Covens and Proxies

29

Reader's POV

You smile, looking at your phone screen. Toby texted you to let you know he could visit within the next few days. The blaze of car lights draw you to put away the mobile device, continuing to walk home with the few groceries you'll need tomorrow night. It's Zemra's birthday tomorrow and you want to surprise her.

You take your usual shortcut home, slipping between back allies and home fences. Scuffling feet make you pick up the pace, only to freeze when a large man lands in front of you, a blade gleaming in the moonlight. You stop, starting to back up before you hear someone walk up behind you. Glancing back you see two more men, one with a gun and one with brass knuckles. Illegal weapons.

You're about to bring out your book when you realise you'd left it at home. There hasn't been a reason to bring it with you anywhere for ages, so you don't bother anymore. Of course that luck would run out eventually! You silently cure yourself for being so stupid.

The men close in, faces hidden. You drop the bags, high kick the man with brass knuckles and jump between the one with the gun and the far wall. You run for the closest main street, pulling out your phone to send your location or a message to Toby or another witch. You barely have time to hit the button before something slams the side of your head, sending the device flying and you crashing down.

The one with the knife rips you to your feet, holding the blade to your neck while the one with brass knuckles pulls his hand free of speech the metal reinforcement, reeling it back for a plane punch. Your ear is ringing painfully, something wet slipping down the side of your face--probably blood. You kick the man with the knife, only for him to try and cut you. He misses, but cuts a deep wound into your mouth. You aren't fast enough as the other still lands a solid punch to your brow. You stumble back into the wall, spitting out the blood that's flowing into your mouth. The man with the gun walks over, the world spins and everything goes black.
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It's dark. You're head feels fuzzy and your ears are ringing. Muffled voices flow into your senses. Opening your eyes, you see your battered jeans roped to the legs of a wooden chair--which is bolted to the ground. Your arms are completely wrapped in cloth, tied to the back to the chair. You can't move your hands at all. Trying to move your head sends a wave of nausea through you, making you sick on the concrete floor. The voices go quiet.

Muffled, thumping footsteps are followed by combat boots stepping into the edge of your vision. Someone grabs your hair, shoving you upright. In front of you is a rugged-looking man with cold eyes and a black suit of bullet proof armor. He looks at your face from every angel before sneering.

You try to talk before realising how sore your face is. The fight flows back into your head, remembering your cut lip and damaged ear, and apparently a horrible black eye. He punched hard enough for your skin to swell almost shut.

"She'll do fine." He snarls to his friend. "We just gotta sap her of everything she's got." He pulls your book over, panic seizing you.

"You're God Killers!" You shriek, trying to kick and wiggle free.

He grumbles, slamming this side of his foot into your shin, shattering it. You bite down the bile that rises with the pain, sweating out the scream. He shoves your book under your nose.

"You are going to do something for us. Or we kill your roommate."

He points to a girl hunched over across the room from you, her head has a sack over it, but her black hair hangs loose from under it. His comrade has a gun to her head.

Swallowing, you nod slowly, trying to keep the room from spinning too much. He opens the book, showing you the page. It's an enhancement spell for firepower in anything. A boxer would have a stronger jab, a hunter would have a more accurate and more deadly gun. But it has a price. Just like any other spell.

He clearly can't read the language it's in, because the warning states it could kill him if he's not careful. It could also drive him completely insane--not Toby insane, more like straight-jacket banging one's head on a wall insane. If they're lucky and get good karma, their senses of justice and what's right and wrong heighten so they're basically the perfect human.

You already know these two will snap or die if they really want this.

"It'll kill you." You warn them, the last memory of your father flashing in your mind. You don't want to see that again.

He laughs. "Sure, sweety. Just do it." He thrusts it at you, making you flinch.

Sighing, you nod. "Alright. But I need to draw a diagram for this."

Another man comes from behind you, pushing a gun against the back of your head while he unties you. The first steps back, throwing the book on the ground. You will it to turn so the impact shuts it, making it look like an accident. Once the third finishes, you bring it to you, asking it to show you a useful spell. It happily obliges, showing the plague spell you'd accidentally used so many years ago.

Swallowing, you slice open your wrist on the corner; the man behind you cocks his gun. You start chanting the spell, as fast as possible, letting your body go into the haze of a spell, your fingers leaving a trail of blood in the air. Your mind becomes blank, the entity of magic taking over as your volume increases. For a second, everything goes black.

The men, ten in total in the room, are all rithing and screaming on the ground as their pores expand and swell into large, blistering boils that pop and reform until mucus, puss and blood are covering the floor and non of them are recognizable humans. They may as well be burned dogs.

Shouts and loud crashes come from a door. You try to focus, to muster enough energy to at least protect Zemra, but instead you fall to your knees. The world is spinning in triplets, your energy sapped. If someone comes through that door, your friend will die. You're ridiculous, energetic, over-excitable, horrible cook of you're most amazing friend will die.

And then it'll be your turn. You won't see Toby ever again. You won't see him at peace, smiling while you lift his pain away. You'll never feel his warmth, his strong arms wrapped around you like a protective casing. You won't be able to ease his suffering anymore.

The edges of your vision curl into void as you fall on your stomach, unable to breath for several seconds. You watch your blood pooling from your wrist, realising that's part of the problem. Even in your foggy mind, your realise you'd cut too deep. And now you'll bleed to death from a punctured artery.

You drag the focus of your gaze back to the loud door, which is being hammered on by something. An explosion blows it away, crashing down. From it steps the one person you'd prayed to find you, but doubted it would happen. And next to him is one of the best witches you've ever known, your distant friend and scarce mentor.