~ Before the Clock Struck One ~

Chapter 12

~*~ Chapter Twelve ~*~

Patricia could feel the foreboding presence creeping slowly closer even before it finally grew strong enough to wake her up. She sat bolt upright, staring wide-eyed into the darkness. She knew something was wrong – she just didn't know what. She wiggled her fingers in front of her face, but was unable to see them.

It wasn't supposed to be that dark, especially since one of her minor powers was exceptional night-vision. A shiver went up her spine and the hair at the back of her neck stood on end. It wasn't supposed to be that cold either.

She slipped out from her bed and changed into some jeans and a thick sweater. Then she hurried through the kitchen, grabbing some food and tossing it into her bag as she simultaneously pulled on a pair of running shoes.

Her home was really just a small apartment carved out of the enchanted, dark mountain stone that characterized Deathtrap. The apartment was thickly furnished to keep it warm and comfortable, and conveniently located just down the road and to the right of the Downtown side of Deathtrap. The "door" to her apartment could be found on a slim ledge overhanging the road, about fifteen feet up. On the whole, her residence was virtually invisible – unless you knew where to look.

Navigating agilely through the narrow crevice that was her doorway, she could feel the temperature dropping, and by the time she stood on the ledge of rock outside she could see small patches of lacy frost forming on the rocky walls around her.

Something was definitely wrong.

She jumped from the ledge down to the road below, and ran the short distance to the Downtown door. When she placed her hand on the cold metal, the door became transparent and she searched the area for anything suspicious.

The sunrise was just beginning to lighten the sky, and across the rolling, grassy fields, beyond the small creek where she used to play with her friends as a child, Patricia could just see the edges of Downtown beginning to take shape from among the lingering shadows of night. But other than a soft mist hanging over the road, there was nothing out of the ordinary. There was nothing that suggested danger.

She thought of the Uptown door, and instantly teleported.

To her complete surprise, she found herself standing in a puddle of freezing slush. She glanced around her, startled, and saw that everywhere there was a growing layer of thick ice covering everything, spreading out from the door. Long icicles hung from the ceiling, dripping shimmering water across the floor. It was as if someone had spilled cans of glow-in-the-dark paint over the entire tunnel.

It seemed like the stone was excreting the glowing water, freezing itself shut, creating a defensive barrier against whatever or whoever was unlawfully trying to get through.

A pretty sight, to be sure, but the implications were terrifying.

She jumped from the puddle, sending up a spray of the cold slush, and sprinted to the door. Her sense of intuition was bordering on panic and she mentally rebuked herself.

C'mon, Patty, she thought, this is not the time to panic. You don't even know what's going on yet. Think things through – then act.

She placed her hand on the door, making it a window, and her mind froze in horror. Outside stood an army of at least 350 men – each wearing a mask of death.

And standing confidently in front of them, with her hands on her hips, was a single woman dressed all in black; her hair like fire, and her eyes a pure blood red.