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In the low light, the man's eyes look black. Which they are not. He is doing it on purpose, she decides. Placing himself in the shadowed corner of his book-infested office and turning a lamp right into her eyes.
"Don't think that if I am not tearing your head off, I am not angry. I am. You will pay for disobeying me in time. I told you not to contact me in person, did I not?"
She suppresses an urge to shrug. The absorbed emotions of that sword guy are still simmering down below. She feels more focused, reserved. Like really focused on what she means to say.
"What part of that sentence is so incomprehensible that you did exactly the opposite?"
She thinks that she will miss this mindset. It was refreshing.
"The part where you didn't tell that me the amulet I need to obtainis an invisible sword."
He leans forward, pressing the tips of his fingers together.
"Is it embedded in the handle or—"
"It is the sword. The amulet is the sword. And it can turn invisible."
"It's impossible," he measures her with a condescending look.
"Your super amulet is the blade. I need my half now," she almost snaps.
"I need results," he simply says as anger in his voice grows thicker. "What can you give me except for your petty complains?"
Seeing no other way around it, she tugs an ID from her inner pocket and tosses it on the table. She found it when atrail took her to the reconstruction site.
"Impossible," he snatches it with his fingers and shakes it a bit. As though he can't believe his eyes. "Is this the wielder?"
"That chap? No, of course not. But I was watching him, his sister and the one with the sword. They live under one roof."
"Interesting," he peers at the ID. "Very interesting, indeed."
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Charles has turned all kitchen upside down while looking for salt. It's nowhere to be found. Strange, he thought he recently bought some. Where does it disappear all the time?
"This is ridiculous," he says to a keyling curled up on the bottom of the jar, right in the shade thrown by a leafy plant.
The keyling blinks up in agreement. Charles is glad he didn't let Erik crush the last of the kind. So far, it has been content sitting in the jar. He has yet to figure out how or what to feed it. But this is fine. A low-maintenance pet can afford right now.
The house door opens and Raven storms in.
"Raven, come here, please," he calls out, "have you seen salt?"
"Did not," she yells, quickly darting up the stairs.
Charles looks at the keying again.
"I'm sure not every earthly teenager is like that, my little friend," he says fondly.
He busies himself with cooking. Dinner is ready when Raven graces the kitchen with her presence. She changed into her quirky white longsleeve with evil bunny and pulled her hair up. Charles glances at her. He expects her to say something, but she just sticks her head in a fridge.
"Dinner is ready," he announces to the back of her head. "Can you tell Erik, please?"
"He is not in the basement?" she picks up a carton of milk, sloshing it, and squints at the expiry date. "I think it's dead."
"No, he's not. He's in the backyard, exercising," Charles comes up to take the milk from her. "Let me see. Yeah, it's bad. How was school today? You're later than usual."
"Fine. Thirsty," she averts her eyes, then stands on her tip-toes to reach the top shelf, with her favorite mug on it.
Charles moves past her to dump the milk in the trash bin and catches a whiff of burned rubber and fresh paint under the floral smell of her shampoo. He frowns mildly, his confusion prompting a question.
"Why do you smell like burnt rubber?"
She tenses under his stare like a frightened cat.
"Because I was," her mouth twists, "at work, which is, well, a bit too smelly than expected."
"You've got your first job! We should celebrate," he smiles, then he realizes something. "Oh, gosh, Raven! Is it a waste yard job? That's why you didn't want to tell me?"
It comes out aggravated. He didn't, didn't mean that. Even to him it sounds like he just enjoys reprimanding. He misses the crucial beat when Raven rounds on him, face furious.
"Why do you immediately presume the worst?" she exclaims.
"I didn't mean that, dear. Besides, I don't know what to presume, to be honest," he says frankly, bearing her anger, "because you don't explain yourself."
"I don't explain?" she stresses "I" so it's impossible to miss the implication. "You never leave me a chance."
It's not true.
"Really, Raven?"
Thankfully or not, but they are interrupted by the door opening and a cross Erik dragging in a boy in plastic sunglasses from before. Raven huffs and points an accusing finger.
"You," she says, "you've been spying on me again."
"I caught him skulking around your property," says Erik proudly, pushing the boy forward.
Suddenly Charles grows increasingly tired. He is pointedly looking at Erik until Erik lets go of the boy altogether. In the silence that falls he takes a deep breath.
"Why don't you join us for dinner?" he asks the boy, who is trying to straighten his worn jacket with hands that are too shaky.
"You're upset," observes Erik, watching Charles attentively with those cool grey eyes of his.
"Oh, yeah," speaks Raven.
She is challenging him, waiting for something, but Charles forces on a smile. It's tight on the edges, but it has to do.
First, the boy hesitated, but as everyone started eating he dug in with vigor. Erik caught Charles' eyes and pointedly lifted an eyebrow; his question was pretty much evident.
"How do you like it?" Charles asks the boy, Caliban—if he remembers correctly.
The boy gulps down a mouthful of steamed vegetables, nodding. His sunglasses slide down his nose and he hurriedly pushes them back.
"Thank you," he says, cheeks flushing red. "It's delicious."
"Oh, come on," Raven suddenly reaches to clap him on the shoulder. "You can ditch the specs. I told them. We're fine with all kinds of eyes in this house."
"Take it easy," Charles is saying to the frozen boy just as Erik interrupts him.
"Who sent you?"
Charles reminds himself that Erik is constantly on a mission. From a practical standpoint he is right. Although these past two weeks were quiet.
The boy gulps again. He reaches for his sunglasses and Charles can't help staring when the eyes—yellow, inhuman—blink at them. He smiles for real then, just seeing something extraordinary is enough to lift his spirits.
Raven makes an approving sound.
"Sorry for earlier, by the way," she says carefully, "but, not sorry for running away. You scared me. What were you doing stalking me?"
"He must be the tracker," drops Erik, silent up to that moment.
"I am," the boy mutters, eyes on the table. "But don't worry, I didn't tell anyone about you. Not even the Oracle."
"'Tracker' meaning you can sense people and follow them?" it is hard to express how much Charles wants to know.
"No, only the gifted," the boy shakes his head. "I didn't know how to approach you. I wanted to warn you, but the sword-wielder was constantly patrolling at night."
Charles gives Erik an exasperated glance. Erik, if anything, looks pleased with himself.
"I saw a woman here, the other night. She is like me and you," the boy says in a beat and Erik's fingers curl around the fork, molding it.
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Charles runs his fingers through his hair again. Raven is sipping her morning coffee, mostly still asleep. She is thinking about yesterday's evening and the way that boy was glancing at her, as though he meant to say something super important. But instead Erik wrought him with questions about that vampire.
"Are you sure?" Charles repeats.
"Yes, don't fret, Dad. I am old enough to catch the bus on my own," she utters flatly, not taking her eyes off the cup.
Charles is the one who comes to pat her head and wish her a good day. Treating her like a child must make her mad, though it doesn't. Raven manages to draw strange comfort from his gesture but reacts too slow, so his warm presence retreats before she turns to tell him to take care too. Erik dutifully follows Charles to the door and they exchange words she can't hear.
On the bus she notices Hank. With relief she waves him and when he sees her and flushes pink she squeezes herself in a seat next to him.
"Is that your brother?"
Great, he noticed how Erik escorted her to the bus stop. He must still be there, staring.
"Nah, that's just Erik," she cringes, thinking that they should invent some legend for questions like that. "Charles'… his friend."
Alright, that should be vague enough.
Hank's eyebrows rise and for a moment he looks bewildered. Then he flushes some more and Raven realizes, too late, she said something he misinterpreted. She smirks. Whatever.
History class is the worst. She is drowsing by the window, idly swiping through her last summer pics. This one is spotting her and Charles by the beach house. Charles looks badly sunburned; he is making a long-suffering face for the camera. Raven has her arms around his shoulders. In the sunlit picture she is grinning. It was fun. She hated it at first, but then it was fun. It's always like that with Charles. She loves him. If only…
"Miss Xavier," Raven twitches and looks up.
The teacher is hovering over her desk.
Busted. She didn't hear her approach.
"You didn't answer my question. You seem so preoccupied," she says crisply.
"Do I?" asks Raven and hears a few sniggers around the class.
Look innocently confused, she is telling herself, as she stuffs her phone under the desk.
"Excuse me?" misses whatever-her-name-is raises her voice.
Something inside Raven snaps.
"You're excused," says she boldly, meeting her eyes.
On the way to the counselor's office she passes a long empty corridor with huge windows overlooking the yard. Irritation and brawl have already vanished. Replaced by slow-burn frustration.
As she is strolling down the corridor, she feels as though someone is watching her. But when she cautiously scans the yard, she sees only a few younger kids tagging along a PE teacher. No one else is there as far as she can see.
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After renewing the protective salt circle around the house, Erik considers his options. He doesn't know much magic besides that. And she will come back. No doubt. She will also change her tactics. He didn't like it. He'd rather face her on his own terms. Too late, though.
It's a pity Charles is against putting real traps around the house. Despite Erik's reasonable arguments.
As he is rubbing his hands clean, he feels eyes on the back on his head. Whoever is watching him is not hiding, so he turns around. It's that old lady again, peeking over the fence. The neighbor. Keeping in mind Charles' teachings, he nods to her and smiles until his cheeks hurt.
She squeaks and dives down. Relieved, Erik relaxes his jaw. Being friendly is a strenuous task, but he believes he is doing fine.
It still amazes him how much metal there is in Charles' house. He can now sense its quiet hum. He goes down into the basement, checks that the door is shut. In the far corner, behind an old sofa he claimed as his resting spot, Erikhung a carpet. Now he lifts it up, nailing the folds to the wooden plank above. The tunnel is still in the making. If he could work on it without hiding, he would have already finished it. The tricky part is getting rid of soil without attracting much attention. He does it while Charles is away in his alchemy village and his sister is at her prison academy.
Erik works till the sun starts rolling towards the horizon. He comes out to ditch the last boxes of soil for today. He is pretending to carry them in his hands, always on guard. Metal sheets he spread all over the insides of those boxes bear the true burden.
He is ready to go and fetch Raven now.
Charles advised him to get used to taking the bus, so Erik does. The ride is yet another jarring experience. He is anxious about missing his stop, but has to pretend otherwise. Every time the bus stops, Erik looks out of the window searching for the familiar tall gates he remembers.
The academy is letting children go when he comes closer. They leave with happy faces. Some look exhausted. The boy Raven sat next to on the bus is coming through the gates. Erik can't see Raven anywhere.
The boy quickly looks away, but his gaze is a bit too curious for Erik's taste.
Erik intercepts him by the huge oak tree on the opposite street line. He can still see the entrance and hordes of leaving children from here. Remember what Charles' has been telling you, his mental voice repeats.
"How are you?" he says, this time the advised smile is thankfully brief, "where is Raven?"
Erik realizes that he's done something wrong because the boy reels back with a paling face. It was too sudden. Probably. Abandoning failed teachings, he grabs the boy by the arm and pulls closer. He is lanky, yet clumsy for his age.
"I didn't do anything!" gasps the panicking boy, as Erik swiftly drags him in the gap between two buses.
He feels reassured surrounded by a mass of metal. Well, he is the only one.
The boy looks wild. His eyes are frantic and he's trying to breathe himself to death.
"You are either guilty or very scared. Which one is it?" smirks Erik.
He relaxes his grip—he doesn't sense any threat from the young one.
"The second," squeaks the boy at last. "Raven has got a detention."
"She committed an offence? How serious is it?"
"Are you a lawyer?" the boy's curiosity is back.
"No."
"Who are you, then?"
"The answer might surprise you," Erik glares—the boy gulps.
"Sorry, mister. Um, Erik," his voice is shaky, "she texted me that she's stuck after classes. That's all."
Truth be told, Erik is not in the mood to wait. Charles should come back at dusk. He'd rather have Raven and him in the house before dark. He's more confident he can protect them both in the house than elsewhere.
"What's your name?"
"It's Henry, but everyone calls me Hank—"
"I didn't ask for two names."
"Hank. It's Hank," the boy is badly flushed. Does he have some blood condition?
In any case, he needs more information.
"Raven talked about you," casually drops Erik, which makes the boy even redder.
"Did she?"
"Tell me, Hank," Erik peers into his honest eyes. "How do you rescue the girl from the place like this?"
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Moira was already shifting through papers on the front seat of his car. Charles looks back at the glassy genomics center they have just left and thinks that today's trip was a blur. He is glad he was with Moira. Her mere presence didn't let him worry too much about Raven and Erik's safety.
An hour ride separates him from them now.
"It's remarkable," Moira is saying. "Take a look at this sequencing."
Charles does.
The prospects of this technology areincredible. It can help cure the incurable if utilized correctly. Not to mention the breakthrough in organ transplantation. But, he can't help thinking that there's an entire world out there they know nothing about. Apparently, there are more people like Erik. Like that boy. And how many more are hiding?
"Someone's got a huge investment," notes Moira.
There is a great deal of awe in her voice.
"Do you still want to teach? Didn't change your mind?"
"Hey," he says, mock indignant, "teaching is important too."
"Sure, sure," she smiles teasingly, kindly.
Getting away from university busywork was fine in itself. Charles knows they are both thinking that. If only his household hasn't been stalked by a dangerous energy vampire, he would have enjoyed it more.
They turn off from the main road onto a smaller Greenpark avenue that leads to the eastern part of the town. Unlike the area where Charles lives, this one is covered with multistoried complexes. All different in color and design. It's well after four in the afternoon and Charles insisted he would drive Moira home.
He parks the car by one of the sleeker apartment complexes and exchanges goodbyes with Moira.
On the way back a half-memory is nagging at him. Ah, yes. That blasted salt. In fact, there's an entire shopping list. And it's rather urgent. Like finally buying Erik a phone. He refused every time Charles offered, claimed that it's just a tracking device, but the situation is different now.
As he exits the shop, walking right to the spot where he parked his car, he hears a tearing sound, then a smash and a curse that follows. He turns. Behind him a woman carrying a paper bag is kneeling, trying to collect the contents of the bag. Charles cringes sympathetically. He rebalances his own smaller bag to the crook of his elbow and takes a step back.
"Excuse me, do you mind if I help you?" he offers.
"That'd be great," she looks up, biting her lip in frustration.
A shadow flickers through her greenish eyes, soon gone. Charles doesn't pay much attention to that—her smile is wide and contagious. He does pay attention to her hair. Even braided it looks untamed, rich in color and very beautiful. She is attractive, young, slender and she drives a bland truck he helps her carry her things to.
"You're just godsent," she beams at him, pulling off her gloves. "That was very kind of you."
"My pleasure. Take care."
Charles turns to leave, but she stops him with her hand stretched out for a handshake.
"You can call me Rogue."
A pseudo name? Isn't that a teenager thing? She seems young, but not school age. Or is she in a band? Raven would have liked the name, he thinks suddenly.
He smiles and reaches out to shake her hand. It's nice to make such an acquaintance.
"Delighted. Charles."
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A PE teacher looks like a guy who belongs in the gym and the gym only—he is like a walking muscle factory in a track suit. No wonder he doesn't seem to be having a great time monitoring them. He looks out of place here by the desk. About a dozen of students to babysit. Quite a harvest, thinks Raven.
With a mighty frown, the teacher is walking around the class, collecting phones in a plastic box. He is kind of grim. Like really grim. Is it a default setting? Raven has been skipping his classes, so she doesn't know the guy that well. She can't even recall his name.
"When time's up you can have them back," he pointedly stops near Raven's desk. "Was I not making myself clear?"
"I'm waiting for an important call."
He sneers. His grimace looks a lot like this disturbing thing Erik practices in public.
"Hey," she calls out when he just pulls it out of her hand. "It may be a life or death thing. Come on!"
Raven watches as he confiscates another girl's phone in the same fashion. The only difference is—that girl immediately gets out the second one. She doesn't even stop texting. Raven is quietly seething. She should have thought of that too.
Sean is the last to arrive. The left side of his face is bruised. Raven feels a prick of pity: he never complains, but she has seen enough. Also, she reluctantly admits that she is glad to see him.
She attracts his attention by mouthing his name and Sean sees her too. He ends up sitting behind her, when the teacher officially announces that they can't speak or misbehave. He opens some sport catalogue and adds in a threatening voice that should anyone disturb him, he'd show them. Then, he stops himself. He doesn't specify what.
Raven senses that he struggles with making his speech kids friendly. It amuses her, even under the circumstances.
"Hey, why are you here?" Sean whispers to her back.
"Because my life sucks," she drawls, tilting her head back. "You?"
They get a grim look from the teacher and Sean shuts up.
The phones in the plastic box are buzzing. Raven is sourly doodling some nonsense in her English workbook. The clock ticking fills her head with white noise. Sean is actually doing homework, so true boredom is slowly torturing her. She thinks that Erik must be already waiting for her by the gates. Because Charles and he are worried. Part of Raven likes all that care and extra attention, while part of her is rebelling at the thought.
She is idly staring at the clock above the door, so she is the first to notice the smoke. Thick and white, it is curling from under the door, making her heart beat faster.
"Fire! Everybody run!" she exclaims, not wasting a beat, and jumps to her feet.
It's like a dream coming true.
Panic hits the detention class and everybody is screaming something while the teacher guy is trying to holler down teenagers. The girl with a phone starts an online translation from the top of her desk. Raven crouches down in the aisle. Her target is on the bottom of the plastic box. As soon as the teacher steps away from his desk she is there.
The smoke is getting thicker and thicker until a fire alarm kicks in.
With her backpack zipped up and her phone secured Raven makes a bee line to the door. It's misty, noisy and smelly, but as she is out of the door the corridor is mostly clear.
She only notices a smoking package by the door when her hand bracelet tugs her to the left.
Erik? She dashes in the direction of the tug, before an entire crowd starts spilling out.
They are waiting round the corner. Erik, in his civil jeans and a jacket, which fit him very, very well, and poor Hank—wearing an anxious expression.
"Whoa, guys," Raven can't find the words. She claps Hank on the back and gives Erik a wide smile.
She is impressed and is tearing up a bit. Though it might be that nasty smoke.
Unfortunately, footsteps are closing in. They escape swiftly, through the backdoor and then just keep walking to the gate as if nothing happened, following Erik's lead.
Hank seems to be stuck in a guilt loop. He is muttering something desperately, while Erik is watching him out of the corner of his eye.
"I didn't think about the cameras by the lab," Hank stops suddenly. "What if we were caught on camera?"
"I was the one planting your smoking powder," Erik declares smoothly. "I assure you, no one caught me."
He probably has no idea what cameras Hank is talking about. Raven huffs a brief laugh. Erik sounds very confident though—she has to give him that.
On the other hand, Hank's all tense and shaky, so Raven feels the need to calm him down.
"Relax, no one gonna suspect you," she elbows him lightly, but Hank just looks confused. And nervous. She is not very good at calming people she realizes with a start. Charles is the one always doing the talking and soothing.
It takes a few minutes for them to reach the regular bus stop, where she says a goodbye to Hank. He turns to leave just as Raven takes in a breath and quickly hugs him. Hank splutters something, going red in the face. He looks himself again and Raven feels accomplished at last.
"You should call Charles' carman," Erik says soon.
It's getting dark.
"Sure, sure. You should call it taxi, by the way."
It's not like just standing here with Erik is much fun in itself.
Raven wakes her phone, glimpses the message that pops on screen and her hand suddenly gets slack. She hears street noise filling her ears, feels Erik's arms around her shoulders.
When she lifts her eyes to meet his, he understands her without any words.
"She's got him," Raven still repeats, slightly hysterical. "She's got Charles."
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As she is standing by the school gates she feels it—eyes boring into her, a strong presence flashing on the periphery. She steps back, her hackles rising. The man who attacked her back then and whose powers lingered used to be a real animal. She is afraid, at times like this, when his instincts take over and make her feel or do things she can't comprehend.
Now she senses a threat. As she is watching the school yard a few kids are passing by, led by a stout man in a track suit. She inhales—that's him, the one her senses have detected. The dangerous one.
She pulls her cap over her eyes with less than steady hand. An urge is pumping through her blood. Attack, tear, claw, bite. Destroy the other. Kill him. A murderous intent subsides slowly. It's like a tide that leaves her exhausted and dumbfounded. What is he? A memory is there, but not quite. Not her memory then.
She should leave. The school is off limits today. She can't afford fighting the other when she is not done with that amulet. She can catch the girl tomorrow. Her employer is very angry at the delay, but secrecy is a top priority.
Driving back to her motel, she has to stop by the store. Never a smoker, she feels like she would kill for a cigarette right now. Totally frustrated with herself, she gives in and starts throwing things in her shopping basket without a second thought. She hates that she can't control it and hates herself even more that her overindulgence backfires and the bag tears right in her hands.
Cursing, she crouches on the sidewalk when a pleasant voice from above offers to help.
She lifts her eyes and has to school her expression very fast.
"There you are," he is saying as he's offering her his bag.
He looks distracted, glances at his watch a few times while they're walking to her car. His presence feels friendly, unthreatening. She almost hesitates in the end, but this is just a lucky draw. She can't say no to such opportunity. That's why she is so surprised when instead of going down quietly, he is resisting her touch. Wary of stray eyes on them, she has to wrap her arms around him and grab his neck—her extra strength giving her a good advantage over his diminishing struggles. This mockery of an embrace gives her plenty of skin to skin contact. His memories, feelings and fears clog her throat. His Raven, dear Raven, his worries, Erik, how great Erik is, shocked, scared, confused, terrified. She grits her teeth, focusing on holding on. At last, he gasps something like 'please, don't' before going completely limp.
Breathing heavily, she leans him back on her car, holds on a little more, making sure that it looks somewhat natural, while her free hand is frisking his pockets.
She needs to send a message.
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It might be bizarre, yet silence inside the house seems almost oppressive. Like something has disappeared along with Charles. The quiet is not comfortable. Somehow everything feels wrong: starting from the purr of the fridge to the soft ticking of the clock. Charles is supposed to be here, in the armchair—drinking his evening tea and absorbed in his laptop or papers. And Raven is supposed to nestle on the sofa, whining about her schoolwork.
Erik represses the surge of anger, lets it brew deep. Now is not the time. He refocuses on flattening the seams of his dark armor when Raven comes back, holding a wooden club.
"Found them upstairs," she hands him fine leather gloves, which he immediately pulls on.
Raven's eyes are no longer red, supple cheeks have no more tear streaks on them, but her look speaks of hurt and fear. Somehow Erik finds it difficult to meet her eyes.
Erik approves of her determination. Yet, he has to say it.
"Getting your brother back is my concern. If you want to help, you can. But I have one condition: you obey every word I say."
Raven nods, clutching her wooden club firmly. Her usefulness is questionable, but Erik suspects that she will give him no choice.
"You'd better have a good plan," Raven says then, demanding.
She is pushing it. Does she notice that Erik is getting irritated? He thinks not.
"I don't intend to wait for her next call. She is just dragging time on purpose, probably planting traps. I would, if I had a hostage. That's why we will find her ourselves," Erik finally meets her eyes.
"Sweet," she narrows her eyes, hoisting the club on her shoulder. "But how? How can we find her?"
"We will fetch the tracker."
Raven stares. Her eyes flash with surprise. For once she doesn't have a smart, allegoric reply.
They use Charles' carman again. He was waiting by the house all this time. A man of duty, indeed. Erik pats the warm metal of the car, mutely thanking it for loyalty before two of them abandon it and walk into the forest. Erik remembers the path very well, because it stretches along two parallel metal rails. The rails are almost swallowed by thick foliage, yet he can trace them with ease. The forest itself is moonlit, cold and thankfully not silent. Erik had plenty of time to think in the car.
"You will be our bait," Erik instructs Raven as they proceed through the dark. "I'll show you the spot where their secret passage begins. Just walk around until he appears. He will, because he has been watching you all evening. I assume mating behavior is the same here."
Raven grumbles something he doesn't care to hear.
"Then I apprehend him and we move on."
"Hard pass," Raven suddenly hisses.
Erik doesn't understand again.
Raven circles him and steps in his way. The shadows throw a mask on her face, and though she looks nothing like her brother, something about the poise and the way she meets his eyes serves as a reminder.
"That sunglasses kid seems nice. Why don't we just ask him to help?"
"Did you forget? My condition?"
"Well, no. I remember. But you don't need to be such a stickler," she stubbornly continues until Erik realizes that the forest turned silent.
No crunching, no little animals rustling, no wildlife prowling in the distance.
"Erik, what is it?" she whispers, clutching her club.
She catches up fast. A small mercy.
Erik is listening; he is looking around, trying to determine where the danger might come from when suddenly it gets really dark.
"Bats!" Raven shouts, crouching down.
Erik hears flopping of hundreds of tiny wings. They are everywhere, descending, diving down upon them. He focuses on the tingling in the palm of his hand. The blade appears with a flash of blue and Erik just swings it at the black cloud. To his surprise the cloud doesn't just part, it dissolves once the blue of his Lightblade flashes strongly.
"Just an illusion," he tells Raven. "They know that we're close."
"Great," Raven gasps, suddenly turns away from him and starts yelling into the dark. "Hey, sunglasses kid! We need your help! Come out! Please!"
Erik feels like his teeth might crumble so loud is the grinding. While he is considering all the ways he can shut her up, their target emerges from behind the trees.
"Raven?" the pale sprout exclaims breathlessly. "Sword-wielder?"
It looks like he's been running and trying to pretend that he wasn't.
"What are you doing here? You can't stay here. Someone will notice the intruders."
"We have a situation and you," starts Erik but Raven earns herself just another notch by interrupting him.
"You must help us! Charles is in danger and you're the only one who can lead us to him."
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This tracker is good, decides Raven reluctantly. At first, she thought it was some lame power, but after he led them to Charles' Rover, still parked by the convenience store, she changed her mind. They let Armando go then, though the guy looked more eager by the minute. He either liked the cash Raven has been giving him, or he was not as clueless as he pretended to be.
"So," Raven peers through the windscreen, trying to see inside. "Erik, can you open it?"
Erik can, of course. He extends his hand and the door bends with a screech. Raven is waving her arms, frantic, as car alarm pierces the night.
"Stop, please!" she exclaims. "Be gentle. This is our car. Our!"
The boy takes a careful step away from Erik, who folds his arms under Raven's accusing glare.
"I can flatten it," Erik says tightly. His hand shoots out and he grabs the boy by the collar. "We are not done."
Raven thinks that she's going to lose it any minute now. The thought of Charles gone is still stuck in her throat, sharp and painful like a bone. And Erik is not helping it. She feels like she is managing a dangerous and unpredictable bomb in human form. Another thought strikes her. Is that how Charles feels too?
She climbs into the driver's seat and removes the cover on the steering column. Thank god Charles is a classic guy. She heard those newer models are tough to work with. While she's shifting through the wire bundle quickly, because she is sure police is on the way, Erik and Caliban climb into the backseat. Erik shuts the door with a soft click, so she smiles to herself.
"Please, don't tell Charles about this," she turns to Erik as the engine roars.
Erik gives her a suspicious look, but nods.
She has to drive slowly, and, truth be told, her hotwiring is better than her driving. After she stomps the brakes on yet another traffic light, only to hear a curse and a thump from the backseat, she cringes.
"Sorry, guys, so sorry."
"Turn left," the kid says. "We're close, I think."
"You think?" Erik is skeptical.
"There are more people like that than you know," Caliban defends himself. "Lately, this town is—"
"Is what?"
Erik doesn't get to hear a reply, because Raven hits the brakes one final time. A thump follows. Then a complaining whine. She ignores it because what the hell? She turned left and the houses just stopped popping. Indeed, she stopped by the sandlot, with a lone warehouse towering over the waste yard. As far as she can see, there are no more buildings on the horizon. Just damn fields, stretching in the distance.
"It looks like a killer's dumping ground," she groans.
Fear squeezes her throat again. Charles is alive, right? Her yesterday's outburst reminds of itself, surfacing right now. It is coiling in her gut like an ugly reptile. She feels awful, like she has jinxed it somehow, like she is somewhat responsible for him missing. And what can she do? How can she make it right?
"Raven," a hand on her elbow stirs her.
The boy looks at her worriedly. That, paired with his enormous yellowish eyes, pulls her away from a miserable refrain inside her head.
Erik is already out of the car. Raven insisted he put on a coat to cover up his metal suit and now, at least from this angle, he just looks like some handsome guy having a stroll round gloomy outskirts. Raven zips up her jacket, picks up her baseball bat and climbs out too. Cool night air clears her head a little.
She sprints after Erik, and with surprise, understands that the sunglasses kid is following her too. Raven glances at him when he catches up, notes how tense he appears.
"Listen, I think I should, er, probably tell you," he stumbles, but Erik is already levitating to the roof, and this is so cool, but so scary. And, frankly, Raven is not up to listening right now.
"Not now," she hisses a warning, hushing her steps. The kid mimics her. She feels him panting behind her back.
They turn around the corner and just like she thought—there are rickety stairs leading to the narrow door. The one she can try, because she can't fly like someone. The stairs emit a sour metal whine when she puts her boot on the step. She shifts her weight and the rest of the way up is more or less silent. Caliban fell silent too. But he is probably lighter than she is Raven thinks dryly—the kid's really thin.
The door is bad—for some reason when Raven tugs the handle down it stays in her hand. Rusty piece of junk. But then Caliban squeezes past her and pushes it and it opens. They face another door, then the corridor and this is the moment something crashes inside, behind those thin walls and Raven's heart seizes up.
"Can you help me find Charles?" she asks quickly, not liking the sounds of battle ringing through the warehouse.
Caliban is shaking his head.
"Sorry," he says miserably. "I can't sense him."
Raven is squinting ahead: there are quite a few doors along the wall facing the outside. Must be offices. She doesn't know how but info just pops up in her head. The rest of the warehouse is just that—a warehouse.
"Come on, let's check them," she tugs Caliban after herself.
The very first door does not budge. Bursting through plywood is so easy in the movies. Right, the movies.
She passes the baseball bat to Caliban and shushes him away. Raven presses her back to the wall and aims her kick above the keyhole. It reverberates in the sole of her foot, yet she nearly falls forward when the door bursts open. Raven notices Caliban gaping at her with his mouth open and feels a boost of strength. Damn, that was great.
Unfortunately, Charles is not here. Neither is he in the second room. The door to the third isn't giving in so easily and Raven presses all her weight onto it to no avail. Suddenly, she realizes that the noises in the warehouse stopped. She whips her head to the end of the corridor and sees an outline of the person there. It's not Erik. And they are very, very fast.
In a split second the shadow is on them and Caliban pushes her away. Raven is stumbling back with a yelp while he grabs the woman, that vampire, by the hand. She almost misses that instant until the woman suddenly begins screaming and drops to the floor. Panic slaps Raven into action and she sidekicks the door, because there's no way she is not taking an opening. This time the door gives in and Raven drags limp Caliban away from that freaky vampire and into the room. The woman is pressing her hands to her head, rocking back and forth, which terrifies Raven into hurrying.
"What did you do?" she rasps, shaking the boy, but he is just a dead weight in her arms.
Raven deposits him by the door looking around the cluttered office wildly until she spots a shape by the window. Faint stripes of light streaming from between the blinds outlines something. A body. She darts there, jumping on and down the desk and kicking a chair out of the way.
"Charles," she calls frantically, tripping and nearly sprawling over him.
A glimpse of his pale face is like a punch to her gut. He is on the floor, on his side, and one of his arms is extended, hand cuffed to the pipe running up the wall. Raven tries turning him on his back and simultaneously pushing his bangs away from his brow. His skin is cold, really cold and clammy to touch. Is he breathing? She presses her ear to his chest and thinks that she hears something. Praying that this is not her own thumping heartbeat, she straightens up.
A slam behind her back makes her hackles rise. She wraps her arms around Charles, dragging his upper body up and turning to that woman.
She is standing in the doorway, more like leaning on it, her eyes burrowing into Raven. And Raven thinks that if she has any chance this is it. Whatever the sunglasses kid did, it affected her. So Raven carefully untangles from Charles and gets up.
It feels like a shimmer. It runs down her body like a tickling wave and without further ado she grabs the closest chair by the back and tosses it at her. As she leaps over the desk, she is suddenly faster, fast enough to grab the bat from the floor and hit that nasty freak before she as much as realizes what is going on.
A moment of her triumph is short-lived, though. The bat does connect, but she just shakes her head and in a blink Raven is gasping on the floor, knees to chest. Hot pain in her stomach brings tears to her eyes. Never ever punched before she can't grasp what is going on and why it hurts so much.
.
.
.
.
She is not alone—manages to regret Erik as an unexpected wave of fire nearly burns him to the crisp on landing. He instinctively reaches for some random metal scraps and flings them in the direction of the wave, leaping away from the next attack.
He barely catches a whiff of air before he has to intercept a pipe, aimed at his back. It's metal and he freezes it in the air and sends back with great delight. The absence of the scream on the receiving end is not so good.
For a moment an entire space falls into creepy silence. Erik hears himself breathing fast and hard. There are two enemies here now. He is leaning against some huge metal container, hidden from sight. His senses tell him that one of them is approaching from across the warehouse. The other is stealthier—that stealthy someone must be her, the woman who attacked him back then.
Through the hole he made in the roof some light is spilling inside. He puts his hand on the side of the container and strains his power. The sheet of metal is thick and tough. He is advancing fast, but tearing something like this still rattles him down to his very bones. The sheet is coming off with a screech and, following the motion of his hand rises up in the air over his head. Erik wants them threatened, so he steps out from his cover and gets attacked by a shadow. He makes his metal sheet come down, aiming to crash and restrain, when a loud pop from behind his back alerts him.
Erik sees a flash of light, too bright to be fire, which illuminates the painted circle he is almost standing in. His focus momentarily broken, he lashes out blindly. Metal groans, things and shapes he knows no names for are flying to his aid.
"What are you doing?!" shouts the female. "A warning next time?"
"My job," the harsher voice replies and allows Erik to target his projectiles.
It's hard without looking. But his eyes are tearing from whatever magic that man used. Erik staggers back, away from the dangerous circle. The sword appears in his hand almost like a second thought. It's still bad that he swings it unseeing. Something, not metal, slams into his side. Erik reacts too slowly, thus letting in another blow. It's not going to hurt him much because of armor, yet bruising would be generous.
Fire is coming from another direction this time, just as he decides to take the fight to the new level and pulls himself up off the ground.
When he is back on the roof his eyes are getting better. They are wet, irritated, but he can see the shapes clearer. Lightblade is flashing bright in his hand and its' light is giving Erik a strange reassurance. He crouches on the edge of the roof and waits until the man shows up. He does and Erik extends his hand towards him and concentrates—there it is, something he is wearing on his back, something tricky, something laced in metal. Erik takes hold of it, sweat collecting on his hairline as he stretches his power.
The metal pulls the man up and slams him against the ground. Again. He makes a move to repeat it when the screaming reaches his ears. He can't tell whether it's Raven or not, but she does need his aid anyway.
This time he cuts through the roof with the blade, marveling at the ease with which it pierces everything. He steps into the tear immediately, extinguishing the sword, lands in the flurry of dust and rubble.
He is not sure what he is seeing, but he grabs the closest metal rod and sticks it through the blurry shape of the enemy.
"Oh, thank god," Raven is rasping from the floor, while he is torn between chasing that woman or staying.
He blinks through the blur playing tricks with his vision, making a decision to stay. Just as his eyes are taking in the room after the dust settled down.
"Are you hurt?" he asks Raven.
"Nope. A little. She surprised me with a sucker punch," Raven groans, slowly getting up to her feet. "You're just the person I need. Will you uncuff Charles?"
Erik barely follows her pointed finger with his eyes. He navigates the room carefully: yes, Charles is here and some measure of relief is spreading through his chest, untangling the knots. He frees Charles' hand by snapping the metal chain before lifting him in his arms. And noting that Charles is not as light as he appears at the first sight.
"Erik," speaks Raven with gravity. "Let's go home."
She is holding on to somebody thin who Erik assumes can be their tracker. He doesn't feel like he won tonight, but the weight of Charles in his arms is a solid counterbalance to his disappointment.
.
.
.
.
His second awakening comes easier than the first one. He is still lying in bed, but now instead of sitting in a chair by his bedside, Raven is curling by his side on top of the covers, her head a compact pressure on his chest.
The room's dark so his eyes don't water anymore. He feels his initial panic drawing back after he utilizes some of those breathing techniques he learned long ago. Raven's warm weight and her hand possessively wrapped around his bicep help a lot. Until they don't. Because Raven's head is sort of crushing him, and now he knows why he has been dreaming of a heavy cat sitting on his chest and staring at him. Charles pushes her away as gently as he can. She rolls over with some mumbled protest, kicking him in the shin in the process.
Getting out of bed is not something he does on the first try. He almost stands up, but then his legs won't hold him, he can hardly feel them, and he has to sit down again. His head is spinning from effort; eyes aren't seeing anything anymore. Raven doesn't even stir, so he tries again.
Step by step, holding onto the wall, he reaches the bathroom.
The stairs are another challenge.
When he climbs down, he feels as though he has run a few miles. His heart is pumping in his throat, which is parched and hot.
Charles almost doesn't see Erik until he collides into him in the hall.
"Sorry," he rasps, grabbing Erik for balance.
With Erik's help he enters the kitchen, where low light is on.
"Do you need anything?"
"Just water," Charles takes in Erik's tight expression, his black armor and heavy belt are on, and suddenly he understands. "Oh. You are leaving, aren't you?"
Erik just looks at him, not denying anything.
They stay like that for a while—Charles grabbing the back of the chair for support and Erik, half-turned away from him.
Erik tears his eyes from Charles', looking down, and finally speaks.
"I don't belong here. You're a wise man, you should understand why I have to do it."
Charles' does get Erik's reasoning, even unvoiced. It doesn't mean that he can simply tell his hands not to tremble and tell his heart not to hurt. He has had some expectations of his own, and they are difficult to let go. But this is not about that. Erik is wrong.
"I can't make you stay," Charles swallows, "but, Erik, we are already tangled in this together. Whatever will happen, we, Raven and I, are involved. We have been involved since we met you."
Charles takes a breath. He has a lot to say, but something hints him to stop.
It's strange, the way they look at each other without saying anything. Like any words can help it, Charles muses tiredly. The controlling side of him is protesting it, yet he keeps his inner fight hidden when he sighs and offers Erik a carte blanche.
"As a wise man, I suggest we get a good nap and consider everything in the morning," he says solemnly, with gravity their situation requires.
A slight smirk spoils everything in the end, but Erik also smirks back, so it's a win-win.
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