The Watchtower

  ***

  Martin raced up the stairs, close on the heels of the old man. He couldn’t let this waste of skin get away. This asshole was going to pay for what he did to Daniel and all those other people. He got to the top of the stairs and the cool evening air brushed his face. Martin caught a glimpse of a black robe dart through the trees, and took off across the yard. The old man was fast, but Martin had no problem catching up and was a few yards behind him by the time they reached the chain link fence.

  Martin raised his hand to throw the small wax balls still in his hand. “Gotcha, asshole! You’ve got nowhere to go!”

  The old man whipped around and scowled at him. He held out his arms and raised his head skyward, shouting into the night.

  “Vernula of Lugh! EGO to order thee!”

  The dark shadows from the trees reached out and grabbed the old man by the arms, lifting him into the air and over the fence. Martin dove for the old man but slammed into the chain fence at full force. He jumped using, the fence as leverage, and tried to grab a hold of his robe. Martin shook the fence as the old man landed safely on the other side. This wasn’t fair! Why didn’t he have some kind of supernatural ability? Something relevant to the moment—like stretchable arms?

  Martin dashed down the length of the fence to the opening Daniel made earlier, and headed off toward the water. The crescent moon reflected on the calm lake, but Martin thought he saw a ripple from just off shore.