The Blade Mage

by Phillip Drayer Duncan

  Few people traveled alone, which was why I spotted her when I did. She stuck out like a three-breasted woman dealing cards. At first I wasn’t sure, but after a moment, I knew it was her. It was the blue-haired emo girl who’d been walking down the road when we went to see Axel. She wore a plain black hat and a gray sweater with the hood pulled up, but the green hair and dark makeup was unmistakable.

  There was a chance it wasn’t the same girl, and even if it was, crossing her path again could’ve been just coincidence. But in the supernatural world, it was best to never assume anything was a coincidence.

  I felt her watching me from her peripherals as she passed.

  Could she have had something to do with the demon creature that attacked? We’d only just passed her again when it appeared. I couldn’t rule it out.

  Then again, maybe she was just an angsty teen girl looking for some excitement in the underground. If that was the case, she’d best be careful. There was a reason why most of these folks weren’t roaming the Broken Guitar alone. There were any number of monsters down here, human and otherwise. There were creeps of every variety, watching out for easy targets.

  The Broken Guitar couldn’t stay upright if not for the constant threat of the Cabal. Everyone knew if they didn’t tow the line, the wizards would come a knocking. It also helped that the owners, whoever they were, had a zero-tolerance policy. They had their own people roaming through the crowd unseen. That kept most the baddies at bay, but every once in a while, someone would go missing, or be assaulted, or worse.

  I watched her disappear around the corner and then Bacon appeared beside me with a plate in his hand.

  “Foolish girl,” he said. “She must have a death wish.”

  “Maybe she’s tougher than the monsters,” I replied, turning toward him. “You know her?”

  Bacon shook his head and sat down on the other side of the table. “Nah, we’ve got a lot of new folks coming through these days. The Broken Guitar has become a real tourist spot, even with the increase in incidents.”

  I chuckled. It wasn’t surprising. Most of the time, when Normans caught a whiff of the paranormal world, they’d go buy a gun and maybe some holy water, then keep their asses at home. Others, well, they found it alluring. Wanted to see it up close.

  “Does the Cabal still have people come through?” I asked.

  “They make their rounds,” he replied, shrugging. “But the baddies don’t fear them like they used to. Some are getting downright brazen.”

  I nodded and glanced down at my plate, enamored by the smell. I didn’t even care that it was mystery meat. It smelled like heaven.

  As I dug in, Bacon said, “So, I hear there’s been some bad business in the Cabal. I guess that’s why you’re here.”

  I nodded and took a moment to swallow my first bite. The meat, whatever it was, blended perfectly with the sweet smokey sauce and melted in my mouth. The Blade Mage Barbecue was on point. “You know, I think the Cabal was trying to keep the whole thing secret.”

  Bacon shrugged. “Things get around.”

  “Yes, they do,” I replied. “Have you heard anything? In particular, anything the Cabal might not know or might want to hide?”

  Bacon shook his head. “No, everything I’ve heard indicates that whack job Gunner killed one of his old buddies. Seems simple enough.”

  “No other rumors?”

  “I heard Shain Stone is in town,” he said, eyeing me carefully. “You know if that’s true?”

  “Really?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  He nodded.

  This was news. No one in the Cabal had bothered to mention it. Either they didn’t know, which was unlikely, or they didn’t want me to know.

  “Any idea why he’d be in town?” I asked.

  Bacon shook his head. “Only a rumor at this point, but I got it from a reliable source. If word gets around, the owners will shut down the Broken Guitar until he’s gone. Talk about whack jobs. That guy is a loose cannon.”

  “Is he?” I asked.

  “Well, yeah,” Bacon said, shaking his head at me. “Where have you been? Living under a rock?”

  “Pretty much,” I admitted. “Assume I haven’t had any news in a while. What’s the deal with Stone?”

  “Well, ever since your father died, he gave up working for the Cabal, but he didn’t give up working. He’s a one man wrecking ball, taking out ghouls, suck-heads, and were-dicks all on his own, leaving trails of bodies. Rumor is the Cabal wants to take him down, but they haven’t because he hasn’t technically broken any laws. Everyone he’s killed has been someone the Cabal was after anyway. He’s just doing their work for them, in a very loud and messy sort of way.”

  “I see,” I said. It made sense. Shain Stone had worked for my father, and that’s where his loyalty had been. Not to the Cabal. I hadn’t seen him since my dad’s funeral. If he was in town, it was for a reason.

  As if reading my thoughts, the old pit master said, “You see him, it’d be best to avoid him, Wyatt. They say he’s completely off the rails.”

  I nodded. That was what people had always said about Stone, but he’d always been kind to me. But he’d also always been on edge. It was my father who’d given him a sense of purpose and helped him keep his shit together. My old man was gone.

  “I’m serious, kid,” Bacon said. “He ain’t the same mercenary who served your father. The man is a nut case. A killer.”

  “I hear you, Bacon,” I said, and decided to change the subject. “What else is new?”

  He shrugged and nodded toward a group of thugs loitering just outside of his table area. “Lot more gangs around.”

  “Yeah,” I said, noticing the thugs were looking in our direction. They wore baggy jeans and hoodies, but their faces were painted white with black designs, like a dollar store knockoff Kiss cover band. I turned back to Bacon. “Sounds like it’s bad across the board.”

  “We need a Blade Mage,” he said, meeting my eyes. “Any idea where we could find us one of those?”

  I shook my head. “I’m just here to see this thing through with Gunner.”

  “But that’s an open and shut case. Makes me wonder why you really came down here.”

  “You got me,” I said, taking another bite of my food. “Maybe I came for the sandwich and your endearing company.”

  He snorted. “You have your old man’s attitude. Shame you don’t have his loyalty to the cause.”

  A tickle crawled down my neck and I felt my face flush ever so slightly. I wasn’t sure how to respond. Fortunately, I didn’t have to.

  “Who’s your new friend, fat man?” a voice asked. I turned to see the Kiss cover band strolling toward us. The one in front had a black smirk painted across his lips and an ‘X’ painted over one eye. “New player in town?”

  I ignored them and took another bite of my sandwich. If things got violent, I didn’t want to risk ruining my half-finished delectable meat stuffs.

  “An old friend,” Bacon said, smiling at the young men. “You boys come for the barbecue, or are you looking for trouble?”

  “Watch your tongue, old man,” the leader said. “You best be showing us respect. You know we don’t play.”

  “You know the rules,” Bacon said, pointing a finger at them. “If you cause trouble with a vendor, you’ll have to deal with the owners.”

  There were rumors that the Broken Guitar was owned by a rich vampire. There were also rumors it was owned by a rich werewolf. Either way, someone wealthy owned the place, and they handled security themselves. There was one basic rule. Don’t fuck with the vendors. They brought the money in.

  “That shit don’t mean nothing to me,” the leader said.

  “That shit doesn’t mean anything to me,” I corrected, then took another bite of my sandwich.

  “Don’t get smart with me, bitch boy,” he said as his friends spread out around the table. “The rules don’t apply to you. You ain’t no shopkeep.”

  “No, he’s something
far worse,” Bacon said, glancing between all of them. “Best you boys go on your way.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” the leader asked. He tapped one of his friends on the shoulder and said, “He looks like a little bitch to me.”

  I made a point of ignoring him and took a sip of Skunk Piss.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you, punk.”

  Bacon sighed. “You really should pick a different target to bully.”

  “Why’s that, old man?” The gang leader laughed. “He some kind of badass?”

  “He’s the Blade Mage,” Bacon said.

  There was a moment of pause, then the gang leader said, “Shit, who you trying to punk?”

  Bacon threw up his hands in defeat and looked away.

  I heard the distinct sound of a switchblade and the man said, “Hell, I’m the Blade Mage. See this shit right here?” He held his knife up in front of my face, ensuring I got a good look at the sharp steel. “What’d you think about that?”

  I dropped the veil on Drynwyn. Even in its sheath it would glow bright at my command. With a single thought, I turned the brightness up to eleven and fought the urge to quote Crocodile Dundee.

  “What I think,” I said, turning to look at the gang leader, “is that you brought a knife to what’s about to be a sword fight if you don’t let me finish my goddamned sandwich in peace.”

  “Holy shit, bruh,” one of the other thugs said. “He’s for real.”

  The gang leader stared at me for a few moments. He knew he’d screwed up, that much was clear, but now he was just trying to figure out how to save his ass along with some dignity.

  “Let’s get out of here,” the gang leader said finally, and started away.

  “Not so fast,” I told him as I took a bite from my sandwich. “Here’s what’s going to happen. From this point on, you’re responsible for security at Bacon’s Barbecue, free of charge. You’re going to help him deal with rowdy customers and ensure this remains a neutral, and friendly, environment.”

  “Yo, you serious?” one of them asked.

  “Deadly,” I replied. “In fact, you’ll do whatever Bacon needs. I’m sure you fellas know how to wash dishes and work a mop. You’ll be friendly to the customers and most importantly, you’ll never insult him again. Do we understand each other?”

  “And if we refuse?” the gang leader asked, still trying to posture.

  “Then I’ll hunt you down,” I said, flashing them a grin. “And make no mistake, boys. I am the Blade Mage, and I have a really nasty temper.”

  They hung their heads in defeat and made to shuffle a way.

  “Wait,” I said, holding up my hand. “Bacon hasn’t given you duties yet, and one of you needs to go behind the counter and fetch me another Skunk Piss. These things are actually pretty good.”

  “Right this way, gentlemen,” Bacon said, rising from his seat. “I’ll get you guys started.”

  As the others moved to follow, the gang leader stepped closer to me and in a low voice asked, “Yo, man, how long we gotta do this for?”

  “Until Bacon releases you,” I said, meeting his gaze. “But make sure it’s for good conduct and not because you’re lazy. I’ll be checking in.”

  He turned to follow the others and I choked back a laugh. Okay, so there were some positives to be being the Blade Mage.

  One of the thugs brought my beer and I finished my meal in peace, noting the staring eyes of the other patrons. No doubt word would get around the Blade Mage was in town now. But Bacon had named a sandwich after my dad. The least I could do was wrangle him up some indentured servants.

  I finished my food and waved one of the thugs over to carry my trash to the bin. That might’ve been pushing it a bit far, but you have to enjoy yourself when you can. I nodded to Bacon and headed back out into the throng, lost in my thoughts.

  Bacon had always been one of the best sources of information in Branson. Likely, he was the only reliable source I had left. That was okay, though. I was on to a new sport now.

  Chapter 9

  I fell into the flow of traffic and moved toward the other end of the Broken Guitar. On this side there was a small strip club called, ‘Strange Flesh.’ It’d been around for years. You didn’t want to know what kind of ladies they had on staff. There were a couple of new places as well. One was a sad attempt for a dance club named, ‘Shake Yo Monster.’ Beside it, was another establishment called, ‘Tickles.’ I didn’t want to even guess what went down in there.

  I passed by each, ignoring the solicitors and cat callers, and turned down a quiet corridor which led into the catacombs. I had a theory I wanted to test out, and the sewers would provide me just the privacy I needed.

  The sounds of the Broken Guitar faded as I walked further into the concrete maze. There were still a few folks about. The catacombs offered the privacy of dark corners. I passed an alcove lit by the glow of a lighter as someone tried something they’d picked up at the market. The smell was rancid, whatever it was.

  Further down, in a shadowed corner, I heard the soft love grunts of two people getting to know each other a little better. Something else picked up in the market, perhaps.

  I turned down a particularly dark hallway, walked a few more steps, then slipped into the shadows behind a pillar. Crouching low, I hugged the pillar and waited.

  I didn’t have to wait long.

  There she was again. The emo girl with the blue hair. Only she wasn’t a ‘girl’ I realized as she passed. She was a ‘woman’ and stunning at that. Seeing her from a distance before, her blue hair and dark lips made me think emo teen. She looked like she was closer to my age, but these days, who could really tell?

  She strolled on by, never once looking in my direction.

  That was a good sign. It meant she didn’t sense me or have the ability to see into the shadows. Or she knew I was there and was keeping up appearances.

  She paused at the intersection up ahead and glanced in both directions, perhaps trying to determine which way I’d gone. I waited until she disappeared around the corner to move from my hiding spot. I followed from a distance, thankful my Chuck Taylors allowed me to move quietly.

  Now that I’d confirmed my suspicion, I wasn’t sure on my next move, so I decided to simply follow her for the moment.

  She moved further into the catacombs and we passed by another couple getting sloppy in an alcove.

  Around the next corner an old homeless man sat on the ground beneath a graffiti-smeared wall with spray painted phrasings such as, ‘Elvis was resurrected on the sixth day’, ‘God fears the Laughing Man’, and of course, since it was Branson, ‘Come get your season passes to Hell!’

  The homeless man babbled to himself as I approached, and I wondered if perhaps he was the artist.

  He looked up at me and said, “Demons and Damnation! Devils and Daschounds!”

  I held a finger up to my lips, implying he should be quiet.

  He didn’t take the hint and continued, “Beware the witch with the glowing ass! Beware the songstress with the devil’s voice! Trust not in the knights of new, following in the ways of the old! Show them the light, for they are blind!”

  “Thank you for your grand prophecy, old father,” I whispered as I leaned in to hand him a dollar. “But if you could be just a bit quieter.”

  “Death will silence us all,” he whispered back, his voice raspy and his eyes manic. He took the dollar, though. “Beware the buzzard in a dress, for it is a lie.”

  I moved on, not wanting to lose track of the woman.

  Before I rounded the next corner I heard a man’s voice say, “Hey there, sweetheart.”

  I slowed down and eased my way around, sticking to the shadows. Once again, I parked behind a pillar and watched.

  The woman paused under a dim light as three men stepped out of the darkness in front of her.

  I knew we’re not supposed to pre-judge people, but something told me they weren’t down here hosting a bake sale. Nor were they good Samaritans
intent on helping her find her way. These were scuzzy types, dirty with pockmarked faces. There was a predatory hunger in their eyes and happy grins on their faces, like they’d just won the lottery.

  The bald man in the center moved forward and asked, “What’s a cute thing like you doing in a place like this by yourself? There’s no telling what bad sorts might be about.”

  The woman didn’t reply, but eased her way back the way she’d come, back toward where I hid. Before she made it two steps another figure slipped from the darkness and moved up behind her.

  She gasped as he took hold of her from behind and held in her place. He looked about as friendly as the first three and was, perhaps, even more scuzzy. It had been at least a month, maybe longer, since he’d washed his long stringy hair.

  “Woah, where you going?” the bald man asked.

  “Let me go,” she said, glancing back at the man who held her.

  “Afraid we can’t do that, sweetie,” the bald man said. Apparently, he was the group’s spokesperson. “Like I said, there’s no telling what kind of unscrupulous characters could be about. What kind of men would we be if we left you alone in a place like this?”

  “Please,” she said, her voice steady.

  “Also, there’s the whole problem about the toll,” the man said, licking his cracked lips. “You see, this our territory, and anyone who enters it has to pay a toll. We have to keep up appearances, you see?”

  “You want money?” the woman asked, a hint of scorn in her voice instead of fear.

  And here comes the demon, I thought. I expected the creature who’d attacked me earlier to appear and jump on the goons, but it didn’t. Not yet, anyway.

  The bald man chuckled. “Yeah, we’ll take your money, but we want something else as well.”