A/N
Thanks to everyone who's reading this. I appreciate you all indulging me on this one. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, so thanks to all who leave me reviews. It really lets me know I'm doing something right!
Chapter Four
Revelations
He sat at his desk, his eyes intently focused on his large gray and white ball. The hospital was quiet, and his offices were dark. The blinds were pulled tight, so no one could see the ball float in mid-air. This is, if he could get a hold of the damn thing. He scowled, watching his hand pass through it once again as if the ball was made of mist. He felt his frustration with his situation growing, and he made a fierce swipe at the ball. His eyes grew wide as he watched it fly across the air, smacking against the blinds with a resounding crack. He leaned back, smiling with a bit of smug satisfaction.
He was learning to manipulate things. Somethings, he had learned, like sitting in chairs or walking across floors, were a given. Something about since the intent was subconscious and implied, it just happened. Other things, like opening doors or picking up things, took much more concentration. He had discovered that the cane he'd been using was just a manifestation on this plane, and if it had been an actual physical cane, the doctors in the lobby would have freaked the hell out seeing it float through the air. He almost wished he'd have done that. The doctor's here were way too damn uptight.
The damn near impossible thing to accomplish, as far as the pain in his ass know it all that had been shadowing him had told him, was to been seen or heard by other people.
His genie had no clue who she was dealing with. If someone told him something was next to impossible, he set out to prove that not only was it possible, but he could do it with flair. But first, baby steps.
He slid out of his seat, and he headed to the dark corner where the ball had landed. As he drew closer, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and his skin prickled. He paused, staring at the black corner, not really seeing anything. He shook off the feeling as nervous energy, and he reached for the ball.
That's when the...thing...attacked.
He never saw what it was. A black blur lunged at him, snarling and knocking him back, and he grunted with pain and surprise as he landed on the floor. The thing leaped on top of him, momentarily knocking the wind out of him. He had never wished more fervently for his cane, or for the small revolver in the top right-hand drawer of his desk He felt the things breath on his face, and he felt the icy cold sweep over him. He had the vague idea of claws and fangs. He screamed, and he fought against it, swearing with pain as he felt a claw connect with his shoulder. Where the hell was the fucking she-bitch genie when he needed her.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, she appeared in a wink. Her eyes grew wide as she saw him struggling against the dark thing, and she winked out again.
"GODDAMN IT!" he cursed, struggling to keep the thing's fangs from reaching his throat. He felt the thing rip at his chest, but he shifted, trying to throw it off, so the worse it did was rip his t-shirt. His shoulder began to throb painful, and he could feel a hot wetness seep where it had scored his flesh. He could feel himself growing weak and cold. He was losing this battle.
He didn't see her reappear again; he was too busy struggling against the heavy shadow thing on his chest, but he did notice when a glowing bronze sword separated the damn thing's head from its body. Or he assumed that's what happened; it happened so fast.
He was panting heavily when she wrenched him to his feet, helping him to his chair. He was breathing heavily, and he didn't notice her until she tried to take his shirt off. He yelped, tipping his chair over. "Where the hell where you?" he screamed, shaking. "Where the hell where, and what the hell was that fucking thing!" he bellowed, clutching his shoulder as he stared at her, his eyes wide with shock and fear.
She stood before him, but it wasn't her. It didn't look like her. The woman that stood before him was nearly six feet tall, and as curvy as a an ancient statue of Aphrodite. Her long emerald hair hung in ringlets down her back, nearly brushing her waist, and it was held back from her heart-shaped face by a leather band. She wore a white short sleeved tunic that fell to just above her knees. A gold belt glowed from her waist, and she wore leather sandals that wouldn't have looked out of place if they were in ancient Egypt. Her skin glowed bronze, and her lips were as green as her hair and eyes. Some how, he got the feeling that she wasn't wearing lipstick. She carried a sword. A fucking flaming two-handed great-sword.
"I was wrong to leave you alone," she said, apologetically, leaning the sword against his desk. "I honestly thought we had more time for you to adjust, before we started on our mission. She came closer, and he took a step back. "This is my true form," she told him. "We djinn can pick any form we want, but we all have a true form that we were born into. In times of great stress, we revert back to those forms."
"More time! What the hell are you talking about?" He stalked away from her, angry. "You leave me the fuck alone without telling me about those...what the hell was that thing."
"A gnoll. A shadow demon."
"A fucking demon?"
She nodded, reaching into a leather pouch that hung from her belt. "Let me attend to your wound, before you attract more. I will explain all."
"Why the hell should I trust you?" he snarled, clutching his throbbing shoulder.
"Because only I can heal you. Please," she implored, "let me heal you, and I will explain. He gave her a wild, wide-eyed look. She took a deep breath, and he watched as air around her shimmered. Instead of the goddess that had stood before him, the emo punk had returned. "Does this intimidate you less?"
He stared at her. "Actually, the ancient Greek look made me a little more confident in your doctoring abilities. Now, you just look like you got back from a rave."
She nodded, then the air blurred again. A woman in her early thirties stood before him, in jeans, hiking boots, and a green t-shirt. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tail, but the green eyes were the same. "Does this comfort you?" He gave her a dirty look. "Let me treat you. Please."
The ache in shoulder made him relent and he sat down. She tugged off the ragged t-shirt, and she looked over the wounds. He looked down at his shoulder, and he was shocked. The tissue around it was turning black, and instead of blood, a bright, golden fluid was seeping. He was not comforted by her hiss. "This is bad," she breathed, then she looked up at him. "But not untreatable. You have not lost much of your essence."
"My essence?" he asked as she uncorked the bottle she had pulled from her pouch. She dabbed a pungent paste on the wounds, and he hissed as it burned.
"Each person," she explained, "has an essence. It is what makes them who they are. Some people refer to it a soul."
"So the stuff that was bleeding out of me?"
"Was you, essentially." She moved to the lighter scratches on his chest. "When humans die, most of the time, their essences move on to the next plain, ready for the next life without help. Then, they are reborn, and that aspect of their inner self lives on in another husk."
"You're serious?" he snorted.
She gave him a dirty look. "There are some," she continued, "that need aid to move on. Something is tethering their essence here on earth, and it is our job, as djinn, to help our cousins, that would be you, human, to break the tether, releasing them."
"And that...thing?" he hissed, as she wrapped his should with a bandage.
"Sometimes, we do not find what is tethering them, or they are too despondent or stubborn to find it. They become gnoll. The essence, the Spark of Life, has completely left them, and yet they crave it. So they wait, in the shadows, attacking when they sense it's presence." She picked up a box of bandages from inside his desk, and she patched up the thinner scratches on his chest.
"So," he drew out the word in disbelief, "what happens after they attack?"
She put her hands on her hips surveying the bandage job. "Do you want a beer?" she suddenly changed the subject.
"What?" He was puzzled by her abrupt change of subject.
"You need a shirt, and I need a beer," she simply stated, shrugging a little. "I get that, and then, I'll finish answering your questions."
He snorted. "I didn't think genies could drink, or be that direct."
Her eyes flickered. "I'm not a genie, and I'm partial to beer. You know, we invented it, and we shared our secret to your people, cousin." She stared at him, "Do you want one?"
He started to nod. A beer would be good. What if that thing comes back?"
She handed him her sword. "That particular one won't. If more show up, just swing."
He grunted with effort as he hefted the blade. "I'm a doctor, not a knight," he muttered under his breath. She gave him a dirty look, then she winked out, leaving him in the dark room.
He tensed, looking around in the shadows. His grip tightened on the blade's hilt until his knuckles were white. He sighed in relief when she reappeared, with two brown bottles and a t-shirt. She tossed the shirt to him, and with effort, he put it on. "How come I can wear this. Do I really need clothes? Aren't I dead?" He tugged the shirt over his head.
She frowned. "We are still close to the mortal plane. Technically, we're only one step away from it. You still feel some physical needs, and there are enough djinn who spend most of their time either on this plane or in the mortal one, that we have stores of clothes and other items." She paused, a wry grin on her face. "But, you don't need to wear them..." she trailed off.
He snorted. "I think I will. I don't want other freaks staring at me." He sat down, and he rubbed his thigh. It didn't hurt, but it was force of habit after so many years. "So, what would have happened if that thing had gotten a hold of me? And what did you mean about 'time to adjust? And what about that beer?" She handed him a brown bottle. She held another one in her hand. "Killians?" he questioned.
She shrugged. "Don't like it, don't drink it." She took a own long drink. "As far as what would happen if the gnoll had succeeded, you would have joined it's ranks."
His lips curled up into a distasteful sneer. "I would be that?"
She nodded. "It's happened before. When djinn didn't get there in time. Your essence is so bright, though, that it's attracted both djinn and gnoll for a while. Neither have ever been far away from you."
"That's comforting," he muttered sarcastically. He mulled over what she had told him over his beer. "I think I liked you as the goth jail bait," he suddenly said aloud. "It was easier to not take you seriously that way."
She laughed, a rich, low sound. The air shimmered, and she resumed the form he'd seen her in the most. "I prefer this skin, anyway." She finished her beer, and the bottle disappeared in the air. "Now, we must get to work. Time is drawing short, I'm afraid."
"Work?" he asked. "Time?" He finished his own beer, watching in disbelief as the bottle dissolved. "For what?"
"To discover what's keeping you here, before you become one of them."
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