Beaten Path

by Martin Shannon

  “Do what I’m telling you or the next metal post will end up between your ears.”

  The Swamp Witch got very still, locking eyes with the plastic bird and barely breathing.

  The pile of flamingos on the far side of the room shifted again—this time with far more gusto. Something was unburying itself.

  “Gene,” Ed’s ex-wife whispered, trying to get my attention.

  I turned back just in time for the bird to press its beak against her nose.

  “Don’t stop. Do not let up.”

  Their eyes remained locked in a furious match of wills. More blood trickled down her leg, the tiny creature twisting the metal rod like a screwdriver.

  “Argh…” The Swamp Witch gritted her teeth.

  “I don’t care how much it hurts. You let up now and I guarantee you it goes for your eyes.”

  The flamingo pushed itself about as close as it could to her face, then stopped, the Swamp Witch pushing back. Kaylee switched from holding ground to taking it. She seized the offensive and stared down the flamingo’s coal-black gaze in the process.

  She doing it.

  The small creature sighed, removing its metal rod from Kaylee’s leg in a single fluid motion. A thin stream of blood trickled down her thigh, dripping onto the surrounding plastic birds before turning the soft sand red.

  The flamingo bent down and gently pecked at the oozing blood.

  Kaylee slowly sat up, unable to take her eyes off the tiny bird. “What in the hell just happened?”

  “Welcome to the Flock.”

  The little bird shook like a water fowl, then snuggled its beak under the chin of one very confused Swamp Witch.

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Just wait.”

  The pile in the corner shifted again, this time sending an avalanche of plastic yard art tumbling down.

  “Gene,” Kaylee said, keeping her hands away from the plastic bird. “It’s… talking to me?”

  “Images and thoughts. Listen, there’s going to be a pull—a really strong one—you’ve got to push past that.”

  Kaylee tilted her head. “A pull?”

  “Yeah, be ready for it. The Flock is going to want to run, to hide, and to take you down a paranoid and dangerous road. You’re going to have to fight that.”

  The Swamp Witch’s eyes glazed over. “I’m seeing images, Gene. What do they mean?”

  “Potential paths. It’s showing you the—”

  “Future?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  I’d have been lying if I said I wasn’t jealous. The Flock was enigmatic, dangerous, but also beautiful. They were a sword that cut both ways, but to have one of them on your side was powerful and I missed it.

  Sorry, Gertrude. You were a good bird.

  “What do you see?” I asked, hoping Kaylee wasn’t too far gone to hear me. The images would come fast, and they’d be confusing, but that bird might tell us something valuable.

  “Eddie,” Kaylee cried, jumping up, clearly startled by something she saw. The tiny bird hopped off and nuzzled her leg.

  “Remember, it’s not necessarily truth. The Flock’s images can be confusing and broken.”

  “We have company, Gene.”

  “What?”

  Suddenly the room felt a good bit smaller than it had only moments earlier.

  Kaylee walked past me, her feet sending the piles of plastic birds sliding, until she reached the shifting spot. Ed’s ex-wife dug her hands into the stacks, causing more plastic carcasses to tumble down, and retrieved a woman I’d never expected to see—Delia, the Sangre Reine. The Blood Queen was still alive, though not necessarily well, and standing in Sturkey.

  “Hello, Gene. Surprised to see me?”

  28

  Tickets to the Gun Show

  The Sangre Reina, the Blood Queen, the hottest woman in South Beach, Delia had gone by a few names back when I’d known her. Back then she’d also taken a lot better care of herself. The old woman fighting her way out of the pile plastic birds looked nothing like the powerful Skeeter who had almost ended my world all those years ago. Spots covered Delia’s liverwurst skin, brown, black, and otherwise; her neck alone could have served as a model for one of my son’s connect-the-dots puzzles. A tight-fitting tracksuit stretched to its limit against the rest of her bloated body, clearly pushing the load-bearing capacity of velour.

  “Delia…”

  The former blood royalty frowned, jagged teeth making an appearance behind withered lips.

  “Is that you? Is that Eugene Law?” Delia pointed at my slightly rounded midsection. “Somebody grew up… and out.”

  “You must not have access to a mirror,” I said, frowning at her own appearance.

  Delia’s eyes flashed at the word. “No, why, do you have one?”

  “Not for you.”

  Kaylee reached down to scoop up the tiny bird.

  “Stop.”

  Both women looked at me.

  “Kaylee, do not pick up the bird.”

  The Swamp Witch hesitated, her fingers twitching over the tiny plastic animal. “We are Flock, Gene. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I do understand, because I’ve been there before. I warned you about the pull.”

  Kaylee shook her head. “No, this is different. We need to leave. It’s too dangerous here. She’s shown me things, Gene. Little Ed is in trouble—”

  “She…” the Blood Queen hissed, her own fingers twitching and gaze unwilling to leave Kaylee’s bird.

  “Kaylee, the images aren’t real, or at least they aren’t all real. The visions are just potentials—forking paths. It’s how they communicate: images, visions, fragments of thought, and potential outcomes. You can get lost in them. It wants you to go, it wants you to pick it up and run away from everything. I told you, the pull is strong—you’ve got to be stronger.”

  Delia licked at her lips, a graying tongue playing over cracked lips. “There she is. I’ve been waiting for you little bird…”

  “Yeah, well, you aren’t getting it,” I said, splitting my frustration between both women. “Adam, get in here. I need your help.”

  My apprentice bounded around the corner, sweat staining the shirt beneath his unzipped hoodie. Tiny droplets of mist clung to the tips of his thick beard. “Yeah, what do you—”

  Adam froze the moment he laid eyes on the Blood Queen. “Is that…”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “What is she doing here?”

  “She’s looking for that,” I said, pointing to Kaylee and the tiny bird pressing its head against her bloody thigh.

  My apprentice’s eyes drifted to the thin trickle of red on the Swamp Witch’s leg and he promptly lost a good bit of the color in his face. “What happened to your leg?”

  “Long story, Adam,” I said, trying to get my apprentice back on topic. “Very long story, and one we don’t have time for.”

  Kaylee’s fingers twitched above the fawning bird.

  Crap.

  “Okay ladies, here’s what we are going to do. Adam,” I said, turning to my apprentice. “I need you to gently escort Kaylee out of the building without the bird. Delia and I are going to have a nice conversation, and then we’ll be joining you.”

  “Uh, Gene?”

  “What?”

  My apprentice frowned. “Where is Kaylee?”

  I swung around to find the Swamp Witch gone.

  “Son of a—”

  Delia laughed, her voice gravelly and deep. “Just use your Magick, Gene. If I recall correctly you’ve got some serious…” The Blood Queen trailed off, her crooked nose sniffing the air like an ancient bloodhound. “Wait…” She took another deep breath. “Gene, I don’t smell your Magick. Where is that churning little cauldron of power?”

  I ignored the Blood Queen. “Adam, get Jerry’s Nine Dimensional glasses. You won’t be able to see Kaylee, but you should be able to pick up a trail.”

  My apprentice swung his backpack around and unzipped it.
“Got it.”

  Delia’s eyes sparkled from beneath that wrinkled skin. “It’s gone—your Magick is gone!”

  This was not going how I’d planned it, but then again, I really hadn’t planned this happening at all.

  “Adam, get the glasses!”

  “I’m trying.” My apprentice fumbled through the contents of his bag. “Are you sure we put them in here?”

  Delia clapped her spotted and wrinkly hands. “Ah, I was right! You’ve been Soul-Split. I can smell it.”

  “Congratulations,” I said, turning my attention back to the Blood Queen. “I am, but not for long. Unlike you, I’m getting put back together.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, I’ve been saying that for a long time, but it’s a lot harder than you think—especially when a powerful Magician is holding on to your Darkling. I knew going north made sense. Something’s brewing. I can smell it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Delia took another deep breath. “It’s like that special crackle in the air right before a storm. Something big is coming, Gene, and I’m not about to miss it.”

  “Adam, get the glasses and find the Swamp Witch. Now!”

  Delia ran her dumpy fingers over the piled-up stacks of plastic birds. “I had no idea that something big would include a Magickless Eugene Law. Oh my, what are the chances?”

  “Terrible.”

  “I imagine so.” Delia pointed at the thinning hairs on her balding scalp. “I’ve never been great at math, but I’ve got a memory—and it’s a good one. I remember a young Magician and his wife. I remember what that young Magician did to me. That’s something you don’t forget.” The Blood Queen’s lips broke out into a hungry and crooked smile. “It makes you hungry, Gene. Very hungry.”

  “Adam,” I said, taking a step back from the unpredictable Sangre Reina. “So help me, if you haven’t found—”

  “Got them!” he cried, half the backpack’s contents on the floor in front of him. “Wow, that took a while. They got wedged under the cat statue thing.”

  Cat statue?!

  “Adam, put that back in the bag right the hell now.”

  “Huh?”

  The Blood Queen pushed up her sleeves, her tired eyes sparkling. “Perfection.”

  A tiny and emaciated plastic flamingo head slipped out of the stack. The bird was faded to the point of breaking, its pink skin flaking in patches.

  Delia scooped up the emaciated bird and vanished.

  No!

  “Adam,” I cried, bounding across the room toward my confused apprentice. “The statue, don’t let her get the statute.”

  “Huh?” My apprentice pressed Jerry’s Nine D glasses to his face. “Oh, right, got it.”

  He reached down to pick up the tiny cat woman statue, but before his hands could wrap the figure’s lithe body, the tiny bronze artwork vanished.

  “Shit!”

  “There are trails everywhere.” Adam’s eyes darted behind the flimsy paper glasses. “I can’t follow them.”

  “Just focus on the brighter one, that’s got to be Kaylee. We need to find her and get out of here.”

  Delia popped back into view, the starving bird at her feet. One grotesque hand was wrapped around the bronze statue, while the other toyed with the cheap blindfold. “The mirror, Gene.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  I lied. The stupid compact’s plastic case was biting into my butt both literally and figuratively.

  The Blood Queen picked at the rumpled bag that covered the statue’s eyes. “Gene, I know you’re lying.” She pointed to the starving bird at her feet. “I’ve seen the forking paths. I’ve been doing this a long time—a very, very long time. My Darkling is in your back pocket, and you’re going to give it to me. Unless, that is, you want me to take this off?” Delia’s long nails scraped across the blindfold.

  “No,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice level. “I’m sure we can come to some agreement. You remember what happened the last time. You know it didn’t end well for you.”

  “I’m the one holding the statue,” Delia shook the tiny figurine at me, “ and I have a strong feeling that’s going to make all the difference.”

  “Wait. Let’s talk about this like rational people.”

  The Blood Queen tucked her nail under the edge of the crumpled blinder. “No, no more talk. Time’s up. You give me the mirror, or I take it from your corpse. After that, I’ll eat the bearded one.”

  Adam froze up, the 9D glasses drooping down his nose. “Gene…”

  “I got it.” I placed a hand on my back pocket. “But I’m going to need assurances.”

  Adam’s hoodie pouch bounced, its jerky movements accompanied by a muffled voice that I’d only just been introduced to, but was already getting on my nerves.

  “You’ve just earned yourself two tickets to the gun show,” the wrestling doll in my apprentice’s pocket called out.

  Delia hesitated. “What was that?”

  “Adam?”

  My apprentice removed the rubber wrestler, then looked at me. “Uh…”

  “What does that mean?”

  Adam hesitated. “It means—”

  Boom!

  Kaylee popped back into view, the Swamp Witch crashing into Delia like a linebacker at full speed.

  “The blindfold!” I shouted, reaching for the falling figurine.

  The tiny statue tumbled to the ground, its plastic bag slipping off in the process.

  Shit!

  The statue’s ancient Magick seeped out, signaling for something I was not in any position to face. That power wasn’t alone. It blended with a sickly blast of frigid air that rolled over the room and cut me to the bone. There was only one thing I knew of that did that.

  A Thinning!

  29

  Friskies

  Kaylee let go of the Blood Queen and grabbed the tiny bronze statue. “What do I do?”

  “Cover the eyes.” I pointed to the ring of wadded plastic on the dirty ground.

  Ed’s ex-wife got the blindfold back on, but the ancient Magick had already leaked out, spilling over the room like a hot desert wind and mixing it up with the unnatural cold of the Thinning.

  She’s coming…

  Kaylee tightened the tiny covering down on the statue’s eyes. “What’s going on, Gene?”

  “I’m not going to wait and find out.” I pulled at the Wild Magick of the Thinning, its icy cold power burning in my veins.

  “Gene, what did I say about pulling power from a Thinning?” Kaylee cried, getting to her feet as the unpredictable power swelled around me.

  “It’s bat-shit crazy.” Magick swirled between my fingers. “But so is waiting around for Bastet.”

  “Gene—”

  I lost Kaylee’s words against the burgeoning tide of Wild Magick. The Thinning pumped more power than I was ready for, but I didn’t have a choice.

  “Discedite!” I squeezed at the unpredictable cosmic power and willed it against the desert wind and what it was sure to bring. The Magick fought me, pushing back on my desires and flaring up like an angry wound.

  Oh no, you’re not…

  I settled into a tug of war. The Thinning wasn’t interested in listening to a Magickless Magician, and I was far too stupid to quit. Delia shouted something, so did Kaylee, but neither woman’s cries made it past my concentration.

  “Discedite!” I had the desert wind on the run and I wasn’t about to let up.

  There…

  “Gene.” Kaylee’s voice made it past my filters. “You idiot. You just sent whatever that was directly at the burial mound.”

  “I… what?”

  The Swamp Witch was right. The Wild Magick had helped me send away that ancient desert wind, and in doing so I had directed it straight toward an unhealthy mass of Restless Dead.

  Oh, crap.

  Something banged against the rusty steel roof above us.

  That can’t be good.

  Little Ed choose this moment to join
us. “Guys, we have a problem—”

  “Rumble rumble in da jungle!” Muscles shouted over the junior Demon Hunter.

  “Adam!”

  My apprentice’s face went red as he continued to fiddle with the spastic action figure. “Really sorry, guys. Let me see if I can get him turned down.”

  “Can you smell what The Muscles is cooking?” the tiny figure asked, making it difficult to hear Little Ed’s response.

  “Adam!”

  “Working on it. I think if I just—” My apprentice’s fiddling was interrupted by a sheet of rusted metal that broke free of the ceiling and landed on a large pile of pink plastic.

  “What the hell is that?” I said, finding myself face to face with the partially decaying skin of an oversized cat.

  “That’s a panther,” Kaylee said, pushing Delia aside. “Don’t move, Gene.”

  “You’re kidding right?” I kept a sharp eye on the rotting flesh and flexing jaws of the massive cat.

  “No, I’m not. We dealt with them at the mound years ago. I don’t understand why they’re back now.”

  “I might.” My eyes locked on the massive feline. “I’ve had cat issues in the past.”

  “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the statue, would it?” Kaylee asked.

  “We can point fingers later. Right now we need to focus on the task at hand.”

  The Swamp Witch reached for her staff. “Just let me get my—” Kaylee’s stick vanished beneath her fingers. “Delia!”

  “Looks like we got us a big one here, sir.” Private Petty appeared next to me, wearing a pair of tan shorts and a loosely buttoned shirt rolled up to his armpits.

  “The Crocodile Guy?”

  Private Petty smiled, his boyish face beaming. “You guessed it, sir. You really are good at this.”

  “Either that, or we both watched way too much television as kids.”

  The decaying cat growled. The sound reverberated through its exposed tendons and rotting flesh, and gave the beast a nightmare-inducing timbre. Plastic flamingos cracked beneath its paws.

  “Uh, don’t suppose you plan to help the old man out here?” I asked, my hands up.

  Private Petty backed up with me. “No, sir. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.”