Arrest, Search and Séance : Book 1 of the Fringe Society, R.D. Hunter [good english books to read txt] 📗

The energy I kept flowing to my amulet altered course a little. Now, it flowed up and into my arm, directly into my weapon, which glowed a fiery red in the thick shadows. I wasn’t sure what was going on. Nothing like this had ever happened before and I didn’t know how it was happening now. All I knew is that the Smiling Man froze in his tracks as my weapon came to bear and, for just an instant, that maddening smile of his wavered.

“Who’s laughing now, you bastard?” I snarled. Then, still focusing my power through my weapon, I said,

“BANISH!”

 

I pulled the trigger. The gun roared, far louder than it should have. A jet of angry, red energy burst from the barrel, striking the Smiling Man dead-center in the chest and passing through him like he was made of soft cardboard. The hole it made was no bigger than half an inch, but as I watched, it began to rapidly expand, eating away at the Smiling Man like cancer.

He screamed then, when he saw what was happening, a harsh, grating sound born from a place of terror and pain. In less than a second, though, it fizzled away to nothing, as the murderous creature was ejected from our universe and sent packing back to his own. Good riddance.

I had only a second to feel relief and wonder exactly how the hell I’d done that, before a tearing sound coming from the far wall drew my attention. Hawkins was still alive and, seeing his pet fail in its task to tear me limb from limb, was hellbent on doing it himself.

Shit! I glanced at the weapon in my hand, still glowing red from my power. Well, it worked once. Maybe I could do it again.

By the time I struggled to my feet, pain bordering on agony shooting through my body, Hawkins was left than a dozen feet away. I braced myself in a shooter’s stance, took aim, focused my magic and said,

“SHATTER!”

 

I squeezed the trigger once, then twice, and finally a third time. Each time the gun belched out a steady, scarlet bolt that struck Hawkins square in the chest. Each time it did, huge chunks of the crystals covering his hulking form blew away, revealing a mass of twisted and grotesque flesh underneath. He staggered back, bellowing in pain, and I reveled in it.

“This is what happens when you mess with a witch, you bastard,” I all but screamed.

When I joined the Police Academy, I always prayed that I would never have to take a human life. But, in my book, the thing before me didn’t count as that anymore. He was a creature of death, who would continue to hurt anybody and everybody he saw as a threat until the source of his own power sent him to the grave. I was just hastening the trip, and saving lives in the process.

I ran out of energy before I could pull the trigger a fourth time. Running out of magic is a bit like doing as many push-ups as you can, until your arms are trembling and your body feels like it weighs a ton, then you try to bust out ten more. You might be able to get a couple more out of your tired muscles, but in the end, your arms will give and collapse, unable to bear your weight any longer.

That was what happened to me now. The pain of my injuries, barely held in check, washed over me like a tsunami, causing me to cry out and sink to the floor. Distantly, I heard my gun clatter to the ground somewhere close by. That wasn’t good, my foggy brain informed me. If I were shot with my own firearm, Lt. Calloway would never let me hear the end of it. I had to get it back.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option at the moment. I felt a tremendous pressure settle on my chest. The broken ribs underneath cracked loudly as they rubbed against one another. I focused my vision enough to see that Hawkins had settled himself on top of me, his two hands wrapped around my throat. He bore down, and the supply of molten air I’d barely been able to inhale, shut off.

“Gonna enjoy this, Bitch,” he said, his speech slurred and barely audible. “Gonna take my time and do it right.”

I fought back. I wasn’t going to just give in and let him have his way. I twisted and thrashed, even though each movement made me want to curl up into myself, away from the pain and fatigue. It was no use, though. He was too big. Even hurt as he was, (and I was proud to say that I had managed to severely hurt him) he was too strong for me to do any real harm with just my bare hands.

I was fading fast. My limbs were beginning to fill with lead, spots danced before my eyes and darkness threatened the outer corners of my vision. It was almost over. My right hand flopped to the side, desperately hoping to find some kind of purchase to be able to push myself up. Instead, it landed on something sharp and pointed, about a foot long.

I didn’t hesitate. I couldn’t hesitate. One second either way meant the difference between life and death. I rammed it upward with all the strength still left of me, twisting my hips as I did so to gain more reach. The object, which I now saw was a crystalline spike blown off of Hawkins’ own body, stabbed neatly up through the bottom of his chin and continued on into his skull.

His one good eye widened in disbelief; the injury too severe to seem real. His hands lifted from my throat and moved towards his head, but they seemed to get lost on the way there. Out of sheer