by C. C. Mahon
“Your coat has a reinforced back?”
“It’s a motorcycle jacket. Obviously it has a reinforced back. And protective shells on the shoulders. It’s what people who don’t have the abilities of a metamorph wear. Ow!”
He put his hand under my nose. The tips of his fingers gleamed with fresh blood. “You were hit by a machete between the shoulder blades. You can thank your jacket. It saved your life.”
The news made me weak in the knees, and I let myself fall, sitting on the truck’s bumper. With shaking hands, I turned over the jacket and removed the back protection from its slot. The machete had pierced the exterior leather, exploded the back plate, and made a small hole in the lining. Without protection, the blade would’ve severed my spinal cord.
“The wound seems superficial,” said Nate, “but I’m not familiar with humans’ abilities of regeneration. I’m taking you to the ER.”
With one sentence, he managed to break me from my stupor.
“Who do you think you are? You’re not taking me anywhere.”
“It could get infected. You have to see a doctor.”
“I don’t ‘have’ to do anything. I’m a big girl, and I decide if and when I go to the hospital.”
“Why are you so stubborn?”
“Why do you always want to decide for me?”
“Because you make bad decisions.”
“I make my decisions, and if you don’t like it, you can take a hike,” I said. “I don’t have time to waste. If I want to make the meeting on time, I have only five minutes to grab the sword and go.”
“The… meeting? Because you really think that after what we just did, the blonde is going to show up at the dam with Barbie? You’re delusional.”
“She will if she wants the sword. And besides, she’s not the one in charge, and her client’s gonna want me—me and the sword.”
Nate looked me over. “I knew you were hiding something. Who is that woman? Who’s this client you’re talking about?”
“Do you remember when you came looking for a job? I asked you what a meta-bear was doing so far from the Rockies. Do you remember what you said?”
“To mind your own business,” he grumbled.
“That was excellent advice. You’d be best to take it.”
“This lady almost killed me. I think it’s my business now.”
“I never asked you to help me,” I said. “So just leave me alone.”
“Erica, she’s too strong for you.”
I climbed the stairs two at a time, unlocked the door to my loft, and let it close on Nate’s arguments.
20
The sword was waiting for me in its case. I grabbed it, and I instantly felt my heart rate slow down.
Why was this weapon so important?
When I’d left Callum, I’d taken antiques with me of an unbelievable value. A broach that had belonged to a queen of Egypt. The signet ring of a grand master of the Knights of Templar. More precious stones than I’d ever seen. So why was Callum interested in this simple sword? If the demonstration at the drugstore was anything go by, Goldilocks was a high-quality mercenary. Her services probably weren’t cheap, even for a man as rich as Callum.
Of course, there was the issue of his over-inflated ego. I’d filled my coffers with part of his precious collection, me, the poor girl who was supposed to be no different than his trinkets. He couldn’t let the betrayal go unpunished.
But if it was only about me, Goldilocks could have followed me and kidnapped me in the streets of Vegas. When I’d gone to see Ernesto at work. When I’d tried to rob his dealer’s pad. Or at the edge of the desert, when I’d gone to talk to Dave. She hadn’t done it, and I only had one explanation for that: she really wanted the sword—therefore, Callum wanted the sword. Why? I was going to have to ask him.
The idea sent a wave of terror through me from my gut to my head. I’d learned to fear Callum’s name alone. His shadow. The very idea of his existence. It was a habit I was going to have to shake. Just like the one of hiding behind the Guild’s protections and Nate’s big arms.
I could do it. I could find Barbie and bring her back to the Club, where she would be safe. After which I’d deal with Callum and his blonde Terminator. How? I had no idea. But I didn’t have time to think about it right now.
I reloaded my gun, put on my jacket—without back protection—and slid the sword in its sheath.
It wasn’t an old leather case, which would’ve been better suited to my weapon, but instead it was the type of tube that art students used to transport their sketches. I’d lined the inside with foam and velvet to wedge my precious sword, and the contraption allowed me to carry it on my back without attracting any attention.
Nate had gotten dressed while I was gone. He’d also called Matteo and Gertrude to the rescue. All three were trying to block my way. More precisely, Nate and Matteo were trying to block my way. Behind them, Gertrude was looking me up and down while wringing her hands. Her gray face without any delicate lines went back and forth between hope and fear.
“You’re not going,” started Nate.
I pointed my gun at his chest. “No one alive is going to stop me from going where I want to go,” I interjected. “This time, I have silver bullets. Move.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” But he backed up without arguing further.
Matteo got out of my way with the grace of a ballerina. “Can I do something to help you?” he asked. My father has an excellent protection service. I can call him.”
“He’ll force you to go work in his casino again,” I said.
“It might be worth it?” he suggested.
“That’s my fear talking. Don’t worry about it. It’s a simple exchange: I give her the sword and bring back Barbie.” I turned to Nate. “I’m taking your truck.” He opened his mouth to protest. I didn’t give him time to. “Have you ever tried to carry a wounded harpy on the back of a bike? Believe me, I’m not thrilled to have to take your hunk of dirt instead of my beauty. But it’s for Barbie.”
He grumbled something, too low for me to make it out. Matteo stifled a nervous laugh. Gertrude pulled me aside.
“The meeting is on the dam?” she asked. “So you don’t need to approach the bridge?”
In the past, the US route 93 passed over the Hoover Dam. After years of traffic jams, they’d opened up a bypass a few years ago to divert part of the traffic. The new route passed over an enormous arc of metal and concrete. I’d gone to see it when I’d gotten to town. It had given me vertigo just looking at it. I hadn’t thought about the bridge since. However, it would be a way to get around the rendezvous point and come up to Goldilocks from behind.
“Yeah,” I said. “I plan on crossing the bridge to get on the dam from the other side.”
“It’s a bad idea,” said Gertrude. “My cousin Yorik lives under that bridge. If you cross it in the middle of the night, you risk running into him.”
“You mean there’s a troll under the bridge and that he’ll stop me from crossing? Like in the fairytales?”
She shrugged her shoulders, as if to excuse Yorik. “You can’t hold it against him. He’s not a bad guy. He spent a lot of time searching for himself, and when the bridge was built, Yorik saw it as a sign that he needed to go back to our cultural roots. Renounce the modern world and race mixing, all of that.”
“And he threatens to devour all those that cross the bridge? Because that’s a lot of people.”
“Only the supernaturals that go in the middle of the night, when there are no witnesses.”
“I’m human, so he should leave me alone, right?”
She gestured to the sword hidden in its drawing tube. “With what you’re carrying? You’re dreaming.”
“Couldn’t you put in a good word for me? Explain to him—”
“Better not,” she said. “The last time we saw each other, it didn’t go well. He feels that I betrayed him by living in town like a human. Definitely don’t mention me.”
“O
kay. Any tips for negotiating with a troll?”
“Be polite, and never try to force your way through. On a bridge, a troll can access powers that we don’t normally have. Yorik will seem heavy and slow, but he won’t have any problems stopping you from passing and throwing you off the bridge. And that’s if he’s in a good mood.”
I took note and thanked Gertrude.
“Good luck!” she called out. “I’ll pray for you.”
I left the protection of the club behind the wheel of the truck, asking myself to which gods trolls prayed to and if those prayers were sometimes answered.
21
I took a detour to avoid the Strip, still flooded with traffic in the middle of the night, and sped down the streets of Vegas to the onramp of the highway. To get to the Hoover Dam, there wasn’t a thousand and one ways, and I figured this was why Callum had picked the spot. He could easily predict where I was going to be coming from and set up all the traps he wanted to. Not to mention that the idea of an “exchange of prisoners” on the dam, like on the bridges of Berlin in the old spy movies, must be amusing to him. I would’ve like to plan my approach. Study the area. Maybe rent a boat and surprise the enemy from the side. But I was out of time. Taking the shortest route, it would still take me forty minutes to get to the dam, and I only had thirty minutes before the time set. I hit the gas and had the pleasant surprise of feeling the engine respond to my demand.
I had to slow down—a little—to cross the city of Boulder, which was asleep at this time of night, before speeding up again as soon as the highway exited the suburb. The desert air was cold, but I felt my hands sweating on the steering wheel. I left behind the last lights of Boulder with a tightness in my chest. In front of me, the desert looked like an inky sea. The light of the crescent moon seemed to emphasize the night instead of lighting it up.
The beams of my headlights hit the sign I had been waiting for: the exit that lead to the dam.
Last chance to make a decision. I was already late. But if I could catch Goldilocks from the other side…
I continued straight ahead on the highway, towards the bridge and its troll.
The place was deserted, and there was no trace of public lighting.
The luminous cones of my headlights only showed a gray road, the least magical thing you could imagine. Nothing hinted that several hundreds of feet below, the powerful Colorado River displaced tons of water every second. Or that a troll had made this corner of the desert his home.
The truck’s engine stuttered twice before turning off. The headlights switched off, and I slammed on the brakes.
I knew that this old clunker wasn’t worthless.
I turned the key to no avail. Not even the whine of a faulty start. Nothing, nada.
I let out a string of unoriginal curses but still just as effective in this type of situation and got out of the truck. I was going to have to pop the hood. In the middle of the night, with the risk of getting hit by another vehicle.
The river roared far below.
I took out my phone, my only source of light. And it refused to turn on.
I let off a new series of curses without managing to impress the device.
Despite that, I lifted the hood and decided to wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness to attempt a repair.
A second roar reached me, and a shiver ran up my spine. That roar couldn’t be coming from the bottom of the canyon. No, the noise was coming from the bridge, just behind me.
I froze like a troll gripped by fear and turned, slowly, towards the source of the noise.
He was there.
His black silhouette blocked out the night sky. Two legs like tree trunks, two mismatched arms, and shoulders reaching almost ten feet.
“You shall not pass,” said Yorik.
“Uh… good evening?” I said tentatively.
“You shall not pass,” repeated the troll.
“Could we—”
“No!” he said in an unwavering tone.
“—talk?” I finished in a small voice.
He took a step forward, and I took four steps back. The ground shook, and the hood of the truck fell shut with a metallic bang. Yorik reached out his hand towards me, palm facing up. “Give me the sword.”
Did Yorik work for Goldilocks, or did he want the item for himself?
“What do you want a sword for?” I asked. “Picking your teeth?”
“Give it back to its rightful owner.”
“Who is?”
Yorik pointed a finger towards the dam that I guessed was a few hundred yards up the river. “Over there.”
I let out a quavering sigh. There was no point in negotiating with Yorik.
“She’s waiting for you,” he said. “You’re late. Don’t make her angrier than she is. Or give me the sword and leave now.”
I shook my head. “She has my friend. I have to go through with the exchange.”
“As you wish. Turn around now.”
I considered the highway and the concrete barrier that ran along the middle. “I can’t.”
I moved at the last second, when Yorik grabbed the front of the truck. He picked it up as if it was a simple cardboard box on wheels, crossed the barrier, and put it back down, facing the correct way, and with unexpected delicacy.
“There,” he said simply.
“The engine sto—”
The engine started up again, seemingly on its own, and the headlights turned on.
I got back in the vehicle without asking any questions. The tube holding the sword had rolled onto the floor of the cabin, and I left it there. I didn’t bother to buckle my seatbelt, either. I floored the gas and left the bridge without looking back.
Damned troll.
Damned bridge.
Damned blonde with her damned meetings in the middle of the night.
Damned Callum.
Once they were all done ruining my life, I was going to have to go on vacation. Visit wineries in California. Tasting wines starting at nine in the morning. Maybe I’d bring back a case of red for Britannicus.
I left the highway and headed down the access road to the dam. I was at least twenty minutes late and had a good dose of adrenaline flowing through my veins.
In the middle of the day, approaching the dam offered a spectacular view. The turquoise waters of Lake Mead met the gray concrete arc in the tawny oasis of hills burned by the sun of the desert.
At night, the place chilled my blood.
A mile from the dam, I cut the headlights and the engine. The truck rolled several hundred feet in silence before coming to a stop. I proceeded on foot.
My phone was working again, but I chose not to use it. I wanted to be as discreet as possible, and after a few moments, my eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Before reaching the dam, I had to cross the cluster of shops intended to separate dollars from the millions of tourists who visited the site each year. In the middle of the night, the place was deserted. Seemed deserted. It was hard not to image an army of ninjas hiding on the roof of the little mall.
I pushed down the fear to the bottom of my gut. After years of living in its grip, I was just starting to rediscover an existence that wasn’t ruled by fear. It was artificial, purely due to Matteo’s intervention. But it was so good, and I wanted to hold back the return of the reign of terror on my soul as long as possible.
The road continued between the lake on my left and the Black Canyon on my right. It looked like a bridge, but it was the top of the dam. It was deserted.
My heart was beating too loudly in my ears, and my knees trembled. Without thinking, my right hand made its way to the back of my neck, to the top of my drawing case. My fingers found the hilt of the sword and wrapped around it. Immediately, the fear subsided. I unsheathed the weapon, as much to show it to the invisible observers as to reassure myself. Then I made my way to the center of the dam.
“Callum!” I yelled. “I’m here. Let Barbie go!”
“Who’s Callum?” asked a v
oice behind me.
I jumped and turned around. Goldilocks had come out of the shadows and blocked my only exit.
“Your employer,” I said. “The guy who wants to get his sword back.”
“His sword?” she said, offended. “His sword? That weapon has been mine since it was born under Bork’s hammer, and I’m here to get it back.”
“Bork? You’re not working for Callum?”
“I only serve Odin.”
That changed everything… provided that it was true.
“So… you’re not interested in me?”
“Give me what’s mine, and I might let you live,” she said.
My ex wasn’t involved, and Terminator wasn’t specifically after me. I guess this was good news. All that was left was to get my favorite harpy back.
“Where’s Barbie?” I asked.
The blonde raised one shoulder. “She didn’t come.”
“That wasn’t the deal.”
“You shouldn’t have provoked me, you and your berserker. I can’t trust you. Give me back the sword, and only then will you get your harpy back. I’ll have her dropped off at your club.”
The image of the two bloody feathers popped in my head, and I wondered in what state Goldilocks intended to return Barb. I squeezed the grip so hard that I felt my blood pumping against my palm. “That’s unacceptable,” I said. “I’m leaving. Call me when you’ve decided to negotiate.”
She took a few steps towards me, and moonlight hit the blade of her machete.
I wasn’t going to be able to leave that way. But I wasn’t swimming in alternatives. The dam was wide, but not enough for me to get around my opponent without her jumping on me. A human, yes. But not Terminator.
On one side, there was the lake; on the other, there was the Colorado River several dozens of feet below. Without a speedboat or a parachute, I didn’t see how I could go in either direction.
The only way left was the other side of the dam, the one leading to Arizona. Could I run fast enough to escape Terminator in the hills? And then? Yorik would never let me cross the bridge to get back the truck. And in that case, how many miles of desert were there before the first city?