Serpent's Storm by Amber Benson

viscous on my face, shrouding my vision in a blurry haze. I tried to wipe the stuff away with my hands and clear my vision, but I couldn’t seem to get my fingers to do what I wanted them to do. It took me a few moments to comprehend that it was blood pouring from the gash in my scalp and not some unknown liquid cascading into my face. I wanted to scream, to rage against the stupidity of what was happening to me, but my throat was like a vise, allowing no sound to escape. All I could manage was a strangled gurgle—which did nothing to relieve the pressure enveloping my brain and sending me into a miasmic veil of nausea.
    I closed my eyes, fighting back the urge to puke. I didn’t think my getting sick would help the situation very much. Opening my eyes again was like trying to pry open two rusted window frames. All I wanted to do was to sink into a black abyss and then wake up back in my bed in Battery Park City, but the rocking of the helicopter wasn’t helping my wish one bit. It only seemed to stoke my nausea, dragging me back into a more alert state.
    “Crap,” I moaned, reaching up with my right hand to feel around in my scalp for the bloodied gash.
    I winced as my fingers palpated the tender skin around the cut, biting my lip against the pain. When my speculative probing got too intense, I yanked my hand away and wiped my blood-coated fingers on the underside of my seat. The wound didn’t seem very deep, and if I remembered correctly, the scalp tended to be a heavy bleeder even when the wound wasn’t really that bad.
    More like a dog’s bark being worse than its bite, I thought miserably.
    While I was musing about scalp wounds and barking dogs, Hyacinth was working hard to hold the steering apparatus steady, keeping the helicopter on an eastwardly course. As my eyes refocused on my surroundings, I realized the rocking sensation I was feeling stemmed from the terrible lightning storm our tiny helicopter was entering. I watched, surprised at how quickly the storm was enveloping us.
    Rolling black rain clouds had eaten up all of the sky, making it hard to see farther than a few feet into the distance. A flash of white-hot lightning split the horizon, producing enough light, at least for a few seconds, to verify that the darkness around us was absolute.
    “What’s going on?” I asked uncertainly. The intensity of the storm was making my arm hair stand on end.
    “What did you say?” Hyacinth asked, not daring to breach her concentration by peeling her eyes from the windscreen. It was taking everything she had just to pilot the helicopter away from the encroaching rainstorm.
    “What’s. Going. On?” I said again, slowing down my speech and enunciating as best I could.
    “I don’t know where this storm came from, but it’s not a good thing,” Hyacinth replied, flicking a few switches on the control panel as she spoke. “Makes it really hard to keep the helicopter steady.”
    There was another bump and the helicopter went into free-fall. My stomach migrated into my throat and I screamed—just as the helicopter righted itself again.
    “Where are we going?” I asked after my stomach had slid back down my throat.
    “It’s not much further now,” Hyacinth said as she banked a sharp left, sending us careening into pitch-black airspace.
    I knew I wasn’t going to get a straight answer out of Hyacinth about where we were going, so I turned my attention back to Jarvis. The poor little guy looked the worse for wear, his jawbone hanging from the rest of his skull by a thin filament of flesh. I wanted to do something to help him, but I didn’t think trying to get into the backseat while we were in the middle of an aggressive rainstorm was the smartest course of action. It wasn’t like I was gonna be able to hold his hand or anything.
    “I’m sorry, Jarvis,” I said, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me over the drone of the helicopter and the rain splattering against the windscreen.
    I sat back in my