Finding Family

by Kristen of the Coven

 

 

Chapter 1: Alleyway Encounter

 

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Content Warnings: mention of abusive parents, written in first person murderous asshole’s perspective

 

I watched the street out the diner window to my left. Any moment, my mark would pass by on her way to meet a buyer for her black market drugs. It’d been tough to convince her to meet in person, but she was supporting herself on a minimum wage budget. This was far from the first time I’d planned an ambush, and I knew what sort of buyer would thread the needle of being just safe and lucrative enough for her to risk showing herself. Hacking the account of a fellow University student and begging to buy a quarter of her stash for a party had done the trick, once I convinced her I was the kid for real.

 

This would, God willing, be my final job for the Strant family. They’d promised a fortune for bringing their daughter back, dead or alive. I got the sense it didn’t really matter which. The Strants were extremely fucked up in a variety of ways: morally, mentally, physically, you name it. They were seriously into the really creepy end of occult shit. As a freelance hitman, I rarely thew stones at other bastards, but setting a bounty on your own kid’s head rubbed me in a real bad way. Sadly, that was their price. This would pay off my entire debt to them, which was worth just a bit more to me than the life of their run away demon child. I’d already made a promise to myself: once this was over, I’d get as far away as I physically could from all this magic bullshit.

 

Speaking of which, I felt metal heating up against the small of my back, which meant the toy they’d given me was working after all: the Dagger’s prey was near. A glance out the window showed a feminine figure rounding the corner several blocks down the street. Metal studs on their jacket’s shoulders glinted in the light of a street lamp. That’d be the Strant girl’s punk ass. Show time.

 

This kid had been evading capture for the last three years, getting the drop on many other trackers and murderers, some of them even as good as I was. So her parents had decided enough was enough. They hired me, and equipped me with one of their precious few truly magical relics: a jagged iron dagger with indecipherable sigils etched along the blade’s perimeter. The Dagger had been somehow linked to the girl’s blood. According to the Strants, the ‘tortured spirit’ trapped in the object would track its prey’s magical aura like a bloodhound, and launch some sort of psychic attack at her the moment it was close enough.

 

If none of that shit worked, I’d also brought a .44 pistol, and had numerous fall back plans in place. Who knew what sorta crazy the kid would try to pull if she got the chance. The only thing I was really hoping for from the Dagger was that the sight of it would shock her enough to get sloppy.

 

After waiting a few more moments, I stood smoothly from the booth, laying down a generous tip. I pulled on my coat, and headed for the tiny diner’s exit with a solemn sureness in my step.

 

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Angela

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Content Warnings: light mention of abusive parents, heavy mention of tortured soul trapped in dagger and angry mind magic

 

[ - Several minutes later - ]

 

I slipped my phone out of my pocket, checking the address on the screen for the third time. Fuck. This was the place, but the guy I was s’posed to meet was nowhere to be found.

 

I leaned against the dank brick wall of the deserted alleyway, crossing my arms with a forced laziness. I’d chosen a spot close to the backdoor of an open restaurant, just in case I needed to leave in a hurry, but so far I didn’t see any obvious sign of danger. I pulled up my black hood, throwing my face into deeper shadow. I was wearing my usual attire: black combat boots, blue jeans, a purple tee shirt with “See you in hell” written in fire across the chest, and a black hoody with little metal spikes studded into the shoulders. There was a growing sense of uneasiness in my gut, which was perhaps the sense I trusted the most. Growing up with my parents, it was essential to know when things were wrong before the wrong had shown its face yet.

 

Fuck. I needed the money this kid was paying. I was trying to settle down, start a life after years on the run from my folks. I knew I was flying close to the sun with this shady meet up, but Jake should theoretically be safe. I’d seen him around campus, and he’d sounded serious and desperate over the phone. This should be a quick, simple deal.

 

To try and set my thoughts at ease, I flicked my eyes up to the sky above and sent a quiet prayer to Diana, the Roman Goddess of the Moon. I’d been praying to her for years now, ever since she’d given me the courage to escape my parents’ prison house. It was Her strength and steadying presence that had guided me to freedom, and allowed me to keep it for so long with those rich assholes constantly on my tail.

 

Am I safe, my lady? I silently asked the night sky above. It was a common question these days, but this time the answer was almost immediate. I felt the Goddess’ presence gently tingle across my skin and thoughts, and then the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. A second later, a pulse of adrenaline shot through my body, and my mind was filled with a singular overpowering thought: RUN.

 

I hurriedly pushed myself off the wall. To my left the alley was clear, but as I whipped around to check the right, a figure stepped into view: blocking the entrance. The half moon shown down on a man with a brown trenchcoat, a cold smile, and a wicked, jagged dagger clutched in his left hand. 

 

My mind screamed at me to move, to RUN. But as soon as I caught sight of that dagger, it was like a spear pierced through my soul: cutting a swath of agonizing, blinding, overwhelming pain through my mind. There was a rush of overpowering loss, anger, and sorrow: a stream of raging despair that had me staggering back against the wall, clutching at my chest, unable to tear my eyes away from the cursed object and unable to stop the tide of raw anguish slamming against my mind. Over and over and over again a voice screamed my name in my thoughts with piercing hatred: KillAngelaBaphometStrantDeathToAngelaBaphometStrantEndAngela...

 

I was completely overwhelmed, frozen. But somewhere deep, deep within my mind, the presence that was Diana persisted. Past where any conscious part of me or the Dagger could reach, I felt a last ditched pulse of pure power shoot outward. A blessing straight from Diana herself that cut through the waves of agony with a simple, desperate request which burst out of me like an explosion of will:

 

HELP

 

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Maxine

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Content Warnings: light mention of trans girl POV’s dysphoria, intense action

 

[ - Three minutes prior - ]

 

I was swaying in time to the ethereal music pouring into my ears, lost to the physical world of the city. In my mind, I strode barefoot along a grassy hill as violins cried and piano notes plucked and echoed out across the rolling plains surrounding me. I felt lost in the music, one with the rhythm. On the outside I was standing motionless at a bus stop on a dark, deserted street, but in my head on that hill I screamed my heart out into the brilliant blue sky:

 

There's something wrong in the villa-ge! In the villaage, oh! They stare in the vill-age! In the villaage, oh!

 

Flocks of the most beautifully vibrant birds I could imagine wheeled overhead in perfectly imperfect harmony. I gazed up at them in awe. At the base of the hill I walked upon was a little village filled with friends and family members, all of whom were entranced by my echoing, siren-like aria. They watched as I danced with the birds and sang with the haunting, beautiful voice that I so desperately wished I had.

 

There’s nothing wrong with you, it’s true! It’s true! There’s something wrong with the vill-age! Something wrong with the villaaage...!

 

I spread my arms to the sky, lost in the blissful humming of the end of the song, and looked down towards those who had shunned me in the waking world simply for being myself. 

 

Only, suddenly I was looking into the eyes of a spotted doe standing less than a foot away from me. Her ears were pricked, her black eyes haunted. A sense of terror clung to her like a waterfall’s mist. Danger.

 

The vision was so detailed, so real, that I stumbled back in real life. Holy shit. I tore out my ear buds, alarm shooting through me and adrenaline flooding my body. I whipped my head up, eyes scanning my surroundings with a desperate intensity. 

 

And there: I saw him. A dude standing at the mouth of the alley several meters to my right, his face grim, and, some sort of literal actual dagger gleaming in his near hand. He disappeared from view as he entered the alley. Not a second later, I felt something absolutely flood my mind with a singular, desperate plea: 

 

HELP

 

I was moving before my brain had a chance to recover from whatever the fuck that had been. It became hard to think, because deep within me I knew, somehow, that that man was Danger. I knew he needed to be stopped. 

 

I sprinted to the mouth of the alley, heart in my throat. A glance around the corner revealed a young woman probably around my age standing several hundred feet down the alleyway. Dagger man was closing that distance calmly and steadily as she stood there, terror and desperation coming off her in waves. 

 

What the fuck is fucking happening? I thought. But though I knew I should feel panicked by the situation, terrified of whatever this guy was planning to do, instead I found myself shutting down, distancing from the situation. A light breeze seemed to tickle across my skin, and I found my body moving on instinct alone: stepping forward into the mouth of the passage. With a sort of calm detachedness, I took stock of my surroundings. There, my eyes alighted upon a loose brick. I was holding it in seconds, before I realized I was moving. Years of baseball practice had me hefting it and sighting out my throw. Rational thoughts, like what the fuck am I doing I can’t throw for shit, were smoothed out of my mind. An alien presence, calm and focused, assured me that such distractions would not help me with this. 

 

I felt the presence guiding my arms, raising the weapon just so, adjusting for factors I couldn’t even conceive of. It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before, yet it made me feel centered, sure of myself. My body wound up for the throw and, passively, I noticed the object losing weight in my grip until it was about as heavy as a regular baseball. With the presence guiding my body, the change didn’t phase me in the slightest. I locked my gaze on the back of the man’s head. I felt an impossible knowing in my gut: I had to do this. He was going to kill her. The certainty of the notion gave me strength. 

 

Not on my fucking watch.

 

With an ease and strength I’d never before experienced, I launched that brick like a fucking missle at my target. It sailed through the air in a perfect, silent arc. And yet, as if he had eyes in the back of his head, the man whirled around like he’d been expecting it the whole time. His dagger flashed in a viscous, impossibly accurate parry, knocking the brick out of the air like it was a foam dart.

 

I stared at him, as he grinned viciously at me. The presence was quickly driven from my mind as panic crashed through me.

 

WHAT THE FUCK? I screamed internally, eyes wide, mouth agape. 

 

But no, no. I couldn’t panic. Fear was the Max killer. The presence was gone, I was on my own, but I was far from alone.

 

“Who the fuck are you?” the bastard sneered. He began to advance towards me, murder in his eyes.

 

I felt myself detaching again, fading away on purpose this time. I couldn’t protect us from this. But someone else in my mind stepped forward: taking control of my body. Our eyes alighted on a bent metal pole on the ground near our feet. We grabbed it and wielded it like a sword before us. A grim confidence spread through our body, and I willingly gave up consciousness as this other part of my mind took over.

 

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Max

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Content Warnings: intense action

 

 

I stood with the pole in my hands, Maxine fading into the background of my mind. The trick with the dagger had been neat, this guy was insanely lucky. But I’d protected us from far worse than a little rune-carved knife before.

 

“What the fuck do you think you’re gonna do, kill me?” I asked, my mouth twisting into a sneer. My voice was low, much lower than Maxine liked, but then I wasn’t her. I was our protector, and dealing with attackers came to me as easily as breathing.

 

“The police are already on the way,” I said with a certainty that defied reality, “and I’m recording your every word. Back the fuck off, dude. She’s with me.”

 

Whatever the fuck had led Maxine to take this guy on before we actually did those things I had no idea, but it didn’t faze me. This was the hand I’d been dealt: I had no choice but to make the most of it. Did I know how to use a pole as a weapon? Fuck no. But this asshat didn’t need to know that. I was in a fighting stance, ready for whatever he tried. Our body was in decent shape: I would stand a chance against him because I had to.

 

He looked really annoyed now, staring mental daggers at me as he brandished his physical one. He was holding it almost like a gun, pointing it at me as if hoping the sight of it would make me back down. I gave him a particularly unhinged grin, daring the fucker to make a move. My main goal was to distract him long enough for the girl to escape. I figured we stood a good chance at outrunning this guy once she was clear.

 

I didn’t get time to worry or plan any further, though. I felt the familiar tug of Maxine coloring my thoughts, a fierce determination bubbling up from her corner of our mind. That was odd, usually she left shit like this to me.

 

Trust me, she said, and I felt her begin to blend into my thoughts, our memories beginning to meld. I let her take over control, but stayed present, watching her pilot our body. I felt her opening herself up, reaching out with her thoughts to something outside of and beyond us, something powerful, divine, and above all: ANGRY. 

 

I saw her memories of the doe, the cry for HELP, the presence that had guided her here and thrown a brick like it was a pebble. I saw her firm knowledge that this was the way forward. And I felt her beliefs take hold in me. They became a certainty in my soul, in our soul: a kind of knowing that pushed aside all doubts, fears, and distractions. Together we found the connection to the presence that had helped Maxine, and we reached out with blind faith. Words came unbidden to our lips, and we spoke them with a sense of awe.

 

“Goddess of the Moon,” we prayed, aloud and as one, “protect us.”

Our words were echoed simultaneously by the woman we were trying to help. We met her blood red eyes over the shoulder of the man, and saw a fierce strength in them. The air in the alley changed rapidly: growing charged, alive. The presence grew from a whisper in the back of our mind to a force that guided our grip to loosen.

 

“Oh for Christ’s sake shut up,” the man yelled, his voiced tinged with fear. He whirled back on the girl, brandishing the twisted dagger at her.

 

The pipe fell from our hands and hit the ground with a sharp clang!, and he whipped his head back around to us, his free hand darting into his coat pocket, clearly no longer feeling in control of the situation.

 

Our arms rose swiftly up to the sky of their own accord however, and our head and eyes followed suit until we were staring up at the moon above, the presence becoming stronger and stronger in our mind. Alien thoughts and ideas flooded into us. We understood that She was reaching into us, pouring a bit of Herself into our body, just as much as we could bear. Even the most skeptical parts of us found it impossible to refute the evidence streaming into our conscious awareness: She was real. And She was angry.

 

She, fully in control of our body now, lowered her gaze to the assassin who had come for Her child.

 

Said assassin was already sighting his gun at us, and we watched in slow motion as his finger tightened on the trigger. But She needed only an instant. At the speed of thought, our awareness reached outward, and She reached out through our mind and into our attacker’s. We felt Her flash towards him with the strength of a tsunami, and there was a pull deep in our chest.

 

Then She was gone, and we could barely stand.

 

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Content Warnings: murder man’s perspective

 

[ - an instant later - ]

 

One moment I was aiming at the asshole kid who’d showed up behind me. The next, I was surrounded by trees.

 

I spun in a circle, scanning the area. I was in the center of a small clearing with dense forest crowding in on three sides, thinner woods on my right. I could see glimpses of a sparkling cerulean blue lake through the trees. The air was filled with the sounds of animals rustling in the bushes and birds singing over head. The scent of sea salt and pine were a stark contrast to the smog of the city. I clenched my fists, heart pounding.

 

My hands were empty, and a quick check revealed my Dagger and gun no where to be found. I was disarmed, disoriented, and very much on the back foot here. I had an instinctive feeling that I was being watched, studied. Fuck.

 

Okay, okay. I knew these people were into some weird shit, but this took it to the next level. Was this sort of blatant magic possible? Was I literally in some forest? Was the girl’s Goddess real?

 

Part of me desperately wanted to believe it. Magic like this was exactly what I was looking for. But my cold rational side told me this all had to be happening in my head. They must have hit me with something drug based, something capable of totally detaching me from my body’s senses. Maybe I hadn’t deflected the other kid’s sneak attack as well as I’d thought.

 

An icy sharp voice cut into my thoughts. “Welcome to Our Mirror,” it said, from directly behind me.

 

I swore heavily as I whirled around, fists up, ready for a fight. I found myself facing a six foot tall warrior woman clad in a white linen tunic. The light in her eyes gave me pause, prevented me from launching into the instinctive punch my body wanted to throw. Her eyes held me. They were a sharp, piercing brown. She had dark brown hair gathered into a simple bun with a ribbon, and a golden cloak pulled up over her head: a bow and quiver slung over it across her back. Her glare was angry, but there was a deeper layer to it. A concern, almost a… kindness?

 

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice coming out sharp.

 

“I have many names, assassin,” she said, her voice carrying none of the hidden kindness of her eyes, “but you are not fit to know any of them.”

 

She lifted an open hand towards me. I tried to ready myself. “You attacked one of my children, and for that, you shall feel my Wrath.” As she finished the sentence, her fingers clenched viciously into a fist.

 

In an instant, a horrible pressure slammed into me from all sides, pinning my arms to my torso and forcing the air from my lungs. I saw stars as the vice-like force tightened, lifting me a few inches off the ground. I grit my teeth against the agony, forcing back my cry of pain.

 

When I felt the invisible grip slacken slightly, I was able to slit my eyes open. The woman was now inches from my face. We were eye level: her standing on the ground, me suspended a few inches above it. I wanted to struggle, to curse, to spit at her, but my body refused to obey my commands. I was utterly helpless.

 

She raised her left hand with an air of finality, and gently pressed her pointer finger to my forehead.

 

Her presence seep into my thoughts. Turning them against me, forcing me down, down, down into a deep and murky blackness.

 

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End of Chapter 1: Alleyway Encounter

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