It’s not much of a pn, but it’s the best they have.

  “How fast can you go?” Vukosava looks over to her friend, her heart starting to spin violently in her chest. A raging washing machine about to blow. “Can you outrun the mist?”

  “Yes! We can.” Amber takes her hand. “I know we can.”

  Charles’ voice follows suit. “We shall return. Pce no doubt on that.”

  “Make a trail for it to follow. If our theory is wrong, go back to the water.” Vukosava looks at the others. “We need that portal to be safe and controlble. No mistakes, no oversights. Otherwise, we’re worse than dead.”

  “There’s one tiny little problem, how the hell is John going to find us?” Harley looks at the rest of the group, before with all her emotions boiling off directs a fierce stream of words at Charles Derhert. “Even if Amber runs defense, she can’t do that forever. Hey, bozo, does this knightly prick have any intention of actually helping us against this thing? We passed his stupid test.”

  “He will lend his aid.” Charles replies. “I believe he has sensed what is happening.”

  “That’s just lovely. Where is he then? I don’t see the suit of armour right now.”

  “Harley, chill out.” Nathen steps forwards. “Can you please tell him to hurry?”

  “I can do that. I have no intention of leaving you at the mercy of the mist.” Charles Derhert pauses for a moment. “Now, Amber, you understand the events that lead to the demise of Catherine Mallory?”

  “I do. We’re doing a direct replication. Do you have the ability to do that?”

  “I advise that you listen in earnest, Amber – you and I have formed a bond. My power is yours. Our strength is bolstered by fulfilling the conditions for a Sign of Union. This sign is a bridge between souls that connect those of the natural world to the paranormal. Usually such a thing is done as a comparable exchange – you gain knowledge and power by binding yourself to another.”

  “Is any of this making sense?” James is shaking his head in perplexity.

  “I think I get it – Amber was floating earlier, swimming through the air. How are you able to do that?”

  “At the time of my demise, I was weightless. My body was lost to the pyre. With all spirits, there’s a story that is passed down – whether written, verbal or otherwise it doesn’t matter. Tragic events generate and concentrate energy, and with that power, tales are woven into the tapestries of history.” Charles Derhert pauses momentarily, taking in their expressions of shock and hope. “I am one of these tales, as is Sir Victor Alberius. You have a natural inclination for the arts; your skills combined with my power will pose a suitable challenge for the mist.”

  “How do I use this power? How do I channel it?” Amber and Charles, split perfectly in two, hover in the open air. Amber belts out her next words desperately. “I need an answer!”

  “That is how you harness your power – strong emotions and an even stronger commitment. An artist directs their focus and passion onto a canvas, that canvas becomes an extension of you. Your reason to exist. A mirror to yourself – to what lies in your heart, your soul, your very being. Take a breath, Amber, and take it slowly. Now reach out your hand.”

  “Do we have time for an art lesson right now?” James asks. “With that thing going around.”

  “We do – but not a lot of it.” Vukosava is tapping her foot impatiently on the ground. If things don’t go exactly to pn, John will see nothing and hear nothing.

  Charles Derhert continues on, quicker than before. As Amber takes in a breath. There’s a calmness that spreads over her weary face, despite the chaos and the fear. “What do you see?”

  “I can see him. Marcus.” Amber’s voice shakes for a moment. “Why? Why is he still there?”

  “That’s not how love works, I’m afraid. Nor the emotions that blossom with it. We are human.”

  Charles takes out a brush with one of his spreading canvases. “Take these instruments and have your music py.”

  Amber nods slowly, holding the paintbrush in her right hand and a pencil in her left. It’s slow at first, as the bristles start to spread upon the open air. The air starts to sparkle with color, for half a moment it reminds Vukosava of the prince from so long ago. But this feels pure and gentle, so different from the horrific work done before. There is a heart full of emotions that swell within the creation that is taking shape. It’s the schoolyard, Vukosava, Harley, Amber and Marcus standing together, staring off into the sunset. Four friends facing off against the world. A bright, dazzling sun washes over them, with golden clouds and a lovely blue sky beneath. It’s a piece that causes tears to escape from Vukosava’s eyes – everyone can feel it. It’s a story that goes on and on, up to that fateful night.

  But Amber doesn’t stop, her pencil continues to glide, the graphite starting to diminish.

  “It’s not just mine.” Amber whispers, her voice tight with emotion. “It’s yours too.”

  “That’s Fodor Dresk.” Vukosava couldn’t believe her eyes.

  Fodor is putting his arm around a younger Charles with a big smile on his face. There’s approval and love in his eyes. They’re in an oasis, far from the ancient city. They’re conversing with each other as equals. As artists that venture through the nd together. If John’s looking now, he’d have no trouble finding them.

  “I will see you guys again.” Amber beams at them with defiance. “I promise.”

  The mist is starting to draw close. There’s no more time to dawdle.

  “It seems that the fair maiden has made her choice.”

  The metallic echo can belong to no one else. Harley snaps angrily. “You sure took your sweet ass time getting here.”

  “You have a fearsome tongue.” The knight notes dismissively. “You endured.”

  Nathen speaks up. “The pn is simple, open a portal, stuff the mist in, close it.”

  “A simple pn. Good. Very good.”

  “Amber and Charles are drawing its attention. Buying us some time as we prepare the portal.” Vukosava fixes her eyes on the knight’s helm. “We need you to run defense.”

  “You think I’ll simply obey?” It’s a subtle challenge to Vukosava’s authority.

  “Unless you want to expin to your Queen why the world is in tatters, go right ahead. But we both know one thing, Sir Victor, there’s no other option, we have the means of actually beating the mist and sending it away.” Vukosava steps up fearlessly to the towering giant. “We’re in this together. If Charles Derhert is willing to help us, I don’t see why you would be any different.”

  “You are strong.” Sir Victor Alberius replies. “I will take part in your desperate pn. Let’s hope that it fucking works. For all your sakes.”

  Nathen and Harley take the lead. The two mediums work in tandem to find the optimal pce to begin their work.

  “This is going to be a pain in the ass to do.”

  “When hasn’t it been?” Nathen grumbles back. “Start your side of the circle.”

  “With what, my teeth?” Harley snaps. “I’ll grind my bones into dust - that’ll do the trick.”

  “I can lend you aid.” The knight raises his rusted bde, running it across the ground. Sparks fly into the air as his weapon screams. “There, you have your precious circle.”

  Nathen gives an appreciative nod. “The rest of our stuff is in the car. Do you reckon it’s still there?”

  “It’s in a junkyard, Nathen. That’s where that special deluxe vehicle went.”

  James spins a slow three hundred and sixty degrees. There’s grim but fierce determination written in his eyes. “If push goes to shove, I can borrow some of their stuff.”

  “We’re stealing from the dead.” Nathen’s eyes widen and Harley snaps him back into the present.

  “We speak to the dead on a regur basis. I’m sure they’d be very understanding.” James reckons.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “You know what, man, I do know. I know that dying sucks and I’m not having us go out on our shields.” James asserts firmly. “Our brothers are cheering us on.”

  “James is right. They have our backs and we’ll have theirs by putting down this bitch.” Harley concludes with a feral smile. It’s excitement and fear blending together with a vengeance. “Once that misty thing is in position, we can go on the offensive.”

  It’s difficult to expin the feeling of flying through the air, to be weightless. Amber can feel a sense of déjà vu creeping in, yet she cannot allow any distractions to dilute her work. I don’t want to do this to her, but I have little choice in the matter, Amber concludes. She couldn’t help but feel immense sorrow for the dy behind the mist. Alise Cartwright.

  “I know it’s not right, but she would agree with what we’re doing. She was the best of them.” Charles Derhert assures her. “Please, do not wound yourself for this.”

  “I don’t feel good about it – I can’t lie to myself.” Amber is holding her arms and legs out as the ground and her surroundings become a blur around her. The mist is starting to thicken, each yer digging into her skin, as if she’s falling through a cloud full of rain. “She doesn’t deserve to be treated this way.”

  “I agree. But we have to understand one important thing, this isn’t Alise Cartwright. It will hurt you if it can.”

  Its arrival sends chills through Amber’s heart. The click of its heels radiate through the ground, loud and distinctive. She can feel herself being gripped by the mist, as if the air itself is an extension of its hand. There’s no glowing eyes, no features, just a pitch-bck silhouette. The world is dying around it, all the color vanishing. Red brick houses with their white picket fence, gone. Low-set mansions with their pools and tennis courts torn to ribbons.

  There is no ambition or hope that lies in its wake – merely a ruin. There is no strength in the power it possesses.

  “This is going to be a heart wrenching performance.” Charles says in the back of her mind.

  “I’m sorry.” Amber whispers.

  The shadow is walking slowly towards them. It’s coat flicking out behind it, consuming everything that generates any kind of spark – there are no stars that Amber can see. She remembers her science teacher speaking about bck holes, how not even light can escape its destructive pull. That’s what she’s doing right now, fighting against one.

  “As you did before, let it flow.” Charles instructs in a calm tone.

  Amber knows the story well, of Catherine Mallory, the jewel in the Eternal Prince’s eye. It’s the night right after the competition between Fodor Dresk and Prince Zar’va. It’s a dazzling sight, one that will stay with her forever. Charles Derhert is sad, and it’s his emotions that tear Amber up on the inside. It should’ve been a great moment to cherish, but disaster looms despite the happy atmosphere. All of these people will be dead, but that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t shine.

  The silhouette snaps towards the painting. Amber can feel her energy rapidly depleting; her tank is like a water bottle full of holes. She can’t seal them shut. It’s now or never.

  “What are you doing, you only have so much that you can give.” Charles barks.

  “I can’t let that stop me. Whether we’re dead or alive, I will not hold anything back!”

  Amber pours all of her energy into the next dashes of paint. A kaleidoscope of color explodes around her. A domain of dazzling artwork that presses against the mist. It draws closer and closer. Her tank is empty. She’s breathing heavily.

  “I need more power.”

  “Your body can only handle so much, pushing it any further will do harm. Lasting harm.”

  The next part of the painting is painful; it’s Catherine Mallory running at full speed. But she’s not alone, Marcus is running alongside her, their memories are blending together. Amber and Charles, two people who lost so much. Let it flow, Amber repeats to herself, let it flow.

  The shadow could end her right now. It wouldn’t take much.