Bishop & Rook, page 5
“My wife’s name is Mary Zane and my daughter Allison should be with her,” Willard explained.
Detective Moss released his grip from Bishop’s collar and stepped away, keeping his sight set on him. He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a radio. “Dispatch, this is Detective Moss, checking to see if a Mary and Allison Zane made contacted a station, over.”
There was a moment of silence before the radio chirped. “Detective Moss, stand by,” said female voice. A minute passed before she spoke again. “Detective Moss; confirming a Mary and Allison Zane are at the fifty-second precinct, over.”
“Thank heavens!” Willard sighed. “Thank you, Bishop!”
“Willard can give you his phone number so you can confirm Daniel is alive and well, waiting for the police’s arrival,” said Bishop as he fixed his jacket.
“Bishop…”
“Save it, Rook. We have to catch Ian or all of this will be for nothing,” said Bishop.
“I need to confirm Willard’s safety,” said Detective Moss.
“You do that, Willard stay with him. Rook and I will find Ian and his men.”
“I can’t allow that,” Detective Moss interfered. “I can have my unit up here in no time.”
“There’s no time to waste, and there’s little you can do to stop us. We’re warlocks. We can handle ourselves, Detective,” Bishop argued before turning to Rook. “I’ll go after the goons, think you can handle Ian?”
Rook nodded.
“Let’s go then!”
Bishop set off down the tanker as Rook turned to Detective Moss and nodded. He joined Bishop in his pursuit, entering the abandoned tanker.
Chapter 7
Illusionaire
Bishop split up from Rook midway after descending into the tanker. He brought him up to speed as they ran, informing him of Ian’s use of magecraft and warning him to be careful. Choosing to go after Ian’s goons—Devin and Barry—and sending Rook to stop Ian, was a strategic decision by Bishop. Although Rook was efficient enough to protect himself, in Bishop’s mind, he wasn’t ready to take on two enemies at the same time. Especially werewolves.
Bishop withheld that the two men were also werewolves, not wanting to add anymore pressure to their already dire situation. Werewolves had a distinct odor to them and those who were recently turned as Devin and Barry were; wouldn’t notice it and wouldn’t know how to mask it. They were easy to track if one knew what they were looking for. Werewolves were common in the world, mostly staying within packs and keeping to themselves. Some were used as guards, as was the case with Devin and Barry, while others were sold and used as a slave force for nefarious reasons under the thumb of the wealthy.
Turning left into another hallway, Bishop saw a steel door half-opened in the distance hearing sounds of metal banging on the floor coming from within. The smell of rotting wood and rusted metal filled his nose, causing him to lose their scent as he approached. There was no mistaking it; they were on the other side of the door and he took a split second to come up with a plan: enter and see what happens. As far as plans went, he knew it was bad and if Rook was with him, he wouldn’t have passed the opportunity to let him know it.
Bishop pushed the door open before entering the room, coming to a stop when a steel beam blocked his path. He took a moment to catch his breath before surveying the dark room, barely making out a catwalk above him and stairs on either side leading to a second level. It was the engine room, the heartbeat of the damaged tanker. Walking around the massive engines, he stayed alert, tightening his eyes to scan the massive room as best as he could, looking for signs of the large men.
The sound of a switch being slammed grabbed his attention as he looked up above him. Lights lined the walls on both levels and ignited brightly, with some of the bulbs popping as they turned on. Standing on the second level was Devin and Barry. They’d removed their suit jackets and shirts revealing their broad shoulders and hairy muscled chests.
“Well, look who it is? The Illusionaire himself, F.U. Bishop,” said Devin with a grin. “We know all about you and your cheap tricks, mage.”
“If you know my name, then you also know what F.U. stands for, right?” Bishop quipped.
A look of disdain molded Devin’s face as Barry stepped forward.
“I’m glad to see that my reputation precedes me. I’ve been meaning to tell you two—you have the lamest names ever! Devin and Barry? Sounds more like an ice cream shop where there’s only one flavor: crap.”
“Laugh while you can, fool. You don’t understand what you’ve gotten yourself into,” said Barry. “Tell me, Bishop—how many times did you use your illusion magic? From the file we read have, you can only use that ability one time in a twenty-four-hour period, correct? And you’ve used it three times already.”
“It doesn’t matter, you two idiots couldn’t hurt me even if I didn’t use magic,” Bishop remarked. “Let’s get this over with! There’s this new game called BioShock that has my name written all over it and you two are wasting my time!”
“Have it your way,” said Barry.
They stepped away from the railing of the catwalk. Holding their arms out, they roared in agony as their knees reversed direction and their bones shifted. Their faces contorted into long wolf muzzles and extended out. Thick hair grew from their bare skin and sharp nails extended from their fingers. Their roars became distinct howling when a bright light suddenly shined upon them before their transformation was complete.
“Rook wouldn’t believe me, even if I told him, but now I got the proof,” said Bishop, holding a cellular phone above his head, recording their transformation from human to werewolf. “I have to admit, I’ve never seen it up close, but that was pretty badass!”
The werewolves lunged at Bishop in a fury from the catwalk and onto the floor. He avoided their attack, ducking through the space between the tanker engines in the center of the room as their sharp claws scraped and ripped off pieces connected to it. They stick their hands in between the spaces, but Bishop was quick and avoided their reach crouching in-between engines. It was only a matter of time before they reached him; their rage had no end in sight. He ducked through an opening on the back side of the engines, scrambling to his feet and bolted through the doorway before they lunged after him.
They crawled on the walls and roof of corridors and hallways as they gave chase and gained on him. Bishop used his magical pressure to launch himself high as he reached the stairs, landing two floors above them. He skipped steps as he fled higher and higher until reaching the outside stern of the tanker, closing the steel door behind him and locking it shut. He heard the werewolves closing the distance, growling as they ascended the steps. The sound of them banging on the steel vibrated throughout the vessel as impact craters formed on the door from their attacks. The hinges to the door gave way with a final push and the werewolves materialized from the darkness, scanning the area for their prey. Bishop stood in front of a shipping container holding his Yo-yo and forming the pendulum triangle with it.
The werewolves set off after him, their claws ripping the old steel floor to shreds. Bishop didn’t move, standing still as they approached. With one final lunge, the two swiped at Bishop, but went right through him and fell hard on the flooring of the shipping container, stumbling until crashing into the back wall. His illusion disappeared as he closed the steel double-doors and locked it shut.
He placed his hands on the door and focused his magical pressure on the container. His hands emitted a blue aura, and it overtook it and then dissipated. The sound of the werewolves clawing and banging against the container echoed outside of it.
“That should do the trick. Good luck breaking out of this,” said Bishop. “Time to go find Rook.” Bishop turned back and descended back into the tanker leaving the two werewolves to take out their fury in their steel prison.
Chapter 8
The Woman In Black
Rook held his pocketknife out in front of him to light his way through the black corridors. He turned to cast the light to every sound and movement he heard. This is the first time he’d been alone and chasing someone as dangerous as Ian Graves, but will do anything to stop him, even face him alone. This was his first experience using magecraft outside of sparring with Bishop and the little training his uncle had given him.
The sound of a gun firing in the corridor caused Rook to crouch and take cover behind the wall of the adjacent hallway. The bullet ricocheted off the steel corridor until settling somewhere out of sight. More gunshots came, but Rook stayed still and alert until they stopped.
“I’ll kill you all before I allow you to arrest me!” Ian shouted. “I’d rather die than go to jail!”
“It doesn’t have to be this way, Ian! Just give yourself up, there’s no point in throwing your life away,” Rook pleased, trying to keep his composure, while giving in to his fear.
“Hey, I know your voice… yea… you’re the kid, aren’t you—Rook?”
He stayed silent as Ian let out a chuckle. “And here I thought you were the cop, kid. I tell ya what, let me get outta here and we can forget how your partner screwed everything up, what do ya say? I’ll even throw in an extra fifty large to boot. How about it?”
“I can’t do that, Ian. You kidnapped two innocent people and threatened to kill them!”
“Kidnapped? That’s exactly what you did! Save the self-righteous crap for someone else, kid. You’re just like me. You’ll do whatever you have to achieve your goals won’t you, Rook? If that even is your real name. I know who you are and what you’ve been looking for. My guy at the Spell Network gave me all the juicy details about you, told me it wouldn’t be wise to kill you and I promised I wouldn’t. But you’re making it very fucking hard right now!”
“Spell Network? What are you talking about? Who do you know about me?”
“I’ll tell you everything you want to know… about your sister… your parents, everything. Just let me go!”
“I—I can’t,” Rook muttered under his breath. Rook’s pocketknife lost its aura as his arms went limp. He stared at the wall in front of him processing what Ian told him. How did Ian know so much about him and his family? He was home the night his died in their home and since then was raised by his uncle Niles since he was nine years old. His little sister went missing that night, and he’s been searching for her since. It was his search for his sister that ultimately led to him meeting Bishop, but Rook told no one outside of Bishop about his sister. He didn’t understand. What was the Spell Network and who would be powerful enough to tell a man like Ian not to kill him and he would listen? There were so many questions, but only one way to get answers.
“So, what’s it going to be? Help me get outta here or I break my promise to my friend?”
“Okay!” Rook shouted, giving in to his curiosity. “I’m coming out.”
“Keep your hands where I can see them and don’t trying anything funny, understand?” Ian demanded.
Rook placed his pocketknife back into his pocket and exhaled, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He was about to turn the corner when he was pulled back by a pair of hands. The sound of gunshots rang out toward Ian, echoing off the corridors steel walls and ceiling.
“Stay here!” Willard ordered, after pulling Rook away.
Rook looked up to see Detective Moss moving in and out of cover from where he was standing a moment before, firing at his pistol at Ian. Willard joined him with his own pistol and they charged their way into the hallway descended up their target.
“Stay here, Rook, we’ll handle it from here!” Detective Moss ordered in-between firing his gun.
Moving down the hall, he was sudden hit with a blast of red light from the darkness, sending him flying into Willard, who followed behind him. They both hit the wall in front of Rook with such force that the impact was almost as loud as their gunfire. Both men collapsed onto the ground dropping their weapons as Rook rose to his feet, in shock at what he just witnessed.
He recalled what Bishop told him about Ian’s ability to use magecraft and now Rook had witnessed it for himself. He never saw such destructive force come from someone who didn’t possess the ability to use magic, let alone anyone who could, since his uncle. The sound of Ian’s footsteps moving away from Rook, took him away from his momentary state of shock. He wanted answers and would now get them, one way or the other.
Rook turned to run down the corridor when a blunt object connected with his chest, sending him crashing to the steel floor. He clutched his chest and let out a cry in pain as he suddenly was struggling to breathe. Looking up to see the source of the attack and his blurry gaze fell upon Ian standing over him, holding a metal pipe. Rook crawled away, still trying to inhale as Ian stalked him, with an exhausted grin spread on his face.
“Look what we have here, if it isn’t Rook, or should I say, Marques?”
Rook stared at him and backed away, using his elbow to push himself away while clutching his chest with his hand. “Tell me… how?”
“Let me think… I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you…”
“Tell me what?”
“On second thought, no. I’d rather you die not instead—“
Ian stopped speaking when his gaze fell beyond Rook, who stopped moving when he could feel something blocking his path. Saliva fell on his forehead, causing him to wipe it away and notice Ian no longer speaking. He followed Ian’s gaze and slowly tilted his head back. His eyes widened before he scrambled the side and settling against the wall.
Rook first laid eyes on a charred skull that sat atop a full head of black unkempt hair that draped over the face of an old woman covered in tattered brown robes and furs. Her eyes were empty and as dark as the corridor they inhabited. It was the long wooden staff she held that stopped his retreat. The moles covering her saggy pale skin made Rook cringe with disgust as her thin black lips cracked a ghoulish grin.
“Tsk-tsk, you’ve been a bad boy, Ian,” the old woman sneered.
“What… who are you?” he demanded.
“You instructions were not to harm the boy and look at what I’ve found, Ian! He will not be pleased,” she hissed.
“Go to hell!” Ian shouted before raising a pendant from around his neck. Red forks of energy suddenly poured from the center toward the old woman, but with a wave of her staff, the black orb at its top absorbed the energy until it disappeared. She pulled her staff back before slamming its end on the floor.
“You dare use borrowed magic against the likes of me? I’ll send you to your grave for that Graves!”
The old woman pointed her staff toward Ian and the energy he released from the pendant came pouring from the orb and engulfed him in a radiant red aura. He screamed and wallowed in pain, falling to his knees as his the flesh melted off of his body. The light from the orb stopped, and the screams ended with it. All that remained of Ian was bones atop a pile of melted flesh. Rook closed his eyes for most of it, but the smell of Ian’s melted skin filled his nose, almost making him to vomit.
The old woman turned to him, reaching out as he retreated as far back as he could, but the wall wouldn’t give as her long frail fingers grazed his cheeks. “It’s time for you to come with me,” she said.
“Touch him again and you’ll regret it, witch!” Bishop roared. “He’s not going anywhere with you!”
Bishop held his pendulum triangle high while standing in front of Detective Moss and Willard’s collapsed unconscious bodies.
“What’s this? Oh, the other?”
The old woman turned her focus to Bishop standing in front of the others when she suddenly noticed another Bishop kneeling before her. He unwound his conduit, radiating its white aura and threw it at her. It connected with her chest, sending her flying down the corridor, rolling on the floor until crashing into a steel door five meters away. The attack caught her off guard as she struggled to get to her feet, cursing him as she tried.
“You’ll pay for that you vile warlock!”
“Get up, Rook!” shouted Bishop as helped him off of the floor. “I can’t take her alone!”
“How long have you been here?” Rook asked. He held his chest with one hand and removed his pocketknife with the other, ignited it and preparing himself for what was to come next.
“Long enough, now let’s do this, I’m going to need you for this. I got lucky. It won’t be that easy next time, I can assure you. Just be ready, like we practiced.”
The woman was on her feet, staring at them through the parts of her hair that weren’t covering her eyes. She took a step, but suddenly stopped in her tracks. She tilted her head slightly to the side and snapped to her left, now staring down a dark hallway.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Bishop and Rook and tried to make out who she was talking to by tightening their gazes to take a closer look.
“There are two of them!” Rook whispered.
“Shit, we need to get them out of here and fast!” Bishop whispered in response.
A hunched figure materialized from the darkness of the hall and into their view. His teeth were long, sharp, and fixed into a ghoulish smile. Red eyes contrasted his gray skin and a black cloak covered the brown and gold robes that fell to the floor. He too held a staff, similar to the old woman’s, but his eyes were red and looked as if they filled with swirling blood.
“He sent me,” he hissed. “You’ve run out of time and you are to return at once.”
“Not before I kill the other one,” she argued.
“Oh? He told me to remind you he’s watching and holding your orb in his hands and expects you back within the minute.”
