Deicide

by M. K. Gibson

  “Woo!” Arby said, throwing his hands in the air. He looked around at everyone else when he realized he was the only one. “Well screw you guys, then.”

  “Save the celebration for later,” Messer said. “We still have a lot of cleanup to take care of. Buddha needs a medical evacuation and there are three gods downstairs that need to be properly subdued.”

  “Plus we have an unknown amount of guards that either need to be arrested or provided massive amounts of therapy,” Cross said.

  Messer nodded. “Very true.”

  “Sending a cleanup crew to your location,” Deek said. “Once they’re there, I recommend passing over the command to them.”

  “We still have a job to do,” Messer countered.

  “Permission to speak honestly, Sarge?” Jessie asked.

  “Like I could stop you.”

  “You look like shit,” Jessie said. “The team’s beat to hell. If there are any more surprises down there, then we’re likely to be a detriment more than an addition to the cleanup efforts. A wise man once told me that we hold the line. That’s it. We hold it as long as we can until either our bodies or our minds break. Then someone else comes along to take our spot. And if we trained them well enough, then we can leave our post knowing the line will hold. So when you get a chance to just relax, you take it.”

  Jessie winked at Arby, who smiled back at her.

  “What kind of poetic, nonsensical, quitter-talk bullshit is that?” Messer asked. “We do the job. All of it. That is what we do. You finish job, then you go home. Who the hell told you that pile of crap?”

  “Arby,” she said, pointing at him immediately.

  “Shit, New Girl, I’m glad you weren’t the one getting tortured. You woulda rolled on us for a pumpkin spice iced coffee.”

  “Known you a long time, Jim,” Freeman said. “But you’re wrong on this one and the girl’s right on this one. We’re beat to shit. We have no weapons and frankly, we’re only hanging on by a thread. We screw this up, and the elves might reconsider. So, we wait until the cleanup crew is here, we escort Buddha to the Rot, and then we call it a day.”

  Messer looked at Freeman, then at Jessie, then at the rest of the team, and nodded.

  “Okay. Jessie’s right on this one. Wise words from one so young.”

  “Uh, they were my wise words,” Arby said.

  “Shut up, Arby,” Jessie said with a smile. “No one likes a glory hound.”

  Arby narrowed his eyes, held up a finger . . . and then laughed. “Well played, New Girl, well played. But it doesn’t matter. You two lost a bet to me. And after this is all over, you’re paying up.”

  “And you lost a bet to me,” Cross said. “We lived.”

  Arby sighed. “That we did. Okay.”

  “I think you three are forgetting something very important,” Messer said.

  “What?” Jessie asked.

  “All three of you lost a bet to me.”

  Jessie exchanged looks with Cross and Arby, and from the looks on their faces, they didn’t know what he was talking about either. Messer smiled.

  “Doc, you have the recording from their first day?”

  “Queuing it up now, Sarge,” Deek said.

  Over the line, they heard a recording of Messer talking to the three of them: “Undercover Detectives Cassandra Cross, Eric Deacon, as the UTF Field Operative Jesenia DeLeon already mentioned, I’m Detective Sergeant James Messer. You three have been reassigned to Transit Authority, which means you’re mine. You may be unhappy now, but I bet in that in a few days, you’ll love this job.”

  “So, do you love this job?” Messer asked.

  “Yes,” Jessie said.

  Cross nodded. “Yes.”

  “I mean, I’m pretty pissed I didn’t get to hang off the helicopter’s landing struts while shooting a pistol. It’s the main reason I became a cop and all—oof!”

  Cross silenced her partner with a quick elbow to his ribs.

  “That’s workplace violence,” Arby groaned.

  “Answer the question,” Cross said, ignoring him.

  Arby sighed. “Yes.”

  “Excellent. Freeman?”

  “I know just the song.”

  Kyle laughed. “Same one he made us sing when we lost the same stupid bet.”

  Jessie wasn’t sure what they meant, but it felt good just being part of a team. Part of something . . . bigger. She thought about the last few days and how they had changed something in her. Yes, she would still bust her ass to be the best that she could be. But now—now she wouldn’t have to do it alone.

  She caught Messer’s eye and mouthed “Thank you.”

  Messer just smiled. Then he pointed towards the news chopper in the sky.

  “Wave. You’re about to be famous.”

  Epilogue

  16 May - 5:01 pm

  Outside of Room B-117, Basement Avalantis PD, District of Axis Mundi

  “What is this now?” the crone asked, eyeing the young woman.

  “A gift,” Jessie said, passing over the gift bag with the red ribbon. “It isn’t much, but I just wanted to say I’m sorry for how I treated you. I’ve been told that I’m too honest. I thought that was a virtue, but I guess it’s kind of a curse.”

  “You also talk too much,” the crone said as she set her mop aside and accepted the bag.

  “Yeah, maybe that too,” Jessie said. “But I’m trying to be better. So, again, sorry if I insulted you.”

  The crone gave the young woman a long glare, then nodded. “It’s okay, dearie. Young people say stupid things all the time. And I apologize for wishing that vampires, or your partners, would kill you. I also apologize for casting several hexes on you.”

  “You did what now?”

  “Nothing,” the crone said, smiling wide to show her yellow-brown teeth. “Just a joke, dearie.”

  “DeLeon,” a voice said from down the hall.

  The crone looked and saw the detective sergeant standing in the hall . . . exactly on the spot she had just cleaned.

  “Yes, Sarge?”

  “You’re gonna be late,” he said. “Get a move on. I take my punishments seriously.”

  Jessie shook her head. “Yes, Sergeant. Ma’am, I hope you have a great day.”

  “I will,” the crone said.

  The young girl left and the crone was left alone with the detective sergeant.

  “So, what did she get you?” Messer asked.

  The form of the crone shifted into that of a woman in her mid-to-late fifties with high cheekbones, black hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, and an expensive white business suit. Mother-1 looked in the bag.

  “Crap mostly. Cheap chocolate, cheaper lotion, and a gift card to Starbucks.”

  “It’s the thought that counts?” Messer said. “I didn’t let her on the team for her skills at gift-giving. She has a good head on her shoulders. And she was able to hold The Knife.”

  “That she was. You thinking of retiring?”

  “Not yet,” Messer said. “But I can feel it, my time’s coming up.”

  “It’s been a long time since I found you back in Texas, Jim. I’ve . . . grown fond of you.”

  “I bet you say that to all your Knights.”

  “I do,” Mother-1 said. “But I mean it every time. I simply give the blade. It’s up to you all to use it.”

  “So, what about the elves?” Messer asked.

  “What about them?”

  “Don’t play games,” Messer said. “They wouldn’t threaten the city over a drug dealer, god or otherwise.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “That the crap in those vials seems to be a more potent version of the stims that the elves sell. And if someone like Buddha was able to crack the code on how to harness faith, then others will. If elven magic can be replicated, then what good are they?”

  Mother-1 was quiet for several moments. “I’m still not happy with your taking the organization public. They’ll have targets on their
backs.”

  “They can handle it,” Messer said. “The world needs to know. Criminals need to know. But you’re changing the subject.”

  “Leave it alone,”she said. “For now. Our alliance is . . . tenuous. We don’t want another war with them.”

  “But—”

  “Please Jim, just let me handle it.”

  Messer nodded as he looked through the gift bag. “This really is shit.”

  “It is,” Mother-1 agreed.

  “But you missed a gift here in the bottom,” Messer said, pulling out a small item with a note attached. Mother-1 took it, read it, and began to laugh.

  “What?”

  She passed the item over to him. “I think your instinct may have been right about her.”

  Messer looked at the item in his hand. It was a simple stain stick, meant for treating fabric. The note attached simply read: “For white cloth. I think you may need this.”

  Messer tossed his head back and laughed. Hard.

  ********

  16 May - 7:15 pm

  The Siren’s Cove, District of Windport

  “You ready?” Cross asked.

  “This is impossible,” DeLeon said. “No one can make this sound good.”

  “Shut up,” Deacon said. “It’s all about showmanship. Just follow my lead and thank the sweet lord above that I have dancer’s hips.”

  “And that Messer didn’t pick a Journey song,” Cross said.

  “That too,” Deacon agreed.

  “I hate karaoke Journey,” DeLeon said.

  “Everyone does,” Deacon snapped. “Either the singer sucks balls, in the bad way, and butchers a classic, or they’re really good, in which case they’re show-off assholes. It’s a lose-lose. But get your head in the game.”

  DeLeon shook her head. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

  “Good news for me,” Cross said, running a hand over her smooth head.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the satyr DJ with the headphones and mirrored sunglasses announced over his mic, “put your hands together for Jessie, Cassy, and . . . Arby? Is that right? Like the fast food place?”

  “It’s R-B,” Doc called out from his seat in the front row. “Stands for Royal Bitch!”

  “Thanks, brother. Prick.”

  Doc smiled.

  “Okay, Arby it is,” the DJ said. “And they’ll be singing . . . oh shit, wow, your funeral guys.”

  “It’s a bet . . . thing,” Jessie said.

  The DJ shrugged. “And I take it you lost? Well, someone clearly doesn’t like you. Okay, folks, get ready for . . . a rendition of Queen’s ‘Somebody to Love’.”

  From his seat, Messer sipped his beer and watched the three of them huddle around one mic and attempt the acapella opening of the song. And, as predicted, they butchered it. But that wasn’t the point—it was them working as a team. Even in a no-win situation.

  Once the piano kicked in, Deacon took lead, with Cross and DeLeon snapping in time and providing backup vocals. The big man danced surprisingly well. Too bad his singing voice sounded like two Alabama rats screwing in a wool sock.

  “Were we as bad as that?” Ito asked.

  “I remember us being better,” Doc said.

  “We weren’t,” Freeman said. “But I remember looking like them. Whole career ahead of them. Man, the shit they’re gonna see.”

  “You actually thinking of retiring?” Ito asked.

  “Thinking about it. No offense, but I miss my kids. Bailing all your asses out of trouble has been fun and all. But I’m tired.”

  “No shame in that,” Messer said, sipping at his beer. “We all have a limit. And when you reach yours, it’s time to hang up the spurs and head home. Otherwise, you go home in a pine box.”

  “Goddamn, Jim,” Freeman laughed. “You should really think about giving motivational speeches to sick kids.”

  “It’s a gift.” Messer shrugged. “But Tasha, if you’re honestly thinking about it, you have my blessing. Just stick around long enough to get the kids spun up.”

  “You do like your hard cases,” Freeman said. “The perfectionist, the buffoon, and the paranoid.”

  “Yup,” Messer said. “But you know they’re more than that.”

  “I do,” Freeman admitted. “DeLeon has the purest heart I’ve ever seen in a cop. Deacon’s an intellectual who plays the fool so that others can act brave. He takes the abuse so that others can win. And Cross, goddamn. That woman doesn’t know how to fail. I don’t think I’ve ever had her strength.”

  “You have,” Messer said. “You’ve sacrificed more than most ever should have. Which is why you should walk away. Like the poem says, ‘Soldier rest, thy warfare is over.’”

  “If you make me cry I’m gonna hit you, knife or no knife.”

  “Speaking of, how’d it feel to hold it again?” Messer asked.

  Freeman shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. After . . . well, you know. To me it’s just a knife.”

  “Hey, where did Gabby go?” Ito asked, interrupting.

  Messer looked around and then smiled and pointed at the stage. The elf had grabbed the mic from Deacon and loudly belted out the final words of the song in a perfect imitation of Freddie Mercury.

  The audience erupted into applause.

  “So, you ever gonna tell DeLeon why you really nominated her?” Messer asked. “Or tell her why you’ve kept an eye on her all these years?”

  “Nope,” Freeman said. “And neither will you. She doesn’t need to know the truth.”

  ********

  16 May - 10:21 pm

  Avalantis Prison - The Black Obelisk - AKA “The Rot”

  “Leave us,” Warden Osirin told the Svartalfar.

  The dark elves obeyed and left her alone in the private room with Buddha. When the door closed behind her, the warden looked down at the chained god.

  “You will be convicted,” the warden said. “After which you will be transferred to the lower cells to serve out your sentence. And whatever happens to you down there will never be seen. Even The Eye cannot see here. I’ve made sure of that.”

  Buddha looked up at her. And for once, he wasn’t laughing.

  “I did everything you told me to. I—”

  Osirin clutched her hand into a fist. Dark magical energies crackled with eldritch power.

  “Silence,” she said. “I gave you everything you needed to replicate the elves’ ability to harness faith. I gave you all the intelligence you needed to stop MORTAL. And what did you do with it?”

  “It—it would have worked,” Buddha gasped. “Th-they h-had the k-knife with th-them.”

  “Do you know how many knights we’ve killed over the centuries? I warned you what he could do. But don’t worry; I always have contingencies. We will take back this world. We will wrestle power away from the elves and the mages will once more be the power. You, on the other hand, will never see those days.”

  ********

  17 May - 3:45 am

  Boreas Bungalows, Building #9, Apt 202, District of Windport

  Sweaty and panting, Jessie rolled over in her bed as the last traces of her orgasm made her body tingle.

  “So that’s what the tail is for,” she panted.

  “I aim to please,” Kyle said, as he too panted next to her.

  “You—you were reading my mind, weren’t you?”

  “No,” Kyle said. “Just picking up on feelings and wants. In moments like this, they’re hard to ignore.”

  “Well, I’m not complaining,” Jessie said, kissing him. “Be right back.”

  “Where you going?”

  “To the bathroom,” she said.

  “Hurry back,” he said with a too-pleased-with-himself smile.

  Jessie slipped on her robe and went to the bathroom. After she was finished, she washed her hands but didn’t return to her bedroom. Not right away. She instead walked to her balcony and stepped outside into the cold morning air.

  They had been given the day off, so she wasn
’t worried about getting sleep. But she did worry about the mistake she had just made.

  Three times.

  Would Cross be mad?

  Of course she will, don’t be stupid, she chastised herself. Even if Cross was sleeping with Ted, it was clear that she still loved her ex-husband. But he had moved on. Hadn’t he? Wasn’t he allowed to make his own decisions? Decide whom he slept with?

  Stop justifying your actions. You did it—a lot—and now there may be consequences.

  “Hey,” a voice called out from across the complex.

  Jessie looked around, but didn’t see the source of the voice.

  “Up here,” the voice said.

  Jessie looked to see a gray and white pegasus sitting on the roof of an adjacent building.

  Jessie snapped her fingers, trying to recall his name. Mr. Spank . . . Spurt . . .? She snapped her fingers. “Mr. Sparklewing?”

  “Yeah,” the pegasus said. “Are you one of the cops I saw on TV? Some group called MORTAL?”

  “Yeah,” Jessie said. “That was me.”

  “Thought so,” Mr. Sparklewing said. “Is it true you guys saved the city and busted some drug-dealing gods?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool,” Mr. Sparklewing said. “Just wanted to say thanks.”

  Jessie felt her chest tighten a little. She didn’t become a cop for thank you’s or for glory. But it still felt nice when they were offered.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jessie. Jessie DeLeon.”

  “Well, get some sleep, DeLeon. You earned it,” Mr. Sparklewing said as he took off and began to fly in a lazy arc around the building.

  Yeah, I guess I did earn it, she thought. Maybe this was a sign that things would be okay no matter what.

  A hot stream of brown and white horse crap that smelled vaguely of butterscotch poured over her head and stained her robe.

  “That’s for sending me to lockup, Jessie! Friggin’ cop asshole!” Mr. Sparklewing said as he flew off, laughing.

  “Okay, I deserved that,” Jessie said, wiping the muck from her face. “Oh Avalantis, you are a cruel, but fair, bitch.”