by Aaron Crash
Aria gasped. “The spell categories are in order for a reason. You are lucky you didn’t die.”
Steven choked in frustration. “The Drokharis Grimoire is great, but we need a teacher, a real teacher.”
Aria shook her head sorrowfully. “This is my fault. I should’ve told you. I should be your teacher.”
“It’s okay,” Tessa soothed her. “You’re learning as well. It’s not like you’re a hundred years old and all wise and shit. Now, kiss me. I need some Animus. If I’m right, once we get some bullets, I’ll be able to imbue them with magical powers.”
Steven checked the skill tree quickly and yeah, Magica Incanto came after Magica Impetim. Had Tessa really skipped a level? He wasn’t sure that was possible. Then he was caught up in watching Aria and Tessa kissing. It wasn’t long before they were all on the bed again, using sex to replenish their Animus levels.
Once they were done, they showered, used napkin-like towels to dry off, and dressed. Their clothes were dirty, true, but still leaps and bounds cleaner than the rest of the room. Besides, they weren’t exactly spoiled for choices.
Aria walked out of the bathroom, still trying to get her long, dark hair dry. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen, not with the thin, soaked hand towel. “If we live and acquire a Hoard, I will not travel without my own towels again. This is all so primitive.”
“Good idea,” Tessa said with a nod and a grin. “A wise man once said, ‘A towel is the most the handy thing in the world—you should never leave your home without at least a hand towel or two.’”
“I can see the wisdom in this,” Aria said, bobbing her head. “Who said it, Kwame Appiah? Or perhaps Epicurus?”
“Douglas Adams—Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”
Aria shot her a flat, deadpan stare. Tessa held up her phone for protection. “Sorry, don’t hate me. In other news, I got a text from Mouse. She said to head for a small town called Ash Hollow. It’s not far from here, on Highway 26. Let me find it real quick like.”
Steven touched her back while he looked over her shoulder at the Google map splayed out across the phone’s screen. Lake McConaughy appeared as a big blue space above the black line of the highway. The town lay near the Ash Hollow State Historical Park.
“Okay, let’s get some breakfast,” Steven said, “then let’s head there.”
Tessa shut off her phone. “Not before I get some bullets. I wanna get my gunsmith mojo working, and I feel bad for scaring you guys like that. It’ll be worth it if I can craft magic items.”
Aria sighed. She was still shaken, obviously.
Tessa texted Mouse and tried to call her, but they got no response. The only thing they could do was to check out and head toward Ash Hollow.
After a huge breakfast—thanks entirely to the money they’d conned from Beef, Pork, and Chicken—they stopped off at the Hatcher Gun Company, LLC. It was a boxy, flat-roofed building with gray walls and black iron bars over the windows. A drab, dreary place that reminded Steven of a prison, only in miniature. But the owner, Big Roy—a hulking son of a gun with a ferocious gray beard—was as friendly as a giant puppy. Tessa and Big Roy immediately got down to brass tacks, jawing about guns and ammo until the guy asked to see the Colt Peacekeepers.
When Tessa brought them in, the gunsmith nearly choked on the toothpick between his lips.
Big Roy offered them ten thousand dollars for the pistols, but Tessa wasn’t about to part with them. He simply sighed and nodded as though he expected nothing less but was sad about the outcome all the same.
Big Roy pointed out that the pistols had been customized to accept normal .45 caliber bullets, which was good news for them. It was common ammunition. “You really should load your own rounds,” he said.
“Eventually I will,” Tessa said. “Thanks for the tip.”
They left with two boxes of .45 Caliber Federal American Eagle rounds—100 bullets total. Then, back in the Orange Crush, they sped north until they found the Highway 26 turnoff.
Tessa pointed to a dirt road, a pair of tire tracks cutting through the high yellow grasses and juniper bushes, that would take them to the shores of the lake. “Let’s stop off there so I can cast some spells.”
Steven drove until he saw a massive mud bog blocking their way. He knew what to do. He’d had a friend whose dad loved four-wheel driving. Tessa read through the driver’s manual, which told them how to turn the hubs to engage all four tires. They churned their way through the bog, then up a steep, rocky incline. Big rocks clanked against the undercarriage.
The Orange Crush threw them around, but Steven didn’t care. It was just too much fun ripping through brush, splashing through rivers, and grinding over stones. He was careful to keep track of their clearance so they wouldn’t puncture the oil pan or wreck their differentials. The Orange Crush certainly was a beast. It handled everything Mother Earth threw at them.
They stopped at a cliff edge, a mixture of yellow grasses and marbled stone. A few shoots, green with spring, broke up the golden fields. The waters of the lake sparkled in the sunlight. To the west, storm clouds littered the sky, collecting themselves for an afternoon rain. Or snow. The temperature had dropped, so it could really go either way. They pulled on thrift store winter jackets to keep warm.
The Bronco’s engine ticked from the exertion of getting them there; the hot-oil engine stink mixed with the scent of mud and torn juniper. Steven felt like he was in a 4x4 commercial.
Tessa lugged a toolbox to a flat stone where she’d set the bullets. Using an awl, she carefully—painstakingly—scratched runes into twelve of the bullets. Aria and Steven hovered over her, hands thrust into their pockets.
“Uh, step back a bit,” Tessa said.
Aria didn’t move. “We’re worried about you. Are you sure you’re up for this?”
Tessa stood and hugged Aria. “I’m fine. What’s going on? You’ve turned into a beautiful mother hen.”
Steven also wondered why Aria was acting so strange and overprotective.
The Indian woman finally stepped back. “When I saw you unconscious, I realized I can’t do this without you, Tessa. It’s not just Steven’s power that we need, but yours as well. Losing you would shatter our family.”
Steven nodded. “Yeah, it would. Tessa, promise us. From here on out, no more risky gambles. No more rogue skill tree hijinks. Promise?”
The barista rolled her eyes. “Worrywarts! It all turned out fine. And I have no plans to die anytime soon. I’m super curious to see what other hot babes Steven is going to bring over for me to play with.”
They all laughed at that, though the mirth didn’t entirely obliterate the nervousness Steven felt in the pit of his stomach.
As the laughter faded and died, Tessa got serious. With all twelve bullets on the stone, she sat down on a blanket, legs crossed, eyes closed. Then she whispered, “Magica Incanto.”
Her eyes opened, revealing twin pink suns. The runes she’d carved into the bullets also glowed a rose color, brighter, brighter, brighter, until they blazed like an exploding star. Finally, after what felt like an age, the pink lights adorning the bullets winked out. As did Tessa’s eyes. Suddenly, she slumped to side and would’ve fallen into the dirt if Steven and Aria hadn’t caught her. This time, she didn’t go all the way unconscious, but she was sweating and breathing hard.
A smile painted her weary face. “Uh, that felt pretty good. Those bullets are going to be downright lethal, I can feel it.”
“That’s good to hear,” Steven said, eyeing the storm clouds encroaching on the horizon as he helped her to her feet. “I have a feeling we’re going to need them today.”
Tessa loaded the Colts and strapped the pistols into place. Once that was done, they had a quick picnic of BBQ-flavored Pringles, string cheese, beef jerky, baby carrots, and some oranges. Oreos for dessert. Then it was back in the Bronco, and Steven retraced their path back to Highway 26. Once they hit pavement, mud pinged off their undercarriage. They’d caked the botto
m from bashing through bogs.
Tessa was back on her phone. “Nothing from Mouse or Bud yet. However, I’m doing a little research. Ash Hollow is a pretty interesting place. It was on the Overland Trail, so a ton of pioneers stopped there because of some natural springs. And yeah, First Nation people loved it as well. We pretty much picnicked in a place that has a lot of historical significance.”
“Such a schoolgirl,” Steven quipped, feeling nervousness mount inside him. Yep, a fight was definitely coming for them. It couldn’t be a coincidence that both he and Aria had suffered from the worst dreams ever the night before. He could feel the battle coming, like he could feel the storm winds whipping at the Bronco. However, with Tessa packing heat, and with their Animus levels brimming, they were ready. As ready as they could be, anyway. Hopefully Mulk would show up in person so Steven could claw the life out of him.
“Yeah, I’m a schoolgirl now.” Tessa’s cute nose scrunched up as she smiled. “Studying when it means something is so much easier than studying for grades. I just couldn’t care about As, Bs, and Es.”
“Are there Es?” Aria asked. “I thought in American schools, they skipped that letter.”
“Small joke from the nerdy girl,” Tessa answered. “I got a lot of Es, as in ‘Exactly why do I need to learn this?’”
Steven smiled at that. For him, grades meant one less thing his mom would have to worry about, so he’d done his best.
They hooked left and finally turned into Ash Hollow—the town, not the state park.
It was pretty much like any number of villages they’d breezed through on this little road trip: a single stretch of buildings on either side of the asphalt. There was a post office, fashioned to look like an old log cabin. In the town proper, there was a restaurant (Pretty Norma’s Eatery), a gas station (Conoco), and an antique store (Nadine’s Knick-Knacks) that had probably been the general store a hundred years ago. An Ace ’N Spades Dollar Store capped the end, but those dollar stores were all over the west, along with the City Market across the street, though that had been abandoned some time ago. Signs beckoning hunters and tourists were everywhere, including some that promised amazing tours of the Ash Hollow caves and Lake McConaughy.
Around the town, yellow grasses had taken over, eating away at pavement and dirt lots, so it was like an island of wood, concrete, asphalt, and brick in a golden sea of weeds.
A few cars ambled here and there but not many. There were no pedestrians. Ash Hollow was only a wide spot in the road, its best days far behind it. With I-80 running down south, the Overland Trail was only interesting to historians and baristas it seemed. The storm clouds swept over the town, flung there by an unforgiving cold wind.
Steven puttered into the gas station and killed the engine. When he got out, he saw a man standing in the middle of the street, watching them.
He knew the man. He knew the purple suit. And Steven wasn’t surprised to see him holding a glimmering katana, which looked like a fallen live wire.
The first raindrops dropped in big plunks, staining the pavement. One splashed down Steven’s neck, but his skin had gone so cold, he hardly felt it.
With Kai Charon standing there, Steven knew the other two members of the Terror Trio couldn’t be far behind.
Steven went to warn Tessa and Aria, who were still in the Orange Crush, but he never had the chance.
A torrent of flame washed over the gas station pumps from not one but three dragons that hovered about the doomed town.
The Conoco exploded.
Chapter Thirteen
“Magica Defensio!” Steven screamed, creating a shield just in time to catch the shrapnel from the exploding gas station pumps. Tongues of flames licked at his skin, but he was tough, and a little fire wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, it was raining harder now, and the winds screamed. With those dark clouds, hail was on its way. A tornado could easily spin out of the apocalyptic sky.
Kai Charon, with his glowing katana raised, charged forward. As did the dragons—one brown, one pearl, and one a storm-gray color. All were females, beardless, fifteen feet long with wide leathery wings. Their various scents were hard to pinpoint, especially with the Conoco in flames behind him, spitting out char and smoke and carnage.
With four enemies converging on him, and more on the way, Steven didn’t go True Form; he didn’t want to give them that big of a target.
He transformed into his Homo Draconis form—his body humanoid in shape, though covered in jet-black scales and sporting a long, whipping tail—then triggered his DarkArmor ability. His body thickened with extra scales until he felt like an up-armored tank. That wouldn’t be enough to stop the enchanted blade, so Steven doubled down on the armor ability, though it meant losing more Animus and slowing his movement rate down substantially. As a general rule, tanks were tough but slow as hell. There was always a tradeoff. Always.
Charon lunged in, sword flashing in a blur, aimed at taking Steven’s head from his shoulders. From his training with Aria, Steven knew to adjust his balance to let the sword glance off his arm instead of trying to stop the strike cold. The blade tinged away—golden sparks flying in an arc—and Steven danced back. He triggered SerpentGrace, narrowly ducking the incoming gray dragon. The jaws crunched in the air above him. If he’d been a second slower, he would’ve lost his head.
Steven spun on a heel and drove his tail into the Warling. The blow landed like a Mack truck, sending the purple-clothed man to the street. But Steven didn’t have time to watch the man flip and roll across the asphalt. He bolted left, then shot in, clawing into the throat of the pearl dragon as she lunged for him. His reinforced talons ripped through scales and shredded vulnerable flesh beneath. The pearl dragon let out a pained squawk and careened into an old truck—American made and badly rusted—parked outside the restaurant. The tailgate clunked to the ground.
However, his attack was a mere inconvenience to the dragon, not enough to put her down. The pearl dragon clambered to her claw-tipped feet, whirled around, and launched herself at Steven once more.
By that time, the brown dragon unleashed another firestorm onto him. He thrust his left hand forward and quickly angled the shield, diverting those deadly flames toward the Warling. Aria had showed him a handful of jujitsu techniques, and one of the things she’d emphasized was that using an enemy’s own force against them was always the smartest way to fight if you could manage it. It would wear your opponent out quickly, while allowing you to remain fresh and ready.
The fire struck a red force field. The shield spell saved Kai Charon’s life, but revealed that the Magician, Gideon Scaramanga, was somewhere, skulking around. Was Karlos Butcher there as well? Most likely.
Steven didn’t know where Aria and Tessa were, or if they were cooking inside the Bronco, bathed in flame by the burning Conoco. He desperately wanted to check on them, but there was no way. He had to deal with dragons and humans trying to kill him. He was their main target, after all.
Steven triggered SerpentGrace—burning through a sliver of his available Animus—and raced across the empty street, diving under the talons of the pearl dragon. He rolled and came up holding the fallen tailgate from the decimated pickup truck. With a roar, he sent it whirling through the air like an oversized Frisbee. The metal rectangle struck the brown dragon, breaking a wing with a vicious crack and sending her crashing to the pavement.
Now that he had some breathing room, Steven transformed into a full dragon. Still imbued with both SerpentGrace and two doses of DarkArmor, he stood a fighting chance. Steven dug his claws into the ruined truck and lifted it with a heave, using it as a club. He slugged the gray dragon like he was Babe Ruth aiming for the fences. The gray dragon went soaring through the rain and wind and into the glass front of the Aces ’N Spades Dollar Store. Glass shattered, and plastic junk vomited out onto the street.
Civilians were fleeing, dashing into the fields, running for their lives as they screamed.
The pearl dragon—obviously using SerpentGrace—
blurred toward him. An instant later, she dug her talons into Steven’s arm, pinning it down. The brown dragon, wing bent, whipped her tail into his jaw. A burst of white stars exploded across his vision as she drove him into the restaurant. The spines on his back crushed the wood, and his feet slipped on the tables and chairs inside. The greasy odor of the kitchen mixed with the fire and rain outside. Suddenly, he caught the scent of mint. That was the smell of the pearl dragon.
The brown dragon, by contrast, stank of burning rubber.
Red, whirling scimitars—courtesy of Mulk’s gangly human Magician—slashed into Steven, dazing him with bright jags of pain. Thanks to his DarkArmor, they didn’t spike his innards, but they left him bleeding and weak.
Kai Charon raced forward and leapt into the air with preternatural dexterity. His katana arced toward Steven, slicing through the air. Most of the truck had simply fallen apart after bashing the holy living crap out of the gray dragon, but Steven still had the mangled remains of a truck door gripped in his left hand. He raised the door like a shield, but the Warling was fast as hell and as nimble as a fucking ninja. The purple-suit-wearing son of a bitch ran up the side of the door, flipped ass over teakettle like some sort of Olympic acrobat, and threatened to drive his blade into Steven’s throat.
At the same time, the gray dragon raced from the ruins of the dollar store, streaking through the rain to land a killing blow if Kai Charon failed to skewer Steven.
Steven needed to free himself from the pearl dragon, but her talons were dug deep into his right arm.
And he couldn’t forget about Gideon. The Magician stood on the main street, a pale, dirty man. He raised his hands to cast another spell.
Steven had done well to live thirty seconds against the Terror Trio and three of Mulk’s Escort, but it seemed he was done for. He was about to die—
Gunshots thundered through the rain and chaos. Pink flashes of light struck the pearl dragon, sending her reeling away from Steven. Bullet after bullet pocked her chest, parting scales and meat as though they were made of tissue paper. Red gored painted her pale scales. She fought to keep her feet—blood oozing down from half a dozen wounds or more—but finally pitched over onto her side. Alive, but out of the game. At least until someone healed her.