Reckless: Season 2: Enterprise - Act 3
by redmoon
Enterprise - Act 3
Niki stood perfectly still at the corner of Broadway and 7th Avenue. The surreal hour of twilight was settling in and the city that never sleeps was beginning to light up. There was a car parked somewhere nearby whose occupant was watching her.
Niki pulled the comforting leather of her jacket tighter around her, burying her hands in its pockets.
As one, a small crowd of tourists began to cross Broadway, headed for the Slayer. Her eyes caught one particular figure, his fedora pulled down over his face, the collar of his plum jacket flipped up around his neck.
The people pushed past her, some pushing more politely than others. Without a word, Niki felt the tug of something being dropped into her pocket. Without a moment’s hesitation, she shoved her way out of the crowd and hailed a taxi.
The ride home was silent as she fingered the thing which had been passed to her. When she got to her apartment, she knew he wouldn’t be waiting for her in the elevator. She rode to the ninth floor in silence. It was something bad. She could tell. Whistler would have stopped to talk if it had been good. He was that sort of fair weather friend who always got scarce or useless when times were tough. The doors opened and she scoffed internally: that’s why she was the hero and he was the... demon. Must be in his job description.
She slid the key into the lock like it was the first time. Opening the door, she moved through the living room in the dim light towards the small shelf next to the couch. A tape player sat gathering dust. She jabbed the eject key and pulled out the last tape to be played. The Toe Tag City demo tape. The tape from her pocket she slid into the player’s lid and snapped it closed, hitting the play key. There was a staticky silence for a few seconds before the familiar voice began with a sigh.
“Hello Niki. Sorry I’m not around right now, but I can’t get involved with humans’ legal affairs. Against the rules and all that.
“Anyway, I’ve got a few things to tell you, so listen up. First of all, I’ve found out something which might be useful. There’s a seer — yeah, just a regular old seer, doing palm readings at Hudson Mall. She’d know a thing or two about the Deceivers, or at least if your love line is strong.
“As for... The other thing. You can’t control everything, and you can’t sit back and do nothing. That’s your problem. You have to see what’s behind you, but you can’t look back.” Whistler’s voice took on an amused tone.
“Listen to me: I sound like a fortune cookie... Your lucky numbers are 122, 37, 10016. True, you have fewer lucky numbers than most, but consider how your luck has been.” There was a sudden silence. Niki was just reaching for the tape player when the voice made her hand jerk.
“Remember when times were good? Go back to where times were good. Yes, now you can turn this off.” Her finger came down and the tape stopped with a click.
Niki sat on the floor of her apartment in the dark. On an impulse, she replaced Whistler’s tape with the one she had last listened to — how many years ago? As the music started, she hugged her knees and laid her head on a couch cushion. But she didn’t sleep that night.
The very might of the Earth resonated up through his footsteps, a deep and unquestionably angry voice. Under his shoes was the crunch of his frosty footprints. The ground froze where he stepped. The top of his head was practically steaming, his body divided between cold hate and hot rage. Down in his gut, however, where the hot met the cold, a gnawing cancerous terror resided. They had his daughter. They had Hanna. The terror snapped and bit like a chained dog. Circling it was a sickening guilt. They had taken her because of him.
Logan marched down the sidewalk to the small boarded up shop which the message had advised him was the rendezvous point. He had every intention of barbecuing whoever was sent to meet him until they told him where Hanna was. Then they would die. And not quickly.
His newly healed fingertips were beginning to glow at the center of his tightly balled fists and his irises had turned from a hazel brown to a burnt black. Crunch, crunch, crunch, the ice under his feet left snowy footprints back to the phone booth where the second message had been left for him.
Without a thought, he vanished into thin air in the late evening light, reappearing only a few paces ahead; his impatience and terror getting the better of him. Crunch, crunch. The door was locked when he tried it. No matter. With a twist of light he was inside, looking about in the darkness for something to make scream.
“Daddy,” the weak whimper made his veins fill with ice.
Like a shadow he moved towards the sound, his hand reaching out and meeting the warmth of Hanna’s cheek. She flinched. In the darkness, his fingertips were glowing visibly. An eerie colorless glow. Then he heard her gasp.
Logan ducked just as the sword swept through the air where his head had been. Turning, he delivered a punch but found only thin air. The sword sang as it swept past him again.
“Illuminatus,” Logan commanded, the room suddenly brightening.
Before him stood the very essence of the Goth. Seven feet tall, thin and dressed all in black, the demon was the terrifying avatar of the vampire Goths’ coven. His face was as white as an eggshell, as were his eyes, except for the tiny black dots of pupils. Pencil thin black eyebrows made no movement whatsoever, the face like a statue. From its head swept hair like two black bats wings, arrayed around several black stubby horns running back along its skull. Oddly enough, there was not a trace of silver chain or piercing anywhere. Except for the sword.
The short sword wavered through the air like a cobra, gripped by skeletal hands. Without a word, the demon attacked again. Logan ducked to the side, drawing the action away from Hanna who was tied to a chair against the wall farthest from the door.
“Why are you doing this,” Logan demanded, crossing foot over foot, avoiding the demon’s strikes. “You must be particularly stupid.” The demon did not answer, simply lunging with the sword.
Logan took a deep breath and, pulling his hands apart, let fly a volley of energy. The light show glanced off the metal of the sword and the demon didn’t even notice, taking another swing. The tip of the blade stuck in the wall and Logan opened up again, still only striking the sword.
“Ha,” the demon laughed expressionlessly. “You are the powerful wizard? You know one trick.” The thick black wings of hair on his head seemed almost to flutter with his otherwise unexpressed amusement. “I will clean my teeth with your bones. Then the vampires will dine on the little one.” He turned and for the first time made an expression, ginning at Hanna who sat terrified, tied in the chair.
“Honey,” Logan said gently, “I want you to close your eyes.” Logan backed a good distance away from the demon, then slowly went down on one knee. Hanna shook her head vigorously, here eyes wide open.
Logan slowly bowed low, feeling the floor with his hands, as if inspecting it for flaws. The demon laughed once and moved forward, his sword lifted, ready to separate this man from his head. With calm and concentration, Logan’s fingers spread out on the floor and thin white tendrils snaked out before him. With a gleam in his eyes, he looked up to the demon, exhaling a fog of condensed breath.
There was the sound like cracking glass and the demon suddenly appeared to lose his balance, wavering uncertainly with his arms on either side. Logan lifted his shivering hand from the icy floor and watched the demon’s reaction as he looked down and noticed that as he had taken a step, he had left his foot firmly frozen to the floor.
His icy stump swung through the air for a moment, then he toppled over, his other ankle cracking sickening as his leg went horizontal while his still connected foot also remained planted on the floor, thickly covered in frost.
The demon howled as his bones splintered under his own weight. He still possessed the presence of mind to swing the sword at the approaching wizard, however, and missed by only inches. Making a mad stab, he caught Logan’s shirt and tore it, his arm fully extended.
With quick hands, Logan slapped his palms together on either side of the flat blade, holding it harmlessly. Soon the blade was covered in ice and the demon let out a hiss as his hand turned from a skeletal white to a pale blue and ceased to respond to his commands.
“Honey,” Logan advised, never taking his eyes off the wounded creature, “I really mean it now. Close your eyes or you’re grounded.”
Hanna finally forced herself to tear her eyes away from the horrific sight. There was a crunching sound and then a moment later a shout and the distinct sound of the sword striking the tiles and something heavy hitting the floor. The shout ended abruptly.
She was still shaking, her eyes tightly closed when cold hands touched her wrists and began loosening her bonds. “C- can I look now?”
Niki was shaken from her drowsiness by the twist of light through the corner of her eyes. She blinked rapidly in the darkness and could only tell that it was a human form standing by her coffee table, looking in the blackness for her. She cleared her throat and the figure turned. What time was it? She glanced over at the tape player. It had run out some time ago.
“Niki,” it was Logan’s voice. He took a step closer and reached out to flick on the light. The Slayer squinted in the sudden brilliance. Finally she saw him. His shirt was torn and he was carrying something rather hideous. “This is for you,” he said quietly, too tired for anger or disappointment. Too warn to forgive.
The severed demon head landed on the carpet near her knees and she looked down at it uncomprehendingly. “For me?”
“This shitball demon took my daughter,” he said with the same quiet tone which made her worry. “He was going to kill us both.” There was a pause as he tried to read her reaction. “You knew, didn’t you?”
Niki blinked. Had she known?
“Why didn’t you tell me they were coming after me!” he shouted, falling to his knees to grab her by the shoulders. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me? Hanna could have been killed!” When she merely looked at him with blank eyes, the back of his hand swept across her cheek on an impulse and she flinched.
She swallowed and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d have to get involved. I thought I could handle it on my own.”
“Well obviously you can’t.” He shook his head. “I’m calling Addison,” he turned and walked into her kitchen. “I can’t believe you didn’t... What the hell is this?”
Niki frowned and stood up, stepping over the head and into the kitchen. Logan was staring at the whiteboard.
You will die tonight.
Niki’s eyes widened. Before Logan could turn around she had grabbed what he had given her and was out the door.
The Slayer’s powerful legs carried her quickly over the pavement. Even in the dark she had found what she had been looking for.
“I’m back where times were good, Whistler,” she said aloud, standing before the stairwell which led down to the now abandoned Nail Biter. With a tilt of her head she noticed the address. 122, 37th Avenue East. Lucky numbers. Whistler had told her to go here. There was obviously something here.
She slowly descended the stairs, placing her feet silently where so often before she had clamored with eager anticipation. The last time she had been here was... The night of the Civil War. When all of this bracelet business had started.
She reached towards the doorhandle which she knew to be there and gave it a push. Curiously, it was unlocked. The streetlights around the block and across the street flooded the stairwell with light which fanned inward into the deserted bar.
Quietly, Niki stepped inside. What else had Whistler said? Then she heard the sound of a car pulling up outside on the street. Instantly she crept behind the bar she knew was there, listening for the sounds of feet on the stairs. Sure enough, her perpetual stalker was here too.
You have to see what’s behind you, but you can’t look back, Whistler had said. She glanced up from her hiding place to the mirror hanging behind the bar, angled such that she could see the form entering the bar. Within seconds he had vanished into the deeper shadows at the other end of the room. Then something else caught Niki’s eye. A crack of light coming from the door to the old training room.
Clutching tightly to what Logan had dropped in her lap back at the apartment, she stood and stealthily made her way towards the training room door, considering opening it with caution, but eventually settling on kicking it in.
With a crash the door was busted inwards and the Slayer strutted into the midst of a gang of vampire Goths. One glance told her all she needed to know. Spread out on a table were several silver ingots, arranged as if in an assembly line. Two vampires on either side of the table were chanting from a small book and there were glittering lights coming from the rim of a large bowl into which one of the ingots had been placed. Nearby was a pile of silver bracelets and a large bolt of black silk.
All heads turned to the Slayer, including one with a black snake tattooed up the neck and over the eye. He sported a circular scar between his eyes and was overseeing the chanting. He was the first to recognize her. As one, eighteen hands slid into eighteen breast pockets and drew out eighteen handguns. No mistakes this time.
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