Wonder Made

Twenty-Five, Part Two

Gideon cackled as he turned back on Peneloper, his shroud dripping onto his shoulders, his eyes completely dark. Hunching over, as if preparing to lunge, he parted his lips, his teeth sharp and pointed. "Well, you heard the man." He moved on her like the wind.

Luckily, Peneloper had intuited his movement. As Phil Collins once asked of his captivated audience, "Can you feel it in the air tonight?" She had, Mr. Collins. The wail of magic, infinitesimal, but there, screaming out just below the surface of what those not in the know can hear, and she recognized it, as all embraced by the magical community knew, as the sound of dying magic.

Without thinking, she called out to her magic, and it came to her side a knight in shining purple armor, born from Peneloper's desire to protect all that she loved. Even the person standing before her, threatening death.

Gideon howled as he barreled straight toward her. Peneloper, linked to her magic, reached out and forced it to heft its shield into the air. It slammed down into the ground, tearing through the carpet, gouging the subflooring, a crack splintering outward like a spider's web. Gideon was a blur.

Peneloper dug her heels into the ground and poured everything she had into her magic. Gideon would not win. Gideon would not pervert her or further destroy the town she'd grown up in, the town, despite its size and capability to breed indifference, gossip, and boredom, she had realized she'd come to love. She would stop Gideon. And, more importantly, she would save him from himself, and the Council.

Gideon rammed Peneloper's shield, the force of which pushed her back. She tumbled into a lamp, knocking it over. Breathing out, she looked at her magic – it had lost its shape and returned to a thick mist. Through it, she glimpsed Gideon's outline, only it was more animal than human.

As he stepped through her magic, his skin seemed to ooze down his body in sheets, his hair had grown wild and unyielding and it trailed behind him. His nails were black and sharp, the talons of some prehistoric bird of prey that hadn't yet got the message it was no longer a dinosaur. And his eyes were a solitary, impenetrable black. He wore darkness over his shoulders and as he stepped toward her, he smiled, a hate-filled, menace-stained smile. Inhuman. Deadly. The Death of so few words Crispen had spoken of.

"Now, that wasn't very nice." He cocked his head, his voice reverberating as if two beings were vying for dominance to speak out of the same mouthpiece. She was reminded of Crispen and Chant and the lesson in the rain.

Create, Nep. Do so within these pages, within the worlds. Help me. Help me. Nep, help me.

Peneloper braced. The creature before her wasn't the boy from her memories that had smiled sweetly at her, that had blushed when she called him by name or when she held his hand or told him his eyes were beautiful. This was a Refracted. A harrowing, diabolical evil, which, according to a study done across all genre-fiction of a similar make and demographic, she'd been tasked with defeating.

Again, without the assistance of a dragon, because someone couldn't be bothered to get off their lazy bum and blink one into existence. Sure, they could belch and add another forty seasons of some reality TV trash or fart out the next dance craze, but not conjure a single dragon. She'd write about her dissatisfaction if she survived.

"Your magic's still volatile," Gideon hissed. He took another step toward her, his movements slow, languid. He moved purposely but without urgency. A true predator's gait, who knew they had their prey cornered. "Guess my brother didn't do a good job of teaching you."

Peneloper snickered. "That's a common failing. I happen to have a high tolerance that prevents me from learning a great deal."

The boy snarled. "Then how do you plan on defeating me?"