in ruin. But it was the best she could manage in the circumstances. Tired and frustrated, Emma called out to Pete.
~Do it.~
Pete grinned, and this time, his hotknives weren't designed to miss.
Rack screamed once, briefly, and then hit the floor with a meaty thump. The light pouring from Amanda's chest pulsed, a bright beam shooting up to the roof, and she convulsed, arching her back against the floor, before going limp herself as the light went out.
"I lied, cunt. No fucking way do you get to live." Pete spat at the corpse, and sent a couple of extra knives through the head, just in case.
He knelt beside Amanda, checking for a pulse. Finding one, he breathed a sigh or relief, then picked her up, and walked out.
Emma forced herself to stand upright as Pete came out. She looked at Amanda with pity, and pulled open the door so he could put her next to Angelo.
Angelo glanced over, eyes filled with pain, as Pete carefully laid her down on the seat. Seeing the condition she was in, he couldn't fight down the guilt at his perceived responsibility for it any more, and curled up on his own part of the seat, fists clenched painfully tight.
"You’ll have to drive, Peter," Emma told the stony-faced spy. "Our driver isn’t feeling himself."
***
Chóvihánni - Romany for 'witch'.
