Third Power Page 4

  Steve entered the kitchen and Amy’s mother smiled in greeting as she busily prepared breakfast. “Good morning,” she said as he passed by her. “Feeling all right this morning?”

  Steve rolled his eyes; he knew he was going to have to put up with this line of questioning right up to the moment he left. “I feel fine, thanks.”

  “Would you like some hot chocolate? I just made some.” She handed him a mug before he could reply and wiped her hands on a dishtowel. That done, she left the kitchen and disappeared for a few minutes down the hall.

  He had just finished rinsing out his mug when Mrs. Weland returned to the kitchen.

  “That didn’t take you long,” she commented.

  “What can I say?” he replied wiping off his upper lip on the back of his hand. “You make a mean mug of hot chocolate, Mrs. Weland.”

  She smiled at that and reached into one of the lower cupboards, withdrawing a frying pan. After setting it on the stove, she went to the refrigerator and withdrew a carton of eggs. “I was going to make pancakes for everyone but then I remembered you didn’t like them. Would eggs be all right?”

  “Sure, that’d be great,” Steve replied.

  “How do you like them?”

  “Probably cooked,” Amy said from the doorway. She stood in the same robe Steve saw her in earlier that morning, only now she cradled a black cat in her arms that purred contentedly in the cradle of her arm.

  Steve glanced at his watch. “This is early for you. It’s barely nine o’clock.” In a flash, his dream from the night before sprang to mind and caused an involuntary shudder. The bank marquee in his vision…hallucination…whatever it was, had read 9:26 A.M.

  Amy gave no indication of noticing his sudden unease. “I usually don’t get up this early—unless, of course, someone wakes me up.”

  Mrs. Weland ignored her daughter’s pointed implication and instead asked her, “Would you like eggs or pancakes for breakfast?”

  “Scrambled eggs, please.”

  “And yours, Steve?”

  “Scrambled is fine for me, too. Thanks”.

  Amy put the cat down then seated herself at the table just as her father walked in wearing plaid pajamas under a green bathrobe tied snugly at the waist. “Morning, Steve.”

  “Morning, Mr. Weland.”

  Amy’s mother put six eggs on the counter and threw the empty carton into the trash. It did not go down at first but Mrs. Weland folded over the sides of the garbage bag then crushed the contents down with her weight.

  Mr. Weland gestured with a finger. “Amy, why don’t you take the garbage down to the garage?” Though posed as a question it was clearly not a request.

  Amy moaned in protest as she rose to her feet but Steve was already rising and motioning for her to sit. “No sweat, I got it.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Mrs. Weland insisted.

  Steve crossed the room and pulled the much-too-full garbage bag from the can. “It’s no problem.”

  Amy smiled at him and silently mouthed the words “thank you”, which he returned with an equally silent “you’re welcome”.

  Mr. Weland rubbed at the salt and pepper stubble on his face as he regarded the young man. “So, Amy said you were feeling ill last night.”

  “Dad!” Amy chided.

  “Sorry, sorry,” he quickly amended. “I forgot: no questions.”

  “It’s all right, Amy,” Steve said over his shoulder. He knew the moment she told him she had mentioned his little episode to her mother that it would spread to the rest of the family soon enough. He was likely to get the nosey third degree from each member of the family in turn if he didn’t just address it then and there. To Mr. Weland he said, “I feel fine. It was just a dizzy spell or something.” He tied the garbage bag off and afforded them all a polite smile as he left the kitchen. Behind him, he could hear Amy scolding her father.

  He went down the stairs and then opened the door leading from the basement into a windowless garage. The door closed behind him on its spring and Steve waved a hand blindly in the darkness, searching for the hanging chain to the overhead light. In a moment, he found it and the fluorescent light above sparked to life at a tug. The room was completely barren save for the two metal garbage cans in the far corner near the garage door. Steve quickly crossed the stone floor and placed the garbage bag in the nearest one. His task complete, he then sighed at the thought of explaining last night to the only remaining member of Amy’s family he had not yet seen. Somewhere, Cheryl was still lurking about. She had Weland blood in her, and was certainly no less nosey than the rest of her family.

  He pressed the lid of the garbage can into place with both hands then paused, his weight resting on his arms. He sighed. “I’ve got to get out of here before they drive me nuts.”

  “Not much of a people person?”

  Startled, Steve whirled on the strange voice.

  “Easy, boy, I am only here to exchange a few words, is all.” The stranger’s long, jet-black hair extended to the small of his back as a tied and braided single rope. He appeared at least thirty years old, perhaps more, with rock-set facial features and dark brooding eyes. He lacked nothing in the way of confidence and moved as a man used to getting things exactly the way he wanted them. Dressed in a black, three-piece suit, and a leather trench coat of the same color draped over his shoulders, he stood in front of the now open door leading back into the house and leveled a penetrating gaze on the young man.

  “How did you—“ Steve began, unconsciously pointing a finger at the door through which he had just entered, not understanding how the man could have appeared standing before the only accessible entrance to the garage he had himself just walked through. He did not finish the thought, however; instead giving way to instant caution reflected by a slight narrowing of his eyes. “Who are you?” he asked.

  The dark stranger entered the garage completely. The door, which should have closed behind him on its spring, waited for the man to pass before closing of its own. “My true name is Azinon, but to my enemies I am known as the Dark One.”

  Steve shrugged. “Bit of a nasty sounding name either way, if you ask me.”

  Azinon smiled slightly. “Thank you.”

  “Not really a compliment,” Steve quipped. “Now, unless I miss my guess, you’re not a guest of the Welands. So that leaves us with the question of why you’re here.”

  Azinon started to move forward but stopped abruptly when Steve took an immediate step back. “I see,” he said with a flash of amusement in his eyes. “Do I frighten you, boy?”

  “Let’s just call it healthy paranoia.”

  Azinon chuckled, an expression that looked oddly out of place on his features. “You do not have the foolishness one might expect to find in someone your age. That is good; perhaps it will speed things along.”

  “And you don’t dress or talk like the average burglar,” Steve returned. “So now you either tell me why you’re here or I call the cops.”

  “I believe you did that once already. Might I also say that it was a very clever trick last night. I had no choice but to comply or risk having the whole of your local constabulary in pursuit.”

  Steve flushed with anger as sudden understanding washed over him. “Wait a minute! That was you last night?!” He then remembered the attempted break-in on his car and could not help but believe the two incidents related. “Just what the hell were you trying to prove?”

  “Prove?” the dark stranger asked with an arched brow. “I have long since surpassed the need to prove anything to anyone. I am simply here for my property.”

  Steve suppressed the urge to rush across the room and throttle this arrogant, Harry Potter castoff in a lawyer’s power suit and instead folded his arms across his chest. “Somehow I doubt the Welands have anything that belongs to you.”

  “And you would be right,” Azinon said with a brief raise of his brow. “I speak of the crystal. Mr. Jacobs was sent here long ago to keep watch over it--to serve as
its guardian, you might say.”

  Steve couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You did all this for a worthless piece of costume jewelry?”

  “Worthless?” Azinon huffed once through his nose in obvious amusement at that. “There is a prophecy where I come from that speaks of a man who will be the source of an untold power. I believe the crystal to be the key to this man’s arrival, so I am going to make sure that power is never brought to bear. It would be...” Azinon tilted his head thoughtfully from side to side as he mulled over the word. “Inconvenient.”

  Steve’s eyes narrowed. The irony of the situation was if this man had simply walked up in the beginning and asked for it he would have given it over willingly—gladly even. He never wanted the pendant to begin with but this man—this Azinon—had already tried to run him off the road and now he was trespassing in his girlfriend’s home.

  “So because of a superstitious proverb you just thought you would come and take it from me?”

  Azinon scoffed. “On my world superstition is rarely just that. I know you have already invoked the powers of the crystal--accidentally, I’m sure. You are like a monkey with a flamethrower, for all your finesse. I could not have heard your invocation of the magic any more clearly if you had broadcast it over the radio.

  Steve did not even hear this last, as this new information sent a myriad of thoughts racing through his mind. Like how could this man possibly know about what happened last night? What is more, if the world truly had flipped upside-down and he was speaking the truth, then everything he saw last night hadn’t been a dream at all. It had been real. He saw the future and that could only mean...”

  Azinon looked amused. “Something troubles you, I see.”

  “No,” Steve replied, looking thoughtfully at the floor but seeing only the convenience store in his dream, “just remembering something.” He heard the shuffle of movement and Steve’s attention snapped back up.

  Azinon stopped after a single step and regarded the young man, his patience clearly running out. “The crystal; I will have it now.”

  Steve unconsciously reached up and touched the tiny jewel through the fabric of his sweater. “Sorry,” he said with a cautious step back, “I can’t do that.”

  The sorcerer’s glare was like a thundercloud. “I do not think you understand your position, boy. I cannot remove the crystal while you live, but it is an entirely different matter after you die.”

  Steve blinked, stunned. No one had ever threatened his life before. Astonishment, however, quickly gave way to anger and, with a fierce glare of his own, Steve walked around Azinon and headed for the door. “I’ll be calling the police now. I suggest you show yourself out—and fast.” He reached for the doorknob…and then flew backward off his feet under an unseen force. Steve hit the floor and then came to a sliding stop on his back beneath the dark-suited man’s smirking countenance.

  “That was nothing,” Azinon said by way of explanation. “Now, before you truly regret it, I’ll have that crystal now.”

  Steve climbed to his feet wide-eyed. “How did you do that?” he demanded. When Azinon gave no reply Steve did the only thing he could think of next, and charged him with a yell. In the next moment, his world spun wildly. Whatever hit him—for he never even saw it coming—struck him head on and sent him to his hands and knees.

  Azinon sighed nonplussed and walked slowly around him. “My patience is wearing thin, boy.” Steve wavered on all fours a moment before crumpling down to his elbows with a wounded grunt. Azinon completed his circle and once again stood in front of the boy, looking down his nose in disgust. “You are no better than the rest of the weakling dogs who inhabit this world.” He stooped and grabbed Steve by the scruff of the neck. “It is a wonder your kind ever--”

  Steve was done playing possum and launched himself from the floor like a mountain lion. Azinon bit back a cry of pain as Steve tackled him about the waist and slammed his low back into the work counter against the wall. Steve then seized the man by the throat, his other arm cocked back for a punch, but flew backward off his feet before he could deliver. He soared across the expanse of stone floor and did not stop. Huge splinters and shards of wood exploded outward with the impact as Steve crashed through the garage door to land on the hood of the Welands’ Camaro.

  His vision a bit hazy, Steve could make out Amy’s horrified countenance peering down at him from her seat at the kitchen table, seated near the window in the nook. Her lips were moving, undoubtedly saying something akin to “oh my God”, but Steve couldn’t be sure and his ability to focus was fast slipping. His head fell back wearily against the windshield as he blacked out.

  Azinon stepped slowly through the gaping hole as he straightened the collar of his two-hundred dollar shirt. He then moved up alongside the passenger side of the car, to where Steve remained unmoving. Leaning close, he whispered, “It is said the Third Power of Mithal shall be a savior to the land; one who will come and purge the realm of its sickness, and yet prophecy states this great savior shall be an alien, the child of another world who will root out the evil at its heart. Do you, an insignificant insect in the web of destiny, believe yourself such a savior?”

  Steve stirred; grimacing in pain as he slowly came out of his unconsciousness and into delirium. Azinon held his hand out and touched his fingertips to Steve’s chest in a gesture resembling a claw. Steve’s heart fluttered under that deathly touch.

  “And now,” said Azinon, “you learn the price of such arrogance.”

  “Move away from him!”

  Azinon looked up and spied Amy’s father. He stood on the steps of their home in a sidelong stance, arm extended, the barrel of a Colt .45 trained on the intruder’s chest. Azinon straightened slowly, clearly unperturbed by the threat, but the action drew his hand away from the fitfully stirring youth and the heart within his chest resumed a normal beat. Azinon met Mr. Weland’s gaze with a perspective that transcended the physical plane. After a moment, he smiled, for Amy’s father did not possess the strength of will to shoot another human being—at least not without first panicking him into a hasty decision with a direct threat to his family.

  “Just another weakling dog in a world of many,” the sorcerer said aloud with a contemptuous smirk.

  But that mattered little now. Azinon looked around at the dozen pairs of eyes focused upon him, neighbors drawn by the commotion they had heard.

  “We shall speak again,” Azinon said to Steve. “Count on it.” With that, he turned and strode purposefully away, ignoring the orders thrown at his back to stop by Mr. Weland. Without another word, he disappeared around the next corner and was out of sight.

  Mr. Weland did not pursue the man, and instead rushed to Steve’s side. Mrs. Weland appeared in the doorway right after her husband and shouted, “The police are on their way!” Amy appeared next, bursting past her mother with a blanket in her arms. Her father took the blanket from her and draped it across Steve’s still form, and then ran back up the steps and into the house on some unknown task.

  Steve stirred only a little at first but, feeling constrained, he threw the blanket away in one broad, clumsy swipe of an arm. With effort, he managed to sit up, albeit unsteadily.

  “What are you doing?” Amy said, trying her best to press him down again. “You shouldn’t be moving. Steve, please!”

  “Steve, honey, please just lie still,” Mrs. Weland called from the doorway. “An ambulance will be here soon.”

  Steve rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to clear his hazy vision. A sudden thought struck him from the recesses of his memory and he quickly looked to his watch but the hands and numbers refused to come into focus. Finally in frustration he asked, “What time is it?”

  “What?”

  “The time! What is the exact time?”

  Amy glanced at her digital watch. “Nine-twenty. Why?”

  Six minutes!

  Without another word, he lurched to his feet and nearly fell as his legs collapsed like pillars of Jell-O bene
ath him. Amy caught the brunt of his weight and helped him stand. “Will you please stop moving around?”

  “No,” he replied simply. “I don’t have time to argue. I want you to call the police and tell them a robbery is about to happen at the convenience store just down the street from here.” He fumbled in his pockets and withdrew his keys. His strength slowly returning, he managed to push past Amy and walk unsteadily to his car.

  He opened the car door and Amy said, “Where are you going? Steve, stop. You’re hurt!”

  She’s right, he thought as he practically fell into the driver’s seat, but with every passing moment he was quickly regaining his strength. The engine started with a turn of the key and the whole car thrummed as though anxious to be off.

  Amy retreated several steps as Steve backed out swiftly and swung the car around in the street. Then, with tires screaming, the Mustang rocketed down the road.

  Mr. Weland appeared again from the house and stopped by his daughter’s side. “What happened?” he demanded. “Where is he going?”

  Amy stared for several seconds in the direction Steve had gone before finally turning to her father, a look of firm resolve on her face. Taking him by the hand, she led him at a run back into the house. “Come on!”

  Steve burst in through one side of the double glass doors of the Circle K convenience store so quickly he startled the Filipino clerk motionless behind the counter. But then, appearing with an aluminum bat in one hand, which Steve had pulled from the trunk of his car only a few moments ago, accompanied by the desperate and rushed look in his eyes of a man with a definite mission and not a lot of time, did not appear to calm the clerk’s initial jump in heart rate.

  “Everyone, listen!” Steve shouted, addressing both the clerk and unconsciously gesturing to the patrons in the back of the store with the bat. “We don’t have a lot of time!”

  Steve rushed up to the counter, prompting a step back from it by the clerk, who appeared undecided about what was going on, but had sense enough to be cautious.