Chapter 10 #2
Momentarily distracted by the comet, Brent realized seconds too late that the elders had used their magic in the brief cease-fire to turn the park itself against Travis and their friends.
Explosions burst across the park’s rolling ground as the elders’ magic ignited the old wells, spraying dirt high into the air and sending up plumes of flame.
Just like in Travis’s vision, Brent thought.
The elders rushed forward, sure of their impending success.
Brent fired enchanted silver rounds as Aricella and Rowan shouted spells to hold back the attackers. Donnelly and Peters moved their hands silently, weaving magic that sent a shiver through Brent.
Whatever the elders had done to regroup, this time they did not fear bullets, and magic only served to slow them, not keep them at bay. Brent didn’t know what would happen if they reached the protected dome before Travis finished the incantation, but he feared the worst.
Fog rose from the ground, taking shape as the ghosts of Moraine heeded the call.
A gray army of revenants materialized, rising from their flooded graves and forgotten burying places. Some went for the Sinistram priests while others rushed at the elders, intent on slowing their advance. Brent felt certain he spotted Eagle Eye Ike among them like a general marshalling his troops.
“Cover me,” Brent said to Rowan as he reloaded. He spared a second to glance at his partner. Travis looked tired and haggard but kept chanting, as the powerful incantation and dark magic took a toll. Brent knew they were running out of time.
Brent was inside the protective dome, Travis’s last defense.
Rowan and the others were outside, keeping up a non-stop barrage of magic to keep the elders clear of the warded area.
No matter what the witches threw at Lombardi and his fellows, the Sinistram managed to counter.
Brent knew the impasse couldn’t last and silently urged Travis to hurry.
More explosions shook the ground. So far, the blasts had been at a distance from where Travis worked his magic, but Brent feared for the covens supporting them, and for the CHARON fighters in spite of himself.
Deep as their differences went, he had invited them to share in a battle with a common foe, not to get them blown to bits.
The witches can’t hide all the explosions. Sooner or later, the cops are going to show up, and if we aren’t done with the magic, it will be an utter clusterfuck.
Travis raised his head, looking up from the Precepts. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but he spoke loudly and with authority as he raised the grimoire and stared through the dome at the elders.
Brent’s rifle clicked empty, and he dropped it, out of ammo. He pulled his Glock, exchanging high volume for targeted head shots. A glance at Rowan and the other defenders told him that they couldn’t hold the line much longer.
Half a dozen Sinistram priests rushed toward the dome, weapons drawn, chanting spells of their own.
Brent fired methodically, downing two of them.
Rowan’s magic set two priests on fire, while whatever the two necromancers did made the last two priests drop in their tracks as if their hearts suddenly stopped.
Another wave of priests followed them, undeterred by their colleagues’ deadly failure. The elders kept their distance, using the rank-and-file Sinistram priests as cannon fodder. He was surprised that many were able to get past CHARON and the others.
“We’re running out of time,” Brent shouted over his shoulder at Travis. “It’s now or never!”
Brent thought he had brought enough ammo for a war, but he had underestimated the opposition.
He couldn’t keep this up much longer, and his aim wavered from fatigue and adrenaline.
Rowan and the other witches forced the Sinistram to retreat, but every time the priests gained a little more ground than they lost. Brent didn’t know how much power necromancy took compared to regular magic, but even Donnely and Peters looked near exhaustion.
In the distance, he could see the remaining priests battling CHARON, keeping the Sinistram from interfering.
“Sunder the magic from the undead. Walking corpses have no claim to energy and power. As of old, so shall it be now. Revoke!”
Travis repeated the command in Latin, but even before he could finish, Brent felt the buzz of powerful magic fill the dome and lash out beyond toward the vampiric elders. Streaks of blue fire struck each of them in the chest.
Lombardi and Fanucci burst into flame, screaming as their bodies were consumed. Two more caught fire seconds later, while the last three staggered, then fell to the ground, convulsed, and lay still.
Donnelly and Peters ran forward, already speaking binding spells on the weakened vampires. Now that the elders had been stripped of their sustaining magic, they could no longer maintain their spells against the necromancers’ power.
Travis lowered the grimoire and staggered. Brent rushed to steady him as Travis tried to stand.
“Eat. Drink. You did it.” Brent pressed a bottle of water and a protein bar into Travis’s hands.
“Is it over?” Travis’s voice sounded scratchy and sore, and utter exhaustion showed in his face.
“Looks like it. De-magicking torched four of them, and the other three are down. Donnelly and Peters have them handled.” Brent watched closely to make sure Travis replenished himself. He looked close to collapse, but he stubbornly stayed on his feet.
“The oldest ones burned,” Travis croaked. “I guess their immortality and their vampirism got too tangled up to separate. As for the others, no idea whether they’ll recover.”
With the elders captured or destroyed, the few remaining Sinistram fighters either surrendered or made a break for it.
Those who ran were quickly captured by the Logonje and Occulatum, helped by ghosts who revealed their hiding places.
Brent guessed that CHARON had moved to secure the perimeter and head off law enforcement.
Rowan and Aricella let the warded dome fall.
“Great job, Travis,” Rowan said.
“You did it!” Aricella cheered.
“I’ll rally the covens and make sure that the wells that haven’t exploded yet, won’t,” Rowan said.
“And I’ll help settle the spirits,” Aricella added. She gave Brent a pointed look. “Take care of Travis.”
“I wonder how much of a mess there is,” Brent mused, unable to see far in the dark. He had no idea how many of the capped wells had exploded, but he could imagine the damage caused to what had been a stretch of green lawn.
“Less than the end of the world,” Travis remarked. He sat down on a log, and Brent tried not to hover but stayed close by. Travis finished the water and food, handing back the empty bottle and wrapper.
“That helped, thank you. But I could sleep for a week, drink a couple gallons of water, and eat a dozen double-cheeseburgers, not necessarily in that order.” Travis managed a tired smile.
Brent thought he already looked a bit improved, but didn’t doubt that time, sleep, and food would speed the recovery.
Just after dawn, the hum of rotors overhead made Brent look up. “What the fuck?”
A Chinook helicopter hovered overhead. “Clear for landing,” an Italian-accented voice said from a loudspeaker.
Brent, Travis, and the remaining fighters on the field drew back, but kept both arcane and regular weapons in hand.
The helicopter landed, and the hatch opened. A dozen men in European-cut business suits disembarked, and their leader approached Brent and Travis, brandishing a badge and carrying a stainless-steel briefcase.
“Who the hell are you?” Brent demanded as he examined the credentials. He also noticed the man’s holstered Sig Saur P220.
“Supernatural Swiss Guard,” the man replied in Italian-accented English, unperturbed by Brent’s tone. “I am Lieutenant Colonel Vincente Rosso. We’re here to take the troublemakers to the Vatican, where they will be judged and suitably punished.”
Brent had heard of the Swiss Guard, the protectors of the Pope, but usually saw pictures of them in traditional regalia and hadn’t considered that they had a supernatural branch, or that they could dress like a modern security detail.
“We could have used you last night, when we were fighting for our lives,” Travis snapped.
“You didn’t ask for our help,” Rosso replied, as his companions spread out and began to gather the downed and dead Sinistram members.
“I wasn’t in the mood for praying,” Travis returned.
“We have a phone number,” Lieutenant Colonel Rosso remarked in a dry tone.
“You came all the way from Rome in a helicopter?” Travis asked.
Rosso shook his head. “Took a jet to the nearest airport, and a helicopter from there. Those hover planes are only in the movies, unfortunately.”
“How did you know what was going on or where we were?” Travis asked.
Rosso gave an enigmatic smile. “We were notified by the Keepers.”
“What will happen to the elders and the other Sinistram priests?” Brent was going to have to think through the role of the Keepers later, when the adrenaline had time to settle.
“That’s for the Holy Father to decide,” Rosso replied. “The survivors will be tried, defrocked, and detained indefinitely. They will no longer pose a danger.”
“What about the Pittsburgh chapter of the Sinistram?” Travis asked, and Brent could tell his friend was doing his best to rein in his temper. They were both exhausted and wounded, and the adrenaline of the life-or-death fight was just starting to wane.
“A thorough investigation will be made,” Rosso assured them. Behind him, the guards escorted cuffed and muzzled elders and Sinistram priests to the helicopter, and carried the dead on litters.
“The situation is…unprecedented,” Rosso replied. “The tribunal will interview the membership, weigh the evidence, and make a determination. Until then, the chapter and the library will be on lockdown, under the protection of the Keepers.”