Title: The New Circle
Fandoms: Smallville/Secret Circle
Characters: Chloe Sullivan, Clark Kent, Pete Ross, Lana Lang, Whitney Fordman, Greg Arkin, Nell Potter, John Blackwell, Gabe Sullivan, Lex Luthor, Davis Bloome, Jason Teague, Tess Mercer, Oliver Queen, Patricia Swan...
Disclaimer: Don't own
Summary: Chloe Sullivan had a normal-ish life before the circle and John Blackwell turned her life upside down and gave new meaning to the unexplained weirdness that goes on in Smallville. Now life's a witch, she's a part of a circle she's not too sure she wants to be bound to, and not only do they have to worry about Witch-Hunters, but unknowingly to them another circle is on the hunt too.
A/N: Timeline-wise it is side-by-side with events in Secret Circle. It is around Season One of Smallville...with alterations of course. And Lex Luthor has not arrived in Smallville up until this point in the story.
Clark's head hurt, his whole body seeming on fire with pain. He tried moving, tried opening his eyes, and yet it was as if his body wasn't listening to his commands. He tried remembering what'd happened, the crash returning to him in a jolt, and as the weight of his body burnt his arms he realized that he was suspended in the air, his arms tied onto something on his each side that seemed like wood, and his feet were as well. It was almost as if he was on a cross.
"We should have just nailed him to that damned scarecrow post." A raspy voice declared.
"The sacred mixture around him will suppress his magic, he won't be able to use it." Another declared. "And the necklace will keep him physically weak. Nails would be an overkill."
Clark was glad that his eyes hadn't opened, so he could hear all of this without them knowing he was awake.
"What's the news on the rest of the circle?" The raspy voice wanted to know.
"They're bringing the Lang girl and Ross boy as we speak." The voice who belonged to the one who seemed more in charge, declared. "I have yet to hear back from those who were sent after the other three."
"You don't think that-?"
Clark clenched his hands, subtly trying to break loose, to no avail.
There'd been a struggle, and while Whitney knew that he had magic in his veins, he had to admit that it wasn't his first instinct to use it. Maybe it was because he'd found out that his father had had his magic removed from for abusing it, but Whitney believed in only using magic when he needed to. And while some people might believe he'd need it when it came to fights, the Quarterback truly felt so far he didn't need to use any as he fought to get the bat away from the man who'd attacked him.
Inside he could hear his mother calling the police, reporting the attack, and he could see the desperation and urgency in that masked man's eyes.
Grabbing hold of both ends of the bat, battling with the man for control over it, Whitney brought up his knee angrily into the mouth of the man's stomach, the unexpected blow causing his attacker to let go and stumble back a couple of steps.
Taking advantage, Whitney changed his grip on the bat and swung it at the man, who barely managed to jump out of the way of the blow.
Now on the attack, Whitney charged, the side of the bat clipping the man on his ear, causing a howl and some accented curses to escape as he reached down and grabbed one of Whitney's mother's horrendous lawn gnomes, using it as a shield to try and meet each hit.
The man did a twirl and thew the gnome at Whitney, forcing the blonde to concentrate on batting it as far as he could, his arms hurting somewhat from the resistance the heavy thing gave when he hit it.
Knowing an advantage when he saw it, the man backflipped three times away from the boy before dashing into the cornfield to the side of Whitney's house.
"The hell is he from? The circus?" Whitney whispered to himself, shocked, before taking chase.
Pete and Lana had been brought, the both of them unconscious as well, and tied up to a cross just as he had been. The men who had them wore hoods over their heads, hiding their faces, and were off to the side conversing in hissed whispers. It gave Clark the opportunity to finally peek his eyes open and take a good look and not just do so through slitted eyelids.
They were in the middle of a cornfield, he, Lana and Pete were strung up like scarecrows. Pete and he were shirtless, a glowing rock on a necklace around their necks, (Lana having one as well though her shirt was still on) and there was some sort of black powder encircling each of the crosses. Also, there were three other crosses, empty ones, and he knew that they were for the other members of their circle.
Whatever that black powder and these glowing green stones were, they truly were keeping Clark from using magic. They even made it hard for him to concentrate and open his eyes.
This had to be the work of Witch-Hunters.
These people had to be Witch-Hunters...and the circle hadn't been ready.
They weren't ready.
And if something didn't happen...then they'd die.
His hands were killing him with pain, and he was worried that some of his digits were beginning to stick together again, but Greg did his best to ignore the pain and go on. He headed towards Chloe's because not only was she the closest to him geographically, but the girl had already been attacked once today so it was obvious that she'd be attacked again, especially if the guy who'd attacked her was affiliated with the Witch-Hunters.
He was going to turn a corner when something caught his eye and he stopped, frowning.
Greg dismounted from his motorcycle and knelt down before his eyes widened when he saw the Torch sticker on the discarded iPod.
This was Chloe's.
He was too late.
Growling, he reached for the iPod with his scarred, burnt hands, and the second he touched it images raced through his mind. They were disconnected flashes. Chloe walking and listening to music...dancing idiotically...not looking at all as scared and wary as she should considering that she'd just been attacked. Chloe sensing something and looking behind her to nothing. Chloe shrugging and turning back around to see a huge man backlit by the light. Chloe being stabbed in the neck with a syringe, the liquid entering her system and incapacitating her as she was thrown over this man's shoulder. Chloe, staring paralyzed at her fallen iPod as she was taken away to a beat up old chevy and driven away.
The images stopped, Greg shaking his head, bringing the heel of his palm to his head in shock.
A vision...this was new.
Taking a breath, deciding to try and figure this out later, Greg slipped her iPod into his pocket before going to his motorcycle once more.
He'd seen the vehicle...and the direction it was going in.
It seemed like forever and she was still in the back of that car, staring at the ceiling as the lightposts cast never ending beams of light and shadows on her.
Her kidnapper wasn't driving too fast, so wherever he was taking her he obviously wasn't in a rush to do so. Did that mean that he was secure in the fact that they weren't being followed? Or was wherever he was taking her out of Smallville and they'd already left the small town behind, so he felt secure in the distance? Either wasn't a good option for her, nor was the foggyness in her brain that kept her from truly being able to think.
She tried moving her body but found it extremely hard to do, the only things moving slightly were her fingers. Whatever he'd injected her with had left her nearly paralyzed, and her mind in an eternal fog, nowhere near clear enough to even conjure some sort of spell to help herself out of this situation.
The blonde focused on moving her fingers though, concentrated on keeping them moving as she tried her other fingers as well. At first there was nothing...and then another finger began to move, and even if it was only a little it was all the encouragement she needed.
They were drawing symbols on the ground with the dark powder around the crosses.
Clark had reverted back to gazing through slitted eyelids, trying to keep the fact that he was awake a secret as he observed and listened as much as he could.
From what he could hear, the one in charge of capturing Whitney had only managed to call in saying he needed backup, but hadn't been able to get anything else out before the call was cut off. They'd sent people to his house, but the police were everywhere and they'd had to pull back. They'd also slunk to Greg's and there'd been police all over there as well. That meant that at least Greg and Whitney weren't captured.
Chloe and the one sent to "finish what he started" were total mysteries though, as the hooded men had no idea what was going on in that front, and were worrying that he'd met with some ill fate as well.
Clark wasn't a praying sort of guy, but he prayed to anyone listening that Whitney, Greg and Chloe were fine...and on their way to save them.
This guy was obviously some sort of freak who escaped from some sort of circus. That was the only explanation Whitney could come up with for the guy's speed and agility as he chased him through the cornfields, holding tightly onto his attacker's bat, determined to beat information out of the man with it. He didn't know whether this was the same guy who'd attacked Chloe today or if this was another sent after him, but he knew that once he was done with the dude he'd be telling him everything. George Fordman wasn't the only Fordman with a problem with a violent temper, except Whitney could control his...and he wasn't feeling very much like controlling it right now. If anything he was spurred on, glad there was someone he could take his anger out on, the feeling giving him speed and agility to keep up with this man.
Up ahead he could hear a car passing, the blonde pausing a second as he realized that they were close to the road. If the Witch-Hunter had a car parked by the side of it Whitney would lose him!
Pushing on harder, Whitney ran, following the swishing cornstalks in front of him, hiding the man from his sight.
Holding his free hand out in front of him, Whitney whispered softly. "Bend and bow."
Ahead the cornstalks bent away on each side, revealing the back of his elusive prey.
Almost as if sensing he was exposed, the man looked over his shoulder and cursed loudly, pressing on harder.
Just a little ahead of the man was the road.
Never stopping a beat, Whitney changed his hold on the bat from the handle to the end and calculated the distance before throwing the bat, the handle meeting the back of the man's head the second his feet touched asphalt. The man stumbled, twirling around with the blow and stumbling backwards before suddenly a car slammed into him at full speed.
Whitney skidded to a stop, eyes wide, before hurrying the rest of the way out of the cornfield and picking up the baseball bat, eyes on the twisted body on the highway leading out of Smallville.
The man was dead.
He felt sick at his stomach, bringing a hand to his mouth, unable to look away from the guy.
Some feet away, where it'd flipped and ended up on its roof, the car began to smoke.
Hearing another engine revving, Whitney looked up, wide eyed as a motorcycle turned the dangerous curve before skidding to a stop. "Greg?"
Greg's eyes were wide in horror at the car, sliding off of his motorcycle and racing towards the vehicle. "Chloe's in the back!"
"What?" Whitney hissed in horror, racing after the other guy, who was sitting on the ground and trying to kick in the back passenger's window, the door too crumbled to open.
"Fuck this." Greg hissed, sliding away and holding his hand out in front of him.
Whitney's eyes widened in horror to see the ugly fresh burns scarring those hands. "What happened-?"
Greg didn't answer, closing his fist and flinging it out to the side, the back passenger door crumpling like paper before being thrown away to the side his hand had.
Realizing now wasn't the time to question anything, Whitney went to his knees and climbed into the backseat. Chloe was crumbled on the roof, her eyes open, obviously awake, and yet other than the pain in those orbs and the slight twitching of her fingers she didn't seem really there.
"She's paralyzed." Greg answered Whitney's questions as the blonde slowly, carefully, pulled her out of the smoking car. "The guy stuck a syringe with some shit in her neck."
Whitney grunted as he finally stood, pulling Chloe up into his arms, the girl's body completely limp even though her eyes were darting between them in worry.
Greg went to look in the front seat. "The driver's dead."
"Good." Whitney whispered. "We need to get to the Talon."
"We need to get to Clark, Pete and Lana." Greg argued. "They're going to be hit as well and-."
"And they'll need us all at a hundred per cent." Whitney argued. "Pick up the bat, I don't want my fingerprints around here."
Greg flinched as he did so, obviously in pain.
"You can't even pick up the bat-I don't know how you drove that damned thing." Whitney declared. "We need to go back to the Talon. There's things I can use there to help dull your pain and make your healing faster-and also counteract the paralyzer running through her veins."
Greg looked hesitant, yet was a smart guy, and knew that Whitney was right.
"Ride that to my home, it's on the other side of this cornfield...just be careful, the cops are probably there." Whitney ordered. "My truck's out back. We'll put your motorcycle in the back and get to the Talon." He shifted Chloe's weight in his arms, her cheek resting against his heart. "We'll be right behind."
They were a sad little bunch.
Greg sat by the table, allowing Whitney to apply mud mixed with herbs and some incantations on his burnt hands, the blonde wrapping the mixture up with a cotton bind and ordering the brunet not to disturb them for at least a half an hour.
Chloe herself was lying on the sofa, able to finally move her hands and face, and this was all thanks to a potion Whitney had concocted with some terrible tasting herbs and forced her to drink.
Who would have thought that Whitney Fordman would be so useful?
"The pain's numbed." Greg commented in a near daze, staring at his bandaged hands.
Whitney nodded as he crushed some of those same herbs again, adding them to a glass half-filled with spring water and other already mushed herbs he'd left soaking in the water while tending to Greg. The Quarterback stirred the murky mixture with his finger, whispering a soft incantation before removing his finger and shaking it. Grabbing the glass he made towards Chloe.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "This will help speed up your body's metabolism and fight whatever they've jacked you up with."
"But it tastes awful." She complained, and wasn't able to do much more as he sat on the edge of the sofa and easily helped her up enough so that she could drink the foul-tasting concoction he placed to her lips.
"Don't be such a big baby."
She sent him a look before whimpering and closing her eyes tightly as she began gulping down the horrid thing.
"That's it, a little more." He encouraged until she finally finished it and he was lowering her back down onto the pillow. "Who knew you were so whiney, Sullivan?"
Chloe made up her face at him.
Whitney rose. "I wouldn't be too gleeful if I was you...yours is gonna taste worse."
Greg's eyes widened in horror. "What?"
Chloe stuck her tongue out at him.
He narrowed his eyes on her and pouted.
Whitney tried his cellphone once more as he went to the jars of herbs, keeping it between his ear and shoulder and he repaired Greg's concoction. "Nell's still not answering."
"Where the hell could she be this time of the night?" Greg wanted to know. "She's a spinster florist for crying out loud! It's not like she's got that much of a social life."
Whitney tried a couple of other numbers before frowning. "The others aren't picking up either, I think they've been taken."
"But where?" Chloe managed to turn her head towards the boys, her arms twitching, the foul liquid she'd imbibed already starting to work.
"The one that had you was heading out of town, maybe the others are being shipped somewhere else as well." Greg tried.
"Talking about that-how did you know that Chloe was in that car?" Whitney wanted to know. "Did you see the abduction?"
"In a manner of speaking." Greg made a face as he leaned hard against the chair. "I found her iPod, and when I touched it I saw the abduction-but it'd already happened."
"Psychometry." Chloe whispered in shock. "Touch-Sight."
"You're psychic." Whitney blinked.
"I'm already a witch." Greg made a face.
"It's like what Nell's been saying about the Hibbins, Withridge and Thoreaux." Whitney frowned. "The three Main families. Your families were known for having special gifts. Maybe Touch-Sight is a Withridge gift?"
"Nell's gonna have a field day with this." Greg commented.
"So you think the others have been shipped out of town already?" Whitney frowned.
"Makes no sense." Greg shook his head. "The last time the Witch-Hunters came they took our parents down in their hometown. They killed my father here. They proved their dominance even on our own territory. I don't think that we would intimidate them enough to seek more advantage."
"He's right." Chloe declared, slowly managing to roll her shoulders, the feeling and control returning with each breath. "They're still here somewhere."
"So why was that one taking you out of town?" Whitney wanted to know, making a very good point.
Greg's eyes narrowed on Chloe. "That's a very good question."
Seeing the narrowed way they both eyed her, Chloe made a face at them. "I don't know why, okay!?"
Whitney eyed her before trying Nell's number again as he headed towards Greg with his glass of sludge.
Greg made up his face at the beverage. "No thank you."
"Do you want to be able to use your hands normally ever again?" Whitney raised an eyebrow.
Grumbling, Greg took the glass from Whitney clumsily with his bandaged hands. "I hate you." And with that he chugged the whole thing down without taking a breath, his Adams Apple bobbing with each gulp before finally the glass was empty and he coughing, bent over. "That was vile!"
Whitney ignored that, hissing as he hung up his call. "It keeps going to voicemail!"
"You don't think they've got her too, do you?" Chloe clenched her hands into fists and pushed down on the sofa hard enough to slide her body upwards, leaving her back against the armrest.
Greg dropped the glass, which shattered into a million pieces. "Oh fuck, I never thought of that."
"We have to consider the possibility that we're the only ones in commission." Whitney frowned. "Our parents are useless. Yours don't know and mine's too much of an asshole to help, Mr and Mrs Ross will throw a fit if they know that Pete's practicing and in trouble-and Nell is no where to be found."
"That leaves Mr and Mrs Kent." Greg reminded. "They're not happy with Clark practicing until he's 21, but they're our best bet."
Whitney nodded his agreement before looking through his cellular's contacts.
"Why do you have Clark's parents in your phone?" Greg made a face.
"We're a circle, it's obvious that we'd need to get in contact with family members sometimes." Whitney mumbled, as if this should be obvious. "I have your mom's and Chloe's dad's numbers in here too."
Greg sent a look in Chloe's direction.
Wiggling her toes, Chloe sent the look right back at him.
As one, they turned to look at Whitney expectantly as he stood and began to pace the floor between them.
"Why are you doing this?" Lana tried freeing herself, her magic and strength depleted, completely gone, as she hung on the cross between Clark and Pete. "We haven't done anything to deserve this!"
The figures stood in the shadows, their faces and bodies hidden by the cloaks and hoods.
There were about six of them, but there was one obvious leader.
He-for with that height it had to be a him-stood back and let the others continue working on the sigils around the crosses.
"Let us go!" She struggled against the ropes that bound her, staring up at the sky, trying to call down lightning or something.
Whatever they were using to block their abilities was sticking steadfast.
"Save your breath, Lana." Clark surprised her by whispering, the girl having thought he was still unconscious. "They're not going to let us go."
She turned to look towards him, worrying her bottom lip. "Are you okay?"
Clark nodded. "You?"
She nodded back.
"I'm hoping I'm not the only one with a massive headache." Pete grumbled, proving he too was conscious.
Lana turned to look at him, relieved that he was fine enough to complain, before turning her glare on the man letting the others do his dirty work. "Where are the others? What have you done with them?" They were her circle, and she was supposed to have protected them! And yet here she was, tied up and useless. Aunt Nell would be ashamed if she-.
She must have realized that Lana wasn't in her room, right?
She must know something was up and was looking for them!
Somewhat reassured by this, Lana knew she needed to stall if she wanted to keep herself and the boys alive.
"Why is no one answering?" Whitney nearly threw his phone in frustration at not even reaching the Ross's after failing to get into contact with the Kents.
"We're going to have to do this on our own." Chloe declared with bravery she didn't feel, finally able to swing her legs over the side of the sofa and sit up.
"Is it me or does this feel like a test?" Greg spoke her thoughts.
The blonde nodded. "We're being isolated."
"What, you think Nell is behind this?" Whitney frowned.
"She is the one who keeps telling us that if the Witch-Hunters were really after us that we wouldn't be ready." Greg mumbled, eyeing Chloe. "And she has been known to get more physical when she feels it's needed."
Chloe's hand went to her throat. "This still seems like a little bit of an overkill, doesn't it?"
"Talking about kill…" Whitney let out a little breath. "If this was a test…"
Chloe made a face. "We might have just killed the ones giving us the test."
Greg folded his arms over his chest. "Well, I guess you could say we passed then, huh?"