by Tim Akers
“We’re someplace boring, Clarence’s domain is the same weird golden age fantasy it’s always been, and Chesa is taking a different car,” she said.
“I don’t...I don’t understand,” I said. “I was riding a horse, coming back to Mundane Actual, and then...”
“And then you woke up in the trunk of a car,” Bethany said. “Is that really so difficult to understand?”
“Esther has a policy. We keep the location of HQ secret, even from new recruits,” Matthew cut in. “Especially from new recruits, actually, after the whole—”
“Not something he needs to know about,” Bethany said. “Point is, we pulled your body out before your mind caught up. Tied you up to keep you from hurting yourself.”
“And the burlap sack?”
“That’s just for my amusement,” Bethany answered. “Now get in the front seat. Look happy to be alive.”
“You’re not going to leave me here?”
“Leave you here? I don’t even know where here is,” Matthew said. “I don’t think that’s what we’re supposed to be doing. Beth?” Bethany shook her head, and Matthew looked relieved. “Good, good. They don’t usually send me on the ‘abandon innocent people in the middle of nowhere’ missions. I issued a complaint the last time that happened, and Esther really doesn’t like paperwork.”
“We’re taking you home, John. Back to the mundane. You’re going to need a few days to recover from the unreal before you can do your next bit of training. Both for your safety, and for ours,” Beth answered. “We can’t have you knowing where the base is, but we also can’t drive you up to your front door with your head in a sack. So,” she gestured around. “A cornfield for the transition. And the car is magically dull, so don’t try giving our description to the cops. You’ll literally be unable to describe it. Now let’s get going. I want to get back to my domain, and the longer I’m here, the longer that’s going to take.”
“Sorry to inconvenience you,” I mumbled. We got back in the car, Beth in the driver’s seat, Matthew stretched out in the back seat. I was so distracted by the crash of cornstalks on the front window that I didn’t notice what was wrong at first. Finally I looked over at Beth and nearly jumped out of the car. “You’re not driving!”
“Hm?” she asked. She was sitting crosslegged on the bench seat, picking at her nails with a bowie knife that looked like it was made out of stained glass. The wheel and pedals twitched without her interference. “Oh, we can’t drive, man. Deeply against protocol. We’d be stuck in this hellhole of a dimension for weeks.”
I dove for the wheel, and nearly lost my hand to her blade. She batted me aside with the spine of the knife, then popped me in the middle of the chest with the pommel. I sat back, gasping for air and staring at the windshield. Matthew’s face appeared over the seatback, an amused smirk on his mouth.
“That’s the BIZ, kiddo. Bethany Interdiction Zone. Don’t put anything near her you don’t want to lose,” he said. “Especially if she’s not paying attention.”
“Noted,” I wheezed. Matthew chuckled and sat back.
We burst out of the cornfield and pulled onto an empty strip of asphalt. The car straightened itself out and started accelerating. Within moments we were merging into traffic on familiar streets. I sat up.
“You’re not driving, and this is my neighborhood,” I said. “There are no cornfields near my neighborhood.”
“Everything in America is about five minutes away from an empty cornfield,” Bethany said. “At least metaphorically. And that’s what counts.” The car snapped to the right, and we pulled into my parents’ driveway. “Here we are. Home sweet boring home.”
The house of my origin story loomed over us. It was an old Victorian, on a street where all the Victorians had been torn down for loftier, more sterile abodes. To be honest, I took offense at Bethany calling my parent’s home boring. It was anything but. The halls and stairways of this home had served as the staging areas for a hundred childish misadventures. I knew every creaking floorboard and dusty cabinet, every weird shadow, the view from every window and landing.
“What am I supposed to tell them about where I’ve been? God, how am I supposed to explain what happened to Mom’s car?”
“You’ll think of something. Boring people always find a way to explain away the interesting things in their lives. The Incident was two days ago,” Bethany said, in a manner that made the capital I really obvious. “Tell them you’ve been staying with friends. Too much mead. Keep it simple, and they’ll get tired of asking. Unless you want to answer some very awkward questions.”
“My mom doesn’t ask anything but awkward questions,” I said.
“You’ll manage,” Bethany said. “Now get going. Someone from MA will be in contact soon enough. And welcome to the team.”
“That was heartfelt,” I muttered. She snorted and went back to digging under her fingers with her peculiar blade.
I climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut, then leaned down to the open window. Matthew (saint or not) smiled at me placidly, then jerked a thumb toward the back of the car.
“Rest of your stuff is in the trunk. Take a couple weeks off, try to relax. Acclimate yourself to the real world. Good luck, man! Be seeing you in the unreal!”
I fished for something clever to say, came up empty, and retreated to the trunk before my tongue lost the war for me. My rattan sword, crumpled sheet metal helmet, and singed shield lay in state on a bed of discarded newspapers and waterlogged paperbacks. There was a burned strip of linen around the hilt of the sword. I picked at it and came away with a scrap of black material. The white runes stood out starkly against the ash. Eric’s silly flag, I thought. Apparently, the arcane banner of whateverthehell isn’t dragonproof. Then I realized I hadn’t given Eric a second’s thought for days. Man. Hope he’s okay. What the hell am I going to tell Eric? He’s going to be so jealous.
I snatched up my equipment and closed the trunk, then trudged up the driveway to my parents’ porch.
Chapter TWELVE
A COMPLICATED EXPLANATION
Mom was waiting just inside the screen door with her arms folded. I clambered up the stairs and gave her a half-hearted wave. She frowned at me as if her life depended on it.
“Your friends don’t want to come inside?” she asked. “I could offer them some lemonade. Maybe they could tell me where my son has been for the last two days.”
“Mom—”
“No, no, it’s okay. They’re not your friends, I know. They’re just people who drove you home from your fairy tale adult camping time, because your car...I’m sorry, my car...wouldn’t start. Is that right? I assume they stole your phone, as well?”
“Mom—”
“Because I heard about your dragon thing. It’s all over the news. Three dead!” She threw her arms up in the air in exasperation. “And I’m stuck here wondering if maybe one of them is my son, but who knows! Because he can’t call, and he can’t pick up his phone, and the police won’t give out the names—”
“Mom! I’m fine. Whatever you heard...” the specific words she’d spoken settled into my brain. “Dragon thing? What...what did you hear?”
“The dragon! The stupid float thing, or whatever it was. From the parade!” She pushed open the screen door, and for a brief moment I was worried Mom would bull rush me off the front porch. “The propane explosion! Were you even there?”
“I was...yeah. It was terrible.” It was the first time that it occurred to me that people had died and, again, I felt guilty for having not thought of Eric until now. I looked down at my mom. There was a thin glaze of tears in her eyes, which was something of a shock. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”
“It’s...it’s fine. I was just worried.” Her bluster disappeared. Mom swooped forward, gave me a swift, bony-armed hug that threatened to crush my ribs into their component elements, then retreated to the doorway. About the best I could expect from her. “As long as you’re alright. And I’m sure we can get t
he car towed. I assume the police sealed the scene, or something?”
“We...have to talk about the car.”
“Hm,” she said, and the time for motherly affection passed. “You broke another one?”
“No. I mean yes, but not in the way...” I looked around. The neighbors on both sides were on their porches, surreptitiously watering plants or reading newspapers, definitely not listening in on our conversation, certainly not gathering fodder for the evening’s gossip session. I sighed. “Can we go inside? I’ll explain everything.”
“I suppose,” she said. “Can’t have you living on the porch, after all. Come on. Your father is sleeping in front of the baseball. Dinner’s in half an hour.”
The screen door slammed shut. I looked back at the driveway, just in time to see the Knight Watch car pull into the street. Even though I knew its trick, that it was the most inconspicuous of all possible cars, I was still surprised when it disappeared before my eyes. I was sure the neighbors hadn’t noticed. I barely had.
Shouldering my sword and shield, I went inside. How was I going to explain all this? I wondered. Why was I going to explain all this?
Mom insisted on eating before talking. Dinner was soft and warm and served in a casserole dish. I sometimes wondered if my parents ever chewed their food anymore. We ate in relative silence while the television blared in the next room. Father asked a few broad questions about my weekend, seemingly satisfied with the propane explanation, blanching when I said I wasn’t sure if I knew any of the dead.
“Is Eric okay?” my mother asked.
“I think so,” I said. I was nervous about seeing Eric again. Of all my friends, he was the only one I could imagine telling about Knight Watch. Hell, of all my friends, he was the one who should have been recruited. “I kind of lost track of him when I...when the...there was an explosion.”
“Yes, dear,” my mother said patiently. “But you’re saying you haven’t seen Eric?”
“I’ll ask Chesa if she’s heard from him. They’ve apparently started hanging out,” I said. “I ended up giving them both a ride to the faire.”
“Oh! Chesa!” My mother perked up, saving me from one awkward conversation and dumping me into a different one. “Was she there as well? Such a nice girl. You know, I really think you should—”
“Yes, yes, biggest mistake of my life, a great disappointment to you, etc. I’m pretty sure she and Eric are a thing now. Or something. Or nothing.” I too another bite. The casserole in my mouth was turning cold, and a pit was forming in my stomach. I swallowed without chewing. “But Eric. Man, I hope he’s alright.”
My father shook his head sadly.
“Kids these days...I don’t know,” he muttered, as though rock and roll or soda pop were somehow the culprit in this situation. “When I was a lad, we did healthy stuff. Baseball! Apple pie!”
“People choke on apple pie all the time,” I said bitterly.
“Well, next time you choke on pie, please just call,” Mom said. “We don’t pay for that phone so you can download pornography all day long.”
“Mom, my God! I couldn’t call. It was...there were problems. But I’m here now, and I’m fine.” I chewed my food angrily, which was both equally unnecessary and unsatisfying. My jaws made loud slushing sounds as they worked through the world’s softest casserole. “I’ll drop by Eric’s tomorrow. See if he’s okay.”
“It just would have been better if you had called, that’s all,” Mom said. “You didn’t lose your phone again, did you?”
“No, of course not,” I said. I reached into my pocket and produced the phone case. “It’s right...here...”
The case, a nice leather one with a sword embossed on the front, again a gift from my mother, folded open. A musty deck of tarot cards slid out, spilling across the table. My parents simply stared.
“Or not,” I said. “I’ll have to...someone must have...”
“Kids!” father exclaimed, then clambered laboriously to his feet. “Baseball,” he said, though I wasn’t sure if it was warning, exhortation, or simple statement of fact. He went into the living room and turned up the already loud television, then settled into his couch and fell asleep. I turned to Mom.
“I’ll find the phone. And about the car, you don’t need to worry. I’ll get it back.”
“Back? Back?” she squawked. “Is it gone? Has it been turned into a giant pinochle set?”
“No, it’s just...” I paused, as a familiar sound filled the front room. Mom and I turned toward the front door just as the Volvo’s horn sounded a second time. “Hang on a minute.”
The Volvo was in the driveway, looking considerably better than it had when last I saw it. There was no sign of damage, either to the front or side, and someone had given the Viking bitch the most thorough detailing job of its long and previously tedious life. A second car waited at the foot of the driveway, nearly as inconspicuous as the one that had dropped me off. A black woman with the sides of her head shaved, wearing gray coveralls and a suspiciously taped badge on her sleeve, got out of the Volvo and smiled in my direction. My heart fell straight through to my heels.
“So I guess this is my contact. Could’ve waited until I finished with dinner,” I muttered. My mom looked at me out of the corner of her eye, then jabbed me in the ribs.
“There is someone else driving my car, John,” she said.
“Yes, yes...I can explain everything,” I said as quietly as possible. The woman by the car was looking through a notepad and jingling the car keys in her hand. Finally, she found what she was looking for and looked up.
“John Rast?” the woman called. When I didn’t answer, she strode (no other word for it. She was a strider) across the driveway. “Are you John Rast?”
“Stay here,” I whispered to Mom, then hurried across the porch, intercepting the woman before she could reach the sacred ground of my front porch, and the boundary of my mom’s willingness to engage with strangers. “That’s me,” I said. “Rast comma John. Mister.”
“Not sir?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye. I groaned inwardly, glancing over my shoulder and hoping Mom wasn’t close enough to hear. “I was asked to return your car.”
“This couldn’t be my car. My car was—”
“Totaled, yes,” she said. “A complete ruin. So here it is!” She dangled the keys between us, waiting for me to take them.
“But how?”
“Do you really want me to explain it in front of a mundane?” she asked, her bright smile plastered across her face, eyes darting to where my mom was creeping closer across the porch.
“No, no,” I said, snatching the keys from her hand. “Thanks so much, uh...”
“Gabrielle,” she said. She plucked a business card from an inner pocket and tucked it into my hand. “Local operator, Mundane Actual. I’ll be your contact in case of real-world emergencies. Owen and I...” she stabbed a thumb at the waiting car, “We’re the ones who will dig you out of whatever real-world trouble you fall into.”
I glanced over at Owen. He had gotten out of the car at the end of the driveway and was leaning massive elbows on the roof of the vehicle. His shoulders towered over the car, and the thick slabs of his arms rippled with muscle. Even his bald forehead looked like it could bench-press a small cow. He grinned at me with all the affection of a white shark.
“He’s one of them, isn’t he?” I whispered. “Troll or something. A myth, making his way in our world.”
“Owen? No, he’s from Iowa. High School wrestler, then the military, then us. Lot of those skills transfer pretty well, especially on the creeps who don’t answer to bullets.” She glanced over her shoulder at Owen and gave him a smart wave. He glowered more aggressively. Gabrielle turned back to me. “Look, there’s something we have to get out of the way. Owen and me, we’re the last call you make. Got it?”
“Last call?”
“Yeah. You only call us if everything has gone to shit. Complete shit. A lot of the new recruits panic when they g
et a pixie in their garden, or a water elemental clogs up their toilet, or whatever. Weird things are going to happen to you from now on. That’s your problem. Buy them some cupcakes or something. Figure it out.”
“So what do I call you for? What constitutes complete shit?”
“Firestorms, icestorms, hellstorms...really, any kind of storm that doesn’t come up on your local weather channel. Also, zones of intense negativity—”
“Like...people are being down on me and making me feel bad?”
“Like...the real world is turning upside down and the sun is sucking the light out of the sky. Negativity,” she said.
“And is that likely to happen?” I asked.
“Esther says you’re a live one, so I wouldn’t rule anything out. Just stay alert. But also only call that number if it seems like the world is ending. Got it?”
“Got it,” I said. “And, so, if I see something you can’t handle. Something...” I hunched my shoulders and glanced behind me. Mom was staring at us through the screen door. I lowered my voice to a harsh whisper. “Something dragony. I can just take care of that myself?”
“If that’s how you want to die, sure. Knock yourself out.” She flipped through the notepad one more time. “Says here you’ve just gone through basic training, but you don’t have a domain yet, so until one of the other elites has shown you the ropes, you probably just want to run and hide. Let the professionals handle it. And if a dragon shows up, you can bet Clarence won’t be far behind.”
“Well, I mean, I did kill a dragon. You know.” I tried to draw myself up straight, but also stay hunched down so Mom couldn’t hear me. I failed on both accounts. “I’m not completely helpless.”
“Sure, you’re not,” she said, patting me on the shoulder. “You’re like a hero, only more dangerous to yourself than anyone else.” She pointed to the card in my hand. “You have the number. Try to never call it.”