Short Fiction- Fata Morgana

Fata Morgana

-A Morgana Lugus Investigation-

By: Eric Thomas

A series of three solid knocks sounded on my office door, pulling me from what had been an unusually peaceful sleep.

I muttered a curse before sitting up straight, trying to at least look like a professional.

“Morgana, you’ve got clients in,” a cheery voice called from the other side of the barrier.

“Send ‘em in,” I called before hurriedly dragging my hair back from the nest my desk had made it.

I’d managed to get it decently under control when the door slid open and a couple walked in.

They looked incredibly unhappy as they stiffly walked into my office, and their misery washed over me in waves to further cement the visual clue.

“Hello. Please, take a seat,” I offered with a pasted on smile I hoped wasn’t too noticeably fake.

They took the offer woodenly, looking as though they were afraid they’d get burnt just being near me.

I kept my expression carefully neutral as I fully took their appearance in.

“What can I help you with?”

“Are you the witch?” the woman immediately retorted, using the word like it was a curse.

She appeared to be in her late 50’s, her ruddy red hair showing signs of greying through the tight bun she wore it in.

Her eyes reminded of my assistant, the hard blue so icy I resisted the urge to grab a nearby blanket.

A sharp, black business suit covered a slightly muscular frame, which, combined with her expression, indicated she wasn’t use to having people speak to her without being asked first.

I felt an instinctive desire to push her buttons, but managed to rein it back in as I nodded.

“I am, among other things, a witch, yes. What can I do fer you?” I reiterated.

“Why’re we even here?” the man grumbled in response.

In comparison, the Ice Queen’s husband was far more haggard in appearance.

He was garbed in a well-worn, grey suit that matched almost all the hair left on his balding head, the color making his already pale complexion look practically corpse-like.

His face had a large amount of sagging skin, and frown lines were etched deep around his lips.

He glared at the floor as he asked, his small, beady green eyes missing all of the intensity and none of the warmth of his other half’s.

It would be hard to say either wanted to be there, in my office, but he was clearly even less happy about it than the Ice Queen.

“We’re here, Brandon, because those dolts at the police department couldn’t find a clue if you gave them an illustrated map,” his wife hissed, giving him a harsh glare that went entirely missed by him.

“Well, I’m always happy ta’ take up the slack when the fine members of the APD fail to deliver,” I quipped, drawing their attention back to me.

“So we’ve heard.”

Somehow, I had the feeling I was being insulted, but them being in a bad mood made my day brighten.

“So, and I know that it’s hard ta’ stay with me here, but do try, what can I do fer you?” I asked again.

“How dare you speak to your clients that way!” she hissed.

I shrugged, her glare a lot less impressive with me than she was clearly used to.

“You haven’t paid me yet, so ya’ aren’t actually my client, yet. Ya’ definitely haven’t told me why yer here yet, which means ya’ literally can’t be my client, at this point in time,” I returned.

“Nor will we be. So insolent,” the man snarled as he moved to stand up.

“You came to me fer a reason. If I have to ask what that reason was again, I’ll boot ya’ out, an’ ya’ can take your chances with the APD,” I retorted.

Inwardly, I cursed as the irritation pushed my usually suppressed brogue to the surface.

My tone stopped him cold, though, and the woman’s eyes widened at the way the room seemed to suddenly grow warmer.

“We need you to look for someone who’s gone missing for us,” the woman finally explained as he sank back to his former position.

It wasn’t that odd, really, that I’d be the go-to after the police department.

In the wonderfully crappy city of Arkham, Massachusetts, with a population of just over 235,000 people, and boasting the title of one of the U.S.’s epicenters for the weird and horrific, the options outside of the police were limited.

The missing case reports alone were nearly enough to warrant their own department, and by no means were they close to being the city’s worst problem.

The police were often the best advertisers for my business, in their lack of resources, though, so I couldn’t bring myself to feel too bad for them.

It had, more likely, been my reputation that got these posh people to lower themselves to coming to my office, though.

I’d become known around the city as a protector, of sorts, and I was essentially a Swiss army knife, metaphysically speaking.

Not many people were capable of going face-to-face with everything from vampires and pissed off spirits to real, full-fledged demons and monsters from beyond our reality.

My job sucked, but my mindset of ‘someone has to do it’ had gotten me a fair bit of funds over the years.

It also, unfortunately, made me the target of completely unpleasant clients, like the pair before me just then.

“There’re a lotta’ missing people around this city. I need a description, at least.”

“Of course. Well, I suppose we should introduce ourselves. My name is Roselyn Levi, and this is my husband, Brandon Levi,” she stated with a flourish.

Clearly, she thought the name was something that should impress, because she stopped talking after the introduction, seeming to wait for something.

I got the impression she was looking for me to faun over her, or perhaps do a jig.

Either way, a quick glance at their auras had given me that much information already, so she was doomed to disappointment.

When I didn’t respond, she frowned deeply and pushed onward.

“Our son, Johan, has disappeared. I know that it’s not surprising, in this accursed city, but-”

“That bastard can’t be going around screwing up the work we’ve put into our social standing,” Brandon cut in with a glare. “We need you to drag his ass, kicking and screaming if necessary, back to us. We need to make sure he can’t embarrass us or do something stupid.”

“My husband is… blunt,” Roselyn muttered with a glare at him, “but he’s essentially correct. We’ve put years into building up our community standing, and Johan has a tendency toward the stupid and dramatic.”

I stared at the two, barely able to resist a shudder at the positively poisonous auras they were spreading through my office.

If ever people thought that vampires were monsters solely because of their effect on people, I would gladly introduce them to the toxic couple to shut them up.

“Are you really a witch?” Brandon growled into the ensuing silence. “Shouldn’t you have a pointy hat or something?”

Normally, I take things in stride and ignore what people think when they aren’t Arkham locals.

Being woken up and immediately thereafter subjected to their lovely personalities, though, had cut my patience significantly, and with it went my usual tact.

I let my eyes narrow until the world blurred slightly, and as it did, the colors outlining their bodies grew clearer.

A hum filled the air as I focused, and I listened intently as their life stories were sung to me through the aether.

They both shivered, I noticed, likely from the way my green eyes had become nearly neon in their color.

“Brandon Thadius Levi, age fifty-nine, born in Springfield, Illinois. Made a nice chunk of wealth on the stocks for a few Fortune 500 companies, and lived it up in style. Your grandmother died, and suddenly, you’re stuck with an unsellable house that’ll drain your funds if ya’ don’t suck it up and move inta’ Arkham. How’s that?” I asked.

He was white as a sheet, and he had almost comically fear-widened eyes locked on me.

I’d long come to terms with the fact that at just under five feet tall, with a complexion like glue and hair a shade darker than fire-red, I tended to strike people as someone not fitting to fight hellions.

It never failed to work as a wonderful ego boost, then, when I made someone turn that particular pallor.

“Yo… You could’ve just looked that up,” he reasoned unconfidently.

“Ya’ also had a terrier named Rutger until ya’ were ten, hated your grandmother and sucked up to ‘er growin’ up for her inheritance, and were considering lighting her house on fire when you found out, ta’ take the insurance payment and be done with the whole thing.”

His jaw dropped, and I felt a somewhat cruel smile curling my lips.

“All of which, I assure you, I couldn’t have looked up, considering I didn’t know you were even a person until you walked through my door. I tolerate a lot, but I’ve put a lot of work into my skills, and I don’t like having my abilities questioned. Now then,” I said in a much brighter tone, “if we could discuss my fee, Mrs. Levi…”

I really hate bridges.

That was a repeating mantra in my mind as I stalked down Ponte Street, heading for the bridge at the end.

In my line of work, giant, indefensible choke points were never a good thing, but today was especially unfortunate.

Rain poured down in heavy sheets, adding to the already massive, raging Miskatonic River as it swept along the chasm at my side.

The only spot in all of Arkham where the water was almost close enough to touch was on the large dirt mound hanging directly beneath the bridge, making it a perfect place for creatures of all sorts to stir mischief.

A tongue of lightning arced through the sky, illuminating a bulky, towering shadow standing dead center on the mass of stone and steel.

If my luck was as bad as I expected, that would be the angry ghost that practically lived under the bridge, known to drag naive joggers to a slow, watery death.

The night that Johan had vanished, much like that very day, there had been a torrential downpour, which was the only time the wraith was known to come up top and enjoy the topside.

After three different informants from different parts of the city pointed me in the Avalon’s direction, I’d resigned myself to having to deal with a very unpleasant specter.

The fact that informants both human and not had told me the same things didn’t bode well for my clients’ kid.

The wraith became ever darker inside with every step closer I got to the bridge.

My entire body tightened in anticipation and my hands started giving off a slight green glow.

The air warmed in an instant, and a flowery scent rose with the ensuing steam.

With a hiss, I reined it in, pulling the magic back into the very thin skin keeping me from being drenched to the bones.

I’d apparently let the magic out for a bit too long, though, as the figure’s head snapped to attention and followed me for the rest of my walk.

I especially hate bridges when it’s clearly a trap waiting to be sprung.

With a sigh, I finally stepped onto the bridge, the stone humming under my feet as soon as I touched down.

“Yo-you do not bel-long heere, w-witch,” a harsh rasp snarled.

The screaming wind and plunking rain paled in comparison to the wraith’s hiss.

I fought a shiver as it seemed to, somehow, make the already miserable weather even colder.

Hunching further into my duster, I let more of my power rise to the surface.

Intimidating the pissed off dead was usually a useless endeavor, but letting it know I wasn’t an easy target couldn’t hurt, either.

“Tell me what I want ta’ know, and I’ll leave. No chaos, no blood, well, in your case, ichor, I s’pose, an’ we both go about on our business.”

The shadows swirled violently around it, revealing a massive red slit that would pass for its eye.

A strong vibration shot through the stone as it slithered forward, leaving a trail of thick, black smoke in its wake.

Up close, the wraith was smaller, its intimidating illusion shed the moment it realized I wasn’t taken in by things that go bump in the night.

Its face, without its mask of magical smoke, was horrific.

While not quite as decimated as most poltergeists or its other spiritual cousins, the wraith’s face was made of charred, cracking grey skin.

Crusted, black pockmarks littered what was clearly once a heart-shaped woman’s face.

Where skin was broken away around her jaw, pearly fangs showed through, stained suspiciously red.

Whoever the wraith had been, she’d apparently died a painful death, if the jagged bullet holes constantly trickling golden blood that riddled her body were any indication.

“An-nd what dooo you w-want to know?”

With a quick movement, I pulled Johan’s photo free for the wraith’s frigid stare.

“Chances’re pretty good that this human came through ‘ere. What do you know?”

She stared at the picture for a moment before I felt her attention shift back to me.

I felt her move before I saw it.

The air screeched as a misshapen, grey claw whipped at me.

In hindsight, letting her get that close to me wasn’t the best strategy I’d ever come up with.

Green light exploded up around my arm, just in time to meet the punch.

Its skin felt like I’d punched a solid block of ice.

The wild magic flooding my veins was probably the only thing that kept my arm attached.

As her arm was flung back, the wraith’s face pulled into a confused snarl.

The expression was possibly just as much from the overpowering scent of wintergreen as my lack of death.

In the same motion that had knocked her swipe away, I slammed my own fist right into her chest.

Her flesh gave slightly under the impact with a sickening crunch.

Essence rushed into existence between us, flooding my palm with green steam.

“Dóigh sa sí ar pyre!”

The words of power sounded sharp and guttural in the air, and the feeling traveled through my fingertips.

My vision turned to pure color for a moment, as the world around us reacted to the ancient magic.

The wraith screamed as a mass of emerald flames wrapped around her like a snake.

Her body was thrown to the other end of the bridge, where she came to an abrupt stop against a steel support beam.

Even where I stood, I could hear the horrific sounds that released as her body wrapped in a u around the steel.

She fell in a limp heap onto the stone, sending spidery cracks out around her with the crash.

Her shock lasted all of ten seconds, until she flowed back to a full stand in one boneless slither.

Evidently, she’d had two eyes, and both of them were now locked in a hateful glare on me.

“Faerrry witch, you willll s-s-suffer,” she snarled.

“So yer not gonna’ just tell me, then?” I guessed with a sigh.

Not that I’d expected different, really.

A loud screech ripped free from her fangs as she lunged across the bridge, both claws reaching out to grab me.

I let instinct take over, sending myself into a dive and rolling beneath her.

She hit the other side and immediately spun, readying herself to kill me before I could get back on my feet.

Luckily, I was faster.

The stone responded to my magic, and a slab shot up to crash into her stomach.

She was sent careening once more, though she’d seemed to see it coming this time, and landed on her feet.

I had, fortunately, not planned on it taking her out.

A glass vial appeared in my hand as I spun to face her as she dove at me.

“Exorcizo te, reliquiae conditum spiritum mundi benedictio et mittam te in abyssum passus damnationem!”

The water in the vial turned bright silver, and nearly painful warmth spreading through my palm.

She tried to stop her momentum as my echoing voice reached her, but it was already too late.

I turned the vial over, and she ran head-first into the curtain of DIY holy water.

Thick smoke rose as she screamed, her face getting the worst of the damage.

Fire rippled across her skin as she writhed on the bridge, leaving black scars and bright golden blood wherever it touched.

“M-m-m-make it s-s-stop! I’ll tellll you ab-b-bout the b-boy!”

With a quick flick of my wrist, I let my magic mingle with the holy fire to make it more directly under my control.

“Tarraingt siar, lasracha bhfeice.”

The silver fire lifted from her skin, forming a very thin bubble around her to keep her from dying her second death.

“Tell me, and I let it go. Don’t tell me, ya’ fry, an’ I move on. If ya’ lie ta’ me, I will find ya’ again,” I warned.

She glared up at me, for a second, before fear drew her eyes back to the roiling flames.

“Mennn in lonnng, b-blue coatsss dr-dragged the boy acrossss my bridge. Heee wasss ssssnarling and ssssnapping like a commonnn fannnng onnn a b-bad draught. They threw h-him innn a b-blue van with a-an Eye of Pr-Providence onnn the sssside. Now c-calllll thesssse wretchhhed flamessss awayyy!”

With a nod, I let my fingers snap, and the fire pulsed green.

Only one organization in Arkham used the All-Seeing Eye as its logo, which meant good things for me finding Johan, and bad things for Johan.

“Interemo.”

In an instant, the holy fire died, leaving a heavy smell of incense in its wake.

“Slink back under the bridge, and don’t come back up fer air until I’m offa’ this road. I’ve another three bottles to use if ya’ screw with me.”

Without a word, she rolled onto her stomach and crawled off the nearby edge of the stone.

There wasn’t a splash, but I had no doubts turning my back that I’d scared her enough that she wouldn’t tempt fate.

When in doubt, you can always trust entities past their first death to have the strongest self-preservation instincts…

Nothing’s quite as unpleasant for psychics as dealing with crazy people.

The stronger, or more magic-blooded, we are, and the crazier the people or creatures we’re dealing with, the worse the overall effect is.

Which is why walking up the gravel parking lot towards the Arkham Sanitarium was possibly one of the worst things I ever felt, and I have ways to keep the crazy out of my own head.

Echoing, guttural screams of madness filled the air and became exponentially louder with every step closer I put myself.

The cold, grey Massachusetts air pressed hard against the leather wrapped around me, my slight defense doing almost nothing to keep me warm.

Even the rain seemed to get worse the closer I got, making the whole monstrous, Frankenstein’s castle mood of the scene before me that much worse.

All of the sensations came together to form one cohesive, rusted-razor-against-skin feeling that constantly probed for ways to dig that much deeper past my psychic walls.

By the time I had actually gotten to the doors, the screams were nearly loud enough to drown out my own thoughts, and with resignation, I let my mental barriers have more power.

With a sigh just inside the lobby, I closed my eyes and imagined a fortress of silver light around myself.

The noise grew nearly silent in an instant, taking my building headache with it, but in its place came the knowledge that I was broadcasting my presence just that little bit more to everything with interest in the building’s shadows.

And Arkham Sanitarium, the nice way of saying “prison for supernaturals,” had a lot of shadows for monsters to choose from.

I finally came upon the reception desk, where a tall, exceptionally pale woman was hunched over a magazine several decades out of publication.

For a brief moment, it seemed like her eyes were lenses of pure green, but after a quick blink, slightly brighter than average grey eyes were locked on me, instead.

Her rat’s nest of dyed-black hair seemed strangely wet for someone who was inside all day, and for a moment, the wraith flashed to mind.

“Can I help you, miss?” she asked, breaking me from the thoughts.

Her voice was surprisingly high-pitched, almost as though she’d inhaled a small dose of helium.

A quick dig through my duster got me my badge, just beneath the pile of equipment I hoped I really wouldn’t need, and knew I probably would.

“I’m a private investigator, lookin’ fer a recent… patient,” I said before handing it over.

She stared at the badge for a moment, before she smirked and raised her eyebrows in such a way that suggested she was trying for moving one but couldn’t pull it off.

“Morgana Lugus? Really? Isn’t that a little… comic booky?” she mused.

“Haven’ ‘eard that before. Anyway, like I’m sayin’, I heard ya’ recently got a new guest. Tall, has black hair, abnormally bright eyes, got a thing fer foamin’ at the mouth an’ bitin’ yer dogcatchers by Ponte Crossing?”

Her pale complexion, if possible, seemed to whiten even more.

I wasn’t sure if I imagined the slight shake to her hand as she slipped the badge back to me, as though it’d flashed fangs and asked for a pint.

“That’s one seriously screwed up guy. Totally human, as far as we could figure, but you sure as hell wouldn’t know it. He almost took Mickie’s arm off when she brought him in!”

Sighing, I felt my hopes that this wouldn’t be any more of a disaster waiting to happen die as I slipped the badge back.

I had an uncharacteristically difficult time not grabbing one of the other things in the pocket, and forced myself to take a centering breath.

“He didn’t, right?”

“Huh?”

“Bite them,” I elaborated. “That Mickie, she alright?”

“No, she and two others managed to lock him down before he managed,” she said while looking nearly translucent. “He’s not a vampire, right? Do we need to check the team again?”

The receptionist was a native, then.

Which made sense, since sticking someone who doesn’t believe in the supernatural in that place would lead to tragedy via stupidity, before long.

Unfortunately, I doubted I was lucky enough for this to be something as mild as Johan becoming one of the photophobic and fanged denizens.

“Chances are good she’s fine. Spirits were payin’ attention ta’ ‘im, an’ they rarely give a shite about vamps. Good to be cautious, though. Cell… err, room number?”

“We put him in holding, down in the basement.”

“Keys and room number?”

A quick fumble through a box in her desk brought me a small, silver key.

“We, uh, stuck him in 4355, ma’am. I think you know where-”

“Down at the end of the hall, ya’ probably still call it the Hell Room. Cute. Did they ever get all the blood out from last time?”

She paled even more as she shook her head.

“T-there’s still some spots. Should I, uh, call our cleaner, just in case?”

The key sent frigid, psychic fingers crawling up my arm after I grabbed it, before I managed to push the residual energy back into the metal.

“Might be a good idea. Let’s hope not. I’m gonna’ go check if he’s just insane or not. Ta’ be on the safe side, make sure nobody interrupts, got it?”

“Y-yes, ma’am!” she stammered.

With a brief nod, I headed for the large, metal doors at the other side of the desk.

The tiles gave echoing clicks with every step I took down the hall, quickly getting on my nerves.

Like the last time I’d been there, I found myself wondering if the ancient, rusted box of iron elevator at the end of the corridor was actually the most dangerous thing in the sanitarium.

It began its descent with a series of horrific, metallic screeches, which became only slightly more tolerable as it got lower in the brick shaft.

Making the experience all the more enjoyable, the second the screeching ended, screaming and shouting filled in.

Unlike the building’s exterior, these sounds were just as physical as they were psychic, making them that much harder to ignore.

The misery and insanity beat like fists at my mental defenses, searching for any way to rip their way into my mind and do more horrific things from there.

After a small eternity, the car finally stopped moving, and I found myself facing a poorly lit hall lined with heavy, steel doors as far as I could see.

Memory sent me down the hall without missing a beat.

The sounds dimmed the closer I got to the end of the hall.

My misery lasted all of a second, before dread set in.

Whatever was at the end of the hall, it was bad enough to quiet the mania and living monsters that resided in the basement of a centuries-old house built around insanity.

As I’d expected, the room with a black number 4355 on its door literally leaked darkness.

Shadows and indistinct smoke swept against my ankles, sending a distinct chill down my spine that was directly contradicting the damp warmth in the air.

Touching the door itself, despite my girding myself for it, was also horrific.

The metal felt like it was made of fire, and with a hiss, I shoved as fast as I could.

The door swung open without a sound, and a blast of heat slammed into my face, the cold being leeched from me like I’d jumped into a blast furnace.

I let even more energy flow, until my mental defense was so thick it was very nearly a physical shell.

Once I stepped inside, the heat vanished, being sucked deep into the room, and seemingly into the occupant himself.

A quick glance let me take in what little there was of the cell.

Cold, concrete floors left much to be desired and made the sole occupant seem even less impressive.

Johan Levi sat stock-still on a small, hard protrusion that was used by the sanatorium in what it liked to think of as its “temporary problems” floor.

Heavy, taut chains kept him bound too tight to move more than a twitch on the cot.

The black metal made him seem even sickly pale, though an unhealthy sheen of sweat and slight green tinge covering him likely didn’t fix the image.

Greasy, jet-black hair hung down in an unkempt mop, sticking to his face in a way that the pretty boy from his photos would be unlikely to tolerate.

Either the Levis had given me a really old photo, or he’d been put through the wringer in his absence.

A pair of emerald-green, glowing eyes moved to stare up at me, letting a bizarre intelligence shine through their depths.

He definitely wouldn’t strike the unaware as a “rich kid,” in his baggy, hole-ridden black T-shirt that was two sizes too large and shredded, grease-stained jeans.

I advanced into the room, sliding the door shut behind me without breaking eye contact for an instant.

If he was truly possessed, which seemed likelier by the second, those chains could be as thick as his head and made from reinforced steel, and they still wouldn’t do much good holding him if he decided he’d napped enough.

“Hullo, Mr. Levi. I’m Morgana. I’m… a doctor, of sorts,” I said in introduction.

His lips creased in a creepy smirk, and a shiver worked its way through my spine, following his eyes as they took me in.

“No you aren’t,” he laughed.

A strange, metallic echo rang beneath his voice, making the statement bounce around the cell.

“And you aren’t really Johan Levi, anymore. So let’s both play nice an’ go with the lies fer now, yeah?”

One of the lumps in my pocket warmed, and I fought to keep my expression neutral.
He seemed to feel it, though.

His eyes widened in surprise, before he proceeded to stare at me with a speculation of some kind.

“What ever do you mean?”

Sighing, I slipped the stone free from my pocket.

The instant it hit the air, angry silver sparks arced from the polished Angelite in reaction.

“What I mean,” I said with a nod to the gemstone, “is that yer really just hellspawn wearin’ a person suit. So I’m goin’ a ask ya’ this once, an’ only one time. Would you ever so kindly leave that man’s body an’ go back to your dimension in peace?”

The light blue gemstone warmed for a moment, before the sparks vanished.

Whatever was inside Johan’s body, it seemed entirely too amused.

“An exorcist, then?”

His accompanying laugh grated against my nerves, making me that much tenser.

“Really, now? I’d think such a… diminutive… girl wouldn’t be involved in such a nasty business.”

“Yeah, well, do what yer good at,” I retorted with a shrug. “And I am a doctor, of sorts, like I said. I’m really good at curing the infectious chaos, suffering, and mayhem that follow ya’ lot like a damned plague. Not jus’ an exorcist, either. So does this mean that’s a no, then?”

A blank stare was my response for a long, drawn out moment, as he seemed to be wondering whether I was serious or not.

Frankly, I hoped he thought I was, since every little bit of edge in my favor would help.

“You’d best go back out the door, exorcist. I’m growing weary of your machismo, and that paltry defense you’ve cobbled together won’t keep you safe from my influence for much longer.”

“Thanks for the concern,” I quipped.

“But…?”

“But ya’ aren’t the most impressive kinda’ hellion tha’s ever stared me down. I’ve taken tougher.”

Johan’s eyes turned to lenses of swirling green, and the sudden heat sent a wave of sweat down my back.

“You have no clue with what you’re dealing, then, obviously, little exorcist,” he responded.

His smirk stretched with a sound like cracking bones, giving him an expression that would be cartoonish if it weren’t so intimidating.

As far as threats go, I’d heard more flamboyant and blatant many times, from all sorts of monsters.

Very few of them had sent my instinctive alarms blaring as hard as the simple statement did, though.

“And what, exactly, am I dealin’ with?” I asked while simultaneously cursing my curiosity.

He canted his head to the side, sending his hair covering his face, save for the Cheshire smile.

“Be patient, little exorcist. Your answers will come in a moment.”

The air warmed, fast.

A blink, and the air began to shimmer around him with heat.

Another blink, and it was gone, though the heavy, damp heat remained.

I had a necklace out of my coat the next moment, letting its power spark along my arm and flow into me.

The small, silver pentacle took on a brilliant azure glow, and the surrounding warmth vanished where skin touched the metal’s power.

The jewelry swung in five arcs, creating a glowing symbol in the air between us.

My magic took hold in the air, crackling loudly when I pointed at him.

“I banish thee from thine enraptured vessel. Leave Johan Levi’s body this instant, and return to thine home, never to touch this vessel again!”

His eyes widened when his entire body was wrapped in a chain of light.

“I command it of thee, demon, with the power of Mars’ fire and the magic might of Hecate, Goddess of enchantments. Go back to your own plane, before the gateway closes. I demand it of thee, now, leave that body!”

The magic chain tightened, and his eyes turned to narrowed slits as steam began to rise.

For a moment, I almost breathed a sigh of relief.

Then, I realized the power didn’t grab him as much as it should’ve.

The expected burst of fire and screams marking the monster leaving human skin wasn’t forthcoming.

“Oh, that’s adorable,” he laughed.

With lazy, predatory slowness, he rose to his feet.

The glow from my spell cast his face into horrific relief, letting the monster beneath shine through in brief flashes.

As though he were stretching, his arms began to flex when, and chains both magical and steel gave like paper under his preternatural strength.

The links gave with audible pops of displaced energy, sending a small shockwave out.

It hit hard and fast, slamming into me like a train as it went.

With my broken concentration, the energy holding him completely snapped with a collective, concussive force.

I fortified my mental shields as much as possible, before it added to his own strike.

All things considered, my magic actually did pretty well.

I only dented the wall behind me slightly when I was thrown off my feet and sent hurtling with my own power.

My sight flashed white, and I found myself in a slump on the floor an indeterminate number of seconds later.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice, now,” I scoffed.

He seemed surprised by how quickly I rose to a full stand again.

For my part, I was just glad, like every other time I was turned into a human sand bag, to have anatomy that wasn’t strictly mortal.

Even with that, something was definitely damaged from the impact, if the small twinge of pain that rushed through me in every breath was any indication.

I forced the sensation to the back of my mind, setting the various breaks something to be dealt with after I’d handled the death walking towards me.

The green of his eyes took on a dark, pure obsidian shadow, which grew darker with each slow, languid step he moved towards me.

His stare held me in place, and I unconsciously gripped the necklace until my fingers were white from the pressure.

The closer he got, the warmer the room became, until my coat became painfully scalding.

In a blink, his eyes turned to pure, hellish lenses of swirling green and red.

“Oh, shite,” I oh-so-brilliantly said in response to the display.

The stone warped around him as waves of heat rose like a physical force.

Whatever this thing was, it was almost melting the cell around us.

“So, uh… not a demon, then?”

“A brilliant deduction, little exorcist,” he laughed.

Stone popped at his feet, releasing a puff of acrid smoke.

“I’m nothing so weak as that. Care to take a second guess? Perhaps try another impotent spell?”

“Well,” I stalled, taking slow steps back, “there’s only a few monsters that toss fire ‘round without havin’ any spells behind it. Higher-level demons are onea’ those.”

“Which I’m obviously not.”

Somehow, he made it feel like he was closing on a trapped animal despite still being almost on the opposite side of the cell.

“Which you’re not. There’re the djinn, bloody abominations.”

“Abominations is a bit harsh,” he laughed.

“Yeah, pardon me fer not worryin’ too much over hurtin’ a monster’s feelings,” I scoffed. I’m guessin’ from alla’ tha’ crap you’re puttin’ out right now in that brand new human suit you’re wearin’ tha’ you’re a half-breed.”

“Well, aren’t you a clever one?” he mocked. “You assume I’m that low a creature?”

The narrowing of his eyes was a big clue I’d stopped amusing him.

“That’s a normal human you’re possessin’. If ya’ were full-blooded, tha’ body’d be a pilea’ ash now. Even if ya’ were a Ghoul, tha’ body’d be breakin’ down, not just lookin’ like he’s got such a bad dose a good, solid cough’d send ‘im through the gate. Gotta’ say, I’ve not had the pleasurea’ fightin’ many half-bloods.”

He wasn’t smirking, anymore, the expression vanishing in favor of the angry snarl he was flashing at me.

“I assure you, the pleasure’s all mine. I need to break this body in, and I haven’t had a decent meal in a long time, so you’re really quite convenient.”

I gripped the pentacle tighter, until its cool energy began to push the fiery air around me back.

“I do so hate ta’ disappoint, but I didn’ come here ta’ get eaten.”

“Oh? Well, that’s just too bad, I suppose,” he sneered. “Your little spell was annoying, but it had a nice flavor to it. You’re really not just some exorcist, thinking about it. I think you’re a lot more. Your soul might be exquisite.”

He released another laugh, his whole body moving with the sound.

As he laughed, he seemed to grow.

It took me a second to realize that he was, in fact, becoming larger as he pulled on the magic swirling through the air in the cell.

In a blink, he charged so fast his whole body blurred with the speed.

Three strides, and he was across the room with a fist coming at me with the speed of a rocket.

Luck was the only thing that kept me alive.

At the same time he would’ve hit me, I dropped and rolled around him.

That part was intentional, but the fact that he slipped on the damp, slippery floor where I’d stood, was entirely blind, stupid luck.

Even with that, he didn’t so much as flinch when I shot my foot up into his ribs, though it still knocked him to the ground.

“You know this vessel’s still alive, right?” he mocked.

In one jerking motion, he was back on his feet and facing me as I came up into a crouch.

With a shrug, I gave Johan a nod.

“Few broken bones or dead, not a tough call,” I retorted.

His head canted to the side, and the creepy Cheshire smile surfaced again.

“You’re a pretty entertaining little sort-of-exorcist,” he laughed.

He lunged again, going for my throat.

I was faster, throwing a mass of essence to slam into his chest and send him flying.

The cement and stone cracked under his body, raising a cloud of dust with it.

“I really want to know. Why the rich kid, and not some homeless guy that’d be missed?”

It was a sad fact, that demons and incorporeal creatures of all kinds usually took advantage of the already down and disenfranchised, making them the most common people they rode like cars.

Very rarely did you see an upper-class possession case, unless there were certain reasons why they were upper-class in the first place.

The Levis, snobby as they’d seemed, hadn’t struck me as the kind of family that’d play the soul-trading game.

“Where would the fun be in that? Besides, it’s much better to play around in a body already equipped for my power.”

“Johan’s a psychic,” I guessed, stepping back into the depths of the cell as he pushed out of the indent he’d made.

Suddenly, the idea that he was being worn by something in the higher echelons wasn’t so ridiculous.

Spirits love humans with untrained powers, especially of the psychic variety, and even moreso when they realize it and choose to ignore it.

Going by my meeting with the Levi’s, Johan probably wouldn’t feel too supported if he told his dear parents he was suddenly experiencing any kind of spiritual weirdness.

“Quite an interesting one, too,” the creature agreed.

The air became superheated, until small flares of white fire rolled around his palms.

An adage about playing with fire came to mind, and I wasn’t sure I’d be handing the kid over after I’d saved him anymore.

“Oh, a pyro. Lovely,” I grumbled before taking another involuntary step back.

“Makes for an interesting experience, being in a body that can actually take it,” he mused.

“I’ll bet.”

My luck was, in a word, cruel, most times.

Because, of course Johan wasn’t just any kind of psychic.

Nope, I got the fortune of a creature that used fire being inside a human with the ability to control fire.

Countless humans are born with access to magic and essence, the two forces of reality that the supernaturals brought to Earth with them when our realities had crashed together, but there are tons of different ways that can develop.

Some take on a drastically different kind of power, like elemental manipulation, which could do all sorts of wonderful things.

Like manipulating the molecules in the air around someone until there’s no oxygen for their lungs to breathe, or use the water in every human’s blood to make them dance like puppets on strings.

Or, like in Johan’s case, being able to torch a brick building to ash with their bare hands.

I wasn’t entirely sure if it’d been bad luck or trying to get the attentions of the various forces of the world that had led to Johan’s possession, but it’d certainly worked out for the spirit.

A body that can manipulate fire also usually have the ability to stand unholy amounts of heat, and even a full-blooded djinn would be able to use that kind of ability.

Any thoughts of drawing things out until the monster was worn down vanished, lest I end up breathing through a mile of ash and rubble on my way out.

I took one more step back and let my breathing calm, my mind going blank as all tension vanished.

My hands hung loosely at my sides, and I began lightly bouncing on the balls of my feet until I fell into a relaxed, hypnotic rhythm through my whole body.

In the trance-like state, my breathing became slower and deeper.

With each soul-refreshing breath, the heat he was throwing out in waves seemed to vanish.

The world faded around me; the heat, the dirty cell, even Johan Levi’s possessed body, it all faded to a single, muffled greyness in my awareness.

In their place, a whole different sensation flooded my every synapse.

I stayed tethered to the regular, mundane world only enough to make sure that the suddenly wary-looking meat suit standing in front of me didn’t make any moves that I wouldn’t know about that’d snap my neck before I’d done my trick.

I let myself focus everything else on the warm, tingling sensation running through every one of my cells.

Every breath let the magic build and expand all around me.

My brain connected to the slow, rhythmic pulse of the world around me, and it added to the calm.

Time seemed to slow to an utter stop as the magic replaced my very blood running through my veins.

Then, something clicked, and everything rushed forward while the power came to a head.

Faster than thought, I swung my arm through the air, only dimly aware of the bright, silver flames that followed the movement.

“Sioc sí, osclaíonn an geata chuig tuile tubaisteach!”

The power broke loose and lashed out, forming a brilliant chain of burning silver around the creature before he could respond.

With a snarl, he jerked and ripped at the psychic trap, but these were far stronger than the ones earlier, now that I’d added in my own essence and a good bit of glacial magic.

The natural opposition of whatever the creature it was and the ice would make breaking free far more daunting than just steel or magic.

Hopefully, that meant it would take long enough for me to finish this, because I was sure he’d be turning my throat inside out before I could blink, when he was free.

“Power of the Ancients, heed my call,” I intoned.

As I spoke, the flames around me took on a very physical property, becoming corporeal.

Another deep breath, and I began.

“In this time and in this hour, I call upon thine sacred power. Magic, that which flows through all living things, I summon thee now to work under my will. Watchtower of the North, tower of frost, bind this creature, whatever the cost!”

The chains flared even brighter around him, the magic leaving a growing, sharp ache in its place as it siphoned out of my chest.

“Creature of fire, wolf in human flesh, I command thee now! I summon thee from that body, while soul and flesh remain relatively unharmed and fresh.”

My hands clenched as power arced through me, and a line of light formed connecting our bodies over the distance.

Johan’s form gave a grunt, teeth gritting as smoke started rising from his eyes, which had shifted to a color like old blood.

“I command it of thee, with absolute authority, leave that flesh now and bow before me in thine true form!”

Snarling filled the room, and a powerful wind the temperature of a small sun swept through the room.

With a snap, something changed.

Flashes of fire began rising in random bursts from Johan.

It started at his face, tiny black and red sparks sputtering in and out of existence for several seconds.

Then, his mouth dropped open, and billowing smoke left him.

His whole body jerked before a mass of fire ripped free from his skin, in a perfect approximation of his body’s shape.

Johan dropped to the floor, leaving a true, living, breathing horror floating in the air he’d previously occupied.

It stayed upright in the air, despite having no feet, levitating over his utterly limp and heavily damaged body.

A massive, muscular body floated before me, sporting bulging muscles made seemingly of pure fire.

The air turned to a haze around it, making all other features entirely indiscernible.

Well, except for its face.

Its face was very, very clear, even through the smoke and tears the heat drew out of my eyes.

It had a large, crooked maw that gaped wide open to reveal fangs of dripping lava.

Above that pleasantness were several sets of glowing, hellish slits, all of them undoubtedly locked in a stare on me despite their utter lack of pupils.

“Well, hey there, tall, dark, an’ ugly. It musta’ been pretty cramped in there,” I quipped.

It seemed distracted by how flippant I was over its towering terrifying-ness.

 That worked out for me, since it kept him from jumping me before I pulled my gun free.

My nice, high-caliber, silver bullet-loaded gun.

I’d pulled the trigger before it registered the distinct, poisonous scent the magical metal always filled the air with.

An enormous chunk of its body vanished in a burst of grey smoke, coating the wall behind it in black blood the consistency of oil.

Thankfully, my chains still had a hold on the damned thing, though they were cracking fast under the full, unfiltered power of a djinn, now that it knew I had something that could actually kill it.

Not just any djinn, either, of course.

Luck, that fickle, twisted bitch, had apparently decided she was done helping me that day.

The thing was a damned creature made of literally living fire, the walking disasters that other djinn bowed down to so they didn’t get eaten.

The fact that Johan had been able to survive hosting an Ifrit was impressive as it was horrifying.

I emptied the full magazine into it, splattering its fiery body into burning puddles.

Before I even grabbed more ammo, the remainder of the Ifrit released an echoing, ground-shaking roar.

The entire prison trembled around me, and the vibrations were strong enough to send me toppling to my knees.

Fire popped around his body, sending bursts of napalm to litter the whole cell.

“I will tear your heart from your body and use it to season your soul, you treacherous faery witch!”

I winced, its snarling voice rasping against my mind as it came from every direction around me.

The Ifrit wrenched against the chains, and they gave a worrying amount of bend around him.

Another few seconds, and seeing tomorrow would definitely be off the table.

That just wouldn’t work for me.

I chambered a round, pressed my hand to the top of the gun, and let even more magic flow into the bullet.

“I call on the magic inherent to this moon metal,” I intoned.

The metal cooled under my touch, seeming to become a solid block of ice.

“Purifying magic of Selene’s light, purifying shadows of Hecate’s torch, all-encompassing power of Luna’s tides, wash this blazing creature into nothingness!”

The Ifrit finally snapped the chains, sending a shockwave of power surging through the cell.

I was, frankly, surprised it didn’t release a sonic boom, with how fast it rushed at me, a wall of fire following quickly after it.

A tiny, concrete cell didn’t give much room to block or maneuver around the scorching power coming for me.

With only one option, I brought the gun up and fired, praying to whatever deity might decide to take pity on me for the magic in the silver to kill the fire, and the Ifrit, before it got me.

What did happen was surprising, though it also signified I’d have a debt to pay when this was all over.

The bullet pierced the wave of fire and slammed into the Ifrit.

Silver light flashed out from its body, and while the fire wasn’t a danger anymore, the new concussive force did its job for it.

I slammed straight through the opposing brick wall, the thick wall turning to powder.

As I slammed to the ground, vision greying, I saw the Ifrit.

Or what was left of it, anyway.

Barely a third of its mass remained, the powerful flames now bare flickers around it.

They were barely enough to even char the concrete under its unmoving body, anymore.

Forcing the all-encompassing pain sweeping through my system down, I pushed to my feet and limped back into the cell.

Taking out a small vial from my pocket, I popped the lid and threw the contents right into the Ifrit’s burning center.

It gave a loud, horrific sound that mixed sizzling, screaming, and snarling as it woke back up from its short coma.

The sound drove me back all on its own, without any magic behind it.

Fast, shallow breaths brought painful trembles through me as it stared at me with what could be said to be horror.

“And that,” I huffed as his ethereal body began turning to ash, “is how you beat an Ifrit.”

The magic holding the Ifrit together was severed; my own magic mixed with silver broke the very short tether it’d started with the second I’d pulled it from Johan.

Working out even better, my bullet had reacted with its fire, doing even more damage.

Even if it’d been one of the Umbramundus’s Crowns themselves, though, it wouldn’t have been able to take the holy water dousing on top of all that.

Not that I could say I’d won, really, when everything was said and done.

I was almost tapped for magic, I had burns all over the place, and even where there wasn’t charred skin, there was enough pain to make breathing turn my sight grey.

Ah, pyrrhic victory, my middle name.

If that all hadn’t been enough to stop the Ifrit, I wouldn’t be walking out of the sanitarium, alive or otherwise.

From the looks it was giving me as it faded, though, I’d imagine that it had it even worse.

It was probably going through as close to the pain of a physical death that any magical creature could get without having a completely corporeal body.

“I’m not the only one of my kind roaming this city. They’ll avenge me,” it swore in a voice like bursting steam pipes.

“You lot are pretty nomadic, from what I’ve gathered. I doubt it.”

“You will suffer for this insolence, faery witch,” it snarled.

With it dying, and using such a very tired and cliché threat, I felt safe finding amusement in the warning.

“Eventy’ly, probably, but not today,” I sighed.

With one last hiss, its existence utterly vanished.

I dropped to the ground, another banished hellion and a coming healer bill that could match a new car under my belt.

After a small eternity, I finally managed to shakily get to my feet.

Dragging Johan’s unconscious body to the elevator, with the psychic screams back in full force, was a fresh kind of hell.

The desk clerk looked ready to drown in booze to forget the whole night, when I slogged out of the metal box.

“W-wha-what, I mean-”

“Possession. Problem’s fixed,” I explained. “Yer definitely gonna’ wanna’ send yer cleaner down there. Cell’s burned to Hell, an’ a wall collapsed.”

She seemed to be struggling to process it all, but she got her voice back with surprising speed.

“What the hell was he possessed by!? The whole building was shaking. I thought we were going to sink into some abyss!”

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. This one’s checked out,” I added with a nod to Johan’s unconscious body.

With that, I disappeared from the prison into the night, looking entirely too bloody to be worth anyone’s trouble on my way.

My clients seemed to have the same mindset, when I showed up at their mansion with both myself and their son covered in blood.

My exhaustion didn’t seem to faze them as they demanded to know what happened.

I left out the fact that their kid was a pyrokinetic, partly for him, and partly because I could go to sleep better at nights leaving the choice up to him, along with my business card I’d stuck into his pocket.

The Levi’s reactions to my appearance were almost funny enough to make it worth it.

Almost.

After I’d dropped Johan at their door and grabbed my check, I went to pass out in my loft, the large sum now resting in my bank account making the aches and pains and near-death almost seem worth it.

Almost.

Ah, to live the everyday life of Morgana Lugus, Arkham City’s best and brightest supernatural problem-solver.

You’re all jealous, admit it…