Authors: Robert T. Jeschonek
6 Fantasy Stories (8 page)
Once again, I feel the full current of power surging out of him, but this time, it doesn’t overwhelm me. My heart races, but I don’t convulse, and my vision doesn’t white out like before.
This time, I sense the extent of the charge he contains. I know exactly how much he has left and how long it will take to deplete at the rate it’s draining into me. In other words, how long until he empties out and dies.
We continue to turn slowly in the air above the deck. At the other end of the crackling circuit we’ve formed, I feel Mr. Flood reach out with his mind, coaxing me to focus my energies upward.
I do as he wants, extending streams of power like glistening fingers toward the sky. All the while, I divide my attention between the heart of the storm and the level of life-sustaining charge still remaining in Mr. Flood’s body.
Together, we massage the clouds like dough, wringing out more water. We reel in fresh clouds from afar and knead them into the thunderheads, heaping up mountains so heavy with rain that they burst at a touch.
The rain blasts down like an emptying ocean. I hear the screams of sirens and people from below, the crash of waves, a distant explosion, but I can’t look down. The rain keeps growing stronger, just as Mr. Flood grows weaker and weaker still.
When I feel that his reservoir of power has nearly gone dry, I take control.
His eyes shoot open as he realizes what has happened. Desperately, he reaches through the link and tries to snatch back the reins, but it’s too late. I’m too strong for him now.
I take a deep breath.
As I draw the air into my lungs, I pull all the power back inside me. I press it into a ball and hold it there, burning and buzzing and straining against my chest.
I count to three.
Then, I blow out my breath and let loose the power, flinging out a billion sparks in all directions.
Mr. Flood makes a hopeless grab for them with the flicker of strength he has left, but it’s not enough. The sparks race everywhere like hypercharged fireflies, leaving glittering trails that hang in the air.
And every single one of those sparks carries a piece of me. I send them whizzing through the rain, chasing off the hillside and out over the valley. They divide again and again as they go, endlessly multiplying, spraying out twinkling constellations under the stormclouds.
Then, when the sky over Johnstown is full of tiny, dancing stars, I pour my power out through them. I do something I saw Mr. Flood do earlier tonight, something amazing.
But I do it on a much bigger scale.
All at once, every falling drop of rain freezes in mid-flight.
The hammering of water on pavement and metal and water suddenly stops. The droplets hang like billions of crystal beads, winking in the strobing red-and-blue light from the cop cars and fire trucks and ambulances. It’s just like before, when Mr. Flood froze the rain around us at Morley’s Dog...only I’ve stopped a major storm over an entire city.
And I’m not done yet.
I wait for a handful of heartbeats, touching every single suspended drop with my mind. Turning them.
And then I let them fall again.
Upward. I let them fall upward.
With a roar, every hanging drop of rain pours straight up. Then, every drop that’s already hit the ground rushes upward, too.
The flooded streets and parks and rooftops empty into the sky. Geysers gush up from the windows and doorways of waterlogged buildings. Point Stadium dumps up its watery load like an overturned bowl.
Every drop that has fallen ascends. What came down must go up.
I laugh out loud as it happens. I almost can’t believe what I’ve done. It’s like a miracle.
And speaking of miracles, I don’t have to pee anymore...even though I never did go to the bathroom.
Here’s history in the making. Here’s something people will read about and talk about for hundreds of years.
A backward flood. An upside-down flood.
A flood of the sky.
Now
this
is something that will save a way of life. People will want to preserve and study this place, try to figure out what happened without disrupting whatever delicate balance enabled this miracle to occur.
This
will save Johnstown. I didn’t have to destroy the city and drown hundreds or thousands of people to do it, either.
And I saved someone else, too.
Mr. Flood looks at me, and the tears in his eyes this time are tears of betrayal and confusion and disappointment.
But he’ll live. I left him more than enough strength to survive, whether he likes it or not.
He might not be happy now, but sooner or later, he’ll come around to my way of thinking. It only makes sense, right? I mean, why destroy the city every forty years or so when there’s a better way?
Here’s what I’m thinking:
This might be the first flood of its kind in history.
But it won’t be the last.
*****
By
Robert T. Jeschonek
You'd think genies might get a wish to themselves now and then...but from the pain in Magda's eyes when she opens the mansion's door, I can see she's getting zero wish fulfillment out of life.
"Yes?" Her eyes are beautiful, an unearthly bright greenish gold--but the look in them is one of pure misery.
"Good morning, ma'am." I flash her my badge, and she winces. "Oliver Singel, state Department of Mystic Revenue. I'm here to see Mr. Rudolph Gunza."
She ushers me in without hesitation. She doesn't fear me at all; as a genie, she need only fear one man in all the world.
That man is her master, Rudy Gunza.
As she closes the heavy door behind me, I gaze around at the opulent entryway. Everything is glittering gold and crimson velvet and gleaming marble, from the winding staircase to the fountain in the middle of the giant room.
Ill-gotten gains, all of it. Whipped up on a whim and a wish by the magical beauty standing in front of me.
She tosses her head, and the lush, black curls flop about her shoulders. She straightens the dark blue satin bodice of her outfit, smooths the silk harem pants below her taut bare midriff.
Even with the beaten look in her eyes, even with her mouth and chin covered by a pale blue veil, she looks breathtaking. She looks more perfect and radiant than any woman alive, as beautiful as any fantasy sculpted by a man's imagination.
Then again, she
has
to, doesn't she?
"What business do you have with Master Gunza?" There's a hint of a glint in her eye as she says it--a flicker of power. She might not be able to exercise it against her master, but that doesn't mean she can't use it against someone else, like me.
"Serious business," I tell her. "
Tax
business."
"Oh-ho!" Gunza's jolly voice booms from the top of the staircase. "And here I thought this was purely a
friendly
visit!"
A weak smile doesn't quite make it onto my face. "Hello, Rudy."
Gunza wobbles down the stairs, looking like a tubby sheikh. His glittering red robes can't hide the stupendous gut wagging in front of him.
When he and I were partners, he never had a gut at all.
"Long time no miss!" says Gunza as he drops from the last marble stair to the floor. "How's the old gang of idiots?"
"Better than ever, now that you're gone," I tell him.
Gunza throws an arm around Magda's shoulders and squeezes her tight. "Oleo and I used to work together! Isn't that something, Magda? We was
revenooers
together."
Magda's head bobbles as he jerks her around. Her flat stare drifts past me like litter on a breeze.
"Went after
tax evaders
, didn't we?" says Gunza. "Folks who didn't pay the state a piece of the action from wishes granted and spells cast."
"It's income, Magda." I wave my clipboard at the surrounding opulence. "The state deserves its share under the law."
"Bull-squat, Oleo." Gunza chortles and strokes his braided red mustache. "Let the state get its
own
genie."
"Yes, fine idea." I walk around the room, taking notes on the clipboard. "We could get one the way
you
did. Force an old lady at gunpoint to use up her three wishes on nothing and hand over the lamp."
Gunza's grin darkens. "Hey now, Oleo. That was a straight-up
gift
, and no one can prove otherwise."
"Almost no one." I shoot a look at Magda, and she turns away.
Gunza shrugs. "If a door closes, open a window. The department passed me over for a promotion--which
you
got--but Mrs. Sandusky thought I deserved an even greater reward. She
wished
for me to have it."
The walls are made of alternating gold and platinum ingots, which I note on my clipboard. "Well,
I
wish you'd paid your
taxes
." I write more on the clipboard. "If I were
you
, I'd wish you don't have a
coronary
when you see the grand
total
you owe the state."
"I don't owe one cent!" Gunza releases Magda and storms over to grab my clipboard.
I snatch it right back. "You lazy prick. How hard could it be to pay your taxes? You already wished for unlimited wishes, didn't you?"
Gunza smirks. "That was my first wish."
"Why not wish for her to pay your taxes?" I point my pen at Magda.
"Because I don't
choose
to." Gunza's features twist into a scowl. "Because I am the
master
."
I shake my head in disgust. "You're just like all the rest. All the other scum you used to help me bust."
Gunza gazes into my eyes for a long moment, nodding slowly. "Run," he says finally.
I know where this is going. I knew from the moment I walked into the place.
"I wish..." says Gunza.
I swing the clipboard at his head, but he knocks it away with one thick forearm.
Before I can take another swing, he finishes his sentence. "I wish that a hunting party of madmen and monsters will hunt down Oliver Singel, then torture and mutilate him for as long as I wish...and not kill him, no matter how much he begs for it."
Magda's eyes meet mine. They well with regret and resignation.
I reach out to her. "Magda, please! Don't do it! I'm here to help you!"
Gunza giggles and smacks me on the back. "He's a liar! He's just here for his precious
revenooo
!"
"I'm sorry." Magda weaves her arms in the air, and a cloud of twinkling glitter swirls above her. "I have no choice but to obey my master."
"Wrong!" Even as the misshapen forms materialize before me, I keep trying. "I
can
help you! Tell me what you
want
!"
Magda hesitates, and the figures flicker. Gunza stomps over and smacks her across the face.
"Do your job!" he says. "Obey me!" He strikes her again.
Magda closes her eyes. Her nimble fingers finish their dance in the air, and the hulking forms solidify.
"Run, rabbit!" Gunza howls with laughter. "Don't let 'em catch you!"
With one last look at Magda, I turn and sprint off into the depths of the mansion.
*****
The hunters are silent. No shrieking laughter, no ululating howls, no clattering weapons and footsteps. I can barely hear them back there at all--just whispers and the rustling of wings and rags.
The quiet makes it all the worse as I run.
Heart hammering in my chest, I race to the end of the corridor and burst through the oak double doors there. Beyond the doors, I find myself in a vast arboretum, teeming with tropical trees and flowers.
Without stopping, I draw my cell phone and send a text message to my partner. At least I had the sense to post him elsewhere in case I needed backup.
Now, if only Gunza didn't think to wish for Magda to block outgoing phone signals.
As I pocket the phone, I hear brush shuddering behind me. Ducking off the gold-bricked path, I bolt through the thick foliage, crossing the room away from my original trajectory.
Suddenly, a feverish ghoul explodes from the shrubbery ahead of me, swinging a machete. I fall back, barely escaping the blade...and nearly end up skewered on the point of a bayonet brandished by a leering soldier.
Twisting out of the way, I leap off into the cover as both of them slash and stab at me. I rush straight through the deep green jungle, panting for breath in the steamy air--and surge out of the vegetation in front of another set of double doors.
Plunging through the doors, I find myself in a maze. Through its frosted glass walls, I glimpse shadowy figures moving around me...but I have to go onward. I hear noise from the other side of the doors, so I can't go back to the arboretum.
I move as quickly and quietly as I can, though it doesn't matter. The enemy can see me as well as I see them through the frosted glass.
I zip around a corner, then another and another, always choosing right at the branches. Turning again, I spot a blurred figure on the other side of the translucent wall...and he spots me. He changes direction and follows me down the passage, keeping pace in a humpbacked trot, separated from me only by a few inches of glass.
Luckily, the next time I reach a branch, he hits a dead end. He howls, caught in a corner, as I dart down another passage, hoping for an exit.
I find one--a gleaming golden door inlaid with multicolored gems--but just as I charge forward, it crashes open, revealing a towering maniac.
He stands seven feet tall, at least, and his
double-jointed limbs are like sticks. He's naked except for a leather loincloth, and his skin is reddish-brown like an almond.
His eyes and mouth gape wide as he scrambles toward me, drooling and whooping.
Suddenly, before I can do anything, he slows in
mid-step. His movements stretch out as if he were the star of a slow-motion movie, and his whoops extend to one
drawn-out tone.
I jump when I hear the normal-speed voice of Magda behind me. "That was one of my masters, two hundred and fifty years ago. Shall I tell you how he beat me?"
Looking around, I see another predator creeping from the maze in slow-mo. This one, muscular, blond and
bushy-bearded, wears the horned helmet of a Viking.
"Were these your masters through the ages?" I say.
She nods. "As you die, you will know what I've been through."
Stepping toward the tall one, I gingerly touch his reddish-brown knuckles. "How can you be doing this? Disobeying Rudy?"
"I'm obeying him," says Magda. "I'm slowing things down, but you will still be hunted and tortured."
"Why talk to me at all then?"
Magda cocks her head and frowns. "What did you mean when you said you could help me?"
"I meant what I said," I tell her. "All you have to do is tell me what you want. Just ask for it."
She narrows her eyes. "
I
know what this is about now. You want me for yourself, don't you?"
"No." I shake my head. "I want to
save
you."
"You're not the first to say that." Magda snorts and folds her arms over her blue satin bodice. "Somehow,
saving
me always ends with
hurting
me."
"Not this time." I spread my arms wide. "I swear, I'm here to help you."
"You want my help collecting Rudy's taxes," says Magda. "For all the riches I've given him."
"Actually," I say, "you're the only reason I'm here."
Magda stares, her expression split between confusion and disbelief.
"This time, I'm not as concerned about tax evasion," I say, "as I am about slavery and abuse."
She looks like she's thinking hard...and then her stare becomes an angry glare. "Liar. You're a
liar
, just like
all
men."
"I'm telling you, I came here only to save you."
"Liar!" She lifts her hands overhead to weave and conjure, and I see the tall man start to move faster. "You better
run
, liar!"
Without another word, I dash around the tall man, heave open the door, and race into the hallway. I can tell she's run out of patience, at least for now. I can tell she doesn't believe me.
Even though I told her the absolute truth.
I don't care about the mystic taxes. This time, I came only for her.
*****
As I run down the hall, I open every door...but I'm not looking for a way out. I'm looking for something else.
A lamp.
Her
lamp.
Now that I'm on the inside of Gunza's mansion, I'm determined to find it. I'm going to end this perverted jerk's most heinous crime: genie abuse. The bastard's a
djinnophile
.
Here's how it works. The genie must obey her master. The genie has magical powers that can heal any wound, repair any damage. Even to herself.
What better scenario can there be for a twisted sicko who likes to hurt women? He can brutalize her any way he likes, then wish away the damage, removing any sign of the crime, expunging any guilt...and leaving a clean slate for the next round of abuse.
That's what makes it especially evil. The genie becomes an accomplice to her own abuse. She literally has no choice.
And it goes on and on and on like that, again and again and again. Forever, if he wishes eternal life for himself.
So it's no wonder Magda doesn't trust me...but she should. There's much more to me than meets the eye.
For one thing, I'm state police now, not Department of Mystic Revenue. I work for the Paranormal Victims Unit.
For another thing, I'm someone altogether different than any of that or anything Gunza could ever guess.
But Magda could figure it out. At least I hope she does before it's too late.
